Sandover Beach Forever (Sandover Island Series Book 5) Read online

  Sandover Beach Forever

  A Sandover Island Book

  Emma St. Clair

  Copyright © 2021 by Emma St. Clair

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For questions or inquiries, email: [email protected]

  Cover by Evelyn of Carpe Librum Designs.

  For the Rob

  It was anything but instalove but thankfully, I wore you down over time

  And to Ginny & Fiona-

  If we hadn’t gotten stuck in that elevator, this series wouldn’t be the same

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  WHAT TO READ NEXT

  A Note from Emma

  About the Author

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  SAMPLE FROM SECRETS WHISPERED FROM THE SEA

  CHAPTER ONE

  Chapter One

  Amber never thought of God as cruel. Not when the guy of her dreams, Jimmy, broke up with her (publicly, no less) for his childhood sweetheart, a literal supermodel. Not when she lost her group of friends because it was too awkward to hang around Jimmy and Emily.

  Not even when her mom died in a car accident a few months ago. That was the hardest pill to swallow, both for Amber and for her dad. But still … no bitterness.

  Pain? yes. Questions about how this fit into God’s plan? You bet! But Amber didn’t feel like he was smiting her or something.

  Why start thinking God is cruel now? Amber wondered, reaching across the big desk to shake the doctor’s hand.

  He stared at her for a moment, which is when she realized that it was probably weird to shake your doctor’s hand after he told you that you have ovarian cancer at age twenty-six. In the same hospital where your mother died a few months earlier.

  Still, he shook it, his blue eyes sympathetic. His hand was firm and dry, just what a doctor’s hand should be. Secure. Stable. Trustworthy.

  “For what it’s worth, women survive this kind of cancer all the time,” he said.

  Amber couldn’t help asking the next question, or keep the bitter edge from her voice. “And go on to have children?”

  His mouth tightened, his sympathy turning to something more like pity.

  “Only in the most unlikely of cases. I’m very sorry, Amber.”

  She nodded and smiled, excusing herself before she said or did something more awkward and embarrassing. Like wail or cry or throw his bowl of hard candy at the wall. Dr. Espana had probably gotten used to strong reactions, but Amber would be better than that. She would be …

  She would be ...

  The words hovered at the edge of her mind like fog. She would be what?

  “Fine,” she said, not meaning to say the word out loud. Dr. Espana gave her a look. She cleared her throat. “I’ll be fine.”

  “I have no doubt. We’ve got your first treatment scheduled for next week. As soon as we see how things are progressing we can schedule surgery. If you need to talk to someone, we have—”

  “I’ve got the pamphlet,” Amber said, waving it in the air before shoving it into the dark recesses of her purse. It held the basics of ovarian cancer, all reduced into a trifold color printout. The last thing she wanted to do was talk to anyone else about it.

  Amber forced herself to walk through the lobby staring straight ahead, not making eye contact with anyone, not running for the door, not standing and shaking her fist at the sky.

  I’m not bitter, she told herself. God is still good.

  I’ll be fine.

  But she really, really wished her mom was there to hold her hand.

  Chapter Two

  A glass and a half of wine later, she felt only more confident of her fineness. Wine is wonderful! Wine is fine—and that rhymes! Why don’t I do this more?

  The this was sitting at a bar, drinking moscato alone. Neither of which were very like Amber. A pleasant warmth seeped through her chest, and she felt a lightness, a happiness that had eluded her, not just today, but for months. Years, maybe.

  She had decided as she walked out of Dr. Espana’s office, blinking in the almost-summer sun that seemed far too cheerful, that it was high time to start doing things outside of the box.

  It was not a bucket list. Definitely not. Dr. Espana had said many women survived. Amber would be one of them, even if her dream of having biological children had died in that office. No, this was more of a … living list.

  “And I haven’t really lived. Not really,” she said, leaning closer to the gleaming wooden bar. The bartender nodded.

  She was an hour early to dinner with her father, and the bar was almost empty. Which left the bartender, who had become a captive audience to her occasional attempts at conversation. He was close to her dad’s age, with a decent bit of gray around his temples. Which made him feel decidedly safe.

  The few other patrons ignored her, all of them with another friend or significant other. No younger, single guy in sight.

  Not that Amber needed to be thinking about dating right now. If she hadn’t found anyone she liked since Jimmy dumped her over a year ago, how likely was it now? She could imagine the small talk on a first date.

  “I’m Amber! I’m an event planner, I like dogs, and I’m about to start an aggressive cancer treatment that may or may not work but will prevent me from having biological children.”

  Yep. Dating right now would be swell.

  “Did you go to Catholic school or something?” the bartender asked, drying a glass with a rag. “Homeschool?”

  “Me?” Amber giggled, then threw a hand over her mouth.

  “You, uh, said that you haven’t really lived.”

  Right. She had said that out loud. “Nope. Just … a good girl, I guess.”

  “I like good girls.”

  The bartender grinned, and it made something twist a little in her stomach. Until now, he had seemed like the kind of man her father would call a nice fellow.

  But now, his smile was not nice at all. It made her think of an alley cat who had just spotted a whole bag of fish scraps.

  Does that make me the fish scraps in this scenario?

  She hiccupped. And this was why she didn’t do this kind of thing, drinking alone in a bar. Amber shook her head, trying to clear it. She wasn’t too wine-addled, and there weren’t two of anything in her vision. That was good. She had never been drunk but knew the signs to watch out for. So far, she was a little tipsy, but not in her cups, as her father would say. She needed to stay out of her cups considering her father would be here soon.

  Her eyes flicked away from the bartender, who stood so close on the other side of the bar that his cologne drifted to her nose, making her want to sneeze it away. She loo
ked behind her, scanning the restaurant. The restaurant was starting to fill, the noise picking up, and when Amber turned back to the bar, she was thankful that a few other people had settled onto stools, drawing the bartender and his feral-cat smile away.

  “Saved by the bell,” she muttered, taking another sip of wine.

  “I didn’t hear a bell.”

  The voice was so close to her ear that the man’s breath tickled Amber’s cheek and made the small hairs rise on the back of her neck. He smelled of leather and masculine spice.

  Her nerves had started to fray, which explained why she dropped her wineglass. It would have shattered on the floor had the man now sitting on the stool next to her not grabbed it. A little wine sloshed out, making a damp circle on her black pants.

  Thanks, favorite black pants, she thought to herself. You’re always here for me when handsome strangers make me spill my wine.

  Handsome might not have been an adequate enough word, she realized, looking fully in his face. The man who held out her glass to her was art. He could grace magazine covers or calendars. He could sell the ugliest sweaters on QVC or the slowest cars with the worst gas mileage and no airbags. Amber would buy anything he was selling.

  “Whoa,” he said, still holding out her glass. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “I’m easily startled. Like a baby deer,” she babbled. “It’s not you; it’s me.”

  He grinned, and Amber wanted to drop through the floor. But he seemed amused in a good way, and she didn’t want to stop looking at him. His golden brown hair glinted under the lights, and he had eyes the pale blue of the sky at the horizon's edge.

  Art, she thought again with a little thump of her heart.

  “It’s a little soon for the it’s not you, it’s me talk, isn’t it?” he asked. “We haven’t even had a proper date, or a first kiss.”

  A date? A kiss?

  Now, Amber laughed, feeling heat climb up her neck. She’d gone a year and a half without so much as a guy looking at her twice. Now that she had been diagnosed with cancer, a bartender was hitting on her and a handsome stranger was flirting. God might not be cruel, but it seemed he had a sense of humor. And maybe, just maybe, this man was a gift, delivered at the end of a rotten day.

  He was close to her age, maybe late twenties, and his comment didn’t make her feel squirmy and uncomfortable the way the bartender had. This guy was definitely flirting, but it was friendly, not smarmy.

  He hardly took his eyes off her as he ordered a beer, and thankfully, the bartender seemed too busy now to care that Amber had company.

  “I’m Nick,” he said, turning back to her, beer in hand.

  “Amber.”

  “It’s good to meet you.” That winning smile appeared again, and he sipped his beer. “If I ask if you come here often, will you promise not to think it’s a terrible pick-up line? I’m new to Sandover, and I really don’t know where I should be spending my time.”

  With me, she thought.

  Out loud, she said something almost as scandalous. “What if I want it to be a pick-up line?”

  Amber wanted to die of mortification. She really wasn’t drunk! But the wine had loosened her honesty, or loosened the guards she usually kept over her tongue.

  Nick blinked in surprise, his eyes bright with amusement. That slow grin returned, making her heart do a little skip.

  “I like a woman who says what she thinks.”

  Amber bit her lip. “I usually don’t.” She stared down at the damp spot on her pants from the spilled wine. It was starting to dry, as though it had never happened at all.

  Nick’s voice dropped, the rough edge of it softening. “Hey, that’s okay too. But I happen to like honesty.”

  His fingertips brushed her bare arm, making her shiver. Embarrassing! Amber glanced at Nick from under her lashes, but his face was open and warm. Taking a breath, she met his gaze again.

  “I don’t usually come here often. Just twice a month with my dad for dinner.”

  “I’m meeting my mom.” Then, in a teasing tone and with another smile that made her heart shimmy, he exclaimed, “We have so much in common!”

  She laughed. Nick chuckled and took a sip of his beer, twisting the bottle in his hands when he finished, still studying her with an intensity that made her feel excited and nervous at the same time.

  “Just visiting? Or are you here for a while?”

  Amber was fishing, but Nick didn’t seem to mind.

  “Permanently. Or, at least, for a while. My mom finally convinced me that I was missing out on island living. I’m a little concerned it’s a mistake, that she’s going to be trying to fix me up or just micromanage my life.”

  Fix me up. So, he was single? Hopefully so—otherwise, his flirting would make him the absolute worst.

  “My dad is the same way. Not as bad as—”

  Amber stopped herself just before she mentioned her mother. Swallowing, she took a quick sip of wine. Mentioning your dead mother was how light conversation got heavy fast. Remembering her mom also totally mellowed her out, and Amber didn’t want to lose the unfamiliar happiness coursing through her.

  “Anyway, if you’re new, this probably isn’t where you’ll be hanging out a lot. Mostly the older crowd, and some of the On Islanders.” She lowered her voice. “That’s what the locals who have lived here forever call themselves. You’re Off Island.”

  The corner of Nick’s mouth lifted, and he gestured between them. “Does that make this a Romeo and Juliet story?”

  She didn’t want to read too much into the fact that he was referencing one of the greatest love stories—never mind the tragedy part—except she also really did want to read into it. Amber wanted to latch on to that idea and run with it.

  “You’re not exactly a guy from the wrong side of the tracks,” she said.

  “Just the wrong side of the ocean?”

  “The sound.” She pointed toward the sound side of the island. “That body of water is the Currituck Sound. Technically, I guess you’re a guy from the wrong side of the sound. Aka, a landlubber.”

  Nick laughed. “Answer me this, On Island girl—is dancing outlawed here too? Is there a controlling preacher who tells everyone how to behave?”

  “Dancing is totally fine. And there’s actually a really great church here. Not controlling at all. If you’re looking for a church, that is.”

  Another stupid comment Amber wanted to kick herself for. That’s one way to crash and burn a conversation, Amber thought. There’s a reason people say to avoid politics and religion over dinner. It probably holds doubly true at a bar.

  “I’d like that, actually.” Nick shifted in his seat. “If you have a recommendation, I’d love that.”

  Hot, funny, friendly, and wants to go to church. If Amber had a list for the perfect guy, which she certainly had not created in a Google doc, this guy ticked all the boxes. What’s more, he made her feel something. For months, she had been feeling either nothing or a deep, dark sadness. Nick made her heart feel light again, as though it had emerged from some dark basement into the bright sun. Even before her mother’s death, the last guy who made her pulse quicken was Jimmy.

  That’s when the other shoe dropped, which didn’t surprise Amber at all. Because who was cozied up in a booth tucked away on the other side of the bar? Jimmy and his gorgeous wife, Emily.

  As Amber watched, Jimmy nuzzled her neck, and Emily laughed—right before her eyes met Amber’s. Emily’s eyes widened for a moment, and then she glanced away, saying something to Jimmy. He also looked her way, then pulled away from Emily as they studied their menus with forced casualness.

  It didn’t hurt to see them together. Amber got over Jimmy not long after he broke up with her. But the awkwardness was painful whenever she ran into them, which was about as often as you’d think on a small island.

  “Hey, you still with me? I thought I lost you for a second,” Nick said.

  Amber forced a smile, trying to ignore
Emily and Jimmy in the background. Though, honestly, if it appeared like she was on a date, that couldn’t hurt.

  “Sorry. I’m here. Just … got caught up in my head. It happens sometimes.”

  “It’s a pretty head to be caught up in.”

  Whoo, boy! This man was a sweet talker. Or was sweet. Maybe both? Amber finished her wine in a quick swallow. The bartender appeared, and Nick nodded for another beer.

  Nick tapped her hand, which was still loosely holding the empty wineglass. The light touch made her shiver.

  “So, Amber. Would you like to take on the role of my official tour guide?”

  She would take on about any role he asked for right now. “I’d be happy to show you around in whatever capacity you’d like. Dancing is also optional. I do like dancing.”

  His broad shoulders relaxed, and he gave her a brilliant smile. “I’d like that. Though I’ll warn you—I have four left feet, not just two. But only if we can call it a date.”

  A date.

  A date!?

  Would she even know how to behave? Had all the rules changed since she dated Jimmy a year and a half ago? Amber felt panic like a fist squeezing her throat. She hazarded a glance over to the booth and both Jimmy and Emily jerked their heads away, like they’d been watching.

  Good! Let them watch.

  The momentary distraction kept Nick’s words from sinking in fully. When they did, Amber almost fell off her stool.

  “A d-date?” She never stuttered. Never. So, of course this would be the inaugural moment.

  Nick’s eyes softened, and he dropped the flirtation. “Was I presumptuous in thinking you might be single? Or … interested? You said your father was the same as my mother with the, uh, matchmaking. I thought—”