Page 12 of Bluebell Promises

“Didn’t I give you your first shot at a career?” Max asked.

“You did,” Wren said. “I’ve already told Angelos the story. I’m so grateful to you.”

“Yes. As you should be. You know, there were hundreds of girls like you who wanted that role,” Max said. “And I chose you.”

Again, Wren confirmed that it had been the greatest pleasure of her life. “I can’t thank you enough.” She felt dizzy.

Max leaned back in his chair and regarded her as though Angelos wasn’t there. “Tell me,” he said. “Do you have affairs like this in all the locations I send you to photograph?”

Wren couldn’t believe it. But beside her, Angelos laughed good-naturedly.

Max’s eyes snapped over to Angelos. “Did I say something funny? I’m only trying to get to know my most faithful freelancer.”

“I assumed you were joking,” Angelos said. “Asking about the romantic life of one of your employees.”

Max flared his nostrils. “Of course. What Wren does when she’s on location is her business.”

For a little while, the conversation returned to a sense of near normality. They spoke about Max’s work as an editor, about Angelos’s parents’ inn, about Wren’s recent trip to Thailand, and about her excitement at spending so much time in Greece. Max had calmed a little bit, and he even laughed at a few of Angelos’s jokes. Wren began to breathe easier. Maybe they would make it through dinner. Perhaps she could meet Max for coffee by herself tomorrow and smooth things over even more. She could not lose this client.

After a second cocktail, Max got up to use the bathroom, leaving Angelos and Wren alone. Angelos laced his fingers through hers and smiled. “What do you think of your boss in person?”

“Let’s talk about it later,” Wren said.

Angelos laughed and leaned over the table to kiss her. Wren closed her eyes, so grateful for his warmth and his generosity and his love—if this was really love. It felt like love.

And then, Max stood beside them, clearing his throat. Wren broke the kiss and smiled nervously up at Max. His eyes were cold.

“I’m afraid I have to cancel dinner, my friends,” Max said. “I’m very tired from my travels, and I don’t think Greek food agrees with me. Till we meet again.” He extended his hand to shake first Angelos’s, then Wren’s.

“We could meet tomorrow,” Wren said brightly, standing.

“I’ll be in contact,” Max said, buttoning and unbuttoning his suit jacket. He turned and walked out of the cocktail bar and disappeared around the corner.

Wren couldn’t shake the darkness that Max had left behind, not even when Angelos swept her away to a local taverna, where they drank ouzo and danced to traditional Greek music.

“Don’t worry about him,” Angelos told her again and again, kissing her cheeks and her lips and her hand. “He’s miserable in life, and you are not. Don’t pay for his misery.”

Wren knew Angelos was right. So she fell through the rest of the night, eating and drinking and laughing, until she and Angelos collapsed back in their hotel bed.

Eight hours later, Wren rolled over and checked her phone for the time. Angelos was still asleep, and light gleamed from behind the thick drapes at the window. Angelos had remembered to turn on the air-conditioning, so it felt blissfully cool in here.

Wren had two messages—one from Juliet, her sister, and the other from Max.

JULIET: Hey! We miss you. Call us when you get the chance.

MAX: Wren, it has come to my attention that your work ethic is not strong enough for such a competitive field as travel journalism. It’s good that we know that now so that we don’t waste each other’s time going forward. Please note that your ferry ticket to Amorgos has been canceled, as has your freelance contract. Best, Max.

7

Present Day

It had been three days since Wren’s return to Bluebell Cove. After being cooped up in her room for the majority of that time, that afternoon, she zipped herself into an old rain jacket—one that very well might have belonged to her mother, although it was impossible to say—and traipsed into the sprinkling rain. She walked past the Eco-Lodge, watching Celia through the front window as she spoke to a new guest, then continued toward downtown. After feeling unwell for the better part of the day, it felt good to stretch her legs and feel her heart rate lift.

Something was strange about walking through your old hometown when you wanted to be anywhere else. Everything felt haunted by memories she didn’t want to experience. There was the telephone pole against which she’d once kissed her middle school boyfriend, Alfie. There was the ice cream parlor where she and her old best friend Sandy had asked for extra-extra-extra sprinkles and made an enormous mess, and the owner had made them clean it up themselves. There was the library, the old elementary school, the playground where, she knew, her mother had taken her sisters and Wren before Wren was old enough to remember.

Before Wren knew what to do with herself, before she knew where to turn, she found herself on the corner of Ivy’s flower shop. Through the window, she could see her sister making a bouquet and chatting with Elliott, who’d apparently come in for a visit. Ivy smiled and laughed as he spoke, acting natural in a way that Wren had never seen her. Wren remembered how heinous Ivy’s first husband, Daniel, had been. She’d lived with them for a while and had always walked on eggshells. She knew that Ivy was damaged not only by Daniel’s ill treatment of her but also by Daniel’s surprise and accidental death. It was a miracle Ivy could smile at all.

As though Ivy could sense Wren’s swirling thoughts, she raised her chin and spotted Wren outside. Her smile immediately fell, and she whipped around the counter and opened the front door with a jangle. Behind her, Elliott looked surprised, his eyes enormous.