Vexing Exes

By Barri Naven

Bridget Milton's peaceful existence on Mackey Island is disrupted when Hayes O'Rourke buys the cottage next to hers and her life becomes one argument after another with the man. Then Clay Wilkins returns to town. Clay Wilkins, who dumped Bridget after they'd been together all through high school, wants a second chance. When a puppy, a squirrel, and a class reunion are thrown in, Bridget's life becomes very complicated.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barri Naven
• Release date: Nov 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215074831

Barri Naven

Barri Naven lives on Cape Cod where she avoids the summer traffic by hiding at home with her trusty laptop, long-suffering husband, and all the chocolate she can find. Escaping from reality in a romance novel, the ultimate goal a happy ending, is her idea of a good read.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Bridget Milton had heard this particular ad before. Many times. But she still couldn’t get past the fact she was again the merchandise being offered up.

Okay, so maybe her mother wasn’t actually trying to sell her, but Nancy Milton was definitely trying to convince Bridget to do what she was told because her mother knew best. The fact Bridget had stopped taking unsolicited, unnecessary, and unwanted advice once she left for college fifteen years ago didn’t seem to faze her mother, who was well-meaning, but enough was enough.

Mom, I have to go. Thanks for lunch. She should have left with her siblings and their significant others. Either that or she should have brought a significant other of her own for once, so she wouldn’t have been treated to the same spiel she heard every time the Milton family got together.

You know I just want you to be happy.

I am happy.

"But you’re alone, all the way out on that Mackey Island. You don’t even have a grocery store near you."

There were days when Bridget knew a grocery store, and particularly the bakery department, were the answers to her every hope and dream. But it wasn’t as if she were hours away from civilization. I’m not alone. I have plenty of neighbors.

"But there’s no one living with you."

Nance, she doesn’t want anyone living with her, Jared Milton said from the living room where he was watching the Red Sox play the Yankees.

Bridget smiled. Thanks, Dad.

You know Clay is still interested in you. Whatever happened in the past is over. Don’t you think it’s time to try again with him?

I love you, Mom, but whatever Clay and I had is in the past. You need to forget him.

The kid did Bridget wrong, Nance. We Miltons don’t forget things like that.

Dads. They really got it sometimes. Love you, Dad.

Love you, too, honey.

I’m fine, Mom. She gave her mother one more hug, which made it three while she’d been standing at the kitchen door trying to escape. Bye, Dad.

Bye, honey.

Oh, go ahead then. I’ll talk to you this week, Nancy said.

Bye. Then she was finally out the door and climbing into her Mazda, exhaling slowly as her shoulders relaxed. Bridget would have to thank Remy later for blabbing about Clay asking her out yet again, a fact Bridget should have told Remy was not for public consumption, since that was what precipitated her mother’s resurrected let’s-get-Bridget-a-boyfriend campaign today.

Her younger sister, Remy, having found a wonderful man, according to Nancy, figured it was time to remind everyone that Bridget could have Clay Wilkins if she’d only stop being so stubborn and would agree to go out with him.

What no one seemed to remember was Clay had broken up with Bridget. After they’d been together for four years. Four years. All through high school. During that oh-so-memorable summer after graduation, as Bridget and Clay were facing leaving home for their freshman years at college, Clay decided it would be best if they saw other people. His announcement had been unexpected and unwelcome and it had taken Bridget weeks for her broken heart to heal. Exactly the way she wanted to start her new life away at school.

To top it all off, when they had both come home for Thanksgiving break, Clay had wanted to magically pick up where they’d left off, minus the breakup speech, of course. Bridget had surprised herself by having the guts to say thanks, but no thanks. And she’d said the same thing during every single school break after that when he’d asked her to go out until he’d finally stopped asking.

Then she’d run into him at the Market Basket a week ago, realizing two things; he must have moved back to Silver Beach, and he hadn’t actually stopped asking her out.

Her mother’s monologue, which she’d begun only after everyone else had left, had brought all the memories back, and all Bridget wanted to do was get home and maybe walk to the beach. If she spent even half an hour in the late afternoon sun with the breeze in her hair, the tangy smell of the salt water surrounding her, she could get herself back to where she wanted to be.

Pulling onto the causeway, the only road in and out of Mackey Island, she took a nice, deep breath. The narrow strip of lumpy asphalt, with its single yellow line down the center, bordered on both sides by sand and boulders and the ocean, meant she was almost home.

Her good humor lasted until she came around the bend onto Shore Road, which ran around the perimeter of the island, and she saw the road was blocked by a couple of pickups and a box truck. Super fantastic and swell. The cottage nearest hers had been for sale, and had apparently sold, since she saw three guys carrying in what looked like a dresser and a chair. All very lovely for her new neighbors, but couldn’t they have parked better so traffic could get by? Like maybe not smack in the middle of the already narrow road?

Shaking her head, she made a three-point turn and headed back to where she’d started, just off the causeway, taking the longer way home, around the other side. It wasn’t a huge difference, distance-wise, but the speed limit was a whopping 15 mph, and there were speed bumps making sure it was followed. Passing the other cottages, all almost identical with their single stories and weathered cedar shingles, she looked to see if anyone had painted their window shutters or front doors recently, which was pretty much all the individuality they were allowed, per the HOA rules. They all owned the cottages, but they didn’t own the land their cottages were on, which had its pros and cons. She was thankful she didn’t need to mow the lawn, which was actually more pine needles and acorns than grass, thanks to the dozens of scrub pines and oak trees all over the place. In any case, the HOA dues took care of the landscaping duties.

As she came around the final bend in the road, she saw her beloved little cottage. And her new neighbor. Or neighbors. There were four men, but she knew they wouldn’t all be living there. There was only so much square footage, and only one bedroom, and all those men looked to be over six feet tall. Well, it didn’t matter who would be living there, unless he or they parked their truck or trucks in the road and no one would be able to get by. She wouldn’t be the only one affected, so maybe someone else could knock on the door and handle the confrontational part.

Pulling onto her oyster-shell driveway, she glanced next door at the cottage, a scant sixty feet away. The Berubes, who had lived in the cottage until recently, had been lovely, and quiet, and she already knew the new resident or residents would be anything but, if the laughter and horsing around as they carried furniture from the trucks to the front door were any indicator. She was surprised no one had dropped anything yet.

But she wasn’t going to sit here for the rest of the day and watch them because she had a date with a chair and a whole lot of sandy beach and ocean. Pushing open her car door, she walked to her front door, keeping her eyes on her own cottage, when she heard a shrill whistle from next door. She wasn’t going to dignify that by even looking over there. Jerk.

HAYES O’ROURKE SMACKED Rusty Boudin on the arm before lifting a bookcase from the truck.

What? Rusty said, rubbing his arm.

Maybe you could act your age for a change.

Did you see that brunette? She’s hot.

How many times do we have to tell you not to do that? Gil Franklin asked, shaking his head.

Let’s get finished here so we can call for a delivery, Shepp O’Rourke said.

Hayes glanced at his brother, wondering if Mackey Island even rated deliveries. It was way the hell out from the center of Silver Beach, surrounded by the Atlantic Ocean on all sides, with the exception of the causeway, which couldn’t be more than 50 feet at its widest point. Hayes was aware of what could happen to an island in a bad storm, but he’d decided to buy the cottage anyway. Once he found a house on the mainland, preferably also in Silver Beach because he wanted to stay in Massachusetts, he could rent out the cottage. It seemed to him to be a wise investment. Course he’d been wrong before, maybe a few hundred times. Maybe more than a few.

His brother and friends were inside when Hayes came out for the remaining box, and he looked at the cottage to the left of his. The object of Rusty’s appreciation came out her front door carrying a beach chair and bag, headed across the road where the realtor had told him the nearest beach access was located. Rusty had been spot on. She was an attractive woman. Maybe if the parting words of his most recent romantic catastrophe weren’t still reverberating in his head, he could have thought about making his new neighbor’s acquaintance. Following the woman with his eyes until she disappeared behind a hedge, he shrugged and returned inside. Time to think about dinner.

Hayes had to call three places before he found one that would deliver, and eventually he and the guys were out on his deck in his newly purchased plastic chairs enjoying pizza and beer, standard moving day fare.

Thanks for your help, guys. Appreciate it.

You live in a freaking summer camp, Hayes, Rusty said, his eyes on the trees behind the cottage, and the backs of the cottages beyond.

Hayes looked around. Thirty cottages, all essentially identical, but because of the uneven ground, the direction the road took, and the placement of the homes, he guessed it seemed more like a campground than a typical neighborhood. But that was what had drawn him to the island. You’re right.

What’s with the trees? Gil gestured around.

What about them? Hayes said. Gil had grown up in Silver Beach the same as he had and knew damn well what scrub pines were.

The fact they’re everywhere. Usually builders wipe out everything when they’re putting in a development, Gil said.

Hayes shrugged. Maybe they did, but these pines spring up wherever the pine cones drop. There were plenty of oak trees around, but they seemed to be outnumbered by the pines. Pine needles and acorns all over the place.

They’re weird looking things, all stumpy and crooked, Rusty said.

Shepp laughed. They’re scrub pines.

I’m guessing you don’t see a lot of these in the city, Hayes said, grinning.

What’s with the crazy branches?

Hayes said, Wind and the blowing sand destroy the buds and wear down the branches. See how the branches near the water look like flags? It’s from years of the wind blasting them.

Better be careful or it’ll sandblast the paint off your new F150, Rusty said.

BRIDGET’S MELLOW MOOD, brought on by her visit to the beach and pleasant conversation with some of her neighbors who had also been inspired to spend some time in the early evening sun, lasted until she reached home and heard the ruckus from the deck next door. The voices and laughter weren’t unexpected, but she had a bad feeling they could go late into the night, and not just tonight, but every night.

She was a morning person with an embarrassingly early bedtime, and she could already tell this wasn’t going to be a good fit. She kept her windows open from June to October since air conditioning wasn’t necessary on the island, thanks to the almost daily breezes that came through. Which also meant zero soundproofing was happening, with everything on the outside making its way inside.

Her other neighbors were either all naturally quiet or they made the effort to keep it down,