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Acclaim for New York Times bestelling author

Sherryl Woods

‘Sherryl Woods always delights her readers— including me!’ —No. 1 New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber

‘Compulsively readable … Woods’s novel easily rises

above hot-button topics to tell a universal tale

of friendship’s redemptive power.’

—Publishers Weekly on Mending Fences

‘Sherryl Woods always delivers a fast, breezy … romance.’

—Jayne Ann Krentz

‘Sherryl Woods gives her characters depth, intensity,

and the right amount of humour.’

—RT Book Reviews

‘Sherryl Woods is a uniquely gifted writer whose deep

understanding of human nature is woven

into every page.’

—Carla Neggers

Dear Friends,

Welcome back to Chesapeake Shores and the tightly knit, if far-flung, O’Brien family. If you read The Inn at Eagle Point, you know it’s going to take a lot to get these folks back together and there’s nothing I like more than trying to reunite a dysfunctional family.

This time you’ll get to know Bree, the middle sister, whose career as a playwright at a regional theatre in Chicago started so brightly. Now, though, she’s returned to Chesapeake Shores, her heart in tatters and her spirit wounded. But being back home among family and friends isn’t as serene as she’d been hoping, because in order to build a future she needs to confront her past.

I’m sure every woman would like to have a past as sexy, headstrong and amazing as landscaper Jake Collins, but few of us would like to deal with the kind of complications that have torn him and Bree apart. And, as if their struggles to find their way back to each other aren’t complicated enough, Bree’s mother, Megan, and her father, Mick O’Brien, are busy sorting out their own very contentious relationship under the watchful eye of everyone in the family and in Chesapeake Shores.

I hope you enjoy meeting more of the residents of this wonderful seaside community. Enjoy this visit and plan to come back again. The welcome mat is always out.

Flowers on Main

A Chesapeake Shores novel

Sherryl Woods

www.mirabooks.co.uk

1 _____

Bree O’Brien sank her fingers into the rich, dark soil and lifted up a handful so she could breathe in the scent of it. This was real, not like the shallow world in which she’d been struggling to make a name for herself for the past six years. Gardening was something she understood. Plants could be coaxed along with water and fertilizer and loving attention in ways that a theater production could not. A vase of flowers, artfully arranged, had only to please the recipient, not an entire audience, each of them a critic in one way or another.

She’d been relieved when her sister Abby had called her about the opening of the Inn at Eagle Point, now owned by their sister Jess. It had given her the perfect excuse to flee Chicago, where her last play had been savaged by the critics and closed a mere week after it had opened. In six years she’d had one regional theater triumph and two box-office and critical disasters.

Some playwrights might be thrilled to have just one big success, even far, far off Broadway, but Bree had always wanted more. She’d expected to be up there with Neil Simon, Noel Coward … heck, even Arthur Miller. Of course, that had been after her first success, when she was way too full of herself. She’d thought herself capable of Simon’s comedic timing, Coward’s wit and Miller’s complex dramatic skill. There’d even been a few critics who’d shared that opinion.

That had made it all the more humbling when the second play had received only lukewarm praise and a shortened one-month run. The third had been skewered by those very same critics who’d sung her praises earlier. Her first play was suddenly being called a fluke. More than one suggested she was washed up at the age of twenty-seven.

She’d been relieved that no one in the family had been in Chicago for the play’s opening to witness her downfall or to see the reviews that had followed. She wouldn’t have been able to bear watching them struggle to be supportive. It was awful enough that everyone at the theater had been a part of the most humiliating moment of her career. None of the actors had even been able to look her in the eye as the director—her lover, for goodness’ sake—had read review after scathing review at the opening-night party before finally crumpling up the papers and tossing them in the trash.

One of these days, she supposed she’d muster up enough confidence to sit down in front of her computer and try again, but for now she was happy to be back in Chesapeake Shores, in familiar surroundings, with her family fussing over her just because they loved her and not because they knew her life was in shambles. She’d needed girl time with her sisters, a rousing game of tag football and nonstop teasing with her brother Connor and his buddies, and a chance to hug her nieces—Abby’s twin daughters.

She’d needed to be back home even more than she’d realized, back in her old room where the only writing she’d ever done was in her diary or stories and plays written for her own satisfaction and no one else’s eyes.

What she’d also needed, but hadn’t admitted to a soul, was distance between herself and acclaimed playwright and director Martin Demming, a mentor for a time, a lover even longer. Lately, though, the relationship hadn’t been working. Maybe she was already raw and overly sensitive after those vicious reviews, but it seemed to her he’d taken an almost gloating satisfaction in her failure. She hadn’t been prepared for that.

So, here she was, three weeks after the opening of Jess’s inn, kneeling in her grandmother’s garden, yanking out weeds and letting the warmth of the sun soak into her bare and protectively sunscreened shoulders. For the first time in months, the tension that knotted there had finally eased. She felt … She searched for the right word, then realized it was content. She felt content with herself, even with her life, despite the current upheaval. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d felt that way.

Oblivious for now to all the warnings about sun damage and Marty’s constant and annoying admonitions about ruining her pale-as-Irish-cream complexion, she turned her face up to the sun and felt it ease the headache that came whenever she thought about the life she’d left behind.

Even as the thought surfaced, her hands stilled and she gasped slightly. Had she left it behind? All of it? Chicago? The theater? The writing? Marty? Had she really left it forever? Could she uproot herself from the world that had meant everything just a few short months ago? Was that what she was doing here, on her knees in the dirt, days after she was supposed to return to the life she’d always dreamed of? Was she giving up? Hiding out? Or merely licking her wounds before going back into the battle zone once again?

And that’s what it was, Bree realized, a battle zone, with way too many potential enemies—the producer, the director, the actors, the critics and the public, all of whom had their own views on what her work was or ought to be. Some days everything came together in an amazing collaboration. At other times, it was a highly charged emotional war with all of her carefully crafted words, scenes and motivations picked apart by those who thought they knew best.

She sat back and heaved a sigh. Oh, how she wished she had an answer to any of those questions.

“You’ve pulled up three of my summer phlox,” Gram said, a clucking note of disapproval in her voice as she interrupted Bree’s dark thoughts. “Do you want to tell me what’s on your mind before you ruin the perennial garden I’ve spent years cultivating?”

Bree looked from her grandmother—hands on hips, petite and feisty in her straw gardening hat, sneakers and bright-pink cropped pants and matching blouse—to the tall, dark purple phlox already wilting amid the weeds she’d tossed aside to her left. At the sight of the flowers, she groaned. “I got the roots. I’ll put them back in the ground with some extra water and fertilizer. They’ll be okay, Gram.”

Gram gave her a penetrating look that suggested she knew exactly what was going on with Bree, but was waiting for her to bring up the subject.

“Can you say the same for yourself?” Gram asked. “Will you be okay?”

Bree deliberately looked away and turned her attention to replanting the phlox. “I have a lot on my mind,” she murmured, afraid that she would confirm Gram’s suspicions if she said more. Of everyone in the family, only her grandmother seemed to truly understand her, to see inside her heart even when Bree was silent. To her father and even to her outgoing siblings, she was mostly an enigma.

“Your distraction’s plain enough,” Gram agreed. “What you need is to share some of it, make the burden a wee bit lighter. If you don’t want to tell me whatever’s on your mind, go over to the inn and have lunch with Jess or call Abby. She’d be happy to take you to lunch in Baltimore, I’m sure. She can show off that new office of hers. You can have a nice heart-to-heart chat.”

“Jess has her hands full. She doesn’t have time to listen to me moan and groan. The same with Abby. Now that she and Trace are engaged and she’s commuting to Baltimore practically every day, she has little enough time for herself and the twins without wasting it on me.”

“Nonsense! Either one of them would make the time, because they’re your sisters,” Gram said impatiently. “With the O’Briens, family comes first. We stick together no matter what. Didn’t I teach you that years ago?”

She’d certainly tried, Bree recalled. It had been a hard lesson to learn after their mother had taken off for New York, fed up with their father’s endless round of business trips and his neglect of their family. Gram had been the glue that held the rest of them together. She’d been the one who’d tried to nudge them into making peace with Megan on her visits home, encouraged them to keep an open mind toward their mother. Not that any of them had. They were young and unforgiving, and the complexities of their parents’ relationship had eluded them.

Lately, Bree had noticed that her father was making more of an effort to connect with all of them. Mick had shelved an entire project in California to be home for the opening of the inn, though he’d taken off again soon afterward. Even their mother had come back for Jess’s big day, which had created its own problems, but Bree had to admit it had been nice to have everyone—at least everyone except her brother Kevin around for a few days. Kevin’s tour in Iraq had kept him from being home for the festivities.

Those few days had reminded Bree of the kind of family harmony they’d had years ago, before Mick’s acclaim as an urban architect and developer had taken him all over the world. It was exactly that kind of camaraderie that Bree had needed most when she’d left Chicago.

She could have told any family member about what had happened, and they would have done anything necessary to try to bolster her spirits. She knew that. She also knew she wasn’t quite ready for the pity none of them would be able to hide or the sound, pragmatic suggestions Mick or Abby might have offered.

It would be better, she thought, to suck it up, make her own decisions and then get on with her life, not wallow in self-pity or dump all of her problems on her sisters, Gram or anyone else. What she needed, as always, was the peace and quiet to find her own way.

“Maybe I’ll call Jess or Abby later,” Bree hedged eventually. “Why don’t I go inside and fix us some lunch. We can eat out here or even on the beach.” She was suddenly overcome by a wave of nostalgia. “Remember when you used to make picnics for us when we were kids? We’d spread a blanket on the sand and spend the whole afternoon along the shore.”

Gram regarded her with amusement. “Do I need to remind you that you were the first one to complain about the sand getting in your food and the sun being too hot?”

Bree laughed. “I guess I’d forgotten that part. Okay, we can eat on the porch. There’s no sand on the porch, and there is a lovely breeze.”

“Actually, I can’t today,” Gram said, a note of apology in her voice. “I have a meeting at the church.” She studied Bree worriedly, then added, “But I can cancel if you’d rather I stay here so we can talk some more.”

Bree wasn’t ready to bare her soul. “No, go. I’ll be fine. Maybe I’ll walk into town, do a little shopping and then have lunch at the café.”

Gram nodded. “If you decide to do that, give my best to Sally and bring home one of those raspberry croissants of hers. I’ll have it for breakfast tomorrow.”

Bree feigned shock. “You’re actually going to eat someone else’s baking? Or are you trying to figure out her recipe so you can make them yourself?”

“When someone has a knack for something, I’m perfectly content to leave them to it. Sally’s croissants melt in your mouth. Why try to improve on that?”

“I think I’ll tell her you said that,” Bree teased. “It’ll please her to know that the greatest baker in Chesapeake Shores admires her croissants.”

Gram drew herself up indignantly. “It’s nothing I haven’t told her myself, young lady. I’m not beyond giving credit where it’s due. Now go along with you. Try to come back with a smile on your face. It troubles me to see you looking so lost.”

Bree knew that Gram was attuned to her moods, but she hadn’t expected her to hit on such an apt description. She was lost. Having one person who could read her and was always willing to lend an ear, offer advice or whatever else she needed brought unexpected tears to her eyes. If she wasn’t careful, she’d start bawling right here and now, and Gram would stay put and pry the whole pitiful story out of her.

Instead, she forced a smile. “I’m just sorting through a few things. It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

The words were as much for herself as for her grandmother. It would be too easy to let herself wallow in that feeling of love and acceptance, to wrap herself in it and forget all about her dreams. Chesapeake Shores would be the perfect safe haven.

Then again, maybe it was time to take a really hard look at those dreams and see if they still fit, after all. Bree had the O’Brien streak of stubbornness in spades, but maybe there was no shame in letting go for once. Moving on. Making new dreams.

If only she had even a vague idea of what those new dreams might be.

Mick O’Brien stood on a street corner in New York City with his cell phone in hand, trying to work up the courage to make a call to a woman he’d known most of his adult life. Megan was his ex-wife, for heaven’s sake! Dialing her number shouldn’t be harder than facing down an entire planning and zoning commission dead set on vetoing one of his developments. Yet he’d done that numerous times without batting an eye, while just the prospect of making this call had his palms sweating.

Losing his nerve, Mick snapped the phone shut for the third time and turned on his heel. He wound up in a coffee shop somewhere on the Upper East Side of the city, just blocks from Megan’s apartment, cursing his own cowardice or maybe the decision that had brought him to New York in the first place, after all these years.

Seeing Megan again at the opening of Jess’s inn had unleashed something inside him. He’d suddenly remembered the way it had felt to love her, how he’d always felt ten feet tall when she’d looked at him. All the years of burning anger and resentment over their breakup had disappeared in the space of a heartbeat when he’d seen her walking toward him on the beach, her figure as lithe as a girl’s, her auburn hair whipping in the wind.

They’d even shared a few rare moments of real harmony, when he’d included her in the gift he’d given Jess to celebrate the inn’s opening. When he’d told their youngest daughter that the outrageously expensive stove she’d wanted was a present from him and her mother, the icy tension between them had thawed a few degrees. Bridging the distance between mother and daughter had brought him the kind of satisfaction he hadn’t felt in years. At least until he’d received a check in the mail from Megan for her half. That had annoyed the dickens out of him.

Although he and Megan had seen each other only a few times in Chesapeake Shores, it had been enough to convince Mick of the cost of clinging to his own stupid pride. Years ago that stubborn pride had kicked in and kept him from begging Megan to stay. Now, sensing that they might have another chance, he wasn’t going to let anything stand in the way of his reaching out.

Except maybe fear, he thought with chagrin as he sipped his coffee and stared at the cell phone lying on the scarred, Formica-topped table in this noisy, busy neighborhood eatery.

Maybe it would be easier if he just showed up on her doorstep. Megan was too much of a lady to slam the door in his face, while she might find it a whole lot easier to hang up on him.

He was so busy contemplating his strategy that he jumped like some scared teenager when the cell phone rang.

“Yes, hello,” he muttered, embarrassed even though the person on the other end of the line couldn’t possibly know how idiotic he felt.

“Have you seen her yet?” his mother demanded.

Mick frowned. How was it that Nell O’Brien always knew what he was up to, even when he’d been very careful to keep this trip to New York a secret from everyone in his family?

He’d seen no point in stirring up speculation—or a storm of objections, for that matter—when he had no idea how things between him and Megan were likely to go.

He’d detoured to New York on his way back from business meetings in Seattle and Minneapolis, thinking that if he made a damn fool of himself, no one would have to know about it. Now here was his mother, with that second sight of hers, guessing exactly what he was planning.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said defensively, hoping Nell had simply taken a lucky guess.

“You’re in New York to see Megan, aren’t you?” she declared with conviction.

“What gave you that idea?” Even as he spoke, he could imagine her rolling her eyes at his response. She’d never liked wasting time stating the obvious.

“Your office said you flew to New York this morning after you finished up your meetings in Minnesota. Since you haven’t set foot in that city since the day Megan moved up there, and since you’ve been mooning around here ever since she left after the opening at the inn, I put two and two together.”

“Well, your math skills are lousy,” he claimed. “I haven’t seen her.”

She laughed at that. “That can only mean you’ve chickened out now that you’re there. You’re probably sitting in some bar trying to work up the courage to see her.”

“I’m not in a damn bar,” he muttered. Saints protect him from a mother who’d always been able to read him like a book. “And I have not chickened out. Did you track me down just to hassle me, or was there something else on your mind?”

“I had something else on my mind, but now I’m thinking we should be talking about whether you have any idea what you’re doing. You and Megan have been divorced for years.

She left because you neglected her and this family and didn’t change your ways when she called you on it. You know I love you, but I don’t see how any of that has changed. You still spend more time away than you do with your family.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, my family has pretty much scattered.”

“And in case you haven’t noticed, one by one they seem to be turning up again,” she retorted. “Yet you’re still running from one job to the next.”

“Maybe I’m ready to slow down,” he said, testing the idea on himself as much as her.

“Retire? You?” she asked, her tone incredulous. “I don’t believe that for a minute.”

“I didn’t mention retirement,” he retorted irritably. “I said I might be ready to slow down.”

“Maybe? Might? Seems to me you ought to be sure about a thing like that before you go getting that woman’s hopes up, then turn right around and dash them again.”

Much to his dismay, he conceded to himself that she had a point. Not that he intended to admit it aloud. “Look, I have things to do. Just tell me why you called.”

Apparently she realized that his patience had worn thin, because she actually answered the question, rather than launching a full-scale lecture or asking more questions of her own.

“I called because I’m worried about Bree,” she told him.

“Bree?” he asked, startled. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Men!” Nell muttered, her tone disparaging. “Mick, she’s your daughter. Didn’t you notice how quiet she’s been ever since she got here? For that matter, haven’t you wondered what she’s still doing here?”

“Bree’s always been quiet,” he said, genuinely puzzled by his mother’s observation. She’d always been happiest locked away in her room with a pad of paper or a book. Of all of his children, she was the one he’d understood the least. She’d never had the outgoing nature of her siblings. Nor had she suffered from the usual teenage highs and lows—or if she had, she’d channeled that into the writing she hid from everyone in the family.

“This is different,” his mother insisted. “And she hasn’t said a single word about going back to Chicago. Something’s happened, Mick, I just know it. I tried to talk to her earlier, but she told me she was fine.”

“Then maybe she is.”

“She is not fine. You need to stop worrying about the past and get back home to deal with your daughter. She needs you.”

“No,” he said at once. “If Bree needs anyone, it’s you. You’ve always understood her better than I have. Come on, Ma, you know I’m right. If you can’t get her to open up, then there’s not a chance in hell I’ll be able to.”

“Well, this time I think maybe she needs all of us.”

He frowned at Nell’s somber tone. “Ma, what exactly do you think happened to her? If that jerk did something …” He let his voice trail off. He’d never liked Martin Demming. He was too old for Bree for one thing, and an arrogant son of a gun for another. Mick had heard a few too many condescending remarks directed at Bree. It had taken every ounce of restraint he possessed not to tell the man off the last time Mick had been to Chicago. Only a plaintive look from Bree had kept him silent. It had made his heart ache to see his sensitive daughter listen to that demeaning nonsense without fighting back.

Nell interrupted his thoughts. “I don’t know if this has anything to do with Martin Demming or if it’s about her work.

That’s my point. We need to find out what has her so upset. When are you coming home?”

“That depends,” he said, still thinking about his mission to see Megan again.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said impatiently. “Either call Megan the minute we hang up or get on a plane and come home. You’re needed here.”

“I’ll be there first thing tomorrow,” he promised.

Heck, if things went well, maybe he’d even convince Megan to come back to Chesapeake Shores for another visit. If Bree really was in some sort of trouble, having her mother around certainly couldn’t hurt. In fact, it might be just what she needed.

He sighed even as the manipulative thought occurred to him. Who was he kidding? He was the one who needed Megan at home again. Always had. If a crisis with their middle daughter gave him the perfect excuse to get her there, he wasn’t too proud to take advantage of it. There’d be plenty of time to regret his tactics later … but only if they didn’t work.

The back booth at Sally’s all but had a Reserved sign sitting on it. Every day, right at noon, Jake Collins, Mack Franklin and Will Lincoln sat in that booth and ordered the day’s special. Today it was ham and cheese on a croissant with potato salad, Jake noted as he glanced at the chalkboard behind the counter on his way to the booth. When he got there, he stopped short. He wasn’t sure which shocked him more, that it was already occupied or that the person whose face was buried in the menu was Bree O’Brien.

It took less than a heartbeat for him to note that her bare shoulders were pink from the sun, that she wore the turquoise sundress that had always been a favorite of his, that she looked exhausted.

Before any of that could really sink in, he wheeled around and bumped straight into Mack, then brushed past him without stopping.

“Where are you going?” Mack demanded.

“Let’s go to Brady’s for lunch,” Jake said in a clipped, urgent undertone as he paused just long enough to give Mack a hard look that begged him to stop asking questions.

Mack stared at him blankly, obviously not picking up on Jake’s signal. “Why?”

“Because I’m in the mood for a crab-cake sandwich and a beer,” Jake said impatiently, weaving past three women blocking the aisle.

He didn’t wait to see if Mack followed but headed right back out onto the street, where he stopped and sucked in a deep breath. Damn, that woman should not be able to get to him like this, not after six years. And she’d done it without even once looking him in the eye or opening her mouth. It was pitiful. He was pitiful. Why should it matter to him that she looked as if she hadn’t slept in a week?

“Would you mind telling me why you’re both out here?” Will asked when he came upon them standing on the sidewalk in the blazing late-July heat. His crisply ironed sport shirt was wilting and he’d tugged off his tie. He was clearly anxious to get inside in air-conditioning.

“I have no idea,” Mack responded with a shrug. “Jake’s apparently developed a sudden craving for a crab cake.”

When Jake met Will’s gaze, he saw the knowing amusement in his friend’s eyes. That was the problem with hanging out with the same bunch of guys since elementary school. None of them had one damn secret from the others. Will, with his Ph.D. in psychology, was capable of guessing the source of Jake’s suddenly skittish mood.

Will sighed. “I was wondering when he was going to find out that Bree’s in town.”

Mack looked momentarily surprised, then nodded. “Just now apparently.”

“It took longer than I expected,” Will said.

Jake stared at them. “You knew Bree was here and didn’t warn me?”

“I’d heard,” Will admitted.

“Me, too,” Mack said, looking chagrined. “We figured she’d be gone before the two of you crossed paths.”

“How’d she look?” Will asked, his gaze on Mack rather than Jake.

Mack shrugged. “Jake was blocking my view.”

“Well, it’s probably better that Jake finally got a glimpse of her,” Will said thoughtfully. “It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“Absolutely. Her family’s here,” Mack added. “It’s not like she’d stay away forever.”

“Would you two stop talking as if I’m not here,” Jake grumbled. “This isn’t about Bree O’Brien. I just decided I’m in the mood for a crab-cake sandwich. That’s it.”

“Last time I checked, Sally made a halfway-decent crab-cake sandwich,” Will remarked, calling him on the blatant lie.

“Hardly anyplace around here that doesn’t,” Mack agreed.

Jake tired of their amusement at his expense. “Oh, give it a rest,” he grumbled. “If you want to eat here, we’ll eat here. I just thought it would be good to try someplace different. We’re in a rut.”

“And you realized that not five minutes ago?” Will inquired skeptically. “We’ve been in the same rut for five years.”

“Six,” Jake muttered. “It’s been six years.”

The three of them had started eating lunch together every day right after Bree had left Chesapeake Shores. It had been Will and Mack’s halfhearted attempt to boost Jake’s spirits, even though they weren’t a hundred percent certain what had happened between Jake and Bree. The couple had broken up, that much Jake’s friends knew, and also that Jake was hurting. That was all that had mattered.

His buddies had rallied around him, being supportive in the only way guys knew how, by hanging out with him and trying to keep him distracted, and by not mentioning the source of his discontent unless he brought her up first. Which he hadn’t. Today was one of the few times in all these years that Bree’s name had even crossed his lips.

Good friends that they were and happily single, Will and Mack had also dragged Jake out regularly for happy hour and tried to interest him in other women. More often than not, they were the ones who met someone attractive and left with her, while Jake went home alone to his empty bed and dark thoughts. He’d gotten used to the pattern and to the loneliness. It was pitiful, all right, but it was the life he had.

And it beat the pain he’d felt when Bree had left. He wasn’t going through anything like that again, even if he wound up living like a hermit for the rest of his days, which his sister, Connie, told him regularly he was in grave danger of doing.

“Maybe it’s a good sign,” Will speculated, his expression thoughtful. “Him wanting to shake things up finally.”

“Could be,” Mack agreed.

The two men exchanged a look, then turned toward Mack’s SUV, which was parked closer than Will’s fancy foreign sports car or Jake’s bright green Shores Nursery and Landscaping truck.

“We’ll go to Brady’s,” Mack said, throwing a commiserating arm across his shoulders. “And then we’ll beat some sense into you.”

2 _____

Bree heard what sounded like a collective sigh being released and looked up to find herself the object of a roomful of staring customers and to see Sally regarding her with an oddly disapproving expression.

“What’s going on?” Bree asked.

“You didn’t see him?” Sally asked.

“See who?”

“Jake.”

Bree felt as if someone had slugged her in the stomach. “Jake was here?”

“For about two seconds. Took one look at you and flew right back out the door. Took two more of my best customers with him.”

“Oh, God, I had no idea. I thought …” Her voice trailed off. She had no idea what she’d thought. For six years she’d tried not to let a single thought about Jake creep into her head. When it did, usually when her defenses were down and she felt most vulnerable, it left her feeling raw and guilty, even though she’d done nothing wrong. As soon as that thought crossed her mind, she winced at the lie. If she were being totally honest, she’d done plenty wrong.

Glancing up at Sally and trying to gather her composure, Bree said, “I … I …” She couldn’t seem to think straight. The order she’d planned had flown right out of her head with Sally’s mention of Jake. “Can I have another minute, please? Whatever I get, I’ll make it takeout so I won’t tie up the booth. I just need to sit here for a couple of minutes, okay?”

Sally nodded, her expression more sympathetic. “I’ll be back.”

As soon as Sally was gone, rather than glancing at the menu again as she’d promised, Bree’s thoughts spun right back to Jake and the tragic way their relationship had eventually fallen apart.

Sure, what had happened was just one of those things. Losing a baby—one she’d told no one except Jake that she was carrying—should have drawn them closer. Most couples pulled together after a tragedy like that.

Instead, Bree had taken it as a sign that they weren’t meant to be. She’d seized on the miscarriage as an excuse to flee to Chicago and go after the future that had seemed so elusive just a few days earlier.

Jake’s reaction had been exactly the opposite. Ecstatic about the unexpected pregnancy, he had been talking about a wedding, a family and the future with such high hopes and excitement. As much as she’d loved him and hoped for that same future eventually, rather than sharing his joy, she’d felt miserable and, far worse, trapped.

And then, almost before she’d had time to grapple with the idea that she was pregnant, the baby was gone and, God help her, she’d felt free. She’d taken off for Chicago and the job awaiting her there without a backward glance, leaving Jake alone to mourn not only the loss of their child, but of her and all the dreams he’d spun.

Oh, they’d gone through the pretense of staying in touch at first, even occasionally talking about the future, but it had quickly been clear to Bree that the relationship was over. She’d struggled for weeks trying to think of the kindest way to say that to Jake.

In the end, he’d figured it out for himself after surprising her in Chicago one weekend and discovering her sequestered in her tiny apartment with Marty. There’d been nothing going on, but obviously Jake had felt the chemistry between her and the famed playwright. Ironically he’d known before she had admitted it to herself that she was falling in love with the charming, charismatic older man.

That’s what they’d fought about, the excuse he’d used for breaking up. And once again, despite the quick and painful stab of guilt she’d experienced, all Bree had felt was relief that she hadn’t been the one to end things. She’d even convinced herself that allowing Jake to be the one to break up was her final gift to him. For a woman who prided herself on being insightful about human nature, somehow she’d been delusional about that. What she’d been was cowardly.

She had treated him so badly. She could admit that now. Jake was a wonderful, sexy, amazing guy, and maybe they could have made things work, but she’d felt relieved that she hadn’t had to find out. She’d known deep down that she would have come to resent him if she hadn’t had a chance to find out what she was made of as a playwright. She’d needed that chance to work with a respected regional theater, to be mentored by someone like Martin Demming. It was all she’d dreamed about from the first time she’d seen a play onstage and put her own words and characters down on paper.

Sally returned, cutting into her thoughts. “Have you decided yet?”

“The special’s fine,” Bree said, though she had no idea what it was. Her appetite had fled anyway, so it hardly mattered.

Sally made a note of it, then hesitated. “Look, maybe I shouldn’t say anything, because I have no idea what happened between you and Jake, but you should know that he, Will and Mack come in here every day at noon and sit in this booth. They’re regulars.”

The words were innocuous, but the tone was heavy with implications. It amounted to a warning from the usually diplomatic Sally.

“And you don’t want me chasing them away,” Bree concluded. “I understand. I’ll do my best to stay out of their way. I’ll probably be leaving town soon anyway.”

But even as she said the words, knots of tension formed in her shoulders again. That ought to tell her something, she thought. She crawled out of the booth, aware that other customers were staring, friends of Jake’s no doubt, people who probably hated her as much as he did. She went to wait for her order by the register, paid Sally and fled.

She took the meal to a picnic table in the park along the waterfront. While osprey and even the occasional eagle swooped high above her, she picked at the sandwich, then scattered the bread for the waiting seagulls.

Now what? she wondered. The debate over whether to stay or go was raging inside her, turning her stomach queasy.

Staying, which she’d only recently begun to consider, was rife with problems. It wasn’t as if this were Chicago, where she and Jake would never cross paths. Here in Chesapeake Shores they were bound to. How could she come back and disrupt his life after what she’d done to him? Obviously he still hated her, if he’d fled the café without even acknowledging her. Worse, she couldn’t really blame him. What she’d done was cruel.

When she thought about all that, the guilt was overwhelming. How could she possibly stay here, especially when it was clear that Jake wasn’t the only one judging her? She’d squirmed under all those accusing eyes in the café, felt the sting of Sally’s disapproval. Chances were not one of them knew even half of what had happened, but they’d chosen sides anyway. Jake’s side. After all, he was the one who’d been left behind. She might be an O’Brien, with all that implied in this town, but she’d left. She was no longer one of them.

Then, again, how could she allow what had happened so long ago to keep her from finding peace for herself? Over the past three weeks she’d increasingly come to believe that she belonged right here. She hadn’t figured out what she wanted to do with herself, much less any of the details, but when she thought of staying, she felt a kind of serenity that had eluded her for some time now.

“I want to come home for good. I want to live in Chesapeake Shores,” she said aloud, while the waiting seagulls regarded her solemnly, hoping for more scraps. The words sounded right, convincing. Surprising.

Like her sister Abby and her brothers, Bree had been only too eager to leave behind the town that had absorbed so much of her father’s time, then skyrocketed his career as an architect, developer and urban planner in a way that had taken him away from them. Now, it seemed, she was ready to come home. The decision, barely made, felt right.

Except for its impact on Jake. If she decided to stay, first she had to find some way to coexist with the man whose heart she’d broken. Unfortunately, based on today’s reception, it seemed unlikely he’d make that easy for her.

“Maybe it shouldn’t be easy,” she murmured as the seagulls watched her quizzically and a couple of weekday tourists regarded her curiously.

She smiled wryly. She must present quite a sight, with no makeup, the sea breeze whipping strands of her hair out of the clasp meant to hold it atop her head and talking to herself. If she were a character in one of her own plays, there would be quite a story behind this scene.

In fact, there was quite a story behind it. What she couldn’t quite predict for the real-life version was whether it would turn out to have a happy ending or wind up a tragedy.

The crab-cake sandwich was sitting heavily in Jake’s stomach. One beer had turned into two before he’d cut himself off and returned to work. He planned to lock himself in his office at the nursery and spend the afternoon catching up on paperwork. As much as he hated that side of the landscaping business, at least it required concentration, which meant his mind wouldn’t be wandering to thoughts of Bree the way it had all during lunch, despite Will and Mack’s best attempts to talk about anything and everything else.

They’d exhausted Orioles baseball, the upcoming football season with the Ravens, politics and even the usually lively recitation of Mack’s dating exploits. The latter, unfortunately, had cut a little too close to the unspoken topic of Bree, so Jake had cited a busy afternoon schedule and cut the meal short.

En route to his desk, he kicked his trash can across the office, then threw a stack of seed catalogs on the floor. It was when a chair hit the wall that his sister came flying into the room.

“What on earth has gotten into you?” Connie demanded, ducking behind the door when an empty soda can came flying in her direction.

“If you have an ounce of sense, you’ll get the hell out of here,” Jake growled, turning his back on her to stare out the window at rows of shrubs and trees currently being examined by an elderly couple at the behest of one of his best salesmen. He recognized the Whitcombs. He’d been working for them since his days of cutting grass as a teenager. They’d been asking lately about crepe myrtles to fill in their landscaping. The trees that flowered in late summer came in an increasing range of colors now. Molly Whitcomb had her heart set on a dark purple one, while Walter liked the more traditional pink. Jake wondered idly who was winning the battle.

He heard his office door click shut and turned around expecting to find himself alone, but his sister was calmly sitting on the chair opposite his desk, her expression patient.

“So, you don’t have an ounce of sense?” he asked, amused despite his sour mood.

“That’s what I hear,” she said. “I certainly don’t run from trouble, the way you apparently do.”

Jake bristled. “What the hell does that mean?”

“You and Bree—just about face-to-face at Sally’s, and you turn around and take off. Sound familiar?”

He scowled at her. “How did you hear about that?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please, did you honestly think that news wouldn’t be all over town within five minutes? That’s the joy of cell phones, little brother. The local grapevine works at lightning speed these days.”

“More’s the pity.”

“So, do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

She shrugged. “What else is new? You haven’t wanted to talk about Bree for six years. Now, personally, I think you’d get her out of your system a whole lot faster if you’d rant and rave and tell the universe exactly what you think about her.”

“Bree is out of my system,” he insisted. And what he thought of her wasn’t fit for saying aloud. “I broke up with her, remember?”

Connie gave him a sympathetic look, the kind that made him want to break things.

“You may have said the words, Jake, but she broke your heart long before that. Don’t even try to deny it. I was here. I saw what it did to you when she left for Chicago. And something tells me there was a whole lot more to the story than you’ve ever admitted.”

“I do not want to discuss this,” he reminded her fiercely. “I mean it, Connie. The subject of Bree is off-limits. If you bring up her name again, I’ll fire you.”

“No, you won’t,” she said serenely. “But I’ll drop it for now. Or at least I will after you’ve answered one question for me. What are you going to do if she’s back here to stay?”

“Bree’s a hotshot playwright in Chicago. She’s not staying, so it’s not going to be an issue.” Please God, let me be right about that.

“I’m just asking, what if—”

Jake cut her off. “Drop it, Connie. I mean it.”

She sighed. “Consider it dropped, for now anyway. Are you coming for dinner tonight?”

Ever since her divorce five years ago, he usually had dinner with Connie and his seventeen-year-old niece two or three times a week. A good deal for him, Jake acknowledged, because his sister’s cooking was a whole lot better than his. So was their company most of the time. It seemed best to steer clear tonight, though, with the whole conversation about Bree still a little too fresh. If Connie could pester the daylights out of him, his niece was worse. Jenny Louise thought his love life “sucked,” and considered it her own personal mission to point that out to him on a regular basis. If she’d caught wind of the incident at Sally’s, he’d never hear the end of it.

“No,” he told Connie flatly.

“I’m fixing your favorite—meat loaf and mashed potatoes and fresh green beans.”

Jake almost regretted turning her down. Not only was the meal his all-time favorite, but nobody made it better than his sister. She used their mom’s old meat-loaf recipe, complete with mushroom gravy. Unfortunately, he knew in this instance, it also came with a scoop of sisterly advice and a side of meddling from Jenny Louise.

“No, thanks,” he said.

Connie studied him for what seemed like an eternity, then nodded. “Okay, then, I’ll save you some and bring it in tomorrow,” she said at last. “You can have it for dinner tomorrow night.”

“I won’t turn that down.” He walked around the desk and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Thanks, sis.”

“I could bring enough for two,” she said, her expression innocent. “You know, in case you wanted to have someone over.”

Jake frowned. “I’m not talking about Bree, I’m not talking to Bree, so I’m sure as hell not inviting her over for dinner.”

A satisfied grin spread across Connie’s face. “Did I say a single word about Bree?” she inquired, then answered her own question. “I did not. The fact that you immediately leaped to that conclusion speaks volumes not only about your obsession with her, but the absence of any other woman in your life.”

On that note, she sashayed out the door, apparently very pleased with herself. Jake would have thrown something after her, but he figured she’d just take that as more proof that she was right.

Which she was, damn it all to hell.

There was a big, noisy deli on the corner a few blocks down the street from Megan’s condo. She made it a point to stop there on her way home from work whenever the prospect of the silence in her apartment didn’t appeal to her. With Abby and the twins now living in Chesapeake Shores instead of just a few dozen blocks away here in New York, she was at loose ends more often than she liked.

She was almost to the deli’s door when she glanced through the window and spotted Mick sitting at a table sipping coffee. Shock stopped her in her tracks. Her heart flipped over in her chest, just the way it had the first time she’d met him more than thirty-five years ago. How was it possible to still feel that rush of emotion after all these years, especially with a bitter divorce and fifteen years of separation behind them?

When she’d felt a little twinge of affection—okay, more than a twinge and more than affection—a few weeks ago, she’d blamed it on being back in Chesapeake Shores surrounded by family, if only for a few days. Of course she’d felt a little sentimental. Today, right here in New York where she’d made a new life for herself, the rush of emotion caught her completely off guard. It was also a whole lot more worrisome. She’d never tried to deny that she still loved Mick. But she also knew it was folly to consider going back to him. No matter what Abby believed, Megan knew he hadn’t changed, not enough anyway.

As she debated with herself whether to go or stay, he glanced up and caught sight of her. A smile broke across his face and in that instant, she was lost. No one had ever looked at her the way Mick did, as if the sun rose and set with her.

She gave him a little wave, then went inside. Drawing in a deep, calming breath, she prepared herself to face him without losing control of her emotions or the situation. She was a smart, accomplished woman. It ought to be easy enough.

Ever the gentleman, Mick stood as she approached. His kiss grazed her cheek, but then he pulled back, looking as embarrassed as a schoolboy caught stealing a kiss in the cloakroom.

“Sorry,” he murmured as he slid into the booth opposite her.

She regarded him with amusement. “It’s okay, Mick. There’s nothing inappropriate about giving your ex-wife an innocent peck on the cheek. Now tell me, of all the delis in New York, what brings you to the one in my neighborhood?”

He gestured toward the cell phone in the middle of the table. “I was going to call you. I thought maybe we could grab dinner, if you don’t have plans.”

So he had come to see her, she thought, not sure whether she was pleased by that or more terrified than ever.

When she still hadn’t responded after a couple of minutes of silence, he regarded her with an impatient expression. “Do you have plans?”

She shook her head, determined not to make it easy for him or maybe struggling to decide if spending more time with him was wise.

He obviously had some idea of what she was up to because he frowned. “Then will you have dinner with me?” he inquired with exaggerated patience.

Since she’d planned to eat right here anyway, she finally nodded. “Sure, we can grab a bite here.”

He glanced around the deli with its rush of customers and clattering silverware, with its legion of abrasive waitresses and waiters. “Here? I was thinking someplace, you know, a little classier than this.”

“I eat here a lot,” she said. “The food’s good. Besides, we’re already here.”

The last place she wanted to be with her ex-husband was some cozy, romantic restaurant with expensive wine, an even pricier menu and candlelight. That was the kind of place a man took a woman he was courting. Casual was good, safer. She could pretend this was nothing more than a chance meeting of two longtime acquaintances.

Acquaintances who happened to share five children, she amended wryly.

Mick shrugged eventually. “Whatever you want.” He beckoned for a waiter, an older man who beamed at Megan.

“Your Monday usual, Ms. O’Brien?” he asked with the familiarity she’d come to expect from the staff. “Iced tea, the corned-beef brisket and parsley potatoes?”

“Sounds perfect, Joe. How’s your wife?”

“Back to her old self,” he said. “Thanks for asking.”

“And Mary? Did she get her grade on her exam?”

The man’s smile spread. “An A plus,” he told her proudly.

Megan turned to Mick, who was listening to the exchange with obvious surprise. “Joe’s granddaughter is studying to be a doctor at Columbia.”

“Congratulations!” Mick said. “That’s quite an accomplishment.”

“She’s the smartest one in the family,” Joe said. “Now, tell me what I can get for you.”

Mick didn’t bother with the menu. “I’ll have whatever she’s having and more coffee.”

Joe nodded and left.

“That man did not say two words to me when he took my order earlier,” Mick said. “You had him chattering like a magpie.”

She laughed. “I come here a lot. Joe treats me like family.”

“So even in a city the size of New York, you’ve created a small-town atmosphere for yourself,” he said.

“I had to work at it,” she admitted. “At first I was too intimidated to talk to anyone except the people I worked with and then Abby once she moved here. Then I discovered that if you ask a few questions, show an interest in people, they behave exactly the way they would in Chesapeake Shores.”

Joe returned and set another cup of coffee in front of Mick and gave her a tall glass of iced tea, then discreetly vanished with a wink, suggesting he’d have a lot of questions for her tomorrow about the man sitting across from her now. For years now, he’d clucked over her lack of a social life like a protective father.

Because she wanted a few answers for herself and not just to be prepared for Joe’s interrogation, she looked Mick in the eye. “You never did tell me what you’re doing in New York. Do you have business here?”

He shook his head, looking surprisingly uneasy for a man of his accomplishments and confidence. “I had business in Seattle last week, then in Minneapolis. I decided to take a little side trip on the way home.”

“You never liked New York,” she said. It was one of the reasons she’d chosen it after the divorce. She’d wanted to be someplace where they’d shared no memories and where it was unlikely Mick would be popping up too frequently.

“Still don’t,” he admitted. “But you’re here.”

She swallowed hard at the glint in his eye. The simple comment held a world of meaning. “Mick, don’t.”

His gaze held hers. “Don’t what? Don’t be honest with you?”

“Don’t say things like that. You and me, we had our chance. It’s best to leave it like that.”

His expression remained solemn. “I don’t think I can do that.”

“Of course you can. We haven’t crossed paths in years, not even when I came home to see the kids when they were younger. There’s no reason for that to change.”

Again, he looked directly into her eyes, the gaze bold, disconcerting. “I think there is. The sparks are still there, Meggie. Just because I was a damn fool doesn’t mean they’ve gone away.”

She reached for a packet of sweetener, not because she wanted it but because she needed something to do with her hands. When she started to tear it open, it flew from her grasp, spreading powdery sweetener everywhere. She would have cleaned it up, but Mick covered her hand.

“Don’t,” he said. “Leave it.” Again, he beckoned for Joe, who was there in an instant with a damp cloth and a questioning look.

She forced a smile for him. “Thanks. I’m all thumbs tonight.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Joe said. He glanced at another waiter heading their way. “Here come your meals. You’ll let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” Mick told him. When Joe and the other waiter had left, Mick pushed the plate aside and turned in her direction. “Does it really bother you, me being here?”

She thought about the question, really thought about it. “It’s not that exactly. I mean, you’re on my turf, so it should be easy, but you keep saying things that throw me off kilter. I don’t know what you want.”

“Another chance,” Mick said simply. Before she could even close her gaping mouth, much less respond, he added, “Not right this second, but soon. A little at a time, you know? Maybe dinner here, like this. Then another visit to Chesapeake Shores. Or maybe you’d like to come with me to Seattle. We can play it by ear, do what feels right.”

“I don’t know, Mick,” she said, fighting temptation. “I’ve adapted to living on my own. I have a life here. Yours is …” She hesitated, then shrugged. “Yours is wherever you happen to be working at the moment. That didn’t work for us before. Why take a chance on hurting each other again?”

He held her gaze, his expression earnest. “It’s taken me fifteen long years, Meggie, to figure out everything I did wrong when we were married. Don’t let all that soul-searching go to waste.”

She smiled at the idea of Mick soul-searching. He was the kind of man who seized the moment, who went through life on bluster and gut instinct. “Soul-searching, huh?”

He grinned then. “Swear to God.”

The appeal of that grin reminded her of the way it had been between them when they first met, with Mick persuading her to do a thousand little things that went against her better judgment. Thank heaven most of the risks had been to her heart, because he could probably have talked her into skydiving with that charming way of his and she’d have wound up breaking every bone in her body. Then, again, a broken heart took longer to heal.

She tried her brisket but had no appetite left. Like Mick, she pushed the plate aside, knowing she’d hear about that from Joe later. The only thing he clucked over more than her social life was her habit of merely picking at her food.

“How about this?” she said eventually. “Maybe we can see each other from time to time, the way you said, but let’s not call it a second chance or starting over or anything like that. We’ll just be two old friends getting together, enjoying the moment.”

He sat back, his expression a bit smug, clearly counting her response as a victory. “You can call it whatever you want,” he agreed. “Now, how about coming home with me tomorrow? Ma says there’s a problem with Bree. She thinks we might need to rally the troops.”

Megan saw right through him. Give the man an inch and he took not just a mile, but the entire interstate between New

York and Chesapeake Shores. “I’m not going home with you,” she said flatly.

“Not even if your daughter needs you?” he asked, not even attempting to mask his disappointment.

“Let’s just say I’ll need confirmation on that from someone other than you,” she retorted.

“You don’t trust me?”

She laughed at his indignation. “Not from here to the corner.”

He shrugged, looking sheepish. “It was worth a try,” he said. “And Ma really is worried about Bree.”

“Then she or Bree can call me and fill me in,” she said, not relenting. “Though Bree has never been in the habit of confiding in me.”

“I think that’s part of the problem,” Mick said, his expression thoughtful. “Bree’s not in the habit of confiding in anyone.”

She frowned at his tone and his surprising insight. “You’re really concerned, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “I’ve learned to listen to Ma. When she says something’s wrong, it usually is.”

“Then call me and fill me in once you have a better idea of what the problem is. If Bree really does need me, then of course I’ll come.”

“I’ll tell her you said that,” he promised. “Now, I’d better head for the airport and see if I can still get a flight yet tonight.”

The sharp stab of disappointment she felt at the meal being cut short was a warning. She might think she had control of the situation, but that was far, far from the truth. Once Mick O’Brien got an idea in his head, he was all but impossible to ignore or dissuade. Especially for a woman who still had a soft spot in her heart for him.