Bayside Passions (Bayside Summers Book 2)

by Melissa Foster

  Rose smiled. “I like the sound of that.” Her muscles tightened again and she added, “If my son has his way, I’ll never have to do anything myself again.”

  “Sometimes family members feel a sense of inadequacy when they can’t help, or even a sense of despair.”

  “Perhaps,” Rose said thoughtfully. She was quiet for a moment, as if she were mulling over what Emery had said. “Let’s see. How has my lifestyle changed? Well, I was always active. I ran around after my three children, volunteered, gardened, danced. Oh, how I loved to dance. But you don’t want to know about that.”

  “I would love to hear about that, and any other activities you’ve enjoyed and would like to get back to.” She began massaging Rose’s arm, gently working her way down to her fingers, checking the range of motion in her shoulder, elbow, and wrist, while Rose painted a picture of a happy family life, including dancing, family vacations, and picnics with her children. Emery wondered how such a close-knit family could have resulted in the man she’d seen treating his mother so harshly.

  “There was a time when my husband loved to dance. And, of course, as we got older, real life took over, and we did those things without my husband because he had to work.” Rose paused, twisting her wedding band with a pained expression.

  Emery turned her attention to Rose’s other arm, soaking in every word she shared, and also, the way she reacted to certain touches and shifted in her wheelchair, indicating painful positions. This getting-to-know-you period was the most telling with new clients. As they talked, she noticed Rose moving her fingers a little more easily. Those signs gave Emery hope for what she could achieve. Yoga had turned into a trend, and people were capitalizing on it every way they could—goat yoga, cat yoga. Lord only knew what would be next. While she enjoyed teaching classes, regardless of the reasons people attended, it was these one-on-one sessions that allowed for deeper relationships, which in turn allowed her to help her clients on a different level, filling her with joy.

  “You must have enjoyed those things with him after he retired,” Emery said.

  Rose’s pained expression returned, and a cynical laugh fell from her lips. “I thought I would, too, but it seems the early years were our best. By the time our children had lives of their own, my husband and I were virtual strangers. It was a shame, but there was not a lot of love left in my husband by the time we lost him unexpectedly to a heart attack. After he passed, as much as I missed him, it was a relief, to be honest. It has taken me years to admit that, but he was not a happy man. That was more than a decade ago, when we should have been looking at our golden years together after all his hard work. Anyway, I continued gardening and seeing friends, but his death took a toll on our family, and other parts of my life became more difficult. My daughter went through a bout of depression for a while, and my youngest son didn’t deal with his grief at all. He just swept it under the carpet and moved on. And my eldest, the son you met. The angry one,” she said with a small smile that could only be forged by the mother of someone so bitter. “He buried himself in work at the expense of his own family. When you watch your children suffer, it takes a toll on you. Little aches and pains became more noticeable at that point.”

  “That’s not surprising. Emotional heartache can lead to all sorts of health issues. We’ll work on ways to alleviate stress so you’re not so knotted up from it.”

  “Oh, there’s a bit more,” Rose explained. “Several years after I lost my husband, something I never imagined happened.” She twirled her ring again, and a genuine smile lifted her lips. “I fell in love for a second time. This time, with a good man, my Leon,” she said warmly. “He was good to me, kind, and affectionate. Always made me his first priority. I thought God had given him to me as a gift, that’s how wonderful he was. The kind of wonderful I couldn’t turn away from.”

  “That’s lucky, to find love twice in your lifetime.” Emery was still hoping to get lucky enough to find it once and hold on to it. Her blossoming feelings for Dean made her wonder if they were heading in that direction. Her stomach fluttered with the thought. She pushed those warm feelings aside and focused on Rose.

  “They were two very different types of love,” Rose said, and her expression saddened. “The first might have started as love, and lust, to be honest. But a few years into our marriage, it had become duty that kept us together. In those days, you didn’t divorce. You stuck things out, even if you were miserable. My love for Leon, however, was the truest type of love, because it was fully reciprocated. We were married for two years and three months. One morning I woke up, and…” Tears welled in her eyes. She inhaled deeply, blinking repeatedly until her tears dried. “He was gone.”

  “Oh, Rose.” Without thinking, she leaned in and embraced her. “I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you. Do you have a man in your life?”

  Emery hesitated. She knew Dean was friends with many of the residents, and she didn’t want to make that awkward for him, so she was careful with her answer. “I do, and he’s a good man.”

  “That’s good, Emery. With age comes wisdom, and if I have any to share, it would be not to give your heart to a man simply because he makes your body feel alive. Sex is easy. Love is hard. You should give your heart to the man who treats you like a treasure, who cherishes you and wants you beside him always. Someone who helps you become a smarter, better person. He might keep you up all night beneath the sheets, because let’s face it, lust is good, and it’s part of love. But it’s not everything.”

  There was a knock at the door, and a gray-haired woman peeked her head in the door. “Is the coast clear?” she whispered loudly.

  Rose smiled and waved her in. “Yes. He’s gone.”

  Emery was still processing all the things Rose had said. It saddened her to know Rose had endured an unhappy marriage, but she was glad she’d found true love in the end, even if only for two years.

  Rose glanced at her as two women hurried into the room whispering like teenagers. “If there’s one thing my son is good at, it’s clearing a room.”

  “You can say that again,” the younger of the two women said as she plunked a knitting bag down on the coffee table. She was tall and wiry, with short, layered brown and gray hair and bright brown eyes. “I’m Magdeline. You can call me Mag.”

  “Or Magpie,” the other woman added. “I’m Arlin. You can call me beautiful, or sweets. I personally like sweets, but anything other than ma’am or grandma works for me.” She had a happy, round face with rosy cheeks, and her orange-tinged hair was peppered with breakthrough white. Her brows were painted on, but her smile was real as the day was long. “Have you started the bendy class yet?”

  “I hear yoga is great for sex,” Magdeline said as she sank down to the couch.

  “That’s something else about my lifestyle that has changed,” Rose said. “There was a time when I could bend pretty well, and my husbands, oh, they both liked that.”

  “Mm-hm,” Magdeline agreed with an emphatic nod. “Men do like us to be flexible.”

  “You would know,” Arlin chimed in. “We used to call her Mad-Shag Magdeline.”

  Emery stifled a laugh, feeling like she’d stumbled across the Dirty Grandma Club.

  Arlin patted her hair with an air of primness and said, “I, on the other hand, made my men work for it.”

  “You made them raise the cow from birth, milk it, and pasteurize it,” Rose said. “And then, maybe, if they jumped through all the other hoops on your godforsaken list, they could get to second base.”

  The women chatted throughout their session as she continued working with Rose. Emery not only learned about how Rose’s activity level had changed over the years and how a fall had led to her current pain, but she also realized how determined Rose was to get back on her feet. Rose’s range of motion was fairly good, and Emery was sure with the right care and the support of her friends and daughter, Rose was on a good path toward achieving the mobility she desired. While Emery usually started new clients with
once-a-week sessions so they didn’t find their therapies or the payment for them a nuisance, she was pleased when Rose insisted they work together three times each week. They scheduled sessions for Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.

  After their session, Emery headed to the inn to check out the paintings at Devi’s Discoveries before going shopping with Desiree. And maybe I’ll pick up a little something at the adult-exploration shop, too. The idea sent her stomach into a wild swirl. She’d never used sex toys with a man before, and truth be told, the limited exposure she did have to them wasn’t very exciting. She definitely preferred to get off with a man.

  With Dean.

  Surprisingly, the idea of using sex toys with Dean didn’t make her cringe with embarrassment. Instead, her girly parts twitched with anticipation, even if she wasn’t quite sure she would actually go through with it.

  As she turned down the street toward the inn, she thought about her upcoming shopping trip with Desiree. She was excited about getting all dolled up for Dean, though she was nervous about meeting his parents. From everything Dean had told her, his mother was wonderful, but his father had gone from being a typical hardworking parent who spent time with his kids in the evenings and weekends to being a total prick. She was not good at holding her tongue, and it had gotten her into trouble enough times that if she were capable of changing it, she would have by now.

  She parked by the cottages and found Desiree looking carefree and happy, wearing a cute flowered sundress, her blond hair tied back in a low ponytail. Her paintbrush moved over the canvas on an easel in front of Devi’s Discoveries. Desiree had been a preschool teacher in Virginia, and when she’d moved to the Cape and taken over Lizza’s art gallery, her mother’s paintings had inspired her to start painting again. According to Desiree, the income from the inn, the adult toy shop, and the sales of their paintings, along with the batik wall hangings and pottery Violet made, earned more than enough to pay the bills. But Desiree also taught art to children during the schoolyear. She had their pictures hanging up throughout the inn.

  Desiree turned as she approached, her smile quickly fading. She put her brush down and ran over to Emery. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  Emery walked into Desiree’s open arms and said, “Tell me I’m not crazy for feeling like I’m falling, like really falling, for Dean.”

  “You’re definitely not crazy. Am I allowed to be super happy that my bestie is finally admitting to her real feelings for our amazing neighbor?”

  “Yes!”

  “Good, because he’s an amazing guy, and he clearly adores you.”

  Emery held her tighter. “Now tell me I’m not going to fuck up our relationship by telling his father what I really think of him.”

  “Um…”

  “Oh, that’s helpful,” she said sarcastically, and headed into the shop.

  Desiree followed her in. “Emery, what’s going on? Are you worried about going to the dinner?”

  “No, the idea of meeting someone who tells my boyfriend he’s wasting his life instead of seeing him for the incredible man he is has me giddy.” She focused on the paintings to distract herself from the way her nerves were knotting up. She was surprised by how many paintings Desiree had completed over the winter. The walls were chock-full of gorgeous, colorful paintings of sunsets and children playing in the sand, Cosmos lying in the snow, and beautiful gardens.

  “Gosh, Des, you’ve been busy this winter. These paintings are incredible. I’m so glad you started painting again.”

  “Thanks. For the first time in forever, I’m not all blocked up because of Lizza. I think working things out and coming here, getting to know Vi, falling in love with Rick”—she sighed dreamily—“all helped. And now that you’re here, my life is perfect.”

  “I think it was pretty perfect before I got here, too. But I really do need some advice about how to handle things with Dean’s dad.”

  “I saw the planters covered in plastic wrap on the windowsills. Violet said they weren’t hers. Did you consult Morgyn about this little problem of yours? Did she tell you to grow some filter-enhancing herbs?”

  Emery gave her a deadpan look. Morgyn was the same friend whom Emery had bought the dream catcher tank top from. She reminded Emery of Desiree’s mother, in that she was a total throwback to the seventies, but she was only in her early twenties and wasn’t at all flighty or nomadic. She was grounded and stable. Like Dean. Morgyn ran an eclectic clothing store, where she patched and accessorized—or as she called it, enhanced—gently used clothing, turning them into spectacular and unique items. She was also a talented jewelry maker and herbalist.

  “No, although that’s a great idea. I’m growing something for Dean.” After reading several of his botany magazines, Emery had gone online to find something she could grow for him that he wouldn’t think to grow himself. Something spiritual and meaningful. “I’m trying to grow a lemon tree, which symbolizes longevity, friendship, and…” She paused, wondering if Desiree would think she was out of her mind.

  “And?”

  “Don’t laugh, but lemons represent purification and longevity. And I’m really trying to make this relationship work and be more conscious of the things I do. Because, you know, I’m not always the best at that. So, while I learn how to be more mindful, it’s sort of a purification of myself.” She sighed and said, “I really want this to last, Des, and you know me. It might take a little help from the universe.”

  “Oh, Em.” Desiree’s tone softened, and she pulled her into another hug. “You really do care about him.”

  “More than I ever thought I was capable of caring for a person, other than you and my family, of course.”

  “It’s a wonderful feeling, isn’t it?” Desiree’s eyes lit up. “And the fact that you’re being so introspective tells me that this is real. You’re the if-you-don’t-like-who-I-am-then-kiss-off girl.”

  Emery laughed. “I’m still that girl.” She studied a beautiful painting of the sun rising over the bay, thinking about the sunrise she and Dean had watched the other morning.

  “Only better,” Desiree said. “And as far as his father goes, I think I know a little something about having a less-than-perfect parent.”

  “Life is so weird,” Emery said. “I had two loving, very present parents while you and Dean each had two loving parents for a while, and then Lizza turned gypsy and Dean’s dad turned into a jerk. And here I am, the one who has a hard time committing and finding love, while you two seem to know just how to handle things. I don’t think I’ll ever understand how we turn out to be the people we are, or how a parent can turn their back on their family.”

  “I gave up on understanding Lizza a long time ago,” Desiree said.

  “The thing is,” Emery said as she carried the picture to the counter. “I need some lessons in biting my tongue. Oh, and I want to buy this for my studio.”

  “Okay, first, you’re not paying me a penny. Take it. It’s yours.” Desiree motioned toward the painting as Violet came through the door to the sex shop. “And second, I’m not even going to touch that lesson-on-biting-your-tongue thing. But I can give you some advice about how to keep quiet.”

  “I can give you a ball gag,” Violet said.

  Emery laughed. “That might be necessary.”

  “And fun.” Violet snort-laughed.

  Desiree shook her head in Violet’s direction. “Getting back to helpful advice…When someone says something I really want to respond to in a negative way, I count to ten before saying anything. Or at least I try to. It doesn’t always work.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think that’ll work for me,” Emery said. “I’m not big on self-control.”

  “Obviously, given that you were riding the bearded man’s viper within hours of moving in with him,” Violet teased.

  “I was not!” Emery put her hands on her hips. “I’ll have you know, I showed tremendous restraint.”

  “Ah. So you are into bondage,” Violet said with a smirk. She was all
sleek lines and colorful tattoos in a gray tank top and cutoffs, both of which were speckled with dried pottery clay.

  “No!” Emery insisted. “I mean, maybe silk ties or something, but that’s not what I meant.” Remembering how she’d woken up in Dean’s bed, wet and wanting, and practically attacked him, she added, “I waited until I couldn’t wait anymore.”

  “That must have been a painful ten minutes.” Violet glanced at the painting. “That’s a good choice. Very you. And if you’re really trying to not say something in front of someone, then you’re hanging out with the wrong people. If you can’t be yourself, why be anything at all?”

  “Because it’s Dean’s dad, and he’s a total jerk, but I want to support Dean by attending a benefit dinner with him where his father is speaking.” Emery pointed at the door to the sex shop. “And…I kind of want to check things out in there before we go shopping.”

  “You do?” Desiree’s eyes widened. “Already?”

  “Don’t judge!”

  “Ha! Oh yeah, baby. Let’s go.” Violet grabbed Emery’s arm and hauled her toward the back room. “Now, let’s talk ball gags…”

  Chapter Nineteen

  OVER THE NEXT week, Emery didn’t just fall into her new teaching schedule; she charged, planning her classes to the nth degree and taking extra time to get to know each student. Her client list was growing daily, with referrals from the inn, the resort, and from the flyers they’d distributed. She’d picked up several new clients at LOCAL, and she was more passionate than ever about her yoga back-care work. Dean was glad he’d pushed her toward not waiting to expand her business in the direction she enjoyed most. She and Dean had fallen deeper into their relationship, spending most evenings together, and she continued to leave pieces of herself all over his cottage. Forgotten panties tangled in the sheets, body wash in the bathroom, earrings on the coffee table. She still spent some nights at the inn, so she and Desiree could have some girl time. But on the following mornings, they’d seek each other out. Sunday morning she’d been waiting for him in his shower when he’d returned from his run. That was the best surprise he’d ever experienced. Until Monday, when having kept the key to his cottage at his insistence, she’d crawled into his bed at two o’clock in the morning because she couldn’t stand being apart a second longer.