His brows furrow for a few seconds, then smooth almost instantly back into his familiar open expression. “So, I don’t have anything to worry about.”
I swallow hard. Trying not to think about the almost-moment I just shared with Archer. Trying not to wonder where that moment might’ve led, had Oliver not interrupted us.
Nothing happened.
So why do I feel so guilty?
“No, Oliver. You don’t have anything to worry about.”
“For a minute, when I first walked up… I thought maybe he was the reason you came back here or something.”
I jolt in surprise. “I told you, I came back here to sort out my academic leave with Brown. That’s all. I promise.”
“Good.” He’s not looking at me. His eyes are sweeping around the cove, examining the view in the setting sun. “Gosh, it’s beautiful, here. I can see why you love it.” His arm tightens at my waist. “I’m glad I’m finally getting to see it in person.”
I lean a bit closer to him, wrapping my arm around his lower back. “Me too.”
“That old boathouse is amazing, by the way. I love how it hangs over the water like that. I’d love to see inside. Maybe you can give me a tour?”
I hope he can’t feel how I stiffen. The thought of him in the boathouse — a space I cannot step foot inside without being swamped by memories of Archer — is hard to reconcile.
“Oh. Uh. Maybe later.” I gulp for air. “It’s really dusty in there.”
“I don’t mind a bit of dust.”
“No.” I can hear the tightness of my own tone. “I mean... Not right now, all right?”
Oliver’s brows lift toward his hairline. “Darlin', are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Honestly, I think I’m just a little bit shocked you’re standing here.”
He nods, turning away from the boathouse to examine the rest of the cove. “Good shocked, right?”
“Great shocked.”
“That’s my girl.” A smile lights up his whole face at my words. It wavers a bit when his eyes snag on something in the distance. I turn to see what’s bothering him and feel my own half-smile vanish — along with all the air in my lungs.
Archer’s lobster boat is heading out of the cove, into open water. With the waves lapping gently at his bow and the sky above streaked a million shades of red, the idyllic nautical scene looks like an oil painting you’d see hanging in a Winslow Homer exhibit. But the beauty is not what steals my breath; rather, the name written across the boat’s stern in unmissable bold letters.
JOSEPHINE
My mouth falls open. My legs nearly give out beneath me. My arm around Ollie’s waist is just about the only thing keeping me upright.
In thick silence, my boyfriend looks down at my face — just once, just for a heartbeat — before turning his attention back to the cove. He stares after the departing boat until it’s passed the channel markers and rounded the point, motoring back toward Gloucester Harbor. Only when all signs of Archer are out of our view does he loose a long breath.
“Never dated— that is what you told me, right?”
* * *
We stare at each other across the kitchen island, both holding cups of tea. Mine has gone cold, still untouched. More a prop than anything. I don’t trust my queasy stomach to hold it down, at the moment. I notice an unfamiliar tension in Oliver’s fingers as he grips the porcelain cup, lifting it to his mouth for a long swallow.
I can’t blame him for being tense. I’ve spent the past half hour telling him about my history with Archer. Our childhood here at Cormorant House. The complicated dynamics of last spring. The tangled web of half-truths we wove in the summer that followed. My words catch as I talk about prom night. The morning after. The note. The year of silence. The storm.
I don’t share the details of Archer’s accident, or the situation with his brother Jaxon. That’s not my story to tell. But everything else pours out. Even things I’d planned to keep to myself — like the fact that I’m no longer a virgin. Or the fact that I have Archer to thank for that state of affairs.
It’s difficult to share everything with him, but I figure it’s the least I can do. Oliver has only ever offered me honesty; he’s owed the same in return. By the time I finish speaking, my heart beats woodenly inside my chest and my eyes are heavy with the weight of unshed tears. I wait for him to respond with bated breath, fully prepared to defend myself for any judgment.
I don’t regret my choices. I only regret that not telling you about those choices is causing you pain now.