backfire.
Because if it did backfire, and somehow Becca got hurt in the process, every single person on that island would turn against him.
He was already going to be on thin ice with the islanders when they found out about the threat to the school. He wanted to put down roots on Heron Island. He wanted to build a life there. But no one was going to accept the man responsible for closing down their children’s school.
He needed to find a way to save it to prove to Becca, and the rest of the islanders, that he was one of them.
It had been a year since he’d even considered getting close to a woman again for something more than just sex. But being in Becca’s house last night—seeing those student drawings on her walls, listening to her talk about the school, hearing the passion in her voice for a place that meant so much to her, watching her work so hard to save it even though she was leaving at the end of the year and her own job wasn’t even at stake—had hit him hard.
He’d spent a lot of time over the past year thinking about what kind of woman he didn’t want to be with anymore, but he hadn’t given much thought to what kind of woman he did want.
Until now.
He was starting to think he knew exactly who he wanted.
He’d lain awake most of last night, thinking of ways he could help Becca save the school. Sometime around 2AM, an idea had finally taken root. It was risky, and his father’s campaign manager was going to hate it, but it might be the only way.
Lifting his phone, he dialed a new number.
“ Washington Tribune .” The receptionist answered after the first ring. “How may I direct your call?”
“Grace Callahan,” he said, walking onto the gated grounds of the State House. He had gotten to know Grace pretty well over the winter. While he’d never been a big fan of reporters, he liked her. He trusted her. And he knew she would do anything to protect her island, her community, and most of all Becca—who she’d been best friends with forever.
“This is Grace,” she said as she picked up the line.
“Hey, Grace. It’s Colin Foley.”
“Hey,” she said, her tone shifting from professional to friendly. “What’s up?”
Flashing his badge to the security guard, Colin strode into the historic brick building that housed his father’s offices. “I have a story idea I want to run by you.”
“Whoa,” Grace said, pausing in the middle of the living room at the inn that night when she saw the gaping hole in the wall beside the fireplace. “What happened here?”
“They found a crack in the foundation,” Becca said, walking out of the farmhouse-style kitchen and handing her friend a glass of red wine from the bottle she’d brought over. “Jimmy’s crew started working on it today. They had to tear out a section of the drywall to fix it.”
Grace’s eyes swung back to meet hers, widening. “Will it be done in time for the wedding?”
“It’ll be done in time,” Becca said firmly. “I had a long chat with Jimmy this afternoon.”
Grace’s expression darkened. “Did he apologize for his behavior on Sunday?”
Becca shook her head. “I don’t think he even remembered being at the café.”
“Unbelievable.” Grace shrugged out of her black suit jacket and dropped it on the sofa. The white tank top and pencil skirt she wore underneath were rumpled from the long drive from D.C.
“What happened after Ryan walked him home?” Becca asked.
“Nothing,” Grace said, scooping her long blond hair into a ponytail and snapping a rubber band around it to secure it in place. “Jimmy passed out on the couch almost as soon as they got there. Ryan said his house was a mess—empty bottles all over the place, dishes in the sink, overflowing trash cans. He and Joe stayed for a while to clean up, but Jimmy probably didn’t even notice when he woke up.”
“It’s getting worse,” Becca murmured, thinking about how quiet Luke had been in school again today. He had given her
Because if it did backfire, and somehow Becca got hurt in the process, every single person on that island would turn against him.
He was already going to be on thin ice with the islanders when they found out about the threat to the school. He wanted to put down roots on Heron Island. He wanted to build a life there. But no one was going to accept the man responsible for closing down their children’s school.
He needed to find a way to save it to prove to Becca, and the rest of the islanders, that he was one of them.
It had been a year since he’d even considered getting close to a woman again for something more than just sex. But being in Becca’s house last night—seeing those student drawings on her walls, listening to her talk about the school, hearing the passion in her voice for a place that meant so much to her, watching her work so hard to save it even though she was leaving at the end of the year and her own job wasn’t even at stake—had hit him hard.
He’d spent a lot of time over the past year thinking about what kind of woman he didn’t want to be with anymore, but he hadn’t given much thought to what kind of woman he did want.
Until now.
He was starting to think he knew exactly who he wanted.
He’d lain awake most of last night, thinking of ways he could help Becca save the school. Sometime around 2AM, an idea had finally taken root. It was risky, and his father’s campaign manager was going to hate it, but it might be the only way.
Lifting his phone, he dialed a new number.
“ Washington Tribune .” The receptionist answered after the first ring. “How may I direct your call?”
“Grace Callahan,” he said, walking onto the gated grounds of the State House. He had gotten to know Grace pretty well over the winter. While he’d never been a big fan of reporters, he liked her. He trusted her. And he knew she would do anything to protect her island, her community, and most of all Becca—who she’d been best friends with forever.
“This is Grace,” she said as she picked up the line.
“Hey, Grace. It’s Colin Foley.”
“Hey,” she said, her tone shifting from professional to friendly. “What’s up?”
Flashing his badge to the security guard, Colin strode into the historic brick building that housed his father’s offices. “I have a story idea I want to run by you.”
“Whoa,” Grace said, pausing in the middle of the living room at the inn that night when she saw the gaping hole in the wall beside the fireplace. “What happened here?”
“They found a crack in the foundation,” Becca said, walking out of the farmhouse-style kitchen and handing her friend a glass of red wine from the bottle she’d brought over. “Jimmy’s crew started working on it today. They had to tear out a section of the drywall to fix it.”
Grace’s eyes swung back to meet hers, widening. “Will it be done in time for the wedding?”
“It’ll be done in time,” Becca said firmly. “I had a long chat with Jimmy this afternoon.”
Grace’s expression darkened. “Did he apologize for his behavior on Sunday?”
Becca shook her head. “I don’t think he even remembered being at the café.”
“Unbelievable.” Grace shrugged out of her black suit jacket and dropped it on the sofa. The white tank top and pencil skirt she wore underneath were rumpled from the long drive from D.C.
“What happened after Ryan walked him home?” Becca asked.
“Nothing,” Grace said, scooping her long blond hair into a ponytail and snapping a rubber band around it to secure it in place. “Jimmy passed out on the couch almost as soon as they got there. Ryan said his house was a mess—empty bottles all over the place, dishes in the sink, overflowing trash cans. He and Joe stayed for a while to clean up, but Jimmy probably didn’t even notice when he woke up.”
“It’s getting worse,” Becca murmured, thinking about how quiet Luke had been in school again today. He had given her
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