Page 86 of Island Girl

Justin stopped wiping. He set down the rag and turned to face her, his expression guarded. “What do you want me to say, Merritt? That I had this perfect life in Boston, a great job, a beautiful girlfriend, and I threw it all away because my mother died and I couldn't handle it? That I ran away just like you did?”

“Did you?”

“Yeah. I did.” His voice was hard. “I had a corner office at an investment firm. I wore suits that cost more than most people's rent. I dated a woman who was already planning our wedding and picking out china patterns. And when my mother got sick, I didn't go home. I stayed in Boston because I had meetings and deadlines and a career to protect. I told myself I'd visit soon. I told myself there was time.”

He stopped, his jaw tight.

“There wasn't time?” Merritt asked.

“No. There wasn't. She died three months after the diagnosis. I made it home for the last two weeks. That's it. Two weeks out of her whole life, and I almost missed those too.”

“Justin.”

“So yeah, I ended things with Kira. Because she didn't understand why I needed to come here. Because she kept asking when I was coming back. Because she looked at me like I was broken, and maybe I was, but I didn't want to be someone else's project.” He picked up the rag again, wringing it between his hands. “Is that what you wanted to know?”

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push.”

“You didn't push. I just don't like talking about it.” He threw the rag into the sink. “Kira was a good person. She didn't deserve what I put her through. But I couldn't be what she needed. I couldn't be what anyone needed. So I came here, and Crocker took me in, and I've been trying to figure out who I am ever since.”

Merritt thought about her own escape, her own desperate drive down the coast, running from a wedding and a life that had never felt like hers. She thought about the bungalow and the music and the slow process of becoming someone new.

“I get it,” she said. “More than you know.”

“I know you do. That's why I…” He stopped himself, shaking his head.

“That's why you what?”

“Nothing. It doesn't matter.”

“Justin.”

“It doesn't matter because we're friends. Just friends.” He met her eyes, and she saw something there, something raw and unfinished. “Right?”

“Right,” she said, but the word felt hollow in her mouth.

The kitchen door swung open and Crocker emerged, wiping his hands on his apron. He looked between them, his sharp eyes missing nothing.

“You two going to stand around all night or actually work?” he said.

Justin straightened up. “Just taking a break.”

“Break's over. Table four needs their check.”

Justin grabbed the check and headed for the dining room. Merritt watched him go, her mind still turning over everything he'd told her. The corner office. The expensive suits. The girlfriend who was already planning their wedding. It was hard to reconcile that image with the man she knew, the one who wore faded T-shirts and poured drinks and seemed more at home on a boat than in a boardroom.

But maybe that was the point. Maybe he'd remade himself, just like she was trying to do. Maybe they were both still in the middle of becoming whoever they were going to be.

The evening wore on. The crowd thinned as the sun went down, the dinner rush giving way to the quieter hours before closing. Merritt wiped down the bar and restocked the garnishes, keeping her hands busy, trying not to think too much.

Justin came out of the kitchen with a plate of food. “Crocker says you need to eat. His orders, not mine.”

“I'm not hungry.”

“Doesn't matter. Eat anyway.” He set the plate in front of her. Grilled fish, rice, a small salad. Simple and good, the kind of food that made you feel taken care of.

She picked up her fork and took a bite. He watched her for a moment, then seemed to relax.

“Thank you,” she said. “For telling me. About Boston, and Kira, and all of it.”