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H
ave patience. But not too much. When there's something you want, go after it. But if there's something worth your while that you want bad enough, be patient.

The words from my mom's letter repeat in my mind. But there's no indication of how much time is too much damn time.

Fuck.

That's the only way I can describe my state of mind. Or the paper cut left by Getty on my heart. She was like that swift quick slice you never saw coming but that stings like a bitch when it happens.
And aches even more with each passing day.

Small but mighty. Goddamn knock-me-on-my-ass is what she is.

Especially since I want to call her. Hear her voice. See if she's made any kind of decision yet.

But I don't. I promised her I wouldn't. That I'd give her time. And fuck if that's not brutally hard to do. Lost time is something you can never get back.

So I've tried to focus on the race at hand. Using my frustration to own the damn track instead of tear myself apart. Well, that and try to get answers to the one thing that will fix this entire situation.

Identifying the woman in the picture.

I lift my face to the sky and close my eyes for a second, let the sun's warmth hit my skin while I take a deep breath. I stand like that for a moment, Boston Harbor spread out below me from the balcony of my parents' suite. I soak up the view, am reminded of the deck back on the island, and hate and love that I miss it all at the same time. The island had offered me quiet solitude. The feeling of being so small against nature's wrath. The scent of Getty's nail polish as she painted her nails when sitting beside me. That little “Good night” she murmurs before she falls asleep.

That's why the text on my phone pisses me off even more, because it's telling me I might still lose everything. The investigator I hired to look into the Instagram account hit a dead wall today. His text says the only info he could find is the account and the Gmail it's associated with were created in the last month, and all are linked to false background information.

A race bunny out for a good time hiding it from her husband or boyfriend. Great. Just what I need is another asshole to deal with if he eventually finds the picture.

“That bad, huh?” Rylee pats my shoulder as she and Colton join me out on the balcony. She sets a bowl of chips and salsa out and my first thought is of Getty sitting across from me at the restaurant, seducing me with her words.

She's fucking everywhere I look and nowhere I want her.

I roll my shoulders, try to focus on the positive in that she said she'd think about us. Hopefully the time apart will make her miss me as much as it's making me miss her.

“So how are you going to fix this, Zander?” It's Colton who speaks, but my gaze flicks over to Rylee. The one person I've confided in, and I know she's spilled the details of our heart-to-heart to Colton. Didn't expect any less but at the same time,
fuck
.

I want to roll my eyes. I want to cover my ears and pretend I didn't hear him. But more than anything, I want advice. Assistance. Anything to get Getty back.

“Fuck if I know.” My laughter sounds hollow. I tip the beer back up to my lips and think of what to say next. “I
know there's something there. She feels it too. I just can't figure a way to make her really listen to me.”

“Tell her you love her.”

Colton's comment has me sputtering out a response. Choking over the words. “C'mon, now. Those are seriously strong words.”

“You don't love her, then?” Eyebrows raised. Lips pursed. Green eyes challenging.

“I didn't say that.”

“Well, do you or don't you, Zee? Shit or get off the pot here. If you can't admit it to yourself, you sure as hell aren't going to convince her.”

It occurs to me that he's absolutely right with his blunt truth. How can I ask her to overcome her fears if I can't even admit the one thing that scares me to voice out loud?

“I doubt saying ‘I love you' at this point is going to make her listen. She's going to think I'm just saying it because I'm desperate. She's afraid—will find any reason not to believe me.
Fuck.
” Panic settles in. I look at him, asking for help with my direct gaze. “How do I make her believe me?”

“Convince her she's
your water
.”

“What?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Look at him like he's losing his mind.

“What's the one thing you can't live without?”

“Water?” My voice hesitant. Answer hopeful.

He nods his head. “How does water taste?”

“Like nothing.” I shrug, then glance over to Rylee, who is sitting there with a knowing smile on her face like she knows where he's going with this. She just nods her head in encouragement. I look back at Colton as thoughts align. “Like nothing, but it's really everything. You can't live without it.”

“Exactly.” A lazy smile spreads on his lips. “She's your water. Convince her you can't live without her, son. That's half the battle.”

It might be that easy, but still my mind is spinning on how exactly to do that when I thought that's what I was trying to tell her before I left the house for Boston.

But I never told her I loved her.

Would that have mattered?

“What your dad's saying, Zander, is that she's been through a lot. You need to do something to prove to her you really mean it. Women love knowing you didn't miss the little things. They love grand gestures that say you pay attention to all the reasons you love them.”

My heart stops. There are those two words again.
Grand gestures.
The same ones my mom used in her letter to me. The letter Rylee hasn't read yet.

I've never believed it when people say they received a sign to do or not to do something. It's all bullshit, if you ask me.

And yet how can it be a coincidence that both mothers in my life have said the same thing? Both used it to explain what I need to do to get the girl.

Now the question is, how grand is grand?

“T
his has got to stop.” There's an exasperated smile on my lips as the delivery guy walks into the Lazy Dog with a fresh set of flowers. The fourth one in as many days. And even though I know who sent them and what the message says, I open the card anyway:
Anticipation. XO Zander
.

“Tell him if he keeps this up, I'm going to start a funeral parlor in the back as a side business,” Liam teases as he walks past and smells them out of reflex. The look he gives me means he's secretly happy that Zander is proving to be the good guy he thought he was.

The problem is he's winning me over too. And it's not just the gifts that have been arriving to the house and the bar since Tuesday. No. I've lived a lifestyle where I could have anything materialistic without a second thought about expense. It's more the thought that has gone into the gifts. The smiles they've brought to my lips. The happiness they evoked about that moment in time I shared with Zander.

The little things he's trying to remind me of so I don't forget how good we are together.

Like the four dozen pairs of knee-high socks in all different patterns and colors he had delivered. The card attached mentioned how much he enjoyed those socks wrapped around his hips.

Or the two cases of fresh golden pineapples followed by the empty green crates void of strawberries. The note that mentioned he'd asked the strawberry council to go on strike because pineapples are the decidedly best of all fruits.

Next was the case of new paints and brushes and canvases in all shapes and sizes that now clutter my little alcove in my bedroom. The card still makes me smile. The dedication “to the world-renowned artist” from her model who still needs his six-pack and other delicate places painted and committed to canvas.

Then there was the hammer with the flowery handle. So I had something to use when I needed to get out aggression or emotion. An
outside use only
sticker attached to it.

The bubble mailer delivered to the house with the kid's jump rope nestled inside. A note along with it that said
Will you?
followed by the few minutes it took me to figure out what Zander was asking. But once I did—his gift a reminder of his
just jump
encouragement—I lost the battle against holding back a smile.

All the items tugged on my heartstrings. Reminded me of his generosity. His kindness. His thoughtfulness. They all made me want to pick up the phone and call him. Hear his voice. Close my eyes and sink into the warmth of his presence.

But none of them were the one thing I so desperately needed. Him to tell me he didn't sleep with someone else.

Am I being stubborn? Yes. Unreasonable? Maybe. Will my anger and hurt fade with time, and will all these small gestures that tell me he realizes what's so very important win out in the end?

God, how I want to be able to say yes. I want to let love prevail. Win. Sweep me off my feet and carry me off into the island sunset.

But I also know love doesn't fix everything. Trust and honesty are huge factors too. And I've lived without all three of those for so long. Is it really so bad to require them the next go-round?

Time.
That's what I keep telling myself. I have three
more days to convince myself one way or another. To just jump or to say good-bye and go our own separate ways.

Even the thought of it gets me teary-eyed. And makes me question why I'm fighting this so hard. Shouldn't the fact I'm resistant to walking away be enough of an answer?

“I placed some calls to some friends. We'll find something for you. You're a local now—you get the inside track,” Liam says with a wink, pulling me from my thoughts of Zander and placing them where they should be. On finding a place to live. Because as if I needed more shit to deal with right now, Darcy called this morning to tell me the house has been bought. Word of mouth around the island about the house being fixed up, in a market where real estate goes fast, had brought in an irresistible offer.

So not only do I have to deal with a broken heart and whether I want to mend it or just cut my losses and accept the hurt, but I now need to find a new place to live.

Maybe this is a sign. A clean break could be just what I need. A new place to live means no more memories of Zander everywhere I look. No more reminders when the pipes creak or when I pass the mini-blind wand still sitting on my bedroom dresser.

The one absolute is that I'm staying here on the island. The easiest thing would be to pack up the car and run again. Set down roots somewhere else. But I don't want to take the easy route. I like it here. I've made friends. I feel at home. Accepted. And that's not something I ever expected to find, so leaving the island is not an option.

“Thanks. It's all so sudden. I just . . .” I fight the tears that well in my eyes.

Liam pats my shoulder in support. My tears instantly making him uncomfortable. “It's all going to work itself out for the best. We'll all make sure of it.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it. Everything with Zander and now this . . . I don't know what I'd do without—”

My voice stops midsentence, my breath hitching, when I see who's walked into the bar.

My heart clenches when I meet eyes that match mine.

I just can't take anymore right now.

I just can't.

Let alone him.

“What does he want?” Liam mutters beside me. His words surprise me. His rigid posture even more.

My body tenses with each step closer my father takes to the bar. I know I'm strong, can hold my own against him, and yet exactly what he predicted would happen with Zander happened, and I really don't want to go toe-to-toe with him right now on it.

“Good afternoon, Gertrude. You're looking well.” Sharp eyes. Stiff demeanor. Zero emotion.

“Father.” I nod. My head is so cluttered with everything that I can't think straight.

We stare at each other. The patrons around us take notice. Liam stays put by my side.

“Can I help you?”

He angles his head. “I'd heard you'd had a falling-out with that guy. I came to make sure you were okay. Heard your house had sold. I thought you might need help. Figured you were ready to come back home.”

I stare at him wide-eyed as everything starts to make sense. “You bought the house, didn't you? You bought it so I wouldn't have a place to live.” My blood boils. His pulling strings in my life is no longer acceptable.

“No. Never. Do you really think I'd buy property in this town of all places?” The disgust-laced defiance that tinges his denial has a few more heads turning in our direction in the bar. Backs and pride standing at attention.

Liam's feet shuffle beside me. A warning growl sounds off deep in his throat that's for my ears only.

How could I not have put two and two together? The real estate mogul would have known somehow it was up for sale. Used his insider knowledge to his advantage. Tried to run me back home by getting rid of the place where I live, in a town where room vacancies are few and far between.

I stare at this man whose blood I share and feel absolutely zero connection besides sadness. And missed moments that, no matter how hard I long for them, he'll never be able to give me.

My resolve is stronger than ever when I speak again.

“Insulting the town you're standing in isn't going to win you any favors in this bar. Thank you for your concern, but it's no longer needed. I think it's best if you leave.” My voice wavers on the last word even though I stand tall. My anger fueling my tone rather than my fear.

His jaw pulses. The dislike of being dismissed by me of all people is the only transparent emotion he shows. I can pick up on his anger, though. Disappointment. Frustration. And I'm perfectly okay with it.

“You're making yet another mistake, Gertrude. It's a pity you can't seem to make a man happy enough to keep him loyal.”

Fury heats my blood. My face turns beet red with embarrassment as he insults me in a bar full of my neighbors. I try to save face despite the rush of emotions vibrating through my body. “Zander was only here for the summer, Father. It was time for him to go back to his life.” My voice is loud enough so the customers can hear me. So I can hopefully make them believe what I've said and restore some of my dignity that has been run through the public wringer over the past few weeks.

He tucks his tongue in his cheek, eyes unyielding. “Oh. My apologies. I assumed the picture circling the Internet of him screwing RaceBunnyBabe Katy to be the reason you weren't together. Guess I figured that would be more damaging to your relationship than anything. But then again, seems you like to make a habit of playing the martyr in relationships. . . .”

His words paralyze me. The insinuation that I brought this on myself—with Ethan and with Zander—causes such a strong wave of diverse emotions that I don't know which one to focus on. Humiliation. Anger. Surprise that he went there.

I stand looking at him with a slack jaw and a litany of words I want to say but can't process quickly enough to combat the damage he just caused.

“I think it's time you leave my bar.” It's Liam who speaks. My father's eyes move with methodical slowness over to his. They challenge. And mock. It's only when chairs scrape across the floor as other locals stand up,
cross their arms, and stare down my father that he takes a step back.

“Good-bye, Gertrude.” He nods his head and turns on his heel.

Then I finally sag against the counter. Breathe for the first time in what feels like hours. Try to comprehend everything that just happened. Try to overcome the disbelief that he's going to buy the house just to force my hand to return home.

Liam runs his hand over my back. A small show of support on top of his strong stance in asking my father to leave.

And in a split second of time, it clicks. What he said.

I tear from behind the counter and out the front door like a madwoman. My mind stumbles over the idea. The why. The how. He was behind it all. The
holy shit
.

When I fling the door open, I look left, then right. Eyes searching for the gray jacket and the silver head of hair.

“Father!” I shout down the street, not caring who stops and pays attention to the crazy lady with wild eyes and a desperate voice.

He stops in his tracks. There's a smug smile on his face when he turns around and walks back toward me. All my mind can process is that he thinks I want to go with him. That his ridicule has done what he wanted and worn me down so I'd realize I need him and Ethan to survive.

His arrogance knows no bounds.

“I knew you'd see things my way, Gertrude. Come.” He motions for me to follow him with visible impatience.

But I stand my ground. Hands on my hips as the door of the bar opens and closes behind me. The locals most likely all standing there to make sure I'm okay.

“How'd you know her name was Katy?” My words ring out across the distance, but from his reaction it's like they slap him in the face. His accidental slip in the heat of the moment. It's a split second of shock that flickers before it's gone, and I know his every nuance, his different combative faces, yet never have I seen him surprised like this.

My heart pounds in my chest. My blood rushes in my ears. And hope . . . it surges and swells like a tidal wave threatening to pull me under its welcome haze, because I realized somehow my father knew the name of the mysterious woman when no one else does. Not even Zander himself.

With his reaction giving me a stronger foundation beneath my feet, I take a step toward him and ask again. “No one else knew her name. How did you know her name was Katy, Father?” I shout the words, tears of anger thick in my voice, such a different kind of hurt in my heart from what's been plaguing me the last several days.

And with his sputtered lack of coherent response, my mind starts to pull together hints and connect them. “It was his phone, wasn't it?” I shake my head. It's spinning and yet I can see things very clearly now. “When Ethan broke in the house. Zander's phone was on the counter. He tracked it somehow, didn't he? While Ethan waited for me to come home, he found the phone on the counter and uploaded the app to it just like he did to mine before. Must have been a big surprise for him to come home after you bailed him out, go to snoop on my whereabouts, and find out the phone wasn't even mine. I bet that pissed both of you off until you figured Zander's phone worked just as well. It allowed you to know where Zander was going to be. Where he was going to stay. What was going on between us. You tracked him, his travel plans, outgoing texts, and made sure Katy was right there. Paid her to set up the photo opportunity worthy enough of making me think he cheated on me. The shirt. The tag to the Lazy Dog account.”

Oh my God. How could I have been so stupid? How could I not have seen this from a mile away? Control. It was always the name of their game, and they did just that, even when I wasn't anywhere near them.

“Gertrude.” All he can say as he tries to stop me from putting all the pieces together. From realizing the extremes to which he and Ethan would go to deflate my confidence, to ruin my self-worth, in the hopes that I'd come running back home.

“You wanted me to believe he'd slept with her, didn't
you?” I scream. Emotion overflows out of me at this point, heart torn in so many pieces and yet being put back together on a whole different level. “You wanted me to see the photo and run back home with my tail between my legs.” He steps toward me and I step back. “How could you?” Tears stream down my face. They won't stop. “How could you take the only happiness I've had since Mother died and try to ruin it for your benefit?”

Emotion finally flickers through the ice of his stern expression. Regret. Apology. Embarrassment. But I don't believe them for a single second.