One Unforgettable Summer: The Summer They Never Forgot / The Surgeon's Family Miracle / A Bride by Summer. Sandra Steffen
a pen stamped with the Hotel Harbourside logo—which, of course, incorporated a dolphin—from the desk in front of her and started to write—this time in regulation blue ink.
1. Reschedule birthday celebrations.
No.
Postpone indefinitely.
Was turning thirty, with her life such a mess, actually cause for celebration anyway? Maybe it was best left unmarked. She could hope for better next year.
2. Congratulate self for not thinking once about The Wedding.
She scored through the T and the W to make them lower case. It was her friends who had dramatised the occasion with capital letters. Her so-called friends who’d gone over to the dark side and accepted their invitations.
She could thank Ben’s aunt Ida for pushing all thoughts of That-Jerk-Jason and his lucrative trip down the aisle out of her mind.
Or—and she must be honest—was it really Ida who’d distracted her?
She realised she was gnawing the top of the pen.
3. Quit chewing on pens for once and for all. Especially pens that belong to first love.
First love now determined not even to be friends.
Which brought her to the real issue.
4. Forget Ben Morgan.
She stabbed it into the paper.
Forget the shivery delight that had coursed through her when his finger had traced the outline of her mouth. Forget how he’d looked when he had laughed—laughed at her crazy pink ink stain—forget the light in his eyes, the warmth of his smile. Forget the stupid, illogical hope that sprang into her heart when they joked together like in old times.
She slammed the notebook shut, sending glitter shimmering over the desk. Opened it again. She underscored the last words.
Then got on to the next item.
5. Visit Ida and get info on running bookshop.
She had to open Bay Books tomorrow and she didn’t have a clue what she should be doing. This was scary stuff.
She leaned back in her chair to think about the questions she should ask the older lady when the buzzer to her room sounded.
‘Who is it?’ she called out, slamming her notebook shut again in a flurry of glitter.
‘Ben.’
In spite of her resolutions her heart leaped at the sound of his voice. ‘Just give me a second,’ she called.
Her hands flew to her face, then smoothed her still-damp-from-the-shower hair. She tightened the belt on the white towelling hotel bathrobe. She ran her tongue around suddenly dry lips before she fumbled with the latch and opened the door.
Ben filled the doorway with his broad shoulders and impressive height. Her heart tripped into double time at the sight of him. He had changed into jeans and a blue striped shirt that brought out the colour of his eyes. Could any man be more handsome?
She stuttered out a greeting, noticed he held a large brown paper grocery bag in one hand.
He thrust the bag at her. ‘For you. I’m not good at gift wrapping.’
She looked from the bag up to him. ‘Gift wrapping?’
‘I feel bad your birthday turned out like this.’
‘This is a birthday gift?’
He shrugged. ‘A token.’
She flushed, pleased beyond measure at his thoughtfulness. ‘I like surprises. Thank you.’
Not sure what to expect, she delved into the bag. It was jam-packed with Snickers bars. ‘Ohmigod!’ she exclaimed in delighted disbelief.
He shifted from foot to foot. ‘You used to like them.’
She smiled at him. ‘I still do. They’re my favourite.’
She didn’t have the heart to add that when she was eighteen she’d been able to devour the chocolate bars by the dozen without gaining weight, but that at thirty they were an occasional indulgence.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You couldn’t have given me anything I’d like more.’
She wasn’t lying.
Ben’s thoughtfully chosen gift in a brown paper bag was way more valuable than any of the impersonal ‘must-have’ trinkets Jason had used to choose and have gift wrapped by the shop. Her last present from him had been an accessory for her electronic tablet that he had used more than she ever had.
Her heart swelled with affection for Ben. For wounded, difficult, vulnerable Ben.
She looked up at him, aching to throw her arms around him and kiss him. Kiss him for remembering her sweet tooth. Kiss him for the simple honesty of his brown-bagged gift. Kiss him for showing her that, deep down somewhere beneath his scars and defences, her Sir Galahad on a surfboard was still there.
But she felt too wary to do so. She wasn’t sure she could handle any more rejection in one day. His words echoed in her head and in her heart: ‘I don’t want you in Dolphin Bay.’
‘Thank you,’ she said again, feeling the words were totally inadequate to express her pleasure at his gesture.
He looked pleased with himself in a very male, tell-me-again-how-clever-I-was way she found endearing.
‘I bought all the shop had—which just happened to be thirty.’
She smiled up at him. ‘The shopkeeper must have thought you were a greedy pig with a desperate addiction to chocolate.’
‘Nah. They know chilli corn chips are more to my taste.’
She hugged the bag of chocolate bars to her chest. ‘So I won’t have to share? Because you might have to fight me for them.’
‘That makes you the greedy pig,’ he said. ‘They’re all yours.’ He stood still, looking deep into her eyes. ‘Happy birthday, Sandy.’
She saw warmth mixed with wariness—which might well be a reflection of what showed in her own eyes.
Silence fell between them. She was aware of her own quickened breathing over the faint hum of the air-conditioning. Felt intoxicated by the salty, so familiar scent of him.
Now.
Surely now was the moment to kiss him? Suddenly she desperately wanted to feel his mouth—that sexy, sexy mouth—on hers. To taste again the memory that had lingered through twelve years away from him.
She felt herself start to sway towards him, her lips parting, her gaze focusing on the blue eyes that seemed to go a deeper shade of blue as he returned her gaze. Her heart was thudding so loudly surely he could hear it.
But as she moved he tensed and took an abrupt step backwards.
She froze. Rejection again. When would she learn?
She stepped back too, so hastily she was in danger of tripping backwards into the room. She wrapped her robe tighter around her, focused on the list of hotel safety instructions posted by the door rather than on him. A flush rose up her neck to sting her cheeks.
She couldn’t think of a word to say.
After an excruciatingly uncomfortable moment Ben cleared his throat. ‘I’ve been sent on a mission from Aunt Ida to find and retrieve you and take you to the hospital to meet with her.’
Sandy swallowed hard, struggled to make her voice sound light-hearted. ‘Sounds serious stuff. Presumably an urgent briefing on the Bay Books project?’
He snapped his fingers.