She nods. “Of course I came, Olivia. I can head back to the city early, no problem. It’s a long trip back anyway.” Her gaze wanders over toward the deck where Noah and Sterling sit with their backs to us, looking out over the beach. “Then again, Sterling’s pretty fucking hot. I could probably busy myself with him tonight.” She grins wickedly.

“Knock yourself out,” I say with a shrug. Someone around here should have fun, after all. “In fact, go ahead and get him now. I can do my lipstick by myself.”

We share one last reassuring hug before she leaves me alone in my childhood bedroom, taking her drink with her.

I push up the window and inhale the saltiness of the humid ocean breeze. The afternoon is warm, and mist rises from the blue harbor. For a minute, I watch a handful of distant sailboats, dim white dots bobbing on the horizon. I try not to obsess about the ceremony that will be starting in just half an hour. Letting the peaceful view fill my mind, I feel my tension start to melt away.

But the blessed silence shatters when my phone rings. Grumbling, wondering who the hell would call me right now, I dig it out of my purse.

I frown at the screen. Since I don’t know this number off the top of my head, I answer with a brisk, “Hello?”

“Good afternoon, Olivia.”

My stomach contracts into a tight, painful ball. That voice . . . For a moment I can’t speak.

“You really should check your e-mail more often,” Brad says.

Chapter Twenty-One

Noah

I’ve been standing on the beach for fifty minutes. Beads of sweat dot my forehead, but they’re not from the sun. That set ten minutes ago.

“Where is she?” Sterling hisses under his breath.

“She’ll be here,” I say through gritted teeth, checking my watch yet again.

After everything we’ve built . . . living together, working together . . . it all feels so fragile and pointless if Olivia doesn’t follow through today.

Guests are starting to look at each other, and hushed whispers rustle through the small crowd.

The officiant shifts her weight, looking as uncomfortable as I feel. Then she leans in toward me. “I’m terribly sorry, but I have an appointment in twenty minutes. I can’t wait much longer.”

I nod and look to Fred. His features are twisted with worry. When he tips his chin toward Camryn, she scurries off toward the house. I take off after her, stepping into the footprints she leaves in the sand.

We head straight for the bedroom. The house is dim, and the feeling that something fundamental has changed rips through me. The door is still shut, and I’m afraid of what we’ll find when she opens it. Afraid of what it will mean.

Finally, Camryn opens the door. Everything is quiet for a minute.

“She’s gone,” she says, her voice shaky.

I swallow down a wave of emotion and look around the room. Olivia’s makeup and toiletries are still scattered on the vanity, but she’s not in the room.

I stare out the window at the sun setting over the ocean, and let out a heavy sigh. “She’s gone.”

What in the hell could have possibly happened since I last saw her? She was ready. Everything seemed fine. I notice the contract is no longer sitting on the vanity table. She’s taken it with her. I’m not sure what that means.

I turn to face Camryn. “What happened? You were the last person to see her. Was it nerves?”

Camryn shakes her head. “She seemed fine.”

I push my hands into my hair. I don’t fucking like surprises, and I’ve never been stood up before. But getting left at the altar? This is beyond any anger and panic I’ve ever felt.

I want to go out drinking and find some random girl so I can fuck out my aggression. And I know Sterling would be game. But then I think of Olivia’s shy smile and her sweet honeysuckle scent and the way her lips part when I kiss her . . . silently begging me for more.

“Fuck this,” Sterling says from behind me. “We’re leaving. Come on, Noah.”

His hand closes around my arm and starts tugging me down the hall. I know he has the exact same thought I did about thirty seconds ago. Booze. Girls. Massive hangover tomorrow to mask the pain of today. But I know nothing could blot out this memory.

If it weren’t for this ache in my chest—this empty spot she’d begun to fill—I’d leave and never look back. But part of me needs to know the next chapter in our story.

I’ve fantasized about Olivia for the last twenty years. She’s the girl I squirted with the water hose when I was young, the woman who gave me butterflies in my stomach when I was older.

And now, just as I’ve started to think of her as mine . . . she’s gone.