Free The One Real Thing (Hart's Boardwalk) by Samantha Young Page B

she was saying good-bye to me.
    And there it was. Despite myself, I was intrigued by Emery Saunders and I couldn’t make myself not be.
    And that intrigue only reminded me of Sarah’s letters, which had brought me to Hartwell in the first place.
    I’d decided to ask Bailey about her after all.
    As the last customers were leaving the inn, Bailey trailed behind them wishing them a warm good night. The bell over the door rang as they left and a few seconds later Bailey flopped down on the sofa beside me.
    She looked exhausted.
    I handed her my glass of wine and she accepted it with a grateful but very tired smile. She took a sip and handed the glass back to me. “Thanks.”
    “You’re welcome. Please tell me you don’t work these ridiculously long hours every day. “
    Bailey shook her head. “No. Like I said, I had a deputy manager and we worked around one another. I used to have a day or two off, if you can believe it.”
    “You need your own vacation.”
    “Yes, yes, I do.” She grinned at me. “The rain didn’t frighten you away today?”
    I smirked. “No. Actually I got caught in it outside of Cooper’s. The man himself let me into his bar to dry off until it calmed enough for me to venture back outside.”
    Sitting up straighter, Bailey eyed me with a mischievous smile. “What did you think of Cooper?”
    I could spot a matchmaker a mile off and so I avoided her gaze. “He didn’t say much.” I sipped at my wine, pretending disinterest.
    “That’s because he’s a good listener.”
    “You know him well?”
    “I’ve known him my whole life. He’s single, you know.” She nudged me with another cheeky grin. “Divorced.”
    I laughed. “You are so not subtle.”
    “What’s the point in subtlety?” Bailey studied me. “Are you single?”
    I opened my mouth to say no and then sighed. “It’s complicated.”
    “I’ll take that as you’re single.”
    “How so?”
    “If you were really certain of this guy, whoever he is, your answer would have been a straightforward no.”
    I guessed that was true enough.
    It was time for a subject change. “You know how I asked about George Beckwith this morning . . .”
    “Yeah.”
    “There was a reason.” I turned on the sofa to face her. “I actually don’t know George. The reason I know
of
him is because I found letters in a book at the prison. They were addressed to George in 1976.”
    Bailey’s mouth parted in surprise. “Sarah Randall,” she said breathlessly.
    At the sound of her name, that now familiar ache in my chest hitched. “You know the story?”
    “Everyone knows the story.” Bailey’s green eyes darkened with sadness. “She and George were sweethearts. They fell in love on the boardwalk when they were sophomores in high school. Everyone thought they’d get married. But the summer they graduated from high school Sarah married—”
    “A man named Ron.”
    Bailey raised an eyebrow. “Ron Peters. How . . . ?”
    “It’s in her letters to George.”
    I could see the blaze of curiosity in Bailey’s eyes, but she continued recounting their history for me. “No one knew what made Sarah marry him. Most people suspected he had something on her, but she wouldn’t say what. George was devastated. He started sleeping around and he knocked up Sarah’s best friend, Annabelle. He married her. And then a few years later Sarah Randall shot Ron in the chest and she went to prison. And she died there.”
    My eyes stung with unshed tears.
    Bailey reached for my hand. “You okay?”
    I tried to smile reassuringly. “Sarah died of cancer. Before she could mail these letters to George. Letters that explained everything. She had a reason for what she did, Bailey.”
    She squeezed my hand. “That’s so sad. Is that why you came here?”
    I shrugged. “My vacation with my best friend got canceled . . . Sarah and George were on my mind so I decided to come here instead.”
    Bailey considered me. “You came to Hartwell to give