Bayside Fantasies (Bayside Summers Book 6)

by Melissa Foster

  Dean parked in front of the gallery, which was located in the first of three cottages leading up to Summer House. The tree had fallen from the backyard, crushing the right side of the structure. The gallery looked like it had been swallowed by the spidery branches.

  As they piled out of the truck, Violet came out of the gallery carrying a box covered with plastic and met them on the walkway. “The sex shop is demolished. We’re putting the merchandise in the empty cottage.” She peered at Jett from under the hood of her black raincoat and said, “You’re still here?”

  “My flight was canceled. Sorry about your stuff. Did you get pictures for the insurance company?”

  “Damn it. No. I didn’t think about it.” Violet turned to go back inside.

  “I’ll do it,” Jett offered. “Has anyone talked to Tegan?”

  Violet smirked. “Weren’t you the last one to crawl out of her bed?”

  “We didn’t exchange numbers.”

  “Nice move, rookie,” Violet said. “Chloe talked to her. She’s fine.”

  Thank God.

  Violet took off toward the empty cottage, and the men sprang into action. Jett hiked a thumb over his shoulder and said, “I’m going to take those insurance pictures.”

  “We need to make sure the structure is safe,” Rick said. He was an architect by trade and had owned a design-build company in DC for several years. “Then we’ll empty the place and deal with the tree.”

  Dean retrieved a ladder from the truck as Rick and Jett jogged around to the back of the cottage.

  “You and Tegan didn’t hit it off after all?” Rick asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You didn’t exchange numbers.”

  “I was rushing to make a flight.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Seriously. She’s incredible, and we were great together. So great that I forgot to turn my phone back on.” Not to mention he’d slept better, and later, than he had in years.

  “If that’s the case, then you’re an idiot for not getting her number,” Rick said as they inspected the stability of the fallen tree, which was leaning against the crushed wall and roof.

  “I’ve spent the last few hours debating driving out to check on her. But when I made a comment to her about taking care in the storm, she gave me a hard time and said she could handle herself. Think it’ll look clingy if I check on her?” Jett asked as Dean rounded the corner of the house carrying a ladder.

  Dean leaned the ladder against the rear of the house and said, “Did you just say clingy?”

  “Should we get our Teen magazines and take a quiz to see if you’re clingy?” Rick chuckled.

  “Fuck off.” Jett didn’t like the idea of Tegan being out there all alone, with no neighbors in sight. He didn’t care how long she’d lived alone; if a tree fell on her house she could get hurt.

  They didn’t talk about Tegan or anything else as they inspected the fallen tree, which thankfully appeared to be lodged in place and stable for now. Jett took pictures of the damage from the back and sides of the cottage, then headed inside. Rain poured through the open roof on the right side of the cottage. Tangled branches shot out in all directions. Tables were demolished, the pieces scattered on the wet floor among shards of broken pottery and torn paintings. Andre stood in his rain gear among the rubble, piling paintings into boxes.

  “What a nightmare,” Andre grumbled.

  “I’m sorry, man.” Jett grabbed as many pieces of artwork and pottery as he could hold and put them in another box. Then he got busy taking pictures.

  “Vi and I are supposed to take off after the wedding to open another clinic, but we can’t leave Des and Rick to deal with this mess on their own.” Andre ran Operation SHINE, an international humanitarian organization similar to Doctors Without Borders. He and Violet traveled to open three clinics each year in newly developed areas.

  “Rick’s got the experience to handle it,” Jett reminded him.

  “He has a resort to run and a baby on the way.” Andre picked up handmade cards Desiree had painted, which were now ruined, and said, “The girls worked so hard on this stuff.”

  “It sucks that they’ve lost artwork they poured their hearts and souls into, and the income from their hard work, but at least they weren’t in here when the tree fell. I don’t want to diminish how awful this is, so I apologize if this sounds cold, but at the end of the day, art is still just an accessory,” Jett said as Violet stepped into the cottage. “The girls are irreplaceable.”

  Andre hoisted the box into his arms and said, “You’re absolutely right. I can’t imagine a single day without Vi.”

  “You know I love you, Andre,” Violet said. “But can we stop the touchy-feely shit and get moving before that tree flattens us all?”

  “That’s my girl.” Andre gave her a chaste kiss on his way out of the cottage.

  I’d like to know how my woman is.

  Jett uttered a curse. Tegan was not his woman, and that was exactly how he wanted it to remain.

  “What’s going on with you?” Violet asked. “Why do you look like you want to kill someone instead of like you just enjoyed a night of fuckery?”

  Because I have no idea where the urge to go check on her fits into the damn rules.

  HOURS LATER, JETT was frozen to the bone, they’d managed to salvage a few pieces of artwork, and the guys were all heading into Summer House, where the girls had a fire going and hot food on the table.

  “You coming?” Dean asked Jett.

  “Nah. I’ve got work to do.”

  “Thanks for all your help today. It was nice having you around.”

  Jett nodded. As cold and drenched as he was, he’d enjoyed pulling together with Dean and the guys, too. He’d been relieved when he saw Daphne a while ago on her way to Summer House with Hadley to join the girls and she’d mentioned that she’d seen a post from Tegan on some book club forum. Tegan had said she’d stocked up on food for the storm and was planning on staying inside until the sun came out. At least he knew she was safe.

  “In case I don’t see you before you take off, have a safe flight.” Dean gave him a quick slap on the back and went to join the others.

  Jett headed for his cottage, chewing on a twinge of regret that his brother knew he wasn’t big on goodbyes. A quick See ya next time text was usually all Dean got from him.

  When Tia’s text rolled in, Jett was glad for the distraction.

  I’ve got your flight details.

  He typed out, Great, email them, sent it off, and pulled out his car keys, circling back toward the resort office to drop off the key to the cottage.

  Chapter Eight

  BETWEEN THE COLD stinging rain and hellacious winds, it was nearly impossible for Tegan to see, much less push her cart across the grocery store parking lot. It took all her might to keep the darn thing from careening into a parked car. When she finally made it to her vehicle, she pushed the cart against the side of her car and held on to it with one hand as she transferred the groceries into the back seat. The trunk had long ago stopped functioning.

  After wrestling against the wind and rain to return the cart, she flopped into the driver’s seat out of breath and soaking wet, feeling like she’d been to war. She rested her head back, laughing at the ridiculousness of her day. If she hadn’t spent half the day dreaming about Jett, she might have left the house earlier and beaten the crazies to the grocery store. The storm was far worse than she had thought. There were trees down everywhere. Her car had rattled and shaken the whole way as she’d followed detours around flash floods and accidents, and when she’d finally arrived, the shelves had been nearly bare. The checkout lines were so long, she had time to text her sister, her mother, and a few friends back home. She’d even had time to post on the book club forum and read all the posts she’d missed the last couple days. What felt like a lifetime later, she had finally checked out. At least the madness had cured her from thinking about Jett as anything more than a good-time friend. She
didn’t have time for daydreams. He had his life, and she had hers. Now that she had her head on straighter, she totally had this FWB thing under control.

  The gallon of mint-chocolate-chip ice cream I bought is just backup, in case I fall off the FWB wagon again.

  She started her car, but it coughed and sputtered to silence. She patted the dashboard. “Come on, Berta. I believe in you.” She turned the key again, and it sputtered again, rattling around her, then died.

  “One more time, girl. You can do this.” She cranked the engine. It wheezed, shuddered, then caught. Tegan let out a celebratory whoop!

  She turned up the heat, fastened her seat belt, and drove out of the lot, crawling along behind a line of endless vehicles. The police rerouted traffic around a fallen tree, and she followed the other cars, stopping for long stretches of time and then moving at only five or ten miles per hour down unfamiliar roads. They were detoured two more times, and she hoped she was still heading in the right direction. Her mind drifted to the work she’d done earlier in the day. She’d made progress on the business plan, but since the amphitheater was no longer going to be used solely for children’s productions, she needed to give it a new name. After spending far too long doodling potential names and writing Jett more than a dozen times with swirls, hearts, and other ridiculous scribbles, she’d given up and started designing the furry, winged mermaid costume for Joni. But that had reminded her of her chat with Jett at the café, so she’d headed upstairs to try to finally rid her brain of thoughts of him. Cleaning usually helped clear her head. She’d cleaned her entire bedroom and washed all the laundry, including the sheets and Jett’s forgotten boxer briefs—which didn’t help her escape her thoughts of him.

  Then or now.

  She wondered where he was going on his flight from Boston. What did he have on his schedule? Meetings? Did he work in an office? From home? Chloe said he traveled a lot, so she assumed he was going to a business meeting. Those thoughts led to more specific ones about Jett. What was he like on a regular day when they weren’t at a party and when he wasn’t working? Where did he live? Did he really come back to see his family only a few times each year? She swallowed hard and asked herself the most painful question of all. Would he be with other women over the next two weeks?

  Oh man. She was totally chicking out again. She needed to stop.

  She gripped the steering wheel tighter and focused on the road. How long had she been driving? An hour? Longer? She had no idea where she was and hoped the car she was following as they turned onto a larger road was heading to Brewster, too. She looked around. Power lines swayed, and massive trees keeled in the wind. Potholes rippled like ponds in the road, and the white-gray skies surrounding her looked more like winter than spring. She continued following the car ahead of her onto what looked like a main road, and eventually she recognized her surroundings.

  Thank goodness.

  Her fingers unfurled, aching from the white-knuckled grip she had on the steering wheel. She hunched forward, using her hand to wipe the foggy windshield as she navigated toward home. She breathed a sigh of relief when the long private road that led to her house came into view. She made the turn, splashing through the puddled pothole she normally avoided. Her car bottomed out, lurching right into a rain-filled ditch and sending her groceries flying forward. She yelped, slamming on the brakes. The car shuddered and shook, rattling to silence.

  “No, no, no!” Tegan pleaded, throwing the car into park. She tried to start it up again. “Come on! Come on!” She peered out her window into the driving rain, unable to see more than about a foot away before everything became a blur. But that foot was enough to see that the car was half in and half out of the ditch, resting at an awkward angle.

  “Damn it!” She cranked the engine again. Come on, Berta. Start already! The wheezing of the engine sounded like a man struggling with his last breath, which made her think of her uncle. She could just see him shaking his head in amusement because she hadn’t taken his fancy car. His voice sailed through her ears, Laugh it off, darlin’, followed by his familiar and comforting low chuckle.

  God, she missed him.

  She closed her eyes against the burning tears that she refused to let fall, remembering how her uncle had once told her that crying wouldn’t help any situation—unless she got pulled over by the police. In that case, you pull out all the stops to avoid a ticket. Go right for his ego and flutter those lashes. If that doesn’t work, collapse into tears. Laughter tumbled from her lips with the memory. She’d been sixteen when he’d said it, and she’d been afraid to drive by herself in a new area. Of course he’d made her laugh, and then he’d sent her off to pick up something very important from a gallery. He’d given her the keys to his car and said, Roll down the windows and turn up the music. Fears are no match for Cape Cod air. On the way to the gallery, she’d driven too slowly, windows up, radio off, just like her mother had taught her. No distractions. She’d arrived white-knuckled and feeling like she’d held her breath the whole way. On the way home she’d cracked the window and turned the radio on low. Soon she’d gotten lost in a song and turned it up, rolling down her window and enjoying the calming sea air. She’d felt so good, she’d stopped for ice cream, driven to Breakwater Beach and taken a walk there. When she finally got home, her uncle’s wrapped package in hand, he’d asked her to unwrap it for him. In it was a small, hand-carved wooden jewelry box with There’s nothing you can’t do engraved in the top. Apparently her mother had forewarned her uncle about her fear of driving, and he’d had the whole excursion planned all along.

  She still used that jewelry box, and she almost always drove with the windows down and the radio on.

  Except in weather like this.

  She looked at the groceries scattered around the car and had the funny thought that at least she wouldn’t starve. She searched for her phone, finding it under the passenger seat, and debated who to call to help her get her car out of the ditch. She remembered that Justin was going to see Chloe, so she called her. The line crackled and her call went to voicemail, so she left a message. “Hey, it’s me. I think I might need Justin’s help after all. My car’s stuck in a ditch. But, um, if you guys are having sex or something, don’t stop. I’ll try someone else.” She laughed softly as she ended the call, thinking, Go, Chloe!

  She stared out at the rain, pondering who else to call. Her phone made three violently angry beeping sounds, startling her. A dangerous weather warning appeared on the screen advising residents to stay indoors due to flash floods and downed trees.

  “Gee, really?” she said as thunder rumbled overhead. A streak of lightning cracked too close for comfort and she shrieked. In the next breath, hysterical laughter burst from her lungs. She sent a silent thank-you to her uncle because he was right: Laughter was far better than tears. But she sure wished he could see his way to pull a few more heavenly strings and send a tow truck.

  A tow truck!

  She navigated to the browser on her phone and tried to search tow trucks, but the stupid blue bar stopped after a second, never fully loading. Perfect. The car rocked in the gale-force winds, and Tegan tried the engine again, but there was only a faint and ominous click. Berta had had enough, and as much as Tegan loved her car, she found herself laughing again, drunk on circumstance.

  She thought about Chloe, Jett, and Jock trying to warn her about the storm and how she’d assured them she could handle it. Damn right I can. She didn’t need to bother her friends. The house wasn’t that far, even if it was a really long road. The house was down a ways, then around a bend, out of sight. She could make it in four or five minutes with the groceries and the rain, and she wasn’t going to melt or blow away. Berta would be just fine until she could arrange to get her towed and hopefully fixed.

  Tegan to the rescue, she mused, though she was in no rush to sprint through the rain carrying groceries.

  She unhooked her seat belt and rooted around the back seat for the ice cream. If she had to brave the storm, s
he deserved something sweet first. Maybe the rain would let up while she enjoyed it. She tore off the top, and using two fingers, scooped out the creamy goodness and shoved it into her mouth. Mm. She dug out another hunk and ate it.

  This is even better than laughter.

  Storms were kind of pretty when she wasn’t trying to get somewhere. She sank back in the seat, eating ice cream and watching the rain.

  A long while later, headlights flashed through her rear window. She turned and stared at the blurry lights. Justin! Thank you, Chloe!

  A dark, hooded figure appeared beside her window, and she quickly rolled it down, but the bright blue eyes staring back at her stole her voice, and all that came out was a breathy and confused “Hey.”

  Jett’s gaze moved to her sticky hand stuck in the nearly empty ice cream container, and amusement rose in his eyes. “Having a little party?”

  “I…” Jett. God, Jett. Look at you. He was even more handsome than she remembered. And he was here! Wait…what? “I thought you were leaving town.”

  “My flight was canceled.” He leaned his forearms on the window, blocking the rain from hitting her and bringing his handsome face close enough to kiss. He smelled rugged and delicious. “I’m flying out tomorrow morning instead. I know you can handle the storm on your own, and you obviously have everything under control, having chosen a ditch from which to watch it and all, but I thought you might want a buddy to hang out with. Is there room for two in this hot rod?”

  She couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across her face. “There is, but I’m not sharing my ice cream.”

  “That’s a shame.” He reached into the car and lifted her ice-cream-coated fingers out of the container. He licked them from palm to tip, then put her fingers in his mouth and sucked them clean, drawing them out slowly.

  Tegan. Couldn’t. Breathe.