Love On Anchor Island: An Anchor Island Novel Read online

  She shook her head as if coming out of a trance. “I mean, this is really nice.”

  Alex had splurged on a few extra upgrades. Reliable and maintenance-free quartz for the countertops. Black stainless-steel appliances. Ceramic tile flooring. Every choice had been for practicality and durability, which only made sense in a kitchen. He supposed there was an aesthetic appeal as well.

  “Dr. Tobin didn’t live here when he had the practice,” Alex explained, stepping behind the counter and retrieving a corkscrew from the utensil drawer. “Between the size of the house and the view, the decision to make this not only my office but my home was an easy one. I started from scratch up here, but once the blueprints were finished, the renovation went quickly.”

  Roxie ran a slender finger down the length of the island, which stretched nearly the length of the back wall counter. “Are you telling me that you designed this?”

  “I had help,” he admitted. “Mia had a lot of input.”

  The exploration stopped. “Mia?”

  The cork gave way with a pop, and Alex filled two glasses. “Mia Stamatis. You met her that first night at Dempsey’s.”

  “Yes, I know who she is. I thought you said you were friends.”

  “We are friends. That’s why she helped me.” He carried the glasses to the table. “Have a seat, and I’ll get the food. I left it in the oven to stay warm.”

  Roxie lingered near the island. “What kind of friends?”

  The bowl of potatoes came out first. “What do you mean?” The asparagus was next.

  “Friends like we-dated-but-now-we’re-friends friends? Friends-with-benefits friends? Friends-but-we-secretly-want-more-and-haven’t-had-the-nerve-to-say-so friends? Which is it?”

  Alex placed the steaks on the stove. “Mia and I are just friends. We’ve never dated. There are no benefits. And neither of us do or will ever want more. Now can we eat?”

  Tapping one black fingernail on the quartz, she kept a steady gaze on his face as if assessing the truth of his statements. Finally, she said, “Fine. Let’s eat.”

  With a sigh of relief, he watched her stroll to the table and take a seat, hopeful he’d finally convinced her that Mia was not, nor ever would be, a threat. He didn’t flatter himself enough to call it jealousy. Roxie was suspicious for a reason. Hopefully, karma had taken care of whatever idiot had screwed her over. If not, Alex would willingly do the job.

  Roxie had no reason not to believe him. But then, she’d had no reason not to believe Brendon, and look how that had turned out. Of course, Alex was not Brendon—despite sharing the same profession. If Alex had a wife, she certainly would have known about her by now. Married men didn’t typically bring dates home and cook for them. Plus, she’d lived next door to him for three weeks now and had seen only patients and Flora Meyer—Alex’s nurse per Beth—go in and out of the house.

  This lingering insecurity bothered her. There hadn’t been many winners among the men in her past, but none had outright lied about a wife. The experience—both the betrayal and the way the locals had painted her a homewrecking slut—had left a mark. Roxie never wanted to feel that way again. She carried enough shame without adding the weight of something she didn’t actually do to her mental baggage.

  “How do you know?” she said, unable to help herself.

  “Know what?” Alex asked. He’d already filled her plate and had begun to fill his own.

  “That Mia doesn’t have feelings for you.”

  “I know.”

  “You can’t possibly know. If she doesn’t think you feel the same way she does, she isn’t going to tell you.”

  Alex set down his fork and rubbed his forehead before meeting her eye. “What I’m about to say can’t leave this room.”

  That sounded ominous. “Okay.”

  “Mia is gay.”

  So maybe he could know. “Gay?”

  “Yes, but she isn’t out, and if, or when, she chooses to come out is up to her.”

  There were mitigating circumstances to something like that. Tiny island. Possibly a bit conservative, though Roxie hadn’t encountered anyone who gave that impression. Living your life as one person but being seen as another was something she understood all too well.

  “No one knows?”

  “Other than me and her brother Nick, no.”

  “Have I met Nick?”

  Alex added a piece of asparagus to the steak on his fork. “Maybe. He’s the head cook at Dempsey’s restaurant.”

  Ah, yes. “Dark hair and a sexy amount of scruff?”

  Her dinner partner did not look happy about this description. “Nick has a bit of a beard, yeah.” Rubbing his own clean-shaven jawline, he mumbled, “I don’t know about the sexy part.”

  Doc was cute when he was jealous.

  Nick was the type Roxie had gone for in the past. Unabashedly flirtatious. Confidence bordering on cocky. Cut like a Michelangelo statue. All reasons she’d ignored his offer to cook for her sometime. She was going to learn from her mistakes or die trying.

  Roxie dragged her mind back to Mia and thought of Henri, who lived her truth whether people liked it or not. “Is there a reason she doesn’t tell anyone?”

  “One word,” Alex replied. “Nota.”

  “What is Nota?”

  “Who is Nota,” he corrected. “She’s Mia’s eighty-year-old grandmother and the reason Mia and Nick are on the island. Nota has very specific ideas about how the world should work.”

  “Ideas that don’t include homosexuality?”

  Alex filled his fork again. “To be honest, I have no idea. Sometimes I think she’d be fine with it, but then she isn’t my grandmother.”

  Speaking of. “You said your grandmother’s a doctor. Is that her in the picture behind you?”

  His shelves and walls were covered with snapshots. The one to which she referred featured a young Alex with an older woman. They were both smiling while sitting on a porch swing.

  He twisted to see the photo and nodded. “That’s Grandma, also known as Dr. Blythe Hommel. She’s seventy-six and finally retired last year, though she still sees patients if they call her. I don’t think she’ll ever give it up entirely.”

  “Where was the picture taken?”

  Alex reached for the picture and passed it her way. “On their front porch in Tunkhannock. It’s a small town in the Pocono mountains. I spent my summers there when I was a kid.”

  Roxie’s maternal grandparents had passed before she’d turned five. Her paternal grandparents had lived longer, but they hadn’t been very affectionate with their grandchildren. There were no summers spent at their house.

  “You look happy.”

  “I was,” he said, reaching for his wine. “She’s the reason I found my way here. Her patients were her friends and neighbors, and I wanted the same thing. When a friend who’d vacationed here told me about the practice being for sale, I booked a trip down the next day.”

  Roxie slid a finger over the image. “How did you know the locals would accept you?”

  Alex chuckled. “I didn’t, but I also had not reason to think they wouldn’t. You’ve been here long enough to see how welcoming everyone is.”

  The islanders had been more than welcoming to Roxie, but she couldn’t shake the voice in the back of her mind always warning that her day would come. She’d say the wrong thing or make some social gaffe and the atmosphere would change. Yet, she’d gotten comfortable enough to have made a surprising decision, even to herself.

  “Do you know of any temporary rentals on the island that aren’t for tourists?”

  Dark brows arched. “You’re considering sticking around?”

  She didn’t have a choice at the moment since Mom had made her feelings quite clear. “Not permanently, but for a while, yeah. Though I need to find a job first.”

  “What would make you stay long term?” he asked, food all but forgotten.

  The question made her uncomfortable, mostly because of the hopeful look in his eyes. B
est to make things clear now.

  “I’m not cut out for a small town. Not enough anonymity.”

  Alex leaned back in his chair. “You prefer to be invisible?”

  “Exactly,” she confirmed. “I told you once that I have a knack for finding trouble. When that happens in a big city, few people notice. When it happens in a small town, everyone knows, and then the judging begins.”

  “You’re starting to sound like a closet criminal,” he said with a grin. “What kind of trouble are we talking about?”

  Some confessions could wait. “I have a history of fraternizing with the wrong people.”

  “Ah. Guilt by association. Staying on Anchor Island could be the cure for that. You’d have a hard time finding a rough crowd around here.”

  “I’d find another way to screw up, trust me. Then the locals would get out their pitchforks, and I’d have to hop the next ferry out.”

  Green eyes narrowed. “We aren’t like that here, Roxie. Pitchforks are in short supply, for one thing, and no one has been chased off of this island since Blackbeard. That was three hundred years ago. Unless you’ve been pillaging and plundering around the high seas, I think you’re safe.”

  She wasn’t safe, but she also didn’t want to argue.

  “That explains the museum. I thought you all just had a weird fascination with pirates.”

  “Wait until summer when we have a full-on pirate festival. Eye patches. Peg legs. Off-color sea shanties.” Alex stood and gathered his plate before reaching for hers. “You won’t want to miss it.”

  Knowing full well she wouldn’t be here come summer, Roxie changed the subject. “I believe I was promised cheesecake.”

  The plates landed in the sink before he spun around to open the fridge. “Yes, you were. Whip or no whip?” he asked with wiggling brows.

  God, he was cute. “The answer is always yes to whip,” she replied, unable to resist the innuendo.

  Alex ran a hand through his hair and blew out a breath. “Right. Yes.” He closed the appliance, hands still empty, and Roxie held her laughter in check.

  When he looked around as if lost, she said, “Cheesecake?”

  “Cheesecake,” he repeated. “Time for cheesecake.”

  “This is the best cheesecake ever,” Roxie mumbled around her last bite of dessert. The moaning sounds she’d made while eating had been enough to make Alex squirm. Together with the whip comment from earlier, he was going to need a very cold shower when this night was over. They were sitting on the floor in his living room, and he had to shift to relieve the pain.

  “Opal’s Sweet Shoppe,” Alex replied as steadily as he could. “Has Beth not taken you there yet?”

  “She’s holding out on me.” A slender finger slid across the plate before disappearing between her glossy pink lips.

  Very. Cold. Shower.

  Head tossed back, she mumbled, “I’m so taking the rest of that home.”

  Or she could stay and have it for breakfast. A thought he was smart enough to keep to himself.

  Letting out a deep breath, Roxie rubbed her stomach and said, “Can I ask you a question?”

  “You just did,” he pointed out.

  “Okay, another question then.”

  “Go for it.”

  “Did you become a doctor because you had to or because you wanted to?”

  Alex put his plate on the coffee table beside hers and wiped his hands on his napkin. “I’ve wanted to be a doctor for as long as I can remember. Some of my earliest memories are of helping my grandmother during my summer visits.”

  “What about your dad? You didn’t go to work with him?”

  “Children weren’t welcome in the operating room, and oddly enough, I never liked hospitals.”

  Roxie blinked. “A doctor who doesn’t like hospitals?”

  “Weird, I know, but true. They’re cold, sterile places, and I can’t imagine spending every day in one.”

  Her laughter filled the room. “That’s like a chef saying he hates kitchens. How is that even possible?”

  Alex missed the question because he was too busy watching the joy on her face. Roxie was beautiful any day, but this was the first time she’d let her guard down, and the effect was like a blow to the chest. He made a note to buy her a cheesecake every day to keep her just like this.

  “I don’t know, but it is. What about you?” he asked. “What did you always want to do?”

  The smile fell away. “Nothing, really.”

  He knew better than that. “There must be something. Didn’t you want to be a teacher or an astronaut when you were a kid? The way you argue, I’m surprised you didn’t become a lawyer.”

  “I’m going to ignore that crack.” Brown eyes dropped to her lap, and she tugged at a loose string. “I wanted to be a dancer.”

  Recognizing the vulnerability in her eyes, Alex kept his voice soft. “What happened to stop you?”

  “After three years of classes, my mom said I wasn’t getting any better. She pulled me out.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Eight.” She brushed the hair from her eyes. “The teacher tried to talk her into letting me stay, but Mom said there were better things she could spend her money on.”

  Wanting nothing more than to shake the shit out of such a cruel woman, Alex tucked a stray lock behind Roxie’s ear. “That wasn’t fair to you.”

  She sat up straighter and flashed an empty smile. “Life isn’t fair, right? I just learned that earlier than most. Besides, she was right. I wasn’t good.”

  “You were eight,” he reminded her. “No one is good at anything at eight.”

  “By eight, my older sister had won two spelling bees, placed first in the county fair pageant, and had been smart enough to skip second grade and go straight to third. Something my mother reminded me of every time I brought home a B or forgot my lunch box at school.”

  No wonder she didn’t think much of herself.

  “Roxie, you’re a smart, capable woman with a lot to offer. Your mother’s inability to recognize that is her failure, not yours.”

  “Your faith in me is appreciated, but misplaced,” she insisted. “You don’t know me, Alex.”

  “But I want to.”

  When she closed her eyes, he pressed his lips to hers, relieved that she didn’t pull away. Sliding a hand into her hair, he deepened the kiss, urging her to open for him. A delicate hand gripped his shirt as her lips parted, and the sweet taste of cheesecake hit his tongue, but he’d barely gotten a taste before she pulled away and pressed her forehead to his chin.

  “I should go.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  She nodded, rocking against him. “Yes, I do.”

  Alex kissed her forehead and said, “Then I’ll walk you home.”

  Chapter Eight

  Roxie was still thinking about the kiss. She’d done nothing but think about it for nearly forty-eight hours. There had been no demand. No argument when she’d pushed back, which had taken a level of willpower she’d never known. Every fiber of her being had wanted to stay in that moment, lost in his touch, for as long as she could.

  But Alex was too good for her. He offered too much, and he imagined a version of Roxie that didn’t exist. Smart? Capable? She’d flunked out of college within the first semester and hadn’t held down a permanent job in more than two years. Even then, she’d worked retail and had been turned down for a promotion because she’d refused to sleep with the district manager.

  The only thing Roxie was capable of was leaving hurt and destruction in her wake. Something she refused to do to Alex.

  “There you are,” Henri said, finding Roxie at the far end of the kitchen where she’d been hiding for the last ten minutes.

  Callie’s baby shower was in full swing, and it seemed as if every female on the island was in attendance, most of whom Roxie had never met. The ones she did know formed such a tight circle that she couldn’t help but feel like an outsider. Beth, Sid, and Will hovered ar
ound Callie—who had been permitted to sit on the couch but was under strict orders not to so much as think about getting up—laughing and reminiscing about the last several years.

  Apparently, Beth had gone into labor during a grand reopening party at a hotel on the island that Callie had helped renovate. Then Sid had done the same at Callie’s wedding a year later. They joked about all of the odd jobs Will had when she’d first came to the island, though from what Roxie understood, the tall brunette was rich as hell so why she’d needed multiple jobs was a mystery. Then there was Callie’s story of her first labor, when Connor had nearly made his first appearance in the parking lot of Edwards Medical Center.

  She didn’t begrudge the women their friendship, but this kind of hen party was as familiar to Roxie as quantum physics.

  “Here I am.” She took a sip of her punch. “Tell me there’s something in this kitchen to make this drink stronger.”

  “I have just the thing.” Henri pulled a bottle of liquor out of a lower cabinet. “Rum punch, anyone?”

  Roxie held out her cup. “Just what the doctor ordered.”

  “Speaking of,” the blonde cooed, “how was dinner with our hunky Dr. Fielding?”

  “Dinner was fine,” she mumbled, sipping once again. This time, the punch burned on the way down.

  The rum disappeared back under the counter, and Henri hopped up to sit on the island. “Just fine?”

  Other than Beth, this woman was the closest Roxie had to a friend. She hadn’t told Beth about the kiss, but only because her cousin had been asleep on the couch when Roxie got home and was too busy the day before preparing for this party.

  “Alex wants more than I can give,” she said simply. After walking her to the door, and then kissing her breathless on Beth’s porch, he’d said he wanted to see her again. Roxie blamed the kiss for the brain fog that had her agreeing to another date. This time, a real one, he’d promised.

  “Unless he proposed—in which case the man’s a lunatic and you should run the other way—that’s a bogus statement.”

  Voice low, she whispered, “He’s khakis and polos and quartz countertops. I’m weathered Chucks, tattered jeans, and Formica. Nice doctors do not date women like me.”