That Last Summer (Whispering Pines Island Book 1) Read online

  That Last Summer

  Sara LaFontain

  26 TREES PRESS, TUCSON, ARIZONA

  Copyright © 2018 by Sara LaFontain

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  26 Trees Press

  3661 N. Campbell Ave #379

  Tucson, AZ 85719

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Book Layout © 2017 BookDesignTemplates.com

  Cover Design: Leigh McDonald

  Editors: Karen Dale Harris, Amanda Slaybaugh

  That Last Summer/Sara LaFontain. -- 1st ed.

  ISBN 978-1-7326857-1-0

  To Ryan Williams,

  With all my love.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Chapter Seventy

  Chapter Seventy-One

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Whispering Pines, May 2013

  Cara could still feel the phantom indentation of a ring on her finger, even now, six months after she’d removed it. Sometimes she found herself smoothing the empty space with her thumb, trying to rub down the absence, erase its lingering presence.

  She’d tried to give the diamond ring to Phil’s mother after the funeral. Elaine insisted she keep it, not understanding that it was a noose, a shackle, an unwelcome tie to an engagement she’d never wanted. When she slipped it off her finger for the final time, there had been nothing but relief.

  It doesn’t matter, you’ll always be mine, his voice intruded in her thoughts, yet again. Half a year had passed, but she still let Phil take up too much real estate in her mind. She gritted her teeth and reminded herself to focus on the present.

  His ghost was wrong anyway. She could move on, she was strong enough. That’s what she was doing right now, with her current vigil watching out over the chill waters of Lake Superior for the arrival of the ferry from the mainland.

  “It’s just a coincidence that I’m here,” she planned to tell Sam when he arrived. “I happened to be in the area, and noticed you on the ferry.” That was her cover. She didn’t want to admit she’d made the half-mile walk from the Inn at Whispering Pines just to see him. She didn’t want to admit that she’d braided her hair in a way she knew he liked, freshened her makeup, and waited with butterflies in her stomach.

  What would it be like to see Sam again? Would he be different? Would he be glad to see her? Everything had changed since the end of last summer’s tourist season, when he’d boarded the ferry and left the island without saying goodbye. Her last memory of him was his back as he stood rigid, clutching the rails, refusing to turn around.

  They hadn’t spoken in months, even when she needed him, even when she’d emailed him, promising to break up with Phil, offering to give him what they both wanted. He’d never responded. He was the only one who hadn’t sent condolences either, not one single word. There had been nothing but radio silence.

  Cara had spent weeks planning what to say to break that silence, to find a way to reconnect. She wanted to clear the air before they both returned for the summer tourist season on Whispering Pines, but then a phone call from her uncle shattered her heart.

  “Sam’s taken a job in Denver this summer, so I’ve written an ad to find a replacement,” Paddy said, oblivious to the effect his words had on her. “I’ll email it to you before I post it.”

  Seeking chef for exciting culinary opportunity, seasonal position with possibility of extension. Must be single, attractive, heterosexual male, late twenties to mid-thirties.

  She laughed at that, and of course changed the ad before it ran. They might have needed a chef to replace Sam in their kitchen, but she didn’t need her uncle to act as matchmaker. She wasn’t really ready to date again, and sometimes she wasn’t sure if she ever would be.

  Even without Paddy’s additional conditions, the chefs who applied were uninspiring. It was tough to find someone available to take a limited five-month position, and the applicants, almost entirely freshly graduated from culinary school, lacked the experience necessary to run a fine-dining establishment. She suggested to her uncle that they change the restaurant concept, despite the universally positive reviews, into something more casual, something any diner cook could handle. The idea seemed to make Paddy ill—the restaurant was his late partner’s baby, his legacy, and Paddy didn’t want to let that die too.

  After all the phone calls and emails, they finally found a potential new hire, and Paddy began making arrangements for a tasting interview. And then it all changed again. Cara was vacationing with her cousin in Thailand when she received the news.

  Hey, Cara-

  Might not need to interview that chef. I got a message from Sam saying he’s changed his mind and wants to come back. Are you OK with that? I don’t know wha
t happened, but I noticed some animosity between the two of you last year. If you don’t want him here, just say the word, and he’s gone. Let me know ASAP. Also, tell Amy I said hello, and you girls need to get off the beaches and explore more of the country. Bring me back something interesting! Love you!

  Paddy

  She sent her response before she could consider it. Of course she wanted Sam back, she assured her uncle. That was the best solution for everybody. It would be better than training someone new, and Sam, despite his other faults, really was a superior chef. She would be able to handle his presence.

  That’s what she was doing now, right? Handling his presence? The ferry was coming, and as it got closer she scanned the passengers on its decks. There weren’t many. Tourist season didn’t officially begin until next week, so the ferry-goers were either islanders returning home from mainland jobs, or perhaps a few summer employees coming back for the start of the season. Sam should be easy to spot, taller than most of the crowd, with his broad shoulders and mop of dark curls. She couldn’t find him though.

  After the ferry docked, she waited, watching the passengers disembark just in case. Maybe she’d missed him, maybe he’d been sitting somewhere out of sight, and she’d see his familiar grin and startlingly pale blue eyes. But no. He wasn’t there.

  “Hey, Cara,” called Vivian, the ferry master. “This was only a passenger run. Were you waiting for cargo? I’ll have some boxes for you in the morning.”

  “Actually, I was hoping you brought me a chef.”

  “Sam? Sorry, he’s not here. Was he supposed to arrive today?”

  “I thought so, but maybe I got the dates mixed up,” Cara said. Was it possible he changed his mind again? She knew their friendship had been destroyed, but what about professionalism? What about loyalty to this island and the people on it? What about the contract he signed promising to return?

  “You never mix anything up.” Vivian tipped her head to the side and studied her carefully. “Cara, I hate to say it, but you’re not looking well. I know you’ve had a rough few months. If you ever need to talk, I’m here for you. Anytime, I promise.”

  Cara smiled at the offer. She had known Vivian for two decades. She was a mother figure to all the islanders, and a force to be reckoned with to all others.

  “Thanks, but I’m fine.” That was a lie, of course. But she would be fine, someday. Someday when she eradicated the ghost of Phil from her mind, and the memories of his hands from her throat.

  Angel, I’ll never let you go, his voice whispered.

  Chapter Two

  Ferry’s Landing, May 2013

  A kick woke Sam out of a disjointed dream. A kick, and the sounds of someone yelling at him for trespassing. He sat up groggily and rolled the brim of his knit cap up off his eyes.

  “Oh. Sammy, it’s you!” Vivian was the source of his rude awakening, which was reasonable since he was occupying the bench outside of her office. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I missed the last ferry, so I slept here. Sorry,” he told her. He had sprinted from the bus depot to the ferry docks only to see it disappearing over the lake. After cursing for a few minutes, he’d wandered the streets of Ferry’s Landing, and eventually came to the conclusion that sleeping on a bench was preferable to paying for a hotel.

  “You know about the hidden office key, right? I’ve got a couch for islanders who miss the boat,” she reminded him. He did know about that, but since he wasn’t sure of his reception, he hadn’t wanted to risk it. He almost said as much, but she beat him to it.

  “Look, you may not be one of my sons, but you are one of my boys. You’re always welcome here. Now give me a hug, and then you can earn free passage if you help Duncan and Everett load some cargo. Most of the boxes are for your inn anyway.” Her weathered face broke into a grin. “But in the future, if you want a ride, you bring me some food. I’ve missed your cooking.”

  Sam laughed and accepted her offered hug, relieved by her welcome. He hadn’t known what it would be like returning this year. Whispering Pines islanders loved their gossip, and he wasn’t sure what consensus they’d come to about him.

  When the ferry finally pushed out from the mainland dock, Sam let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. From the minute his plane landed in Duluth, he couldn’t wait to make it back to the island, back to the crisp pine-scented air and the laid-back vibe that permeated everyone who resided there.

  He tried to tell himself that it was some intangible essence of Whispering Pines that drew him back every summer, even though the pay wasn’t as high, even though he’d received other offers—real career offers, as his ex-girlfriend reminded him—even though the five-month position meant he had to cobble together other temporary work the rest of the year. He found a sense of relaxation there, a sense of peace.

  But truthfully, he came back because of shining brown eyes with golden flecks that took his breath away.

  No, he couldn’t let himself think about that, about those eyes, and the way they looked into his soul; and the way they’d found him lacking.

  The ride took twenty minutes, and at the halfway point the island finally appeared. He told himself the wind caused the tears in his eyes, and he tried to wipe them away surreptitiously. He always loved the approach, seeing the land as it seemed to curve around the horizon, the bold white tower of the lighthouse discernible first, followed by the village slowly coming into view, turning from a dark smudge into individual buildings. He inhaled the scent of the pines brought in on the cold breeze.

  He stepped back from the rails, feeling almost overcome with the bittersweet emotion of returning to the place he thought of as home, but a home where his welcome wasn’t guaranteed. In stepping back, he almost tripped over his bag, and one of Vivian’s boys saw him.

  “Hey, Sammy, might want to watch your footing. It’s a rough crossing.” Everett laughed good-naturedly, and Sam casually flipped him off. An easy camaraderie existed between the locals and the summer employees. They were all in it together, dealing with the massive influx of tourists that descended in hordes on the small island.

  Sam lifted his duffel and placed it on a seat where he couldn’t trip over it when anyone important could see.

  Funny how the duffel contained almost the sum total of his possessions. You’re thirty-two years old and everything you own fits in one bag, his ex-girlfriend’s voice complained in his head. Last year, she gifted him an enormous rolling suitcase that turned out to be quite expensive, rather unwieldy, and far too large to shove into his half of the closet. He preferred the beat-up old duffel that he could cram under his bed in the small staff house room he shared with his friend, Sato. Lizbet had been wrong anyway. Everything he owned didn’t fit in one bag. He also had a nice set of skis and cold weather gear stored in his brother’s Las Vegas garage. Two bags, then, he could almost hear her say contemptuously. That’s all you’ve got to show for yourself?

  Was it as bad as Lizbet always expressed, him owning so few things? He wasn’t sentimental. All that truly mattered to him were his knives and his recipe binder. Everything else was replaceable. He didn’t care about his clothing; he didn’t own a car, or furniture, or anything of value. Most other chefs had collections of pots and pans and other kitchen accoutrements, but he wasn’t picky; he could cook with anything. He always believed it was better not to have too many material possessions: it made it easier to walk away.

  But walking away when things got rough was a habit he was trying to break. That’s why he came back here, wasn’t it? Last September when tourist season ended and he boarded on the ferry to leave, he never planned to return. Why would he, when she made it so clear he wasn’t wanted? And last year, instead of watching the island fade into the distance, he’d turned resolutely toward the mainland, refusing to look back. He’d told himself he didn’t want to see if she watched him go, and worse, he didn’t want to see if she didn’t.

  Individual boats were discernible now, not many of them docked t
his early in the season, although he thought he recognized Matteo’s speedboat already in the water. And now the buildings were coming into focus, though, of course, the inn wasn’t visible from this side. There, on the road above the docks, he spotted what he had been looking for—a flash of bright blue. One of the inn’s electric carts? Maybe. Yes. It’s probably Paddy, he thought, the owner driving down to pick up the supplies. Not her. He couldn’t let himself get his hopes up.

  The ferry came ever closer and now, yes, yes, there it was. The blue cart stopped and two women got out, causing Sam’s heart to beat faster. Not Paddy, it must be the O’Connell cousins. He suppressed a grin—she came after all. At this distance, he still couldn’t tell them apart, but he could make out their long brown hair and matching dark blue Inn at Whispering Pines jackets. Closer, closer. One of the women started jumping and waving excitedly. That energy level could only belong to Amy. So that meant Cara was the one with her arms crossed, leaning against the cart. Did she see him? Was she even looking?

  As a test, he raised a hand in greeting, and so did she. A flush of adrenaline surged through him. Cara was there, and she was watching him. He immediately regretted not renting a room last night. He should have showered, shaved, cleaned up a little. What had he been thinking?

  Amy ran to greet him and jumped into his arms almost as soon as he stepped off the boat. “Sammy! You came back! We missed you! But I wish you opted for a later trip. Getting up this early can’t be healthy for anyone.”

  He smiled and hugged her back. Amy’s exuberance was both welcome and unexpected. His last contact with her had been a scathing email she inexplicably sent last November, and he had heard nothing since.

  “Get off me, woman. You’re crazy.” He put her down and turned to her cousin. “Cara, it’s good to see you.”

  They stared at each other for what felt like an eon, but it probably lasted no more than a few seconds. She smiled suddenly, stepping forward, and he was finally able to hug her too.

  “I missed you, Sam.” Her voice sounded muffled against his coat.

  He took a deep breath, inhaling the clean strawberry scent of her shampoo. Sometimes things didn’t change. God, but he still wanted her. He held her tightly, probably an instant too long as he felt her pull back. Cara. She was here, and she was speaking to him. This might be a good summer. Maybe coming back was the right choice after all.