Page 69 of Acadia Falls

I loved working on the licensing deal and was excited to start my career, but the stories from my soon-to-be coworkers were freaking me out. One woman had started bringing a sleeping bag and pajamas to the office. Another told me that she hadn’t had a day off since she’d started and hadn’t bothered to go to the grocery store in weeks because she was literally never home. One of the guys said the partners were grumpy and often screamed at them, the clients were demanding, and the pressure to bill hours was intense. He felt like every day was a new crisis.

They were all staying because of the money, of course. New York was incredibly expensive.

I looked over at Jack. As soon as the meeting ended, he’d removed his coat and unbuttoned his dress shirt. It strained against him, his chiseled shoulders and chest begging to be set free. He wasn’t a man who was supposed to wear a suit. His toned body, thick with muscle from years of hard labor, was built for sweats and a hoodie. Honestly, it was best suited to being naked, but I didn’t need to think about that when I was on a tiny plane with his entire family!

But what I did need to think about was what I would do next. I had a job waiting for me—a job I was no longer sure I wanted. I had an apartment lined up—an apartment in a city I was pretty sure I never wanted to live in again.

Then there was Jack. Jack and his multicolored beard. Jack and his kombucha. Jack and his magic penis. Since we’d gotten back together, we hadn’t spent one night apart except when I went back to Manhattan to take the bar or meet with Everly’s legal team.

I’d started getting up with him every day at four thirty to make his coffee (he liked it with a ton of oat milk) and pack his lunch (he preferred salads with salmon or free-range, organic chicken). He was a health nut, and I was nuts about him. If you had ever told old me that I’d be waking up before dawn to make my lobsterman-boyfriend lunch, I would’ve told you to go jump in a lake. But there I was, every morning, humming to myself in the kitchen, kissing him goodbye, and thinking I was the luckiest girl in the whole world.

What the hell had he done to me?

Maybe it was his magic penis.

Or maybe it was something else, something that started with an l and ended with an e. Something that would be a real issue if I was sleeping in a sleeping bag every night on the floor of my office at Krieger and Krieger, LLP.

The plane landed, and we all grabbed our things. I couldn’t wait to get back to the island, throw on some sweats and go walk on the beach. Being back in the city had made me feel itchy, like I was going to jump out of my skin. All the people and the cars and the trash were… too much. Now that I’d experienced the solitude of the island, being back in Manhattan was a sensory overload. I could see why people came to visit and then went straight home.

That’s what Maine felt like to me now. We drove to Northeast, all of us quiet, then took the boat across Somes Sound. I saw the osprey nest, inhaled the rich smell of the ocean, and waved to the other boaters we passed. I’d only been in Acadia for a few months, but it felt more and more like I belonged there. I wouldn’t have chosen to grow up in Jersey City; I wouldn’t have chosen to live in Manhattan if I’d known better. But I didn’t know then what I knew now: I was a country girl, an island girl, someone who needed to be outside in nature and live near the beach. I hadn’t discovered that about myself because I’d always had my nose in a book or been at a trendy bar with other young professionals. I’d surround myself with people who’d made it seem like stepping over the occasional dead rat and living with trash rotting in the streets was a necessary evil, a means to an end—which to most of us meant an Upper East Side co-op and a summer Hamptons rental.

But that wasn’t my dream anymore.

I glanced at Jack again. We hadn’t really talked since I’d stopped crying and wiped the mascara from beneath my eyes.

“Why do you keep looking at me but not talking?” he asked over the roar of the boat’s motor.

“I’m not,” I lied and looked at the osprey nest instead.

We docked at the co-op, and I sighed as we hiked up to the truck. “I have to get my things out of Alex’s house—I feel so guilty that I’m still staying there.”

“She told you they’re happy to have you,” Jack reminded me. “They haven’t had to hire a caretaker. You’re doing them a favor. But…” He nodded at me. “I know you’ve been feeling that way, so I took the liberty of having you moved out.”

“What?”

“I had your things moved out, and I’m having one of the guys from the co-op make sure the house is okay. As soon as the houseguest leaves.”

“What are you talking about? Why did you move me out? Where’s all my stuff? Who’s the houseguest—does Alex know about this?”

“Alex knows all about it.” Jack smirked. “She’s been instrumental in this whole process.”

“What whole process? Jack Brennan, you tell me what’s going on right now! I am so confused!”

“Bye, you two.” Mrs. Brennan—Rose—smiled at us. “Have fun! Thanks again, Maran!” She hopped into the truck Tommy had recently bought, an old blue Chevy, and she and the boys took off.

“Why’re they running away? And why is your mother telling us to have fun?” I had a funny feeling in my stomach, sort of like a bowling ball had been dropped in there.

“Dunno.” Jack shrugged and opened the truck door for me.

“Jack Brennan, you tell me what’s going on right now!”

“Okay.” He started the truck and drove slowly up the lane, past the road to Alex’s house. He took the next left, which was a winding dirt road.

“Where are we going?”

“You asked me to tell you what’s going on. That’s what I’m doing!” The truck bumped over the road until he slowed down and pulled into a gravel driveway that abutted a newly cleared lot. There was no house, no landscaping, just two side-by-side silver motorhome trailers. They looked brand-new.

“What’s this?”