Northwest Romantic Comedies: Boxed Set Books 1-6

by Lia London

  Her parents’ idea of a barbecue and Jill’s differed. She preferred the Halsey family get-togethers with chips on paper plates flying everywhere, little kids underfoot, and lots of hugs and loving gossip from Mabel.

  On an impulse, Jill bounded up the stairs to her old room, which her parents had never bothered to reclaim for other purposes. In the closet, she found a sleeveless, white, eyelet lace sundress and some flat sandals. Brushing her hair into a French twist, she studied herself in the mirror.

  “The little girl next door … and the boy next door has moved on.” Her sunburned face only made her red, puffy eyes look worse.

  She dabbed on some old cherry lip gloss and slipped back downstairs unseen. Snagging a set of keys from the drawer in the entry way, she stepped outside and squinted into the low sunlight. She made it around the side of the house to the free-standing four-car garage. The BMW her dad had bought her for her 16th birthday was collecting dust in the last bay. She’d only driven it for a year before she got the Harley, but she renewed the registration every time it came around. Her parents would never know she’d come and gone.

  But Mabel Halsey would. Jill felt empty in so many ways, and she knew Mabel would fill her belly first, and then her heart and mind. At least she hoped so.

  ***

  “Jill! I didn’t know you two were coming today!” Mabel hugged Jill hard and peeked past her into the driveway. “Where’s Milo?”

  “I think he had a date.”

  “What? With who?”

  Jill shrugged.

  “Oh, who needs him?” Mabel threw an arm around Jill and dragged her in off the porch. Her home, unlike the ultra-modern Ripley spread a mile away, came from the turn of the twentieth century, with the arched doorways, built-in cabinetry, and dark hardwood everywhere. It suited Mabel and Mendel and all the little M’s perfectly. Old-fashioned. Stable. Potato salad at picnics, family photos on the mantel, dog hair on the area rugs, hug-until-you-gasp greetings. Jill loved it. And at that moment, she had never needed it more.

  She sank into a stuffed chair by the window. “Mind if I invade your plans tonight?”

  “I’m afraid we didn’t make any.” Mabel sat on the ottoman in front of the chair so their knees bumped. “Are you hungry?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Later?”

  Jill smiled. “Probably. Let’s just sit for now.” Emotions she didn’t understand tugged at parts of her face, making her feel twitchy and inclined to spring a leak.

  “Don’t tell me you two had another fight.” Mabel’s face wrinkled with concern, not condemnation.

  “Another? Oh … yeah. We’ve been kind of … bickery lately. Is that a word?”

  Mabel drew a deep breath, her lips pressed together as she nodded. “I guess you’re growing up.”

  “Is fighting mandatory with age? I thought you and Mendel got along all the time.”

  Mabel threw her head back and bellowed a single bark of laughter. “Oh, Jill. You’ve been around us long enough to know better than that. Though, I guess you were pretty young the last time we could call anything a fight.”

  “Jill! I didn’t know you two were coming tonight.” Mendel wandered into the room with his news magazine. “Where’s Milo?”

  Jill smacked her palm over her face, and Mabel backhanded his knee as he passed.

  He pretended to leap away. “What? What did I do? What did I say?”

  “Can you go away? We’re having some girl talk.” Mabel’s voice balanced sharpness and humor.

  Mendel gave a kindly snicker. “Just don’t run up a bill with whatever you’re planning until you let me in on the secrets.” He meandered back out in the direction of the kitchen.

  Mabel rolled her eyes. “Men.”

  Jill sighed. “They’re everywhere.”

  “Not the response I expected,” said Mabel with a chuckle. “Usually, it’s ‘Can’t live with ’em, can’t live without ’em’, I think.”

  “That too.”

  “Oh, Jill!” Mabel slid off the ottoman and onto her knees, taking Jill into a long embrace. Without understanding how she did it, Jill let Mabel squeeze the tears right out of her. It took a long time.

  Milo and Amaya took the MAX light rail to Waterfront Park. Most of the time, they exchanged glances, unspoken commentaries on the colorful characters packing the train for the festivities.

  “Here’s our stop.” Amaya linked her pinky around his and led the way. His breath hitched at the familiarity of the move, something Jill might have done.

  Jill.

  Was she furious with him right now? She probably should be. If she cared, which maybe she didn’t. He forced himself into the present, looking at Amaya. “You’re from around here?”

  “Born and bred on the east side of the river.”

  “Is it nice over there?”

  She made a face. “You’d probably call it the Hood. At least where I came from. You would’ve stood out like a white rose in a blackberry bush.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’d have been in the minority. My school was mostly low-income blacks and Latinos. Some Russians and Vietnamese, too.”

  Milo stopped in his tracks. Her world felt like fiction, but it was her reality. “And what did you dream of growing up to be? Surely not a soap star.”

  Her face grew wistful. “I’ve always wanted to teach dance for low-income kids here in the Portland area. There’s good support for the Arts here, but sometimes it gets spendy to participate. I got lucky with a scholarship, but most kids can’t afford it.”

  “What would it take to start up a low-tuition dance school?”

  “Capital. And a name. Money and fame.” She splayed her fingers wide. “And so, we do this charade of a reality show and hope it works. One round ought to do it, though I’ll ride the ridiculous train for as long as I can.”

  “I wonder if that’s why Parker filmed you behind the scrim. Hide your race until people see your talent.”

  Amaya dropped a brow. “Right. Like she’d be helping me.”

  Milo didn’t like her bitter tone. Parker had become a friend. “She let you dance for a soap opera audition. Don’t you think she gets it that the exposure would do you good?”

  Amaya narrowed her eyes. “I suppose.”

  “Parker’s all right, Amaya. Cut her some slack. She’s got a crappy job.”

  Amaya laughed. “Dealing with Ned all day is enough to earn her check.” She stretched her neck from side to side. “If I get far enough in this thing, I’ll have money to go do something meaningful.” She laughed scornfully. “As if. It’s not like they’re eager to have people of color on the soaps.” She looked at him pointedly. “Have you ever Googled the casts for all the famous soaps?”

  “Can’t say I have.”

  She gave Milo a weary expression. “Twenty-to-one, Milo. Literally twenty white stars for every one black or Hispanic. And I say Hispanic meaning Spaniards like Antonio Banderas, not Mexicans.”

  Like Antonio. Milo didn’t know what to say. He suddenly felt guilty for being a white guy. “I’m sorry.”

  “Not your fault. I bet you don’t even watch soaps.”

  “Only when Jill makes me.” Ooops. “And it only became a thing she did a month or two ago. She’s always changing things up.” What’s the matter with me, talking about Jill? I need to focus on Amaya. Stretching his arms wide, he asked, “Where to, Miss Amaya?”

  Amaya gave him a dubious look and gestured towards the broad path overlooking the river. “Funny how the light only shines on a stretch of water at a time,” she said, pointing at a golden swath of liquid sun.

  Milo shook his head, the scientist kicking in. “No, it’s shining everywhere. We just don’t see it because of the angle. Our perspective is wrong.”

  Amaya gave him a knowing look. “Uh-huh. We’re all shining. People that can’t see that aren’t looking at us from the right perspective.”

  Milo smiled, warmed by her wisdom. “You’ll be
a great teacher someday. I hope you get the chance someday. I really do.”

  Amaya bit her lip shyly and turned to look at the cargo ships moored at intervals along the channel. “Did you know those boats came all the way in from the Pacific?”

  “What? How?”

  “They come up the Columbia and hang a right on the Willamette.”

  Milo envisioned the map in his head. “Okay. Why?”

  “The channels are deep enough for the ships, and they can just dock. The fresh water kills all the barnacles. No scraping required. It’s like a spa for ships.”

  “Really?” Milo stared at the water. “I never thought of that water as all that fresh.”

  She leaned gently against his arm. “Well, I wouldn’t go swimming in it. It might put the barnacles on me!”

  Milo chuckled, aware of a flush of heat at her touch. He couldn’t deny a level of attraction to her, and though she technically touched him far less often than Jill, it felt different. More deliberate. Amaya sent clear signals he could understand, even if he wasn’t sure how he felt about them.

  He looked at her smooth, dark skin, appreciating the contours of her cheekbones, chin, and mouth. Like something from the cover of a magazine, her beauty called to him, but his mind lagged behind, tossing ice cubes in his socks.

  A whooshing boom sounded, and Amaya gasped and then giggled. “Oooh, I guess they’re starting! Should we sit?”

  Milo glanced over his shoulder at the couples entwined on the grass. He didn’t want to be sitting in the middle of all that. Too much pressure to follow suit, and he wasn’t sure yet. “Oh, we’re not blocking anyone’s view. The view is all up, anyway.”

  She smiled. “All right then.” Linking her arm through his elbow, she rested her head on his shoulder.

  Milo’s heart pounded, and his thoughts went into a wind turbine. Is Jill mad at me for abandoning her tonight? What is she doing? How do I feel about Amaya? Is it infatuation or love? Why does the Fourth of July always intensify my desires? What’s the biochemical reason barnacles fall off in fresh water? He laughed at the last thought. It was safer being a science geek than a lover.

  A volley of booms sounded, and whistling rockets streaked up into the sky, exploding in red, white, and blue fountains. Milo glanced sideways at Amaya. Her short, faded denim jacket and jeans hugged her sleek dancer body, and the play of lights in the sky sent shimmers of color across her skin.

  Amaya gave him a coquettish pout. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “I can see the sky in your eyes.” Did I really say that? Apparently so, because her face split into a wide, white smile.

  “Milo Halsey, you are just about the sweetest thing.” She swiveled and pressed her soft lips to his, inviting him and teasing him gently.

  An enormous crack startled them into a tight embrace, and Amaya worked her fingers through his hair, her scent through his blood, and her lips across his mouth. Overwhelmed, Milo thought he’d explode into the night along with the fireworks if she pressed any closer.

  Amaya nuzzled her nose against his cheek, a little breathless. “Mmm. Good show.”

  His mind flipped to the image of Jill hovering over Brock in her seductive ploy right before the burn, and he chortled.

  “Excuse me?” Amaya stood taller and wagged her head. “I am not accustomed to having my kisses laughed at.”

  “Certainly not!” Milo buried his mouth in her hair, trying to stifle a laugh.

  “Mmm. Okay, that’s better. I see where you’re going wi—What is so funny?”

  “Jill. I—”

  Amaya stiffened and pointed to herself. “I am not Jill.”

  Milo froze, guilt gripping him with angry fingers.

  “I am Amaya. Keep your girlfriends straight.”

  Her chastisement hurt more than a slap.

  “No, no. I was just thinking of her when—”

  Amaya held up her finger. “Uh-uh. Don’t ever tell a woman you’re thinking of another woman when she just kissed you like that.” She wasn’t being playful any more.

  Milo took a deep breath and eased into a slow pace down the path, curling and uncurling his fingers. “I had a sudden flashback to our last shoot. She didn’t play along.” He stopped, taking Amaya’s hands. “And you don’t have to, either. Except, I know you want to win, and—”

  “Milo, back up. You aren’t making any sense.” She looked wary.

  “I’m sorry.” Milo squinted at the flowering night sky. “Your shoot next week. Let’s just say, they probably would love to see what you just did to me … and more.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “But?”

  “But … you just be in charge. You call the shots.”

  She gave a little frown. “That’s not usually what gets you hired.”

  “Maybe not,” he conceded. “But it’s how you’ll live with yourself every day. Just … don’t let them use you. You’re better than that.”

  Amaya’s eyes glistened as if they held emotions ready to spill over, but then she switched moods, almost too smiley. “Hey, it’s getting busy up there. Think there’s enough light for a picture?”

  “We can try.” He grabbed his phone out and posed them for a selfie with five huge bursts of color going off behind them. The same pose from earlier today when Jill had kissed him. Milo snapped the shot.

  Amaya took the phone to review the picture. “You aren’t even smiling.” As she thumbed the app, she grunted. She held up the screen full of Milo’s surprise and Jill’s lips pressed to his cheek. “That’s date-stamped today, Milo. Want to talk to me about that one? Talk fast. Don’t improvise. The truth is what I want. I didn’t peg you as a Crawford type.” She’d turned away, now flipping through his whole photo collection.

  “I … She …” Oh my gosh, how do players do this? Milo slumped against the railing, wishing he didn’t have to shout to be heard over the pyrotechnics. “We’ve got a tradition of going to 4th of July parades together. We’ve been doing it since we were kids.”

  “You got a tradition of kissing her, too? I thought you told me you two weren’t dating.”

  “She kissed me!”

  Amaya got quiet as she flipped through picture after picture, 90% of them of Jill at the Lincoln City outlet mall trying on her audition clothes. After a minute, she tapped the phone against her cheek. “Milo, are you her personal dresser or something?”

  Milo ground the heels of both hands into his eye sockets. “The pictures help her choose between outfits.”

  “No, no. I get that. I can tell you were being a great help.” Her voice still had a growl in it.

  “You can?”

  “Yeah, I even recognize some of these outfits. You’ve got a good eye.” She held up the phone for him to see the screen. “Especially in this one.”

  Milo focused on the image. It was the candid he’d snapped when Jill didn’t know he had the camera ready. The one he loved the most. She was in the polka-dot dress, giving herself that insecure smile in the mirror. The one that made him want to scream, “I love you. You’re beautiful. Why do you doubt yourself? Be mine forever!” He chewed the inside of his cheek and plucked the phone from her fingers. Turning it off, he tucked it into his pocket. “Amaya, I’m so sorry. I promise there’s nothing going on between us. Jill and I, I mean. I’m not playing you. I really … like you.”

  Amaya studied his face for a long time, and even though he felt himself dissolving under her scrutiny, he couldn’t look away. At last she ran her palm from his shoulder to his hand where she curled their fingers together. “No, Milo. You’re not a player.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You didn’t do anything to me that I didn’t invite you to, and I liked it.” She released a sad, heavy sigh.

  “But I—”

  Amaya held a finger to his lips. “You need to do some soul searching, and you need to man up. Figure out which of us you want and then make sure that neither of us can possibly doubt it.”

  “But I—”
/>
  “Milo, I get it. You’ve known her forever. Old crushes die hard. A new love is a gamble.”

  How could she be so understanding? “But I do really like you.”

  “I know. And you’ve been respectful.” She looked so sad that Milo wanted to pull his hair out. How did he keep making good women cry? “Take some time to figure it out, but don’t take too long. I can tell you need the loving. You deserve the loving. So do I. But it’s got to go both ways.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but she stepped into him and kissed his cheek lightly. A bittersweet kiss. A good-bye kiss?

  Amaya turned to go and he reached after her. “Amaya.”

  She stopped and looked back over her shoulder.

  “I really hope you win, Amaya.”

  Her smile lingered for a moment, and then she slipped away into the crowd.

  Later, as Milo stood on the platform waiting for the MAX, he turned his phone back on and found a text from his mom. Look who stopped by! Doesn’t she look like a fairy princess or a bride in that dress? The attachment was a shot of Jill standing with her back to the camera, pointing up to the sky. Her white dress draped simply down her back to her calves. Even without seeing her face or her incredible body, he knew she was the most beautiful woman in the whole world to him.

  I have to figure out how to tell her so she can’t possibly doubt it.

  Scene 14: The Long Summer

  Jill woke up to Milo’s distinctive ring—the Sponge Bob theme song—and snatched up the phone.

  “Jill, turn the TV on! Now!”

  “What channel?” She thrashed to untangle herself from the sheets and grappled for the remote on the floor. Her bedroom flat screen flashed to life. “Oh. My. Gosh.”

  “You found it?”

  There on the screen, she hovered over Brock in a soft-glow close-up as Jay Walker jabbered on about the premier of Who Wants to Be a Soap Star?

  “Oh. My. Gosh.”

  A montage continued with clips of Slick and Kamilah, and then Chieko and Crawford in their restaurant scene. Logos, music, blah blah blah.