Had To Be
You
by Juliet Chatham
Swoon Romance
After college, Rory Finn left behind the familiarity of her quiet, picturesque hometown to pursue a professional career in the city. With her sights firmly on the future, Rory pressed on in hopes of forgetting the past until a jarring bit of unwelcome news forces her to confront it.
Her first love, the one she'd tried so hard to forget, is about to marry someone else. That pang Rory feels isn't envy, it's not even regret. It's love. But Rory can't be that girl. She won't. But if she doesn't, she'll never know what could have been. She'll never have another chance to tell him how she feels.
As she embarks on an impulsive, desperate bid to win him back, her mission turns into an unexpected and emotional journey of rediscovery. HAD TO BE YOU explores a history of love from its tentative beginnings to what may just turn out to be its final bittersweet end, as Rory ignores her head and follows her heart.
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The bus finally
rolled to a
stop, tires crunching
over gravel at
the end of
the drive before
the door creaked to
fold open. Rory already had her
duffle bag slung over
her shoulder, perched eagerly on
the edge of her seat. She was up and out with barely a thank you and goodbye.
Camp certainly hadn’t been her idea, especially not the exclusive, elite
one her father insisted she attend
just because it
was the place
all his big
shot business colleagues
sent their kids. Per usual,
however, he didn’t exactly take her wishes into consideration when making the
decision. Rory knew
he just liked
the idea of his daughter
being there. Much like the idea of a daughter in general, really—great in
theory, but not so much in practice.
She took the front porch steps in two short leaps, bursting into the
house to head straight for her room. She dumped the bag on her bed and quickly
shed her green polo and cuffed khaki shorts, replacing them with a pair of
denim cutoffs and pulling a plain white tank over her head. Her long
skinny legs were
dark with a
tan and her
light brown hair
brightened to a
sunlit-streaked blonde.
On the kitchen
table was a
plate with a wrapped
sandwich along with a note
that her mother would be home by
five o’clock. Rory grabbed a ripe peach from the fruit bowl on the counter
instead before she flew out the back, the screen door slamming shut behind her.
Three full weeks of campfires, bug bites, swimming, sunbathing, sailing,
archery, hiking, tennis, and now her real summer was finally about to begin.
She ran all the way to the end of the street, skirting the stone seawall
until she reached the rickety steps
leading to the weathered wood
dock. She smiled
when she spotted
the small Boston Whaler tied up
to a slip, bobbing in the water.
They were all there, doing flips into the cool blue waves.
“Rory!”
She grinned, lifting her hand to wave. “Hey, Kev!”
Suddenly Matt emerged from the water, smiling as he climbed up the
ladder to the dock and hiked up his board shorts. He looked taller somehow,
even dripping wet, his short dark hair sticking
up in spikes
as he swiped
a hand down
his face. His eyes were
as blue as
the ocean against his smooth,
bronzed skin.
“How was it?” he asked.
She lifted a shoulder to let it drop. “Okay.”
“I’ve been taking care of your boat.”
“I see that.”
“Matt! Let’s go!”Murph appeared from around a cluster of tall pilings in
his dad’s Aquasport, calling out to him with a slight scowl. From the sound of
his impatience, Rory assumed Matt must have been swimming out to meet him when
she arrived.
“We’re heading over to the island,” Matt explained. “You in?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll meet you guys there,” he called back to Murph. “We’re taking
Rory’s boat!”
Despite the fact he already carried a full crowd, Murph didn’t seem too
pleased with the unexpected change of plans.
Matt waved his
brother Kevin along with
the others before grabbing
his t-shirt and sneakers
from the dock.
He dropped them
into the blue interior
of the waiting
skiff and then offered Rory a steadying hand as they
both stepped aboard.
“Check this out,” he said. “I worked taking out the trash and stocking
shelves and stuff like that for my dad, until I had enough to buy some parts.”
Grinning, he took a seat at the stern and revved the little motor.
“I can’t believe it!” Rory laughed, taking a seat on the polished wood
thwart. “It finally works.”
She wondered exactly how many hours he’d put in at his dad’s marine store
to make this happen. Mr. O’Shea wasn’t the type to let his sons off easy.
As Matt instructed
her on how
to guide it
out of the
busy afternoon harbor
traffic, warning her about
the chop, talking
a mile a minute
with his typical
enthusiasm, their arms gently brushed and bumped against each
other. Although his body seemed so lean and hard, his warm skin, still dotted
with water, was surprisingly soft.
“You got it?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
Leaning back, he draped an arm over the side of the boat and smiled as
he watched her.
“So, what else?”
Motoring across the bumpy currents, she shook her head in the salty
spray. “Not much else to tell. It was summer camp. That about sums it up.” She
narrowed her eyes when she noticed he was staring. “What?”
“You look different.”
“I do?” Rory frowned skeptically and pushed the windswept hair off her
face, although she had been thinking something similar about him. “How?”
“I don’t know.” He brushed it off with a dismissive shrug of his
shoulder. “Did you miss me?”
“Oh yeah.” The corner of her mouth curved up. “I cried myself to sleep
every night.”
“I figured.”
They eased away from home port, heading across an open stretch of water
to the offshore rocky outcropping of
sandy beach and
shady gnarled pines
at the very
tip of Lighthouse
Point that they called their island.
Rory snuck another glance at him before quickly returning her attention
to the water.
“I didn’t miss you either—in case you were wondering,” he said finally.
She just smiled.
About the Author
A lifelong New Englander, I divide my time
between the North Shore and Cape Cod.
My favorite things are beaches, boats, books,
bars, the Boston Red Sox and
boys, but not necessarily in that order.
Consequently, you’ll probably find
that these are the things I write about,
too.
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