She never should have let herself fall for him in the first place. He hadn’t texted or called once since she’d left California, either. Maybe their relationship hadn’t meant much to him.
She laughed softly, the sound bitter in the stillness of the house. Obviously, it hadn’t meant anything if he couldn’t be bothered to contact her. She looked at her phone, just to be sure. Nope. Not a text.
That’s what she got for letting herself believe in someone. She should have known better. She did know better. But apparently, common sense went out the window when faced with a charming smile and sparkling blue eyes.
She was an idiot. A heart-broken idiot.
She put the tablet aside and lay down, her eyes still on the tiny gold stars. “Archie,” she said quietly. “Your mother’s life is a mess.”
Her only answer was the dog’s gentle snoring.
She pulled the covers over her head and let herself cry until there were no more tears left.
ChapterSix
Bright sun. Cloudless blue sky. Rippling sapphire water. Emerald grass. Trees and foliage in all shades of green. It was the same nearly every day.
Mitchell Ripley was sick of it.
He set his cup of black coffee on the table next to his chair and scowled at the world beyond his back deck. The whole thing looked like a ridiculous postcard meant to lure tourists into visiting Florida.
Not that he cared about tourists. Hideaway Bay didn’t get any of those and the nightmare of Disney was hours away. Thankfully.
Despite the wretched view, he came out here every morning, same as clockwork, to begin his day. Sometimes, he got lucky and there was a gray sky or, better yet, a storm on the horizon. Even the threat of a hurricane brought him some satisfaction.Thosewere writing days.
This nonsense was…not.
He took in a breath of salt-laced air. Jeanie had loved this view. Until she’d no longer been able, she’d met every dawn out here with a smile on her face and the kind of happiness in her soul that he had only hoped to understand. She had been his happiness.
Now all that remained was this miserable view and a person-sized hole where his heart had once been.
He gulped his coffee. It had already started to cool. He glanced at the time on his watch.
Joyce would be here to make breakfast in an hour. Two eggs, two slices of thick-cut bacon, two pieces of toast with blackberry preserves. Same thing he had every morning.
She’d stopped trying to get him to eat something else years ago.
He knew she’d gone next door last night to apologize to the new neighbor for his behavior. She could apologize on his behalf all she wanted.
Didn’t mean he was sorry. He cared very little what other people thought of him. The new neighbor included.
He heaved out a sigh as a pair of dolphins surfaced in the channel between Hideaway Bay and the wildlife preserve. He’d hoped the house next door would stay in the Marsh family but, obviously, it had not.
Had they sold it? If so, why hadn’t they mentioned to him it was going up for sale? He would have bought it, just to maintain his privacy and solitude. Joyce could have moved out of his guest house and lived there if she’d wanted to.
Jeanie would think he was ridiculous. He knew that. He couldn’t help himself, though. This was who he was now. Maybe that wouldn’t be the case if she was still here.
Of course, then everything would have been different.
He drained the last of his coffee and went inside. He set his cup in the sink before returning to the bedroom. He put his running shoes and sunglasses on, his earbuds in, and went downstairs. He’d run the loop to the gate and back twice. That would be two point zero five miles. He ran it every day except for Sunday. At least he tried to.
While he ran, he listened to a podcast about infamous crimes through the ages. It was interesting, but also research in that it gave him ideas. When the run was over, he’d shower, eat breakfast, then retreat to his office for the remainder of the day and pray the words would finally return.
He shut the front door behind him and briskly walked to the end of the drive. When he reached the main road, he started to run.
It had always been a good way to work out the day’s writing. To brainstorm, deal with plot issues, come up with interesting new twists. Decide any matters that might be before him.
Netflix wanted him to sign a new contract that would allow them to produce two more seasons of the show.
