Page 26 of Key West Homecoming

“Not yet. Thank me when you have an attorney.”

Maeve had her phone out and was already scrolling for a number as she turned down the sidewalk toward home. Emma watched her go, then turned in the other direction toward her car.

CHAPTER 7

The trees on Hibiscus Lane were perfectly still. Not even the palm fronds moved.

Emma sat in her car and stared at the house across the street. She’d spent most of the drive telling herself this wasn’t a big deal. All she had to do was ask Jake to let her borrow the letter long enough to make a copy. She’d give it right back.

Simple enough, except Jake had no reason to trust her yet. Asking him to turn over something that belonged to him wasn’t exactly the best way to change that.

She needed to get this right. She’d already told Jake he didn’t need to start packing when she had no business making that promise. The least she could do now was give him a reason to believe she was someone he could trust.

Emma got out of the car and crossed the street.

The cottage looked exactly as it had the day before. The bougainvillea spilled over the porch railing, and the yellow and pink lilies along the fence were open. The young key lime tree sat in its clay pot beside the steps.

What had changed was the way Emma looked at all of it. Yesterday, she’d come looking for a house she remembered. Today, she felt responsible for what happened to it.

The gate was propped open with a clay pot. She stepped around it and started up the crushed-shell path.

She heard Jake before she saw him. The steady clip of pruning shears came from the far side of the cottage.

Emma followed the sound.

He was crouched beside the fence, cutting the woody growth from the bougainvillea. A canvas bucket sat beside him, already half full. He wore old jeans and a T-shirt that might once have been white. A faded blue bandana was tied around his forehead.

He hadn’t noticed her yet.

Emma watched him.

Yesterday he’d been painting the porch. Today he was working in the garden. She thought about the fresh white trim she’d noticed when she first arrived and the neat edges along the shell path.

Arthur had told her the cottage was falling apart.

She was beginning to understand why it wasn’t.

Jake looked up.

“Ms. Kendrick.”

“Mr. Kelleher.”

For a second neither of them said anything.

“Emma,” she said.

“Jake.”

He set the shears in the bucket and pulled off his gloves. Before offering his hand, he wiped it on his jeans.

Emma shook it.

His palm was rough with calluses. There was a small scar near his thumb that she hadn’t noticed yesterday.

“You’re back.”

“I told you I would be.”