by Jewel E. Ann
“The second floor would be yours. The kitchen on the main floor is communal, but I’ve added a fridge in the garage where you can keep your perishables if you’re worried I’ll eat them.” He stops at the top of the stairs, plucking a hanky from his back pocket to wipe his forehead. “It was four bedrooms and two baths. As you can see, I’ve turned two of the bedrooms into a living space with a washer and dryer behind those folding doors. There’s a balcony just off the master bedroom. In another day or so, I’ll be done with the stairs so you’ll have a direct entrance to the second floor if you don’t want to risk seeing me every time you come and go.”
Gabe peeks his head into one bedroom and then the other, showing no reaction.
He shuffles his feet to the window of the smaller bedroom. “Who’s that?”
Hugh and I follow him and glance out the window.
“Oh … yes. That must be the renters next door. They were supposed to arrive today. I haven’t met them yet. Father and daughter. They’re only here for the summer.”
Gabe’s gaze remains on the young girl tossing her flip-flops over her shoulder and running toward the water. She stops abruptly and glances back, maybe talking to someone, but I can’t tell for sure. After a few seconds, she continues toward the water, halting where the waves crash into the beach, covering just her feet.
“She looks about your age.” I nudge Gabe’s arm.
“I feel a summer romance happening,” Hugh adds in a singsong.
Gabe pivots toward Hugh and shoots him a wrinkled-nose look. “What do you mean?”
“He means you might get a crush on the girl next door.” I rest my hands on Gabe’s shoulders.
“Nah-uh.” Gabe shakes his head several times.
Hugh chuckles. “Well, I’ll give you two some time to look around. If you have any questions, I’ll be downstairs.”
“Where do you sleep? Is there a bedroom on the main level?” I ask.
“Fancy recliner. I don’t sleep well. Apparently some sleep apnea thing. If I’m flat when I sleep, I stop breathing. I’ve been told that’s not good. Tried some high-tech machine, but not my cup of tea. My clothes are in the small office.” He disappears around the corner.
“So … what do you think? It won’t be forever. Just until we find something more permanent and see how my new job goes.”
Gabe shrugs. I assume it’s what ten-year-old boys do—shrug all their answers. I’ve received a lot of shrugs over the past two months.
“Is that a yes shrug? An I-don’t-care shrug? Or an I-need-to-think-about-it shrug?”
“It’s not close to Tyler’s house.”
“I know, but I don’t think we should spend your college savings just to stay close to Tyler. What if I make sure you get to see Tyler as much as possible this summer? His mom said they’d be gone for three weeks on vacation. Maybe when they get home Tyler can come stay here for a few days. You guys can play on the beach … make friends with the cute girl next door …”
Gabe sighs. “My friends at school are boys. Girls are …”
“Girls are what?”
He turns and rolls his eyes. “Well, they squeal about stupid stuff and say ‘oh my god’ about everything.”
I chuckle. “Fair enough. No pressure to make friends with the girl next door. But … do you think I should tell Mr. Hans we’ll take this place?”
Another shrug.
“Okay. I’m going to tell him yes, unless you tell me no with more than a shrug in the next five seconds.”
No words.
No more shrugs.
Five seconds pass.
On a sigh, I deflate, easing onto my butt with my back against the wall.
“Throw me a bone, Gabe.” Hugging my knees to my chest, I shoot him a pleading look. How can he not see the desperation pouring out of me?
“Like a dog?” He frowns.
“Yes. Like a dog. And I’ll chase it. I’ll bring it back to you. I’ll sit. Heel. Roll over. I’ll do anything you want, if you’ll just let me into that head of yours. Tell me what you’re thinking. I can only imagine what you’re feeling. I’ve never experienced it. So guessing is all I have if you don’t talk to me.”
He picks at his fingernails, giving them twice the attention that he gives me. “What do you want me to say?”
I restrain from spewing off a mile long list of questions I have for him. “Yes or no. Do you want to live here for now? It’s just temporary. The answer can be no. I won’t ask why, and I won’t ask you anymore questions today. We’ll just keep looking tomorrow.”
“I don’t care.”
“No!” I lurch forward, crawling toward him.
His eyes widen with my approach.
Lifting onto my knees, I fold my hands in front of my chest. “Please, please, pretty pretty please … a yes or no. I need a yes or no.”
His lips twitch, and after a few seconds he can’t hide his smile. It’s like salvation—a needed reminder that I haven’t broken him. It’s still early. I have eight more years to royally mess up this kid.
“Yes.” He laughs.
“YES!” I throw my arms in the air.
“You’re so weird.”
I climb to my feet. “It’s in the Glock family. There’s nothing you can do to stop it. One day … you’ll be weird too.” I wink and get out of here before he changes his mind or calls me something more extreme than weird—like menopausal.
Taking one last stroll through the main room, I peek into the master bedroom and en suite bathroom before descending the stairs. “We’ll take it, if you’ll have us.”
Hugh mutes the TV from his fancy recliner. “You got it, Elvis.”
I grin. Elvis I am not. However, Mr. Hans is quirky and endearing, so I’ll let the Elvis thing slide. This place isn’t ideal, or where I imagined myself just a few months ago, but I’m doing something important—maybe for the first time in my life.
Gabe will be okay. I’ll figure things out for us. For now, this beach house with sand-colored tiled floors, beige walls, and white and brown speckled carpet is just fine—beachfront property I could never afford on my own. And it’s fifteen minutes from Gabe’s school and thirty minutes from my new job.
“Rental agreement is on the kitchen counter. You can leave a check or pay cash and move in as early as Friday. I’ll get those stairs to the master bedroom’s balcony finished by then.”
“Sounds perfect. Thank you.” As I sign the rental agreement and fill out a check, Gabe makes his way downstairs.
“Go explore the beach, Mr. Gabriel.” Hugh coughs on his words a few times before clearing his throat.
“Yeah, let’s check it out.” I fold my copy of the rental agreement and follow Gabe to the front door. “Thank you, Hugh. We’ll be back Friday afternoon with some boxes and hopefully get some movers to bring the big stuff.”
“If the good Lord don’t taketh me by then, I’ll be here.”
I’m not sure how to respond to that, so I opt for a wordless smile. Sometimes the good Lord indiscriminately takes whomever he chooses, or so I’ve learned. As soon as I close the door behind us, Gabe plucks his phone from his pocket and follows several feet behind me to the beach.
“I’d take off your shoes again if you don’t want sand in them.” I toe off my white canvas sneakers when we reach the sand.
Gabe keeps walking, nose into his phone, sand surely filling his shoes.
“Or … leave them on,” I murmur. “Don’t you want to dip your toes in the water?”
He shakes his head, stopping halfway to the water. “No, thank you. Not exactly my first time at the beach.” He drops to his knees in the sand, hovering over his phone to shade the screen as he squints at it.
I continue toward the water, stopping just before reaching the wet sand to roll up the legs to my jeans.
“Hello!” The young, wavy-haired blond girl trudges through the sand toward me.
“Hi.” I plant my hand at my forehead to block the sun from my eyes.
&
nbsp; “What’s he doing?” She nods toward Gabe. “Are you living in that house? My dad and I just got here. We’re staying for three months. Then we’re moving to Madison … that’s in Wisconsin, where I was born. I’ll start real school, well—public school—this fall. I’ll be in fifth grade for now, but my Dad says I might be too smart for the fifth grade. I don’t know how he knows that, since I’ve never been in any grade.”
Wow! Okay … she’s quite talkative. Good with words, not like my nephew who tends to mumble all his words, stutter occasionally, and speaks in grunts and shrugs. It’s possible she’s a little advanced for ten, but I know one other ten-year-old, so the comparison isn’t the best.
“That’s my nephew, Gabriel … Gabe. And yes, we’re renting the top floor of Mr. Hans’s house. Gabe will be in fifth grade this fall too.”
“But what’s he doing?” She wrinkles her nose and stares at him through squinted eyes.
“He’s playing a game on his phone.”
“Oh …” Her head jerks back, and she widens her blue eyes at me. “Do not let my dad see him on that. He abhors technology.”
Abhors …
Definitely not a ten-year-old word.
“I don’t abhor it.”
My gaze snaps to the deep voice and …
Jamie!
Not really James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser “Jamie” from my obsession Outlander, but his doppelgänger.
WHY?
I’m retired from men. A series of unfortunate events forced me into early retirement.
Death.
Cheating.
Houdini at the altar.
I’m lucky like that.
Now, I window-shop but never purchase. I don’t even try stuff on anymore.
Neighbor Jamie’s wavy, dark ginger-blond hair—that’s the color of sand at sunset—ruffles in the wind, and his bronzed skin nearly blinds me because … He’s. Not. Wearing. A. Shirt.
Full lips pull into a tiny welcome.
“Hello, Sassenach …” he whispers.
Okay. Not really, but I’d love to hear him say it.
“Hi, I’m Nathaniel Hunt, Morgan’s dad.” His American accent tramples my Scottish fantasies as he holds out his hand.
If I lick his hand, will it be weird? Too desperate? Too personal for a first encounter? Too immature for forty-one?
Probably.
“Gracelyn.” I shake his hand like I’m mad at it. And I am. I’m so pissed off that he’s my neighbor for the next three months. Where was he when I needed him during my active, sexual prime—before my ban on all men?
Really, I demand an answer.
He narrows his eyes a bit just before I release him. Then he quickly recovers with a smile.
“Morgan.” I clear the anger from my throat. “Well, Morgan and Nathaniel, it’s nice to meet you. Gabe is my nephew, but …”
And here it is—the awkward moment. Please tell me this will get easier. I don’t want to spend forever explaining our relationship to everyone we meet. Yet, it requires some explanation. “His parents died, so he’s with me now.”
I guess the answer is yes. Yes like someone in a wheelchair explaining a million times how they ended up in a wheelchair.
It sucks explaining it.
It sucks that it happened.
“Oh my god!” Morgan’s hand flies to her mouth. “My mom died while giving birth to me. I never knew her, so it’s hard to miss her. He must be completely heartbroken. I can’t imagine what I would feel like if my dad died.”
I force a smile. “It is sad, but he’s hanging in there. You should go introduce yourself. I bet he’d like that.”
“Oh …” Her hand falls from her mouth and covers her chest. “Of course.” She hikes up the beach toward Gabe.
Nathaniel bites his lip in a slight cringe. “She’s very talkative.”
“I can see that. It’s refreshing. I have to drag words out of Gabe.” I can’t find a great place to put my hands, so I try to shove them into my front pockets, but I’m a bit bloated with my impending menstrual cycle, so it’s a tight squeeze.
We stare at Gabe and Morgan making introductions, a good distraction. If I concentrate on Nathaniel Hunt too long, I will melt—most likely a PMS symptom. It doesn’t have anything to do with his ripped jeans, bare feet, and sculpted torso.
Nope. That does nothing for me.
My fingers have no desire to make a slow trip through his hair.
Fun fact … PMS for women in their forties is quite the head game. Some days I hate all men I see, and some days I imagine making out with all men who cross my path.
Another fun fact … It’s Wednesday—hump day.
“Did I hear you say you’re renting from Mr. Hans?”
“Yes. Just the top floor and a shared kitchen. How about you? Summer vacation?”
Nate slides his fingers into the front pockets of his jeans—with ease. He must not be bloated like me. “Yes, I suppose you could say that.”
I nod, contemplating asking more questions to get him to elaborate. It’s possible he has a story about his wife dying that he’s told a million times, so I don’t pry. “Is it true that you abhor technology?”
He smirks, keeping a close eye on his daughter. “I’ve just been raising Morgan to experience life a little more hands-on. Organically.”
I glance over at the kids—Morgan’s lips moving nonstop and Gabe ignoring her like a pesky bug flying around his head. “Well, that’s probably a good thing. Gabe is on electronics all the time.”
“That’s …” He shrugs. “Probably pretty typical.”
Typical? I suppose. I’m not sure. Yet, I feel judged. It’s likely an irrational response, but my step-in-parent self feels like Nathaniel, Mr. Abhors Technology, is silently judging me for letting Gabe be on a cellphone playing games.
“He lost both parents. If electronics keep him from feeling sad or depressed, then I’m fine with it.”
He chuckles. “I’m not sure that phone will keep him from feeling sad and depressed. But hey … you gotta do what you gotta do.”
It’s the shirt. I know it. If he’d put on a shirt, I wouldn’t feel so angry.
Angry that Kyle and Emily died.
Angry that I’ve retired from men.
Angry that I’m probably screwing up my new role in life.
I start to defend Gabe’s pastime when Morgan runs toward us, dragging Gabe by the arm behind her and thwarting my words before I bring them to life.
“Dad, you should invite them to dinner tonight.”
“No,” Nathaniel and I say at the same time.
My eyebrows slide together. I know. I said it too, but only because I don’t want him to feel pressured. What’s his excuse for such a knee-jerk reaction?
He scratches his scruffy jaw and twists his lips. “We don’t have any food, Morgan. Not a slice of bread or a grain of salt. Tonight we’ll get groceries, and you can have Gabe over for dinner another night.”
Gabe.
I see how this is going to play out. Fine … I’m fine with it. Men are on my banned list, along with cheese puffs and caramels. Besides, I have a new season of Outlander to watch.
“And Gracelyn, so you have a friend. Really, Dad, you could use a friend.” The awkwardness meter maxes out with her comment.
Nate glares at Morgan, but she’s too focused on her toes, curling them in the sand. When he glances at me, I bite my lips together and avert my gaze to the water. My hands won’t fit into my pockets in any sort of casual way, so I let them hang at my sides.
So awkward.
“I’m sure Gracelyn has lots of friends,” he replies on a soft chuckle.
“She doesn’t know anyone because she’s from Ohio,” Gabe mumbles, chin tipped toward his phone.
It’s funny—only not really—how much attention he pays to what’s going on when I’d rather he not say anything.
“Idaho.” I correct him, giving Nathaniel a tight smile.
His gaze is too
preoccupied with my hair to notice my facial expression. Blue eyes flit in tiny increments, and when he finally meets my eyes, he clears his throat and does this weird head shake thing like he’s snapping out of a dream.
Judging my hair?
It’s hair. It used to be long and all dark auburn like the flowing mane of Black Beauty … if Black Beauty had auburn hair. I cut it off at my chin, colored it black, and added some blond highlights because … well, it’s hair. Okay, it’s not that simple. There was a wedding and someone leaving someone else at the altar. Whatever …
Things changed, so I changed.
“We should go. Gabe and I have some packing to do.”
“Can you come to dinner tomorrow night?” Morgan asks, head cocked at Gabe like this is their decision.
Nathaniel rests his hand on her shoulder. Before he can state another objection, I interject.
“We’re moving in Friday afternoon, so tomorrow won’t work.”
“Yes! Friday night is pizza night. My dad will order pizza, and we’ll help you unpack your stuff.”
“Morgan …” Nathaniel moves his other hand to her other shoulder and gives her a tight squeeze. “Let them get settled. They don’t need our help unpacking. There will be plenty of time for you and Gabe to have pizza another night.”
Morgan and Gabe.
He’s definitely excluding me. Again … that’s fine. Hello! Man ban, I remind myself.
“And Gracelyn.” Morgan rolls her eyes. “Geesh, Dad, stop being so rude.”
“We really have to go.” I grab Gabe’s wrist, giving it a tug, while Nathaniel’s face contorts into a slight cringe.
“Very nice meeting both of you,” he says in spite of the embarrassment on his face.
“You too.” I pivot in the sand to make a quick exit, but my left foot doesn’t cooperate. The sand holds my foot in place as the weight of my body falls to the side, rolling my ankle.
“Shit—shoot.” I reach for my ankle. “Sorry. I meant—”
Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!
“Whoa! Are you okay?” Gabe slides his phone into his pocket and kneels beside me with his hand on my arm.
“My dad’s a doctor!” Morgan kneels beside Gabe.
“I’m not a doctor.” Nathaniel squats next to my foot.