by Skye Taylor
Not even Porter. Not that she’d wanted anything permanent with Porter either, but once she’d found herself pregnant, she’d resigned herself. In the cultural circles she’d grown up in, an unexpected pregnancy generally precipitated a hurried wedding. Zoe wondered if things might have been different if her mother were still alive. But she wasn’t and they weren’t.
Zoe banished the unmourned Porter from her mind and thought about what Jake had said about her new house. A sudden jolt of anxiety lanced through her. Had she bitten off more than she could chew? It was old. Really old. And it was big. A lot bigger than she really needed. But it had captivated her imagination—from the elaborately scrolled trim beneath the eaves of the porch out front to the view of the inland waterway from the second story balcony off the master bedroom. And it had history and a ton of charm.
“Where to, ma’am?”
As he hefted his end of the old but serviceable futon her sister had passed along, the younger of the two movers jerked his head in the direction of the house and pulled Zoe’s attention back to the task at hand. For the next hour and a half, she didn’t have time to dwell on the unknown problems homeownership might have in store for her, or the sexy guy who lived next door. She and the movers hauled all her possessions from the van and stacked them in her new home. She directed the two men lugging the furniture where to put each piece and toted a lot of the boxes herself.
When the van finally pulled away from the house, she opened the passenger door of the truck and invited the dogs to get out. They took their time sniffing their new surroundings before finding a place to relieve themselves. While the dogs rooted about in the shrubs, Zoe gazed up at the place she now called home. With her new neighbor’s remarks echoing in her head, the peeling paint on all that trim seemed suddenly more ominous than it had when she’d eagerly signed the purchase agreement.
Just needs a coat of paint, she’d assured herself, having fallen in love with the stately old home full of southern coastal charm. The rockers on the wraparound porch made it feel like a beach house even on this side of the Intracoastal Waterway. She could so easily picture herself sitting there on a lazy afternoon with a tall, sweaty glass of sweet tea, breathing in the salt-tinged air while her baby girl played nearby. The pillars framing the front door gave the house a touch of elegant colonial hospitality, and the beautiful wood-paneled, old-fashioned study had tipped the balance. Zoe had fallen in love with everything, from the tattered flag in a bracket by the front entrance to the afternoon sunlight spilling in the dusty second floor windows from which, on a clear day, you could see all the way to the Atlantic Ocean. Whatever Jolee ancestor had built this place, he’d picked the perfect spot.
Zoe squared her shoulders and called to the dogs as she mounted the shallow front stairs with a cat carrier in each hand. It was a great house and she loved it, even if it was going to need some work. Or even a lot of work.
She went back to the truck for Polly, who was muttering unhappily under the sheet draped over her cage. One last trip for the aquarium that held a plastic bag filled with murky water and two frustrated goldfish. She parked the glass cube on the counter in the kitchen and took a moment to gaze out at the overgrown back yard. Beyond the tangle of roses that had been lovingly nurtured who-knew-how-many- generations-back, a glimmer of sunlight bounced off the very blue stretch of the inland waterway. She loved everything about the house!
Reluctantly she turned away from the view to search for the box with water bowls and pet food. Then she noticed a fruit basket sitting in the middle of the kitchen island, almost hidden by the stack of boxes one of the movers had left there. Zoe smiled as she grabbed the card stapled to the cellophane wrapper.
Welcome Home, the card said in Zoe’s best friend’s sprawling script.
“Oh, Bree,” Zoe whispered, sinking onto a stool. “You’re the best.”
Zoe peeled the cellophane away from the display, removed a fat strawberry, and popped it into her mouth. Then she propped the card between two bananas and took a third one to eat.
As she peeled the banana, Zoe reflected on the events that had brought her to this place in her life. She took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. The goldfish glared at her with reproach as they hung motionlessly in their temporary confinement, waiting for her to fill their tank with fresh water and set them free. “You’ll last a few more minutes, guys,” she told them, and then took another bite of her banana.
When all the rest of her friends were being teenagers, Zoe had been mothering six younger siblings. She hadn’t had time for hanging out at the mall, or dating, or basketball games, or any of the things most girls her age were doing, but with all except the youngest of her siblings finally out on their own, an unfamiliar sense of freedom had begun to fill Zoe’s daydreams. Then, before she could decide where those dreams might take her, she’d gotten careless and ended up pregnant. Porter, the man her father had introduced her to and had clearly hoped would one day become his son-in-law, had turned his back on her when she refused to get an abortion. Even her father had thrown his hands up in disgust because Zoe wouldn’t listen to his arguments in favor of placing her baby for adoption as he thought any properly-brought-up young woman should.
Only Bree believed Zoe was doing the right thing—keeping her baby and creating a new life for the two of them. Bree, who’d been Zoe’s best friend since they were toddlers; who had stuck by Zoe when the rest of their peers had been out chasing boys and deciding on colleges.
And it was Bree who’d first shown Zoe this house. Bree worked at Kett’s Hotel where she’d met the grandson who’d inherited the property from a man he’d barely known. Bree’s friendly interest had elicited the information that the grandson was eager to sell the house quickly and return to his life on the west coast.
Zoe had been looking at condos and had been on the verge of making an offer for a unit in the same complex Bree lived in. The quaint little village of Tide’s Way was close enough to Wilmington so Zoe would still be close to family. Her commute might be a tad longer, but with a lot less traffic. It was just the sort of old-fashioned small town Zoe had always liked—the kind of place where everyone knows everyone else, and there’s never a shortage of busybodies eager to share the latest gossip or advice.
Bree had set up a meeting with the grandson and his realtor and told Zoe it couldn’t hurt to just look. Zoe hadn’t even waited for a home inspection. She’d dug into her purse and written the man a check while they were still standing in this very kitchen.
A home of my own. Zoe sighed in happy satisfaction, then looked at her watch and jumped to her feet. She tossed her banana peel into the sink until she could locate the kitchen wastebasket. Then she carried the fish tank to the sink and began to fill it. She had an invite for supper, and she didn’t want to meet Jake’s wife stinking of sweat and covered in dust. She dropped the plastic bag with Cleo and Titus still sulking into the freshly filled tank and headed out to the truck for her suitcase.
As she stood under the spray of the shower, she was glad she’d stopped by after the closing yesterday to turn on the hot water heater. The pelting water felt good drumming against her tired muscles. Better get used to sore muscles, she told herself.
Even here in the shower, evidence of the mountain of work ahead of her presented itself in the cracks between the grout. She let her hand glide over the slightly rounded curve of her stomach. Her baby wasn’t due until the end of September. That gave her almost five months to get the most urgent projects completed. Of course, she could do this.
Couldn’t she?
Chapter 3
ZOE CROSSED THE yard and let herself through the gate to her new neighbor’s house. It was far newer than her own and a lot more modern in style, but still fit perfectly into the coastal atmosphere. There were only the three houses on Awbrey Circle. The third house had been built sometime in between the other two by another long-dea
d Jolee, according to the grandson. All three homes had wraparound porches, gabled roofs, and a view of the waterway. Zoe’s house had a set of wide, shallow steps leading up to a front porch made more elegant by a row of stately columns, but Jake’s had a garage built into the ground level with the living spaces above and a much smaller porch.
It occurred to Zoe to wonder if hurricanes had ever driven the sea this far inland on a storm surge. Her father had warned her about hurricanes, but she’d already been so in love with the house, it wouldn’t have changed her decision had she been told that every big storm meant water surrounding the place. She glanced back at her own home in satisfaction and then started up Jake’s front stairs.
She cradled the bottle of chardonnay she’d brought in one arm and knocked on the screen door with the other hand. She’d managed to dig out a relatively wrinkle-free, forest-green skirt with a matching silk blouse, so she didn’t feel quite the frump Jake had met a few hours ago. She’d tamed the wild curls into a viciously tight French braid that hugged the curve of her head, but even so, wisps had escaped to curl in mutinous abandon. She tried to tuck them behind her ears and waited for her knock to be answered.
A teenaged girl with long, straight, blond hair and deep brown eyes appeared at the door, eyed Zoe through the screen for a moment, then pushed it open. “You must be Ms. Callahan? I’m Ava. Come on in.” She shook her hair back over her shoulder and stood to one side to allow passage.
“I, um . . . I brought this to go with dinner, but I didn’t know what we were having. I hope it’s okay?” Zoe handed over the bottle of wine feeling suddenly awkward. “And please, just call me Zoe.”
Ava smiled. “Zoe, then.” She grabbed the bottle by the neck and made a gesture toward the living room. “Have a seat. Daddy will be down in a minute.” Then she winked at Zoe as if they were sharing a secret and hurried back through a wide hallway toward what Zoe assumed was the kitchen.
Zoe wondered what the wink was about as she wandered into the living room. A fireplace graced the far wall with a row of photos arrayed on the mantle. Zoe moved in that direction to study the pictures more closely. Several were of the girl Zoe had just met at various stages of her young life: in a parochial school uniform with her front teeth missing, decked out all in white with a lacy veil and a suitably solemn expression for her First Holy Communion, and the last, a snapshot taken more recently at the beach in a bathing suit brief enough to give her father heart failure. Three more photos were of two little girls so alike they had to be twins—first as infants, then again as toddlers, and one of them showing off the shiny new bikes Zoe had seen parked out front. The largest frame held a family grouping that included Jake, three brothers, and their father, judging by the obvious resemblance. In front of the men, seated on a bench, were three women surrounded by several children. Zoe studied the family photo, then turned her attention to a lone portrait of a very elegant woman in a tailored burgundy suit, flawless makeup, and perfectly coifed blond hair. Jake’s mother maybe? She didn’t look young enough to be his wife.
“You beat me.”
Zoe whipped around guiltily as if she’d been caught poking through papers on someone’s desk. “Beat you to what?” Her voice sounded breathless, and she felt even more ill at ease.
Jake wore faded jeans and a bright blue polo shirt. He looked even taller than before and definitely more handsome, if that were possible. His eyes, she noticed now, were gray, but tinged blue with the reflection of his shirt. They were gorgeous eyes, fringed with ridiculously long lashes. Zoe stared, unable to tear her gaze away.
“Only woman I’ve ever known who could pull herself together that fast and be on time.” Jake crossed the floor, a welcoming smile on his tanned face. “You’ve met Ava, I presume?”
Even more breathless than before, Zoe just nodded. Before she could recover, he turned toward a wingback Queen Anne chair upholstered in flowered chintz.
“And my mother-in-law?”
Zoe hadn’t even noticed the woman sitting in the flowered chair. She’d been totally silent while Zoe perused the photos on the mantle. What could the woman have been thinking of such a nosey visitor?
Jake bent over the woman and patted one hand where it rested on the arm of her chair. “Mom, this is our new neighbor, Zoe Callahan.” He straightened and turned back to Zoe. “Zoe, Celia Jolee.”
Celia Jolee looked up at Zoe. A smile turned up the corners of her mouth, but a look of vague incomprehension filled her eyes.
“I’m very pleased to meet you.” Zoe extended her hand toward the woman.
Celia hesitated a moment, then slowly placed her hand in Zoe’s. “Are you my daughter?”
“No, Mom. This is Zoe. She just moved into the house next door.” Jake turned an apologetic look toward Zoe. “My mother-in-law sometimes gets confused.”
“I’m nothing of the kind, Jake Cameron,” Celia sputtered with bravado, then frowned. “Have I met you before?”
Zoe crouched by the older woman’s chair and laid her own hand over the elegantly manicured hand Jake had patted just a few moments before. “No, ma’am, I just moved here from downtown Wilmington. I hope we can be friends because I don’t know very many people around here yet.”
Celia beamed. “Of course, dear. That would be lovely. Have you come for dinner?” She got quickly to her feet and turned toward Jake with a suddenly anxious expression. “It’s not my turn to fix dinner, is it?”
“No, Mom. It’s Ava’s turn. Don’t fret.” Jake patted her shoulder and then went to the foot of a flight of stairs on the far side of the hall.
“Lori? Lynn? Are you coming? We have company.”
When nothing happened, he called again. Zoe saw one small foot slip hesitantly into sight, then another. Slowly two little girls descended, clinging to the handrail and each other all the while studying Zoe with wide, watchful gray eyes. When they reached the bottom, Jake took one small hand in each of his and led them over to Zoe.
“This is Lynn.” He placed a hand on one little girl’s shoulder. “And this is Lori.” He smoothed the other girl’s head of cropped blond curls with his other hand. “And this is our new neighbor, Miss—” Jake looked up at Zoe with a frown of uncertainty. “What would you like them to call you?”
“Miss Zoe?” Zoe smiled at the twins.
Before either girl had time to respond, Ava strode into the hall and announced dinner.
“It’s a disaster,” Ava warned. “I’m usually a better cook, but I was trying something new. Oh, and Daddy? Zoe brought some wine. It’s on the counter.” Then she returned to the kitchen.
The twins bolted after her, and Celia followed them, leaving Jake and Zoe alone.
“Welcome to my world,” he said with a rueful grin. “It’s full of women. You should feel right at home.”
Zoe looked up into the apologetic gray eyes above the lopsided grin and fell hopelessly in love.
Chapter 4
JAKE STOOD ON his back porch, gazing sightlessly out over a lawn that needed mowing toward the glimmer of silvery inland waterway that passed well beyond his property line.
The meal Ava had prepared hadn’t been nearly as bad as she’d warned them it would be. In fact, the vinegar and herb marinade had been quite tasty, and the steak only a little bit charred from grilling too long. Ava tended to be a perfectionist and her own worst critic. Jake liked her cooking and always let her know when she’d done well, but she let his praise slide off her like water off a duck.
In Jake’s opinion, it was hard enough just being sixteen without having to feel like you had to fill in for a mother who didn’t care enough to hang around until you grew up. Jake did his best not to demand too much of Ava. He tried even harder not to let her take on too much responsibility. She needed to be her own person. To have the space and freedom to find out who she was, and what she wanted from life. Bey
ond being Travis’s girlfriend, anyway. Jake snorted in disgust.
Travis worried Jake. Travis was so much like Jake had been as a teenager—hell bent on enjoying life and equally hell bent on getting laid. And since Travis seemed to have set his sights on Ava, Jake had every intention of thwarting that goal. Jake had learned his lesson the hard way, and he wasn’t about to let his daughter follow in her mother’s footsteps if he could help it.
Which was why Travis, who’d stopped by unannounced just as dinner was finishing, was settled on the sofa in the den with his arm wrapped about Ava’s shoulders instead of in the back seat of Travis’s car parked on some dark, deserted, dead end road. At least the make out session couldn’t progress beyond some torrid kissing and a grope or two. Not with Ava’s father patrolling the porch outside the sliding glass doors. He’d give them another ten minutes, then go in and break up whatever steamy little scene they had going.
Jake walked to the far end of the porch and noticed the lit upstairs window in the old Jolee homestead. His mind raced back to the oddly expectant look that had lurked in Zoe’s eyes as they’d stood on her porch after he’d walked her home. He’d been caught by surprise at his own unexpected and entirely male response. He’d never responded to any woman except Marsha like that. Not even in the two years since she’d walked out on him.
He’d said a hurried good night and hustled home, trying to forget the sudden surge of desire. But Zoe wasn’t the kind of woman a man put out of mind that easily. From the sexy package to the sassy confidence. Or the easy, uncomplicated way she’d dealt with Celia, the twins, and Ava.