Trusting His Promise (Love on Sanctuary Shores #5)

Chapter 11

Beckett took another moody bite of his ice cream. It shouldn’t bother him so much that Jo and her daughter hadn’t joined them. He’d said his apologies, and if she couldn’t accept a nice gesture like ice cream, that was on her, not on him.

“Yay!” The excited exclamation from across the table drew Beckett’s eyes off of the window to Nicole, who held a melting ice cream cone in one hand and her phone in the other. “My principal says yes to the field trip. She’s going to talk to the other teachers to see who else wants to join us. Oh, this is going to be such a good opportunity for the kids, to see how an actual movie is made. I’m so excited.” She caught a dripping lick of her cone. “Thank you so much for doing this. I’ll make a sign-up for chaperones, but I’m guessing we won’t have trouble getting any. I hope you don’t mind if every parent in the school comes.”

Beckett shrugged. “The more the merrier.” Although he was pretty sure he could count on one parent who wouldn’t be there. He finished his ice cream in silence as Nicole and Sadie made plans for the field trip.

He thought he was paying attention until Sadie elbowed him. “I said, ‘That’s a great idea, isn’t it, Beckett?’”

“Oh. What? Yeah. Great idea.”

Sadie rolled her eyes. “And what idea is that?”

“The great one you just had.” He grinned an apology as Sadie smirked.

“Nice try. But it was Nicole’s idea. She thought maybe we could give the kids a chance to be on camera. Maybe let them film a couple of lines each.”

“Oh.” Beckett nodded. “That is a good idea.”

He crossed the shop to throw his ice cream dish away, his eyes traveling the marina and pausing on the spot where he had run into Jo on his first day back in town.

“I have to get going.” Nicole reached past him to throw her napkin away. “But thank you again for inviting me. This was a lot of fun.”

Beckett nodded. “I’m glad you came.”

Sadie came up behind Nicole, and the two hugged as if they’d known each other forever, then Nicole waved a goodbye and headed out the door.

“She’s nice.” Sadie’s voice held a tone Beckett knew a little too well.

“She is,” he answered noncommittally.

“But she’s not the one you’re thinking about,” Sadie added, her smile a little too knowing.

“I’m not thinking about anyone.” Beckett tried to shove Jo out of his head so the statement would be true. But she refused to budge.

“If you say so.” Sadie eyed him. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah.” Beckett watched the rest of the cast and crew, who were gathering up their things. “Actually, you guys go ahead. There’s something I need to do. I’ll meet you back at my place.” He pulled the keys for the van he usually drove out of his pocket and passed them to Sadie.

“I’m not driving that thing,” she protested.

“Then give them to Andre.” He stepped back into the line, examining the ice cream menu as if it held all of life’s answers.

“You’re going to bring them ice cream?” Sadie eyed Beckett as if he were more than a little bit crazy.

Beckett nodded uncertainly.

“You’re sure that’s a good idea?”

Beckett nodded again, though he was anything but sure.

“No offense, but Jo didn’t exactly seem to . . .”

“Like me?” Beckett snort-laughed. “I’m aware. But no one can resist ice cream, right? Besides, you saw how disappointed Sam looked when Jo said no to ice cream.”

“Yes, but that’s the point,” Sadie said, as if she were explaining a difficult concept to a two-year-old. “Jo said no.”

Beckett shrugged. “That’s only because she wanted to spite me.”

“And because her daughter needs to eat dinner,” Sadie persisted.

“So she can save the ice cream for after dinner. She told me at the potluck that some boys made fun of her at Sunday school today, and I just want to . . . I don’t know.” He shook his head. He supposed the whole thing did sound crazy. “Let her know that not all boys are like that.”

“Let her know, or let Jo know?” Sadie studied him for a moment. “At least go with something that has chocolate in it. And sprinkles for Sam. You’re sure you want us to take the van? We can wait, you know. I’m guessing you won’t be there all that long.”

Beckett shoved her arm. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. But I’m sure. It’s not that far to walk.”

Sadie eyed him, looking as if she were going to say something else. But then she shook her head and walked out the door of the ice cream shop, joining the others and passing the van keys to Andre.

Beckett waited until they had disappeared down the street toward the island’s parking area, then stepped to the counter and ordered two bowls of cookie dough-brownie ice cream, with sprinkles on top of Sam’s.

He carried them out the door and across the town square, nodding to people here and there along the way. When he reached the gazebo, he paused a moment, squinting at it, as if that would allow him to travel back in time and undo the hurt he had caused Jo. He could still see her standing there, in that shimmering blue dress, waiting for him. Still see the half hopeful expression she wore when she finally spotted him. Still see the way her face had crumpled when she realized his invitation to the winter formal hadn’t been serious. That he had another, “real” date.

It was supposed to be a stupid, childish prank. A joke. He hadn’t meant to hurt her.

No, he couldn’t lie to himself about that.

He had meant to hurt her—what he hadn’t anticipated was how much he would regret it. At the time, to some extent, but even more so now.

If he’d had any brains back then, he’d have taken her to the dance for real. He could only imagine how different the past twelve years could have been for both of them if he had.

He heaved a sigh and glanced at the ice cream dripping onto his hands. He might not be able to undo his hurtful actions. But he could at least try to make up for them with a sweet treat.

He hurried the rest of the way to Jo’s house, but when he reached it, he froze on the sidewalk. Maybe this was a stupid idea. Maybe he should turn around and leave. He could always eat the ice creams himself. Or give them to Andre—if they weren’t soup by the time he walked home.

Another drip fell on his hand, and he steeled his shoulders and marched to the front door, using his elbow to press the doorbell—right as he realized that he didn’t know for certain that Jo actually still lived here. What if she’d moved out and he’d just shown up on her dad’s doorstep with two bowls of ice cream? The man was clearly less of a fan of Beckett than even Jo was. Or well, that hardly seemed possible. But he was at least equally opposed to him.

Beckett eyed the door. It probably wasn’t too late to—

The front door opened, and Sam stood grinning at him. She had changed out of her bathing suit and was now wrapped in a nautical-themed sweat suit.

“Hey there, sailor,” Beckett replied.

“What’s that for?” Sam pointed to the ice cream bowls in his hands, eyes wide.

“Oh these?” Beckett shrugged. “I thought you might know someone who likes ice cream.”

Sam raised her hand. “I like ice cream.”

“Oh good. Do you like sprinkles too?”

Sam nodded exuberantly.

“Good. Then maybe you can have this after dinner. If your mom says it’s okay.” He searched over Sam’s shoulder, but there was no sign of Jo in the small foyer. Had she sent her daughter to ward him off?

“After dinner?” Sam’s face fell but then brightened. “I won’t eat much dinner. And then I’ll have lots of room for ice cream after.”

Beckett laughed. “I like the way you think. Is your mom around?”

“She’s in the shower,” Sam answered. “Do you want to come in? I have to do my spelling, but you can watch me.”

Beckett hesitated. He was pretty sure Jo would not sanction that invitation. But he had to at least put this ice cream in the freezer.

“Sure, just for a second.” He followed Sam through the entryway to a small but cheerful kitchen. He gazed around at the few dishes next to the sink and the papers scattered on the table and couldn’t help smiling. It felt so . . . homey.

He moved straight to the freezer, his smile growing as he scanned the drawings hanging on it with magnets. “Did you make these?”

“Yep.”

“They’re very good.” Beckett opened the freezer and shuffled a few things around to make room for the ice cream.

Sam had settled at the table and was scowling at a piece of paper.

“What’s that?”

“My spelling.” Sam heaved a sigh as if it were the heaviest burden in the world. “I’m so bad at it.”

“You want to know a secret?” Beckett pulled out the chair next to her. “I’m bad at spelling too.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “But you’re a grown-up.”

“I am. But grown-ups aren’t good at everything.”

“That’s true.” Sam nodded. “Like my mom isn’t good at dancing.”

Beckett chuckled. “Is that so?”

Sam shrugged. “That’s what she says every time I ask her to dance with me. But I think she should try it.”

“She probably should.” She would have had a chance, too, way back at the winter formal if he hadn’t been such an idiot. Did her resistance to dancing with her daughter stem from that night?

Beckett pushed the thought away. “So about this spelling. Do you want to show me your words?”

Sam turned the piece of paper so he could see it.

She’d already written each word five times, but several of the repetitions had mistakes.

“I have an idea. Do you have any Play-Doh?” he asked.

Sam nodded. “I love Play-Doh.”

“Why don’t you go grab it?”

Sam dashed off, and Beckett let himself look around some more. At the far end of the kitchen was a door that led to what looked like a mudroom. Above it hung a wooden sign that said, I will make you fishers of men.

A fat orange cat slinked out of the mudroom, took one look at Beckett, and made his way over to the table, rubbing against Beckett’s legs once before jumping into his lap.

“Well hi, kitty.” He scratched behind the cat’s ears. “You’re friendly. You must get that from Sam.” Goodness knew it couldn’t have been from Jo. “What’s your name?”

“Theodore.” Sam’s fake-deep voice said from the other side of the room as she waltzed back in carrying a plastic bin that was almost as big as she was. She hefted it onto the table.

Beckett laughed. “That should be enough.”

“What are we going to make?” Sam asked eagerly. “I have a dentist set or a pizza set or—”

“Spelling words,” Beckett interrupted, and she looked at him dubiously. “Don’t worry, it will be fun.” He pulled out a container of Play-Doh and opened it, working the dough with his hands for a minute before breaking off a chunk and rolling it into a long, thin worm. He shaped the worm into the letter C. He did the same with another hunk, shaping it into an a , then a k and then an e .

“Cake,” Sam read gleefully. “I want to try it.” She grabbed a container of blue Play-Doh and carefully spelled out the word plate .

“Nice job.”

Sam rolled out more dough, her tongue peeking out as she concentrated.

She had spelled grape and ate and spade when a barely stifled scream made them both jump.

Jo stood in the kitchen entrance, dressed in flannel pajama pants and a t-shirt, her hair wrapped in a towel on top of her head, and her hand pressed to her heart. But it was the expression on her face that made Beckett slide his chair back. The cat pounced off his lap with an indignant meow .

“Samantha Danielle Fletcher,” Jo ground out, and Beckett flinched. This was his fault, not the girl’s.

“Are you supposed to answer the door when I’m in the shower?” Jo demanded of her daughter.

“No, Mommy,” Sam answered meekly. “But I looked out the window first to make sure it wasn’t a stranger, and Mr. Beckett had ice cream and—”

Jo held up a hand, popping one finger into the air. “Ice cream?”

Oh boy. Beckett was in for it now. “Listen, it’s all my fault.” He made himself stand.

“Oh, I know.” Jo glared at him. “I told you I didn’t want Sam to have ice cream before dinner, but clearly you know better. You’re the great and mighty Beckett Knox, after all.” She sneered at him.

“She didn’t have it before dinner,” Beckett cut in. “We put it in the freezer.”

“So I can have it after dinner,” Sam added cheerfully.

“We’ll see about that,” Jo muttered, and Beckett resisted the urge to smile at the phrase.

“And why are you playing with Play-Doh?” Jo frowned at Sam. “You’re supposed to be doing your spelling.”

“That’s my fault too,” Beckett defended the girl, but Sam jumped in.

“I was doing my spelling. Mr. Beckett taught me how to spell the words with Play-Doh. Look.”

Jo hesitated, her mouth opening as if she were going to yell at him again. But then she closed it and moved to the table.

“Plate. Grape. Ate. Spade.” Sam pointed to each word as she read it. “And cake. Mr. Beckett made that one, but I did the rest. I got them all right.” She closed her eyes. “Plate. P-l-a-t-e,” she recited.

Jo pressed her lips together, but Beckett saw the way her eyes widened. “That’s very good.”

“Can we take a picture to send to Miss Patterson?” Sam asked.

Jo pulled out her phone, snapping a quick picture. Then she turned to Beckett, and for a second, he thought she was going to thank him, but Sam jumped in. “How did you know how to do that? Do you have kids or something?”

Beckett nearly choked on his laugh. “Me? No. I don’t even have a girlfriend, let alone a wife and kids.”

Jo winced, and Beckett suddenly realized what that sounded like.

“Anyway.” He tried to rush past the comment. “There are other things you can do too. Like spread shaving cream on the table and use your finger to spell your words in it.”

“Oooh, that sounds like fun.” Sam’s eyes gleamed. “Can we try it?”

“Not right now.” Jo shook her head so hard that the towel that had been perched there came tumbling down, sending her wet hair cascading down her back. She quickly gathered it into a ponytail as she spoke. “I’m sure Mr. Beckett has other things to do.”

She sent him a glare that said he’d better have other things to do.

He considered pushing his luck but decided against it. He’d probably pushed her as far as he could for one day. “I should get going.” He patted Sam’s head. “Keep working on your Play-Doh words.”

“Can you come another time and show me how to do the shaving cream?” Sam asked.

Beckett looked at Jo. “We’ll see about that,” was her only answer.

Beckett grinned and turned to Sam. “At least it wasn’t a no .”

Jo rolled her eyes and silently led him to the front door, the lavender scent of her shampoo trailing behind her.

“Have a good night,” he said as he stepped outside. “Don’t forget there’s ice cream in the freezer.”

Jo grunted—and then the door closed behind him.

Beckett chuckled. Somehow, it felt like progress.

Jo dropped onto the couch and leaned her head back against the cushions. What a day. She would have been much, much better off out on the boat fishing. At least there, she couldn’t have run into Beckett. A million times.

What had he been thinking, coming over here? Bringing them ice cream after she had explicitly said that they didn’t need any? Helping Sam with her spelling?

Jo rubbed at her temples. When she’d come downstairs and found him in her kitchen, she’d been angry—no, that wasn’t a powerful enough word. Incensed. Yes, she’d been incensed.

And then Sam had shown her the words she’d spelled out using Play-Doh. And she’d looked so proud of herself. Even after Beckett left, Sam spent the next hour working on her spelling, finally convincing Jo to get out the shaving cream and try that method. And the whole time, she’d been smiling. Jo had never seen her daughter smile while doing spelling before.

She didn’t know how Beckett had known what would work, but it was enough to make Jo relent about the ice cream, letting Sam eat hers after dinner. Jo’s own dish was still in the freezer, where it would remain indefinitely—no matter how loudly the cookie dough-brownie combo called to her. There was no way Beckett had remembered—or ever known—that was her favorite flavor. It was entirely a coincidence. But that didn’t make her mouth water any less.

She picked up the TV remote. The best way to get her mind off of the ice cream—and Beckett—was to think about something else.

Which would be a whole lot easier to do if the first movie to show up in the menu didn’t have his face plastered on it.

She tried to skip past it, but she must have accidentally hit the wrong button because the next second, Beckett was walking across her screen. She started to click the back button, but something stopped her.

She set the remote down and grabbed a pillow, tucking it behind her head. Theodore jumped onto the couch and curled into her lap.

“Traitor,” she muttered. “Don’t think I didn’t see you on Beckett’s lap before.”

The cat closed his eyes and purred. Jo rolled her eyes and pet him absently as the movie started.

By the time she was half an hour into it, she had to concede that it was a good movie—and Beckett was a good actor. But that was all he was. An actor. Someone paid to recite lines he didn’t believe.

And he was doing the same thing in real life.

After everything he’d done, he couldn’t come waltzing back onto the island, pulling out his Bible and his ice cream treats and his Play-Doh spelling tricks and convince her he was a different person. It was just as much of an act as this movie.

Just as much of an act as Jay had put on, convincing her that he loved her.

Well, she wasn’t going to fall for it again—not from Beckett, and not from anyone else.

She heard the back door open and scrambled to find the remote. Somehow it had gotten lodged under Theodore, and he bristled and jumped off her lap. Jo hurriedly switched off the TV and pushed to her feet, heading for the kitchen to meet Dad. He was still in the mudroom, doubled over in a nasty coughing fit.

“Is this the part where I get to say a big, fat I-told-you-so?” She leaned her hip against the kitchen counter and crossed her arms.

Dad shook his head. “I’m fine. It’s just a little cough.”

“Doesn’t sound so little. I’m taking the charters for the next few days, no arguments.”

Dad held up a hand, and Jo took that as a sign of his agreement.

“Are you hungry? Sam and I had chicken for supper.”

Dad had to finish his coughing fit before he could answer. “Maybe a hot dog.”

Jo rolled her eyes. Her father would live on hot dogs if she let him. “I’ll heat you up some chicken. And maybe some broth.”

But Dad opened the freezer and pulled out a package of hot dogs. “These are good enough for— What’s this?” He picked up the bowl of ice cream with The Pearl’s logo printed on the side.

“Ice cream.” Jo looked away so he wouldn’t see the heat she could feel radiating from her face.

“For me?”

“Oh.” Why hadn’t she thought of that solution? “Yep. It’s all yours.”