cards right, she could take the time she needed apart from Elliott, feel useful as she helped out her family, and maybe even reconnect with her sister.
A smile filled her face. Maybe going home again—to her summer home—was just the answer she needed. An answer she’d asked for, and gotten, just when she needed it most.
She walked into her house with a sense of purpose, her mind focused on the packing list she’d started composing in her head as she drove from the church parking lot to her neighborhood. She was starting to warm to the idea of Sunset. It was May, and spring would be in full swing there, the first tourists starting to show their faces, the promise of summer in the air. The wedding was coming up soon, a mid-June affair that would air smack-dab in the middle of prime wedding season. Ivy could imagine all the wedding advertising the network was hoping to attract—their primary motivation no matter how much they gushed about being so taken with Owen and Shea’s love story and the quaintness of Sunset Beach. It didn’t hurt that Owen and Shea were such a striking couple either. The two of them could grace the cover of one of those wedding magazines her aunt had told her were lying all over the beach house as Margot and Shea schemed and planned at breakneck speed.
She was wrestling with the suitcase that was wedged under the bed when she heard Elliott clear his throat behindher. She continued with the wrestling match as if he wasn’t there, tugging one last good time to free the luggage and nearly falling over as she did. Hardly the composed, self-possessed façade she was hoping to project.
Ducking her head to avoid his penetrating gaze, she hefted the suitcase onto the bed and busied herself with packing. Her careful packing list went the way of her confident demeanor as she opted for just getting out of there as fast as possible, getting away from the heat of Elliott’s gaze burning her back as she worked. She knew he expected her to come back and talk over what April had told her. But she had no intention of doing any such thing.
“Are you going to talk to me at all?” he asked.
She ignored him. Tossed in all the underwear in her drawer. Then added her stack of folded summer T-shirts.
“I take it you’re leaving,” he tried again. “You’re not even going to give me a chance to explain.”
She had to respond to that one. She turned and gave him the evil eye. “I don’t think you deserve that chance.” She turned back to the suitcase sitting there on the bed, so receptive, so open to whatever she threw at it. She could count on that suitcase. She walked over to the dresser and yanked open the drawer containing her shorts a little rougher than necessary. She reached in and grabbed the whole stack, marched over to the suitcase, and added those next to the stack of T-shirts. Then she stood back and pondered the items she’d included so far, thinking over how long she’d be gone and what she could possibly need. There would be the wedding and the bridesmaids’ luncheon and—
“Will you at least tell me where you’re going?”
She remained silent, walked over to the closet, and pulled out a couple of sundresses without thinking too hard, except to note that Elliott was watching, and it would bug him to see her packing his favorite dresses to wear somewhere else. She pulled the sundresses off their hangers, folded them in half, and lay them across the top of the other clothes. Behind her, she could hear Elliott shifting his weight, crossing and uncrossing his arms as he watched her. She wanted to tell him to leave her alone, but she didn’t want to engage any more than necessary.
“If it’s any consolation, I’m sorry for what I did,” he tried again. “It was just hard between us. You were working and gone so much. Ever since your dad put you in charge of that business—”
Another statement she couldn’t not touch. She spun around and glared again. It hurt to look at him.
A smile filled her face. Maybe going home again—to her summer home—was just the answer she needed. An answer she’d asked for, and gotten, just when she needed it most.
She walked into her house with a sense of purpose, her mind focused on the packing list she’d started composing in her head as she drove from the church parking lot to her neighborhood. She was starting to warm to the idea of Sunset. It was May, and spring would be in full swing there, the first tourists starting to show their faces, the promise of summer in the air. The wedding was coming up soon, a mid-June affair that would air smack-dab in the middle of prime wedding season. Ivy could imagine all the wedding advertising the network was hoping to attract—their primary motivation no matter how much they gushed about being so taken with Owen and Shea’s love story and the quaintness of Sunset Beach. It didn’t hurt that Owen and Shea were such a striking couple either. The two of them could grace the cover of one of those wedding magazines her aunt had told her were lying all over the beach house as Margot and Shea schemed and planned at breakneck speed.
She was wrestling with the suitcase that was wedged under the bed when she heard Elliott clear his throat behindher. She continued with the wrestling match as if he wasn’t there, tugging one last good time to free the luggage and nearly falling over as she did. Hardly the composed, self-possessed façade she was hoping to project.
Ducking her head to avoid his penetrating gaze, she hefted the suitcase onto the bed and busied herself with packing. Her careful packing list went the way of her confident demeanor as she opted for just getting out of there as fast as possible, getting away from the heat of Elliott’s gaze burning her back as she worked. She knew he expected her to come back and talk over what April had told her. But she had no intention of doing any such thing.
“Are you going to talk to me at all?” he asked.
She ignored him. Tossed in all the underwear in her drawer. Then added her stack of folded summer T-shirts.
“I take it you’re leaving,” he tried again. “You’re not even going to give me a chance to explain.”
She had to respond to that one. She turned and gave him the evil eye. “I don’t think you deserve that chance.” She turned back to the suitcase sitting there on the bed, so receptive, so open to whatever she threw at it. She could count on that suitcase. She walked over to the dresser and yanked open the drawer containing her shorts a little rougher than necessary. She reached in and grabbed the whole stack, marched over to the suitcase, and added those next to the stack of T-shirts. Then she stood back and pondered the items she’d included so far, thinking over how long she’d be gone and what she could possibly need. There would be the wedding and the bridesmaids’ luncheon and—
“Will you at least tell me where you’re going?”
She remained silent, walked over to the closet, and pulled out a couple of sundresses without thinking too hard, except to note that Elliott was watching, and it would bug him to see her packing his favorite dresses to wear somewhere else. She pulled the sundresses off their hangers, folded them in half, and lay them across the top of the other clothes. Behind her, she could hear Elliott shifting his weight, crossing and uncrossing his arms as he watched her. She wanted to tell him to leave her alone, but she didn’t want to engage any more than necessary.
“If it’s any consolation, I’m sorry for what I did,” he tried again. “It was just hard between us. You were working and gone so much. Ever since your dad put you in charge of that business—”
Another statement she couldn’t not touch. She spun around and glared again. It hurt to look at him.
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