Driftwood Cottage

Before heading toward home, he made the drive along Main Street, then turned right onto Shore Road. It was practically a ritual to take a tour of the town his father and uncles had built, to see what was happening. There were always one or two changes that caught him by surprise, especially in spring, when most new businesses chose to open in time for the summer tourist season.

He spotted the “Open” flag fluttering outside his mother’s new art gallery and resolved to make his duty call there later in the day, since he’d missed the official opening. He was anxious to see if she was as knowledgeable about art as his father and the rest of the family seemed to think she was.

Before he drove on, Connor caught a glimpse of another new store right next door. A beautiful handmade quilt hung in the window, a quilt, he realized with a sense of shock, that looked very familiar because it—or one exactly like it—had once hung on the wall in his townhouse. It was the one thing that had gone missing after Heather’s departure.

Slamming on the brakes, he looked around until he spotted a parking place up the street. He swung into it, then tried to still the sudden racing of his heart. He knew that quilt because Heather had made it. He’d watched her in the evenings as she’d stitched every seam, quilted every square, while he’d been studying for his law school classes. He’d been captivated by the contentment on her face as she’d worked quietly, happy just to be in a room with him.

Spotting that quilt in a store window shouldn’t throw him like this, he thought as he strode across the street. It shouldn’t matter to him that she’d apparently put it up for sale. But it did.

It offended him to think that maybe she was giving it up because she needed cash. How much could a quilt bring in, anyway? He thought he’d been giving her generous support money for their son, enough for both of them really, but maybe it wasn’t covering expenses, after all. He knew, though, from their heated exchanges, that she was too proud to take more.

Worse, of course, was the idea that she was selling the quilt because she couldn’t bear to look at it anymore, because it reminded her of him. Had she grown to hate him so much? It was true that most of their conversations recently had been brief and edgy, but he’d convinced himself they’d eventually move past the cool civility of late. Maybe that was just another of his many delusions where Heather was concerned, right up there beside the idea that she would change her mind and move back home with him.

He glanced at the sign on the window, which he hadn’t noticed earlier: COTTAGE QUILTS. For some reason that struck a distant chord as well. Had Heather ever mentioned opening a shop like this one? Was it one of the dreams she’d had before setting them aside to be with him? He’d known how much she’d hated teaching, but he couldn’t recall what she’d hoped to do instead once the baby was a bit older. That just reminded him of how many conversations they’d avoided over their years together. Anything involving the future had presented a minefield.

Just then he saw and heard her, Heather, standing amid a sea of fabric with a customer, talking animatedly about which colors worked well together and which ones clashed. With a sense of shock, he realized that not only was her quilt for sale, but that she was working here. How had that happened? Filled with questions, he stood where he was, just outside the open door, and waited.

When the customer left with a heavy bag filled with fabric, Connor stepped inside. Heather looked up, a smile on her face that faltered at the sight of him.

“Connor,” she said, a catch in her voice. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“Chesapeake Shores is my home,” he reminded her, his own tone testy. “What the devil are you doing here?”

She gestured around her. “What does it look like? I’ve opened a business.”

A thousand questions came to mind, but he blurted only one. “This is yours?”

She nodded, her expression defensive.

“You opened a business here? In my town?” he said incredulously.

She smiled at his reaction. “Actually if the town belongs to any one person, it would be your father, but I’m pretty sure it’s open to new residents.”

“You didn’t think you needed to tell me you’d moved here?”

“I would have as soon as we got settled. Getting this place open has taken a lot of my time.”

“Don’t tell me you’re living with my folks,” he said, regarding her with suspicion, already sensing a plot afoot to throw them together. After all, wasn’t that exactly what his mother had hinted at her wedding, that she intended to see that he was next to walk down the aisle? And it would definitely explain the unexpected visit by all the men in the family the previous weekend and their push to drag him down here.

“No. Believe me, I know that would have been a bad idea. I have my own apartment upstairs. Your mother and I …”

He frowned at the mention of his mother. “What does my mother have to do with this? Was it her idea?”

“In a way, yes,” Heather admitted at once.

“And you went along with it,” he said with a dismayed shake of his head. “Haven’t I told you she can’t be trusted?”

Heather visibly stiffened. “You told me a lot of things, Connor, all probably valid from your perspective, but I prefer to form my own opinions of people. I happen to like your mother, and even you have to admit she’s been a godsend in recent months, looking after little Mick.”

Connor bristled. “That still doesn’t mean you should take her advice. Did she tell you if you settled here, eventually I’d cave in and marry you?”

Heather frowned at him. “Trust me, I know your position on marriage, Connor. You’ve stated it often enough and in no uncertain terms. It’s ingrained in my head.”

“Then what are you doing here?” he asked again, genuinely bewildered about why she’d pick this town if not because it was his hometown.

“This decision was all about me and what I want for my future. Your mother saw my quilts and thought I had talent. When I was here for the wedding, she mentioned this space and the apartment upstairs. It seemed ideal for me, especially since it meant our son would get to be around his grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. It was a far better option than going back to Ohio to be around my family, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

As rational as all that sounded, Connor couldn’t get over the fact that she’d kept this from him. “We’ve seen each other at least a half-dozen times since the wedding when you brought little Mick to spend the day with me, yet you never said a word about any of this. Why not?”

“You’ve always known exactly how to reach me on my cell phone. You haven’t missed a minute with your son. I didn’t think you’d be interested in knowing where I’m living,” she said with a shrug.

“Of course I’m interested. We’re talking about my son!” he said, his voice climbing.

He saw a bit of light die in her eyes at his words and knew he’d said exactly the wrong thing. It was a habit he’d inadvertently gotten into and couldn’t seem to break. When he should have been telling Heather he missed her, he couldn’t seem to choke out the words. The admission would have revealed a vulnerability he wasn’t prepared for her to see.

“Nothing’s changed where little Mick’s concerned,” Heather assured him, her voice tight. “You’ll still see him whenever you want to. This might not be as convenient as having us in Baltimore, but we’re hardly at the ends of the earth. Besides, other than giving him a chance to get to know his family, this move wasn’t about him, either. It was about me, and it’s been clear for some time now that I don’t matter to you. It was past time for a fresh start. Chesapeake Shores had a lot of advantages that other places wouldn’t have had. I’m sure even you can’t deny that.”

He understood why she thought she didn’t matter to him, but it annoyed him just the same. “Don’t be ridiculous. I love you. We have a son together. And what kind of fresh start is it, if you’re surrounded by my family?”

“This is where I need to be right now. Deal with it,” she said.

Her tone was surprisingly unyielding. What had happened to the accommodating woman he’d known so well? Before he could ask, she held up her hand to stop him.

“I am not having this discussion here, where a customer could come in at any moment,” she said firmly. “Please go, Connor. If you want to spend some time with your son today, he’s with your dad. I think Mick planned to take advantage of the weather and take him and his cousins Davy and Henry out on the dock by the house to fish.”

Connor wanted to stand here and argue with her, tell her that moving here, getting close to his family was a mistake, but he didn’t have the right. His stubborn refusal to take the next step and marry her had cost him the chance to have any say over her decisions beyond those directly related to their son. And how could he possibly argue that a place as serene as Chesapeake Shores with his own family all around was anything other than a perfect place to raise a child? He dropped the argument.

“Will I see you at the house later?” he asked.

“I doubt it. Shanna will bring little Mick home when she picks up Davy and Henry.”

“Tomorrow?” he pressed, not sure why he wanted to know just how deeply she’d insinuated herself into his family’s routines. “Will you be at Sunday dinner?”

She held his gaze. “Will it bother you if I am?”

“Of course not,” he said, managing to utter the lie despite a boatload of regrets. Seeing her, knowing he’d lost her, was some kind of sweet torture.

“Then we’ll see you there. Maybe we’ll have a chance to talk about how we’re going to make this work.” She gave him a hesitant smile. “Connor, I don’t want it to be awkward every time we run into each other. I really don’t.”

He sighed. “Neither do I.”

He just wasn’t sure it was possible to act as if everything between them had never mattered. Because the truth was, he’d realized months ago that she and his son were the only things in his life that did matter. He just didn’t see any way to hold on to them without betraying his core belief that most marriages were a sham and led, not to happily-ever-after but to misery.

Back at the house his father had built when he was first developing Chesapeake Shores, Connor paused long enough to throw his bag into his boyhood room, which still had his old sports posters on the walls. In the kitchen he grabbed a handful of Gram’s cookies, relieved to find that she hadn’t stopped baking, even though everyone, including her, had moved out of the main house, leaving it to his father and mother. Apparently Gram still made sure the cookie jar was stocked for visits by all of her great-grandchildren.

Crossing the wide expanse of lawn toward the bay, he could hear the laughter of children coming from the dock, followed by the low, surprisingly patient voice of his father. Stepping out onto the weathered gray boards, warmed by the midday sun, Connor stood unnoticed as his father baited hooks and helped his three grandsons cast their lines, one arm firmly around little Mick at all times. Only Henry and Davy had any real hope of reeling in a fish, but even from his spot in his grandfather’s lap, little Mick dangled his line into the calm waters of the bay, chattering happily to himself in nonsensical words, to which Mick replied as if he could understand him perfectly.

“I wish I had a camera,” Connor said quietly, causing Mick to glance up with a broad smile. “I can’t recall a time you ever spent the day fishing with me and Kevin.”