by Renee George
My expression soured as I took in the Italian piece of crap in the doorway smiling at my best friend.
“Hello, Gillian,” he said in a slightly accented voice. “You look beautiful.”
Gilly’s eyes narrowed. “You can drop the fake charm, Gio.” Her frown deepened. “It doesn’t work on me anymore.”
He shrugged and raised his hands palms up. “I don’t want to fight.”
The words were reasonable, but I knew they were meant to make Gilly defensive. “Yeah, right,” I muttered under my breath.
“Nora.” His lip curled into a snarl. “Is there a reason you’re here?”
Tension filled my body, but Gilly squeezed my shoulder. I couldn’t relax, but I pressed my lips together to prevent the insults from spilling out of my mouth.
“Nora was invited,” said Gilly. “You were not. Why did you come back with the kids?”
“I’ve decided to come home.”
Shock rooted me to the floor. I glanced at my BFF and saw her expression reflected exactly what I felt. Wasn’t that like Gio? Drop a bombshell just to see what would blow up.
“The hell you say,” said Gilly. “This isn’t your home.”
“I mean, Garden Cove,” Gio said. “I’ve taken a head chef position at Players Restaurant at Portman’s on the Lake.”
“Why?” I blurted.
“Not that it’s any of your business, Nora, but I took the position because I miss my family.”
“Wow. It only took a whole decade for you to miss your family.” I snorted my disbelief and shook my head. “Bullshit.”
“You can believe what you want,” he said, pressing both hands against his chest. He had the audacity to look sincere. “I know my heart.”
“You don’t have a heart,” I snapped.
Gio wasn’t smooth enough to stop the flash of anger in his brown eyes, but he quickly covered his irritation.
A door slammed upstairs.
Gilly sighed. “I guess you told the kids already.”
“I told Marco and Ariana last night.”
“Ari,” Gilly corrected. “She likes to be called Ari.”
“That’s not her name,” Gio said.
My eyes widened. No wonder Ari had looked pissed. She hated being called Ariana.
“Ari is our daughter’s name,” said Gilly. “You’d know that if you’d bothered to stay in regular contact.”
“The past is the past,” said Gio, carelessly waving a hand as though doing so made the last ten years of his negligence disappear. “I’m staying at Portman’s on the Lake.”
“What? No room left in Hell?” I questioned. Gilly grasped my forearm and squeezed. I nearly had to swallow my tongue to keep from reading Gio the riot act. He wasn’t my ex. And I knew I had to let Gilly fight her own battles.
For now.
Gio ignored me. “I’m only living at Portman’s until I find a suitable house.”
“You’re serious,” said Gilly. “You really are returning to Garden Cove.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, pointing his judgmental gaze at my BFF. “I’m not going to leave my family again. That includes you, Gilly.”
“No, it doesn’t,” she said, her voice trembling.
“Gilly…” He stepped forward as though he might take her hand.
I placed myself between him and my BFF. I hoped to get some strong scent-memory that could clue me in on Gio’s true motives for returning, but the woodsy cologne he wore offered me zero insight.
“I’ve got this, Nora,” Gilly said, as she gently ushered me aside. She gave her ex an assessing glance. “If you want to be a part of Marco and Ari’s life, I’m great with that. Though, I will tell you, they’re sixteen, almost seventeen, and frankly, they don’t need a lot of parenting anymore. However, if you have any idea of reclaiming a life with me, I’ll tell you right now, that is completely off the table.”
“Are you seeing someone?”
Typical Gio. He didn’t hear Gilly say “no.” He heard, “if you play your cards right, you might have a shot.”
“If I was, that would be none of your business.” She pointed her finger back and forth between the two of them. “We’re divorced. Remember?”
He pursed his lips, his eyes darting around as if trying to think of the appropriate comeback. It must have escaped him, because he simply gave Gilly a curt nod. “We’ll talk more when I get settled.”
“As long as it’s about the kids,” Gilly reiterated.
Gio turned on his expensive Italian loafer and headed back to the car. I jumped at the door handle and slammed it shut.
Gilly walked to the window, standing with her arms crossed as she watched the man who’d wrecked her life pull out of the driveway. When his car disappeared from sight, her shoulders sagged.
“I can’t stand that he still looks so good,” she said. “Still handsome.”
“Yeah, and so was Ted Bundy,” I added.
Gilly nodded, but she didn’t say anything.
I put my arm around her shoulder. “Don’t get twisted about him, Gils. He’s not worth it.”
“Did you get some kind of vision?” she asked. “We both know there has to be another reason he’s really moving back here.”
I shook my head. “I tried. Nothing.”
She nodded again then patted my hand. “I better go check on the twins.”
“Good idea.” Crap on a cracker. I swore to all that was unholy, if Giovanni Rossi screwed with Gilly, I was going to find a way to make him disappear. As a cop’s daughter, I was not without ideas.
My phone played “Bad Boys” and I jerked to attention. “That’s Ezra,” I said.
“Go answer it.” Gilly gently urged me toward my purse when the chorus sang out again. “Go.”
It took only a second of digging for me to find my phone. I hit the connect button right as the chorus started for a third time. “Hey,” I said as I put it to my ear.
“Hey, Nora,” Ezra said. He sounded cautious. Worried.
“Is anything the matter?”
“Do you want to go to dinner with Mason and me tomorrow night?”
“Uhm.” I blinked. Rapidly. We’d discussed the possibility of me meeting his kid, but I guess I hadn’t expected it to be this soon.
Snap out of it, I told myself. It’s not like he’d confessed his undying love for me. It was dinner. With his son. Was I ready? It was a big step, and it could add complications to our relationship that we’d avoided by staying in a romantic and sexy bubble.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” he said.
“No, no,” I lied. “It’s not that. I’m at Gilly’s. Her ex-husband just flew in from Vegas with the kids, and he dropped a bomb on Gilly that he’s moving back to Garden Cove.”
“Wow,” Ezra said. “That is a bomb.”
“Right?” Some of the tension I held eased.
“So, are we on for dinner?”
The tension choked me like a zip tie. “Oh, uhm.”
“It’s fine, Nora. We can do it another time. Or never. It’s up to you.” He sounded disappointed, and I felt my heart squeeze. What was wrong with me? I was meeting his kid, not going to my execution.
“Ezra, I’d love to go to dinner with you and Mason.”
He said nothing for a moment, then asked, “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Okay. Good. See you tomorrow.”
“Looking forward to it.” I ended the call as Gilly came back down the stairs. “Are the kids okay?”
“Depends on your definition of okay, but yes. They’ll be fine.”
“Gio’s an ass,” I muttered, unable to keep it in.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Gilly said on a sigh and then changed the subject. “How are things going with Detective Hottie?”
“Fast,” I said. “I’m meeting his son tomorrow night.”
Chapter 4
The next day, I awoke with the sniffles and a feeling of trepidation as I got myself ready
for work. The doctor had prescribed an allergy pill and a nasal spray, but I’d only been taking the pill the last few weeks because my seasonal allergies hadn’t been all that bad. I couldn’t find the nasal spray, so I decided I’d have to rely on the pill to stop Mother Nature’s snotty attack.
The sun was shining, the temperature was seventy-six degrees, and the songbirds were chirping. I rolled the car window down to enjoy the beautiful weather.
A big mistake. My eyes and throat began to itch.
I sneezed.
Crap.
Mother Nature was a bitch.
I resisted the urge to rub my eyes because I was just vain enough to want to avoid racoon eyes before I’d even gotten to work. I had to park by the courthouse again, and on my walk to the shop, my nose dripped, two hard sneezes nearly blew out my itchy eyeballs, and my gummy vision failed me. I tripped over a broken piece of concrete and nearly landed face-first on the sidewalk. I managed to maintain my balance, but my big toe throbbed and my knees ached.
When I walked into Scents & Scentsability, Pippa Davenport, my friend and employee, was setting up a display table. She wore a diaphanous pale blue, long-sleeved chiffon blouse over an egg-shell camisole, along with a pair of chocolate-brown palazzo pants that flattered her willowy frame.
Pippa took one look at me and scooted out from behind the counter. “Cripes almighty, Nora,” she said. “Have you been crying?”
“No,” I said nasally.
She leaned back. “Are you sick? Is it contagious?”
I shook my head. “Allergies. I swear the pollen fairy visited and dumped a ton of it on my head.”
“Have you been taking your meds?”
“I’m taking my Claritin daily.”
Pippa had a habit of trying to mommy me—a side effect of our previous working relationship when she was my assistant. Back when I was a corporate drone, I relied on her to keep my schedule, both personal and professional, on track. I never worried about her constant mothering because that’s what assistants did. These days, however, it sometimes felt like Pippa fussed over me because she thought I was getting too old to take care of myself. Like fifty-one was old. Hah.
“Maybe you need a decongestant,” she suggested.
“I need you to stop worrying about me. I’ve managed to treat my allergies without anyone’s help for twenty-odd years, Pip.”
Her brow furrowed as she met my gaze. “First, I’m your friend, and I’m never going to stop worrying about you. And second, you used to always ask me to go get your allergy meds when I worked as your assistant, so don’t give me any crap about managing without help.”
I sneezed and my ears popped, prompting me to give up the fight. “Fine. You win. I’ll get some decongestants and eye drops when the pharmacy opens,” I promised. It was seven-thirty. The pharmacy wouldn’t open until eight.
“Let me take your mind off your allergies,” she said. “Guess what I heard yesterday?”
I chuckled then sniffed. “Aliens have landed? Big Foot is running amok? Someone spotted Nessy in the lake?”
“Next time, consider my question rhetorical.” Pippa, a lifelong big-city girl, had gotten on board with the small-town gossip grapevine. She was aces at eavesdropping, and so was her boyfriend, Jordy, the owner of Moo-La-Lattes.
“Soooo, what did you hear?”
“I probably shouldn’t say anything, but since it involves you…”
“Me?” Maybe my relationship with Ezra was making its way around the gossip circles. Did I care? Maybe? I didn’t know. “Just give it up.”
Pippa looked giddy. “I heard Roger Portman took his wife out of town to work on their marriage. According to the rumor mill, Roger was having an affair with a waitress at the resort.”
I widened my eyes, then blinked rapidly as tears blurred my vision. Well, that was news. And it was also a good reason why Big Don might allow his son and daughter-in-law to take off to the Bahamas.
“Are you crying?”
“No,” I said flatly. “I’m itchy. I’d like to scratch out my eyeballs.” I clenched my fingers and forced my hands to stay by my side. “Flippin’ allergies,” I growled.
“Yeah. Um, okay.” She patted my shoulder. “It’s not like Ezra would dump you to take up with his ex-wife again.”
I blinked at her some more, but this time, the cause was shock in addition to allergies. “Gee. Thanks.”
“And if Roger and Kati get divorced, she and Mason probably wouldn’t move away from Garden Cove, right?”
I could see that Pippa had done a little too much thinking about the situation. I had barely made the decision to meet Ezra’s son, and now Pippa was speculating about his possible departure.
“Would you stop trying to reassure me?” I asked. “I don’t know anything about this stupid rumor. I haven’t seen Roger, other than by accident, in a long time. I have no idea if he would cheat on his wife or not.”
“But Ezra would know, right? Because he’s got Mason while his ex is trying to work out things with Roger.”
“You don’t know that.” But trying to fix marriage problems made more sense as to why Roger took a vacation during the town’s busiest weekend of the year. Had Big Don forced him to go? I shook my head. I couldn’t see Roger’s dad caring one way or the other what his golden boy got up to.
Was this something I mentioned to Ezra? If I did, would he think I was a busybody? Probably. But…if he had known but didn’t tell me, what did that mean? Either it wasn’t my business, or he hadn’t told me because…well, no use going through the door Pippa opened.
I sighed.
He was taking care of his son while his ex was out of town. She might have told him, and it wasn’t like there was any reason for him to share the information with me. “What’s the name of Roger’s side piece?”
“Sorry,” Pip said. “The mysterious mistress was not named.”
“Well, I hope it’s not true. I don’t wish ill on Ezra’s ex.” My nose started to drip. I frantically dug in my purse, trying to find some tissue as the tell-tale tickle caused two short and sharp intakes of breath.
Then I sneezed again. “Oh, gawd.”
Pippa, who had the grace and reaction time of a hummingbird, jumped out of the way. She pointed to the door. “Go now, Nora. Wait in the parking lot until the place opens.”
Under her chiffon sleeve, I saw a huge red scrape that stretched the length of her forearm.
“Fine,” I said, knowing I sounded every bit as grumpy as I felt. I had to get this allergy attack under control. I couldn’t show up to meet Ezra’s son looking like I had a severe case of pink eye. “I’ll go. But when I get back, we’re going to talk about the road rash on your arm.”
Craymore’s Pharmacy was a few blocks from the shop. Since parking was so hard to find, I decided to walk. By the time I got there, my symptoms were worse. Well, what did I expect? I traded allergy relief for a good parking space.
I leaned against the brick wall of the pharmacy, put in my earbuds, and started the audiobook app on my phone. I spent twenty minutes listening and using up the few tissues I’d shoved in my purse. Gah. So much for Claritin’s magic allergy repellant. I wished I’d been able to find the nasal spray. I hadn’t been this stuffed up in a while.
When a young man in a Craymore’s apron finally opened the front door, I wanted to hug him.
The only decongestant that had ever really worked for me was an antihistamine-pseudoephedrine combo called Pseudo-Act. It was awesome. It also had one of the main ingredients in meth. Thanks to the prevalence of meth producers in the Midwest, I had to jump through a dozen fiery hoops to purchase it.
The pharmacy tech was a middle-aged woman with dark brown skin. She wore a white jacket with the name Barb embroidered on the right side above a breast pocket. She forced a smile when I sidled up to the counter. Huh. Maybe she didn’t like early-bird customers.
Well, I didn’t like my head feeling like a balloon filled with concrete.
“
Can I help you?” she asked, her tone just short of curt.
“I need some Pseudo-Act.” I pointed to the red box on the shelf full of different brands of decongestants.
She eyed me suspiciously. “For what purpose?”
I bit my tongue to keep from making a Breaking Bad reference. Instead, I blinked, gummy tears sticking to my lashes, and sneezed. I grabbed a tissue from the box near the register. “Allergies,” I said, as if it weren’t obvious.
“Driver’s license,” she ordered.
“You got it.” I dug my wallet out of my purse. “Here it is.” I flipped it open to show my ID behind a clear plastic sleeve
“Take it out, please.” Her lips were tight with disapproval.
I fumbled around for a few moments, trying and failing to retrieve it. “Why do they make these slots childproof?”
“Here, let me help,” someone said from behind me.
I turned to see Leila Rafferty, my ex-husband’s wife. Leila had been in treatment for Non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma for the past six or seven months. I’d given her my mother’s lace-front wigs in March, and it made me happy to see her wearing the dark blonde wavy bob with honey highlights. She smiled at me and held up a pair of tweezers.
“Hi there.” I smiled back, happily turning over my wallet. “It’s so nice to see you.”
“You sound hoarse,” she said. “Are you getting a cold?”
“Nothing like that,” I told her. “Just too much pollen in the air.”
“The news said the pollen index was through the roof today. They’re predicting it will last for a few days.”
“Awesome.”
Leila used the tweezers to grip my driver’s license and slid it out. “Voila,” she said with a fair amount of triumph.
“Neat trick,” I told her.
“I can never get my ID out of my billfold. Necessity is the mother of invention.”
“Isn’t that the truth.” I handed my driver’s license to the surly pharm tech then turned back to Leila. “How have you been?”
“Not too bad,” she replied. “I haven’t had any chemotherapy in a month, so I’ve gotten a bit of my appetite back.”
Impulsively, I reached out and squeezed her hand. “That’s great.”