“I’m sorry,” he said. “Was it a long illness?”
She hitched a shoulder. She still felt raw about it, but she was determined not to cry. Gram had been her rock, her anchor—and now she was gone. “Emphysema. She had it as long as I knew her. It got worse in the last two years. Portable oxygen machine, the whole deal.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
“What about you?” she asked. “Are your grandparents still alive?”
“Just my maternal grandfather. He’s ninety-four, still getting out for his walks, still living at home. It’s amazing.”
“Good for him. You see him often?”
He shook his head. “Not as often as I’d like.”
“Why not?”
“He’s in Upstate New York.”
“And...?” She arched an eyebrow.
He spread his hands. “I’m always busy with work.”
“That’s too bad,” she said. “I’m sure he misses you.” She heard a seagull cry overhead and noticed that the light was changing. “Hey, what time is it?”
He checked his watch. “A little before seven.”
“We should get back.”
“All right,” he said, standing. “Thanks for showing me around. This was fun.”
She nodded. It had been fun—a lot of fun. “You have the bag from the hardware store?”
He held it up. “Right here.”
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Four
When Jonathan was pulled out of bed by the sound of hysterical crying at eleven thirty that night, he worried that Emma had somehow gotten into the basement and set off one of the rattraps he’d placed after he and Laura had returned from their trip into town.
He threw on a shirt and poked his head into the hallway. It sounded like the crying was coming from downstairs.
He started down the creaky stairwell, and saw Laura pacing the length of the parlor in a long pink nightgown, a weeping Emma held tightly in her arms. “Shh, shh, shh,” she crooned. “Shh, shh, shh.”
“Everything okay?” he asked. He didn’t see any blood, so that was good.
She stroked her daughter’s hair. “Nightmare.”
He came all the way down the stairs, touched the back of the little girl’s shoulder. “You have a bad dream, Tiny?”
The girl sobbed harder, clinging to her mom.
“What can I do?” he asked.
“It’s okay,” Laura said. “She’ll cry herself out eventually. You can go back to bed.”
He looked at her steadily. “It’s not like I’m going to be able to sleep.”
She sighed and shifted Emma higher in her arms. “Sometimes we watch cartoons with no volume. Can you look for the remote, see if you can turn the TV on?”
He did a quick scan around the room and located it on one of the side tables. Squinting to read the buttons in the darkness, he figured out how to turn the television on. “What cartoon?”
She sat down heavily on the couch, Emma clutching her neck. “See if you can find some old Disney cartoons or something.”
He navigated through the system, found some vintage animated shorts. He turned them on and hoped they would help.
After a few minutes, Emma quieted down, her sobs mellowing into hitching breaths.
“You like this one, Tiny? The one where Donald eats the corn on the cob like it’s a typewriter?”
The girl looked at him, pushed a strand of tear-soaked hair out of her face and nodded.
“It’s a good one,” he said.
Laura eased Emma onto the sofa and caught Jonathan’s eye above the girl’s head. “Can you sit with her for a minute?”
He scooted closer to Emma and gave Laura a nod. “Of course.”
The girl climbed onto his lap and laid her head on his chest and he froze, uncertain about what to do or where to put his hands. “You’re not soft like my mommy,” Emma murmured, and he relaxed a little, placing one arm along the back of the couch and the other around the little girl’s back.
“Do you get bad dreams a lot?” he asked.
She nodded.
They watched the cartoon in silence for a moment. “Know what I do when I have bad dreams?”
She pointed her little face up at him. “You have bad dweams, too?”
“Everybody has them sometimes, Tiny. Part of life. But when I have a bad dream, I think about happy things. Like dancing,” he said, thinking back to their conversation at breakfast, “or ‘Yankee Doodle.’”
“I like dancing,” she said sleepily. “I like ‘Yankee Doodle.’”
“I know.” He started humming the song for her, heard her sigh and then heard her breathing get more even.
Laura tiptoed back into the room, wearing a thick white bathrobe over her cotton nightgown. “Wow, you got her back to sleep?”
Jonathan looked down. “She must have just conked out,” he whispered.
“It usually takes me like an hour to get her back to bed.”
“Glad I could help. You want me to carry her upstairs?”
Laura shook her head. “She doesn’t transfer well. We should wait until she falls into deep sleep.”
“How can you tell?”
She sat next to him and Emma, and placed a hand lightly on her daughter’s back. “You’ve obviously never had to get a baby to sleep.”
He felt his lips curl up. “Can’t say I have.”
“You’ve got to hold them for, like, half an hour. At first, they think they’re still feeding, and their little mouths are moving, and they get these sweet little expressions on their faces, smiles and sadness and tiny quivering chins. But after a while, if you just keep holding them, their mouths relax and their faces stop twitching. Then you can stand up and place them in the crib and nothing will wake them. Their arms and legs will just dangle like dead weight. That’s deep sleep.”
He could picture her holding a sleeping baby, and the mental image gave him a peaceful feeling in his chest. What an idiot her ex-husband was, giving up these two for—what? A woman from his office who could boost his career?
“So, I hold her for half an hour, huh?”
Laura yawned. “Sorry, Harvard. If I’d known she’d fall asleep on you, I never would have left.”
He let his head drift against the back of the couch. “There’s a lot that falls on your shoulders, isn’t there, when you’ve got a kid?”
She didn’t answer, but she did let her head rest against the cushions, too.
“You ever get tired?” he asked.
“I’m tired now.”
“She has nightmares a lot?”
Laura shrugged. “A few times a week.”
“You can sleep. I’ll hold her.”
She yawned again. “Can’t ask you to do that, Harvard.”
“You didn’t ask,” he said easily. “I offered.”
She turned her head to the side, burrowing a little into the cushions. “Well, if you really don’t mind, maybe I’ll just close my eyes for a second.”
“I really don’t mind,” he said.
She closed her eyes. He watched the cartoon duck flicker across the screen and held a sleeping Emma until half an hour had passed and the girl was warm and loose-limbed in his arms. Standing carefully so as not to disturb Laura, he carried Emma to her bedroom and tucked her in. The little girl didn’t stir.
He went back downstairs and turned off the TV. “Laura,” he murmured, touching her shoulder. “Time to go to bed.”
She groaned and tried to tunnel deeper into the couch, her hair mussed, her warm, soft skin giving off the faint scent of baby powder.
“Come on,” he said, sitting next to her and sliding his arm around her waist. “I’ll help you.”
She leaned into him and they stood together, and
he felt happy to have even this small opportunity to lend her some of his strength.
“Where’s Emma?” she whispered, taking a step away from him, reminding him that she wasn’t his to comfort, his to hold.
He pointed at the ceiling. “Upstairs. In bed.”
She rubbed her eyes. “I must have been more tired than I thought.”
He shrugged. “You’ve got a lot on your shoulders.”
“Thanks for your help, Harvard. You definitely scored some points tonight.”
“Points?”
“You know,” she said, “the moral-bankruptcy thing.”
“Oh, yeah. Right.”
“Good night, Harvard.”
He lifted his hand in a farewell wave. “Good night.”
Then he watched her climb the stairs, feeling curiously disappointed that she’d been thinking of their challenge when all he’d been thinking about was...her.
* * *
When Jonathan walked into the dining room the next morning just after six, dressed in track pants, a T-shirt and sneakers, he was surprised to see Laura and Emma sitting calmly in a pool of sunlight at the end of one the communal tables. Laura was sipping coffee, and Emma was drawing a picture.
“You ladies are up early,” he said.
“Mr. Jonafin!” Emma popped out of her seat and flung herself at his legs for a hug.
He laughed and picked her up. “Hey, Tiny. You get back to sleep after that nightmare?”
Laura shot him an apologetic glance and mouthed, “Sorry,” over Emma’s head. Jonathan ignored it. He didn’t mind.
“I drawed you a picture.”
“Oh, yeah?” He put the little girl down and she retrieved the drawing and presented it to him. It looked like a colorful maze. “Very nice.”
“It’s me at the beach! With the waves! And a mermaid! And a sparkly crab!”
“Wow, a sparkly crab, huh? That’s cool.”
“Do you want to me to sing ‘Yankee Doodle’?”
“Honey, why don’t we let Mr. Jonathan have a cup of coffee first?” Laura said.
“Okay. Would you like a cup of coffee, Mr. Jonafin?”
“Sure, Tiny. That’d be nice.”
She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the sideboard, where there was a coffee machine, some creamer and a stack of mugs, along with some bread and cereal. “I had Cheerios for breakfast,” she announced proudly.
“I’m partial to shredded wheat myself.” He didn’t reach for the cereal, though—just the coffee.
“Sweetened or unsweetened?” Laura asked.
“Unsweetened. With a protein shake. After my run.”
“Ah, that’s right,” she said. “Your run. That explains the workout clothes. Sorry to say we don’t keep protein powder on hand at the inn.”
He grinned and pulled a travel packet of the stuff out of his pocket with a flourish. “That’s okay. I brought my own.”
She groaned. “Of course you did.”
“What’s a pwotein shake?” Emma asked.
“An adult drink, honey.”
Emma scrunched her nose. “Yuck!”
Jonathan sipped his coffee. “Any good running trails around here?”
“Um, how about the beach?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I wanted to save that for later. I like to be disciplined about my running, but I want to enjoy my first trip to the beach.”
Laura squinted at him. “What do you mean, your first trip? You’ve never been to the beach?”
He shook his head. “Not here. This is my first time on Cape Cod.”
She cocked her head. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“How long have you lived in Boston?” she asked.
“Almost ten years.”
She gave him an odd look. “What took you so long?”
He shrugged. “I don’t really take a lot of vacations.”
“You don’t have to take a vacation to come down to the Cape,” she insisted. “Easy weekend trip from Boston.”
“Maybe I’ll come back someday,” he said, knowing even as he said it that he’d never have time. But more and more, he found himself looking forward to seeing her and talking with her. And—boy!—was she ever good at making him laugh.
He’d like to see her again after this whole thing was over. But he knew better than to make promises he couldn’t keep.
“Have you heard of backward day, Mr. Jonafin? On backward day, we have ice cream for breakfast!”
“Whoa, that’s living on the edge, Tiny. What’s your favorite flavor?”
The little girl’s face scrunched up as she thought. “Tiger Tail Bubble Gum Fudge Sprinkles Banana Pop!”
“With whipped cream?” he asked. “And a cherry on top?”
“Lots and lots and lots of whipped cream! I love whipped cream soooo much!”
Laura ignored Emma’s rapturous description of ice cream and told Jonathan, “I don’t know about running trails, but there’s a wooded path that cuts behind Main Street. I think you can follow it over to the next town. How far do you usually run?”
“Nine or ten miles.”
She laughed. “Oh, yeah. Ten miles. A nice, leisurely jog. And weight training on the weekend, right? Don’t tell me you’re one of those paleo diet people, too.”
He snorted. “Um, did you or did you not see me inhale close to a half a pound of fudge last night?”
“Could have been a cheat day.”
He shook his head. “I don’t cheat.”
Her eyebrow shot up at that. “Ever?”
He looked at her steadily. He had the sense they weren’t talking about food anymore, and it made him hate what her ex-husband had done to her all the more. “Never.”
She bit her lip. “Good to know.”
“Brianna cheats at Go Fish,” Emma said. “And she cries when she loses.”
“A cheater and a sore loser? Bad deal,” he replied.
“Do you like Go Fish, Mr. Jonafin?”
“Sure, Tiny. How about when I get back from my run, we have a game?”
“Just a quick one, though, right, Em?” Laura looked at Jonathan. “She’s got preschool this morning.”
“After you drop her off, maybe we can look for those documents.”
She gave him a sly smile. “I don’t think so, Harvard. I’m taking you to the beach.”
Chapter Five
Laura gestured toward the ragged line of boulders jutting into the sea, the small white lighthouse at the end beckoning ships to safe harbor. “You sure you want to do this?”
They’d both kicked off their shoes and socks in the cold sand at the end of the boardwalk. Jonathan had rolled up his pants, and Laura had done the same. They were surrounded by the pungent smell of salt-soaked seaweed, and aside from a woman in a wool hat walking her dog farther up the beach, they were alone.
“Of course I want to do this,” he said.
“It can get precarious at high tide.”
“Bring it.” He made a beckoning gesture with his hands.
“Your suit’ll get wet, Harvard.”
He waved off her objection. “Small price to pay.” He’d brought other clothes with him to Cape Cod, of course, but he’d put on the suit after his run knowing it would make her laugh to see him wearing it on the beach. And he found that the more time he spent with her, the more desperately he wanted to make her smile, see her eyes sparkle, make her laugh.
He took off his jacket and offered it to her. “Speaking of my suit, you look cold.” She was wearing jeans and an emerald green sweater. Her cheeks were rosy.
She shook her head. “I’m okay.”
“Really, take it,” he insisted, settling the blazer on her shoulders. Engulfed in his jacket, she looked like a princess, her lon
g hair unruly in the sea breeze.
She settled into the blazer, managing to look both awkward and grateful at the same time. “Thanks.” They walked in silence for a moment, the jetty looming.
When they reached the start of it, she hopped lightly onto the rocks. “So, I never asked you. What kind of law do you practice? Real estate law?”
He shook his head. “Corporate law. Mergers, acquisitions, corporate governance, that kind of thing.”
She was fleet-footed, practically skipping from rock to rock. Jonathan followed, a little less certain of the path but determined not to fall behind. The boulders were damp and sandy, dried barnacles peppering the sides. She stopped and looked at him over her shoulder. “And Carberry Hotels is one of your clients?”
She was beautiful. She was so beautiful. And underneath the teasing, sometimes tough-girl demeanor, she was sweet, too—sweeter than that pineapple fudge from last night. Everyone they’d run into during their excursion into town had loved her. He couldn’t understand why men weren’t lining up around the block to sweep her off her feet. If he had time for a girlfriend, he’d absolutely be the first person in line.
“Connor Carberry is my friend,” he said. “This deal is like a test case. If it goes through, the whole hotel chain could become a client.”
She cocked her head to the side, considering. “Interesting.”
“So, what about you? When the sale goes through, will you go back to school? Learn web design or software coding?”
She waved her hand dismissively. “I don’t want to talk about that right now.”
They’d reached the end of the jetty, where there was a small unmanned lighthouse with a green light flashing from the cupola up top. A seagull dropped a crab on the rocks and swooped down to claim the meat from the shattered shell. Laura leaned back against the wall of the lighthouse, her hair wild around her face.
“What do you want to talk about?” he asked.
She gave him a teasing smile. “Tell me something about you no one else knows.” He thought of their conversation from the day before: show me lawyers aren’t all the unethical, morally bankrupt people I think you are.
Falling for the Innkeeper Page 5