The Pollyanna Plan (19 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

W
ill couldn’t help smiling as the ferry chugged back to Lopud. Despite his reticence to leave the island—hell, to leave the villa—he’d really enjoyed the day. He’d caught one of the first ferries of the morning, eager to reach Dubrovnik before the city got too busy. Once the boat docked, he’d jumped into a taxi, using all his gesturing skills (and the empty tube of blue paint as a backup) to explain his destination. The driver had dropped him off outside the gates of the Old Town and pointed to the art shop
…
which didn’t open until noon.

With two hours to kill, Will had wandered into the Old Town in search of coffee—and had been blown away. The late-morning sun glistened on shiny cobblestones, making them gleam as if they’d been polished. He strolled down the main thoroughfare with narrow alleys spiking off each side, rising as stairs towards the city walls. Choosing one at random, Will climbed the worn stone steps, finding himself on a path that ringed the city walls. Shrugging, he decided he might as well use this opportunity to take in the sights. Despite visiting Lopud many times, he’d never explored Dubrovnik. His family had shunned the buzz of the city for the island’s calm.

The steep pitches of red rooftops and a myriad of steeples met Will’s eyes as he made his way around the wall. Rounding one corner, he gasped with pleasure at the aquamarine sea beneath black cliffs, the contrast of textures making him long for a canvas. As he continued, his grin grew larger at the stunning beauty around him: the geraniums swinging from the corner of an old stone house; the crumble of ruins and the way the rocks were poetically arranged; an old man with a red cap, casting a line into the sea below. Will had been cloistered in monochrome London for so long, and then shut away in the villa, he’d almost forgotten the joy of discovering sights to feast his eyes on.

As he’d nursed a strong black coffee at a market-side café, Will had to admit it was good to be taking in life again, watching it unfold and sitting in its midst. He’d had a great chat with the owner of the paint shop while picking up the blue, even swigging homemade liquor as the owner closed the shop and took him into the back room to show him some paintings. Although the man’s
English
bordered on nonexistent, they’d had a brilliant conversation about different brushstrokes, colours and canvases, understanding each other the way only artists could.

The day forced Will to wonder if he’d made the right decision, closing himself off and retreating from the world. What good was still being healthy if he didn’t
do
anything? Sure, he worked at the DIY centre, but that was mostly to justify he wasn’t retreating from life. He’d been safe in the knowledge that he’d never meet someone for more than a fleeting instant.

Other than Emma, that was.

A pang went through him as he pictured how she’d looked beneath him; the way her white skin glowed as moonlight streamed into the boat; how their bodies moved in tandem
…
His shoulders lifted in a sigh as he thought that even if he did get in touch, she’d probably tell him where to go. Understandable, given he’d never called her after that night, treating her like a casual shag. Shame seeped into him.

Well, it might be too late to fix the mess with Emma, but it wasn’t too late to take steps to live again—starting with his father. He’d head back to the villa, finish the painting, then return to London. If Will moved fast, he could be at the factory Monday
morning
.

The loud blast of the ferry horn jerked Emma from her daze, and she lifted her head as the vessel eased into Lopud’s dock. A shot of adrenaline went through her, banishing the sun-induced fuzz from her mind. Would Will be on this boat?

From her perch on the bench, she could make out figures disembarking. There was an old man with a battered case; a woman clutching two young children; a gangly teen with a baseball cap jammed to one side, looking for all the world like he belonged in the Bronx, not an idyllic island in Croatia
…
so far, no Will.

Wait! Emma sat up straight, squinting in the falling darkness. Was that him? A solid figure, clad in jeans and a green jacket, was thumping down the gangway, grasping a white bag in one hand. She stood, as if by getting to her feet, her vision would improve, too. The man had dark hair like Will’s, and—she narrowed her eyes—she could swear that bag had a picture of paints on it. Her heart pounded as he came into focus. It was him. It was definitely Will!

Emma froze for a second. Should she rush up to him? Give him a few minutes to settle in back home and then knock on his door?

But before she could even try to find an answer, her feet started to move. Faster and faster, until she was practically running along the harbour front towards the dock. She flew past the elderly man, past the mother with two kids, past the teenage gangster wannabe. The distance between them closed, and she skidded to a halt.

‘Emma?’ Will blinked, as if trying to confirm she was really in front of him. ‘What are you doing here?’

God, it was good to see him. His face was pale and he’d lost some weight, and it was all she could do not to reach out and stroke his stubbly cheek, put her arms around him and breathe in his scent. Mouth dry, she met his startled gaze.

‘I need to talk to you,’ she responded, aware how lame that sounded. Who travelled across the ocean to an isolated island just to talk to someone? She cleared her throat. ‘Look, what it really is
…
well
…
’
Spit it out!
‘I want to know if there’s a chance for us. To be together.’

Will tilted his head. ‘You came all this way to ask me that?’

What could she say to make it sound reasonable? Nothing, Emma realised, because there was nothing reasonable, logical—or any of those words she used to hold so dear—about it. Fleetingly, she remembered Lou’s earlier words that nothing was sensible when it came to relationships. God, had that only been this morning? A decade seemed to have passed since then.

‘Yes,’ Emma said. ‘Yes, I came all this way to ask you that.’

The beginning of a smile crossed Will’s face, but just as quickly, it was gone. ‘Emma, there’s something you should know,’ he began, his voice strained. ‘I—’

‘I know you have MS,’ Emma said quickly. ‘And it doesn’t make a difference to me.’ She paused, thinking how much she meant that. It didn’t. ‘I want to be with you.’

Her heart was beating so fast now, it felt like it would explode, and everything around her—the sound of the water against the rocks, the engine of the ferry as it chugged out to sea, the low hum of people calling greetings to each other—faded. All that remained was Will’s face as the silence stretched between them. Would he turn her away? Say that she’d just been a one-night stand? Or—

The bag in Will’s hands slid to the ground, and he snaked his arms around her waist, pulling her up close against him. Hardly able to breathe, Emma’s eyes locked with his. Finally, his serious face broke into a gentle smile, and a dart of hope shot through her.

‘I want to be with you, too,’ Will said, as simply as she had. He tugged a wayward curl behind her ear, and a whoosh of joy flooded every cell, its intensity taking her by surprise. She’d never felt this way about anything before. No, scratch that: she’d never
allowed
herself to feel this way before.

Will gestured to the gawking passersby and the curious café patrons. ‘I think we have an audience.’ He took her hand, warm fingers closing around hers. ‘Come on. Let’s go back to the villa. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.’ And from the look in his eyes, Emma could see he meant more than words.

An hour later, they were entangled in crisp white bed sheets, well and truly caught up. The way their bodies moved, it was like they’d been together for ages, and Emma knew she’d made the right decision to find Will, as crazy as it had seemed. If she hadn’t come, she’d have risked missing out on the joy she was feeling now and the happiness that lay ahead of them.

As they’d gone up the alley, hand in hand, to the villa, a silence had fallen between them—a good kind, loaded with expectancy and the thrill of potential. Every once in a while, Will had squeezed Emma’s fingers, and her swollen heart had almost burst with
emotion
.

Inside the villa, Will had motioned her onto a comfy sofa in the spacious lounge, before heading to the kitchen to open a bottle of wine. Returning with two brimming glasses, he’d handed her one. Before Emma could take a sip, though, she’d found herself setting it down and scooting closer to him. They had a lot of talking to do and kinks to work out, but right then, all she wanted was to feel his skin against hers and to sate her desire.

Will had obviously felt the same because he’d set aside his wine and leaned down to kiss her. Soon, they’d been climbing the stairs to his bedroom, where a large cast-iron bed stood under a window opened to the sea. The room was frigid, and the air smelled of pine and salt, but instead of feeling cold, it invigorated every pore of Emma’s body. And as Will peeled off her sweater, the heat inside was more than enough to warm her.

Now, lying in Will’s arms, with her head on his chest and the steady beat of his heart thumping away in her ear, Emma wondered how she ever could have tried to shut out the emotion he stirred within her. Will rolled on his side, and Emma scooted up to rest her hot cheek on the cool pillow. Outside, darkness had fallen, but the yellow moon lit up the bedroom’s white walls with an
otherworldly glow.

‘I can’t believe you came all this way to find me,’ Will said, stroking her hair. ‘Especially after I ran off on you that morning.’ His face contorted. ‘I’m so sorry. I just
…
well, my last girlfriend ditched me when she found out about my MS. I guess I was protecting myself from the same thing happening. Not that it’s an excuse,’ he added quickly.

Emma shook her head. How ironic that they’d both tried to shield themselves from hurt, from pain
…
almost missing out on this wonderful thing they had together. ‘I understand, I really do. After my father died, I did everything I could to stop myself from being hurt ever again.’

‘What made you change?’ Will’s eyes looked enormous in t
he d
ark.

She thought back to a month ago, when Alice had suggested the Pollyanna Plan. Emma had blamed it for messing up her life, but the truth was she hadn’t been living in the first place. If it wasn’t for Pollyanna, would she ever have discovered that, sometimes, defying logic and taking risks was a good thing? That opening yourself up to emotion—though it might mean getting hurt—could also mean finding love and happiness, more than just security?

‘It’s been a journey,’ Emma responded finally, ‘but I realised I’d rather feel something than go through life being numb.’

Will reached out and squeezed her shoulder. ‘I know exactly what you mean. I’d come to the conclusion I was doing myself no favours by shutting off from everything, too. I can’t enjoy my life—and my health, at the moment—kicking around on my own.’ He raised himself up on one elbow. ‘Speaking of enjoying
…
how long do I have you here for?’

‘I’m booked to go back tomorrow evening,’ Emma said, wishing she could stay longer.
Is it possible?
she wondered. Things at the office were slow right now, and she was way ahead of her workload
…
but no. Meg’s concert was on Monday, and she couldn’t miss that. She didn’t
want
to miss that. It was Emma’s first chance to show her mum that she’d been right to extend the Christmas invitation; to prove she wanted to play a role in the family now.

‘I’ll go back with you,’ Will said. ‘I want to help sort out a few problems at my father’s company. I hope it’s not too late.’ A dark cloud passed over his face, but then he smiled. ‘I guess I should tell you I don’t normally work at the DIY centre. My father owns Ballard Paints, and I was VP there before I quit after the diagnosis.’

Emma nodded. ‘I know. Chaz told me when I went out to
dinner
with him and Alice a couple nights ago.’