Chapter 7
Colt left early the following morning, so I got up early as well and dressed for the day. I figured I’d head over to the inn and visit with any of the guests who’d come down for breakfast, and then once everyone had dispersed, I’d check in with Sydney and see what her plans were for the day. I knew she had a flight out today, but I couldn’t remember if she’d mentioned what time that flight was scheduled for.
“Morning,” I said to Samantha, who was sitting alone at a table on the patio, sipping a cup of coffee.
“Morning,” she replied, bending over to pet Rufus who’d walked up to say hi. “It’s a gorgeous morning.”
“It is,” I agreed, glancing at the journal she appeared to have been writing in before I came over. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your quiet time.”
She held out a hand. “It’s fine. Really. Have a seat.”
I pulled out a chair and sat down. The sounds of the waves crashing and seagulls squawking in the distance brought me a sense of contentment that was hard to duplicate. Add a dash of sea air and the slight hum of bees in the garden, and you had a near-perfect recipe for a lazy summer morning.
Samantha continued her thought. “I didn’t realize who you were when I first arrived, but one of the others told me that you’re actually mild-mannered Abby Sullivan by day and bestselling author Abagail Sullivan by night.”
I laughed. “Well, I don’t know about all of that, but yes, I am Abagail Sullivan, the writer. Although, to be honest, I do most of my writing during the day.”
She smiled. “Fair enough. I remember reading that Abagail Sullivan was based in San Francisco. What made you decide to move clear across the country to open an inn in Maine?”
I hesitated and then answered. “My son and husband were killed in an auto accident three and a half years ago. I guess I just needed a change after their deaths, so I moved here and opened the inn.”
Samantha’s smile faded. “Did it help? Moving and starting over?”
I nodded slowly. “Yes. I think it did.” I paused and then continued. “I understand that you’re dealing with your own loss. I’m not an expert on grief by any means, but if you want to talk about it…” I let the sentence dangle.
She didn’t speak at first. Her gaze grew distant, and for a moment, I considered getting up and leaving her with her thoughts. But she eventually began speaking.
“Billy and I met when we were in the tenth grade.” She smiled a sad little half-smile. “We dated all through high school, and when we graduated, we started a country-western band. We weren’t anyone back then, and most of our gigs were free concerts in local bars, but eventually, we were noticed, and our little sideline actually began to make money.”
I sat quietly and let her set the pace. The way she was staring into space was almost as if she wasn’t even aware of my presence.
“Billy and I were happy. We had this tiny studio apartment, and we both worked crap jobs to afford our basic expenses. But in the evenings, we had our music and each other.” She took in a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “I really thought we had a future, but then I was offered the chance to go on the road with the Harvey Tucker Band.”
I knew that Harvey Tucker’s country-western band had been popular back in the nineties.
“I really wanted to go, but Harvey Tucker only wanted me as a single and not the band. Billy and I talked it over, and somehow I convinced him that my jumping on this opportunity was the best thing for all of us, so I went on tour, promising to be back when it was over.”
“But you never did go back,” I took a guess.
She shook her head. “I never did. Once the tour was over, I moved to Nashville, and my career took off. I stayed in touch with Billy for a while, but when he refused to move to Nashville with me, I knew that what we’d had was over. I can’t say that we ever officially broke up. It was more that we let the relationship die. I missed the friendship we’d shared and the couple we’d become over time, but I was focused on the charts and my solo career and never really looked back.”
“And then?” I asked, realizing there had to be an “and then” before the end of this story.
“And then, about ten years ago, I ran into Billy. We were both in New York and just happened to show up at the same restaurant. We were each on our own, so we decided to eat together. By the end of the meal, old feelings had been reignited, and I ended up at his hotel. At the end of our stay, we parted ways, but we promised to meet again at the same
