Annalise re-entered the living room in a pale pink top that exposed most of her stomach. I knew I should be looking at the design I was considering buying, but I couldn’t draw my eyes from the expanse of flesh. I could see almost up to… Was she wearing a bra or a bikini top? She turned, offering me a rear view, and I moved to sit on my hands, making sure I didn’t reach out to touch. Her skin was a creamy color. Most girls I dated were bronzed—would the texture feel different?
She turned back. “This fabric is also wrinkle free, and the loose folds of the shorts allow for a range of movements.” She spoke in a formal, almost stilted manner. “So, they can be worn walking, playing beach volleyball, or other activities on the sand.”
I finally looked at the matching pale pink shorts in a soft material that fell to folds around her thighs. Oh, no, I couldn’t go there. I was already considering picking up one of her cushions to cover my lap and hide her effect on me. “Yep, that’s nice, too. What else have you got?”
As Annalise walked away to change, I frantically visualized myself in a cold shower. I just about had myself back under control when she reappeared, thankfully more covered this time. Even so, for the next seven changes of clothes, I used all my self-discipline to keep my mind on the business side of the viewing.
When she came out in the dress she’d been wearing before the fashion show, I said a quick prayer of thanks that the torture was finally over and stood.
She passed over the design sketches. “Here, you can have a look while I make lunch.”
There was a slight tremble in her hand as I took them. Had she been that upset about modeling her clothes? Or perhaps she was still upset about her car? Or maybe I’d imagined it.
“I’ve already decided,” I said and put the portfolio on her coffee table. “The first green dress and the pink outfit.”
“I’m glad you liked them.” As she turned to head for the kitchen, I had a quick glimpse of her smile. For all she’d been trying to play it cool, she was thrilled, and it gave me a buzz to be the one to provide that for her.
I followed her into her small kitchen. “I’ll need to introduce you to Tracey to talk about orders and color choices. You and I have a shopping date tomorrow, so how about the day after that?”
“Works for me.” She put the sandwich ingredients she’d retrieved from the fridge on the counter, then turned to face me. “What would you like on your sandwich?”
I moved in behind her and looked over the assortment she’d gathered, from sun-dried tomatoes to artichoke hearts and Camembert. “Do you think I could have plain cheese and normal tomato?”
She frowned at me as if it were a bizarre request. “You really are a man of simple tastes.”
“I’m just a surfer with a businessman sham going on.”
“Is that how you see yourself?” Taking a block of cheddar from the fridge, she started slicing.
A raspy rrrreht sound—apparently Rover’s version of a bark—came from the floor, and Annalise threw her a piece of cheese.
It still surprised me that anyone could think anything different. All I was really good for was sitting out on my board, waiting for a wave. What would Annalise—who was so full of ambition about her career—think if I told her that?
Maybe just stick to the facts.
“I inherited some money from my father that had been held in trust until I turned twenty-one, and decided to use that, plus my profile in the surfing world, to start a company. I don’t have a degree in business; most of what I’ve done has been instinct.” I hoisted myself up on the kitchen counter across from where she was working.
“Instinct?”
“Rrrreht.” She threw another piece of cheese on the floor.
I chuckled at the crazy symbiosis she and the cat had developed, then thought about her question. “Yeah, it’s like the instinct for surfing, knowing what the waves will do next.”
“How does that relate to business?”
“I followed the same principle to know when to expand, what people want to buy, and who to employ. Once you employ the right people, the rest gets easier.”
“It seems you have good business instincts as well as surfing ones.”
I winced. People had always thrown compliments my way—part of the legacy of having famous parents, then being on the pro surfing circuit—and in general I’d learned to accept them. Smile, say thank you, and move on. But it felt wrong to do that with Annalise. To accept her words was to allow that they were the truth, despite knowing full well I didn’t deserve them. Basically, it would be lying to her. And Annalise didn’t deserve my lies.
Dragging in a deep breath, I told her the truth. “I’ve just been playing at being a businessman. It’s not who I am.”
She almost brushed my knees as she put the ingredients back in the fridge. “If that’s playing, you deserve an acting award. You’ve been incredibly successful at it.” She handed me the plates. “Here, carry these out to the table while I put the rest back in the fridge.”
I took the plates but hesitated. Should I say more? Explain how it really was? But, the thing was, Annalise had invited me into her home because she was doing me a favor, not because she wanted to hear about all the ugliness in my soul.
Setting the plates on her dining table, I gave myself a mental shake. Time to refocus.
…
Annalise
When I joined Jake at the table, the mask of self-assuredness was back in place, and I immediately regretted not following up on the opportunity I’d been given—in the kitchen, he’d seemed vulnerable, uncertain. It just all seemed so strange coming from Jake that I hadn’t known what to do.
He picked up his first sandwich. “So can I ask what happened with your job?”
I shrugged. “The studio was making cutbacks. I’d only been there three months, so it was the principle of last in, first out. Plus, I was the most junior—I spent most of my time cutting fabric from patterns.”
He winced. “That’s rough.”
“There had been rumors, so I knew it was coming, I’d just hoped to sell some of my designs before the axe fell.”
“And now you have.” His eyes crinkled as he smiled. My entire body sighed in appreciation of that eye-crinkling. Honestly, this man had charisma in every cell, in every movement. I’d probably never be immune. Never be able to see him and not want to reach out and touch him.
“And now I have,” I repeated faintly. Which brought my thoughts back to the reason for my sale and even this lunch. “Tell me a bit about Scarlett. It might help me know what we need to do.”
He grinned. “Scarlett Logan. She’s a receptionist at Ferguson and Johns. She’s classy.”
That Scarlett? “Scarlett Logan?”
“Yep. Do you know her?”
Did I know Scarlett Logan? Did I know Scarlett Logan? Scarlett Logan, sister of Thomas Logan? The woman who’d told her brother, my former boyfriend, he could do better than me? The woman I’d repeatedly prayed would be taken by killer tomatoes? The woman to whom I was now going to serve Jake on a platter? Did I know her? “We’ve met once or twice.”
“She’s great, isn’t she?”
“Mmm-hmm. She’s something all right.” Scarlett Logan? Did he have no taste? “So, what attracted you to her?”
“The challenge,” he said simply.
I blinked. “Pardon?”
“I’ll be honest with you if you promise not to tell Kelly or my mother any of this.” He grinned again.
Slowly, I put my sandwich back on my plate. “I promise.”
“I’ve been bored at work lately. The challenge has gone. And dating has never taken much effort; women have always come on to me.”
He spoke matter-of-factly, without conceit, but still I winced. “Groupies.”
“I suppose so.” He picked up a piece of cheese that had fallen from his sandwich and threw it in his mouth.
All those chemicals and hormones surging through my bloodstream from the day’s events suddenly h
ad a new focus. Annoyance. That must be how he’d always seen me, as a groupie. “So, to relieve your boredom, you thought you’d set yourself a new challenge?”
“Something like that.” He shrugged and picked up another sandwich.
“And I’m helping you overcome an obstacle in your plan?”
“Yep.”
“That’s why you were willing to go to such lengths to get me to help.” I knew my voice had a sharp edge, but I was powerless to stop it.
He shrugged and swallowed. “No point taking on a challenge then being half-hearted about it.”
“Do you even like Scarlett?”
“Of course I do. She seems nice.”
That he was oblivious to my annoyance was making me even more annoyed. I stood to collect the plates, even though he still had a sandwich in his hands, and carried them into the kitchen.
“Annalise, is anything wrong?” A regular Sherlock, no doubt about it.
I put the plates down then turned slowly to look at him. “Don’t you think it sounds a bit callous?” When he didn’t answer, I continued. “How do you think Scarlett would feel about being considered a challenge?”
He looked a little taken aback. “Scarlett only likes to date guys once or twice before moving on. That’s part of the reason I chose her. Besides, she’s met me—she wouldn’t be expecting more than a short relationship.” He shrugged. “And who knows, there’s every chance we’ll get along really well once we’re together.”
Telling myself to calm down, I forced an imitation of a happy face. I wasn’t sure how much of this emotion was coming from my crush, how much was about his plan, and how much was from a particularly stressful morning, so I let it go for the moment. “You’re right. Do you want a drink?”
“I’d better be going.” He stood and moved to kiss my cheek. “Thanks for lunch, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“It’ll be fun,” I said half-heartedly.
He paused with a hand on the doorknob and chuckled. “Enthusiasm wasn’t a requirement of the job, Annalise, just the advice. You don’t have to pretend.”
“Actually, I think it will be fun. I’ll see you then.” I closed the door behind him, thinking that it would be fun putting Jake Maxwell in his place, even if it was only about his fashion sense.
…
That night, I speared my fork into my salad with a little too much force. The monthly dinner at my parents was living down to its usual standards. This was the time I always longed for siblings to share the scrutiny.
So far, we’d covered my nails—apparently, I needed a manicure—and my jewelry—the tangerine necklace was a bit too outlandish for dinner. And now we were moving on to their favorite topic—my love life. Or lack thereof.
“But I don’t understand why you don’t settle down, darling.” I could tell my mother was genuinely bewildered. And I could almost understand. A woman who, as a nineteen year old medical receptionist, had made the coup of the hospital’s most promising young heart surgeon, had certain expectations of her only child, especially now that child had bypassed the age her mother had been when she’d married.
“It’s not that easy. I have to find someone first.”
Please don’t bring up Thomas again.
“You had that lovely Thomas. Then as soon as you took him to Kelly’s wedding, you broke up.” My mother paused as I chewed a snow pea.
Please don’t ask why. Please let something distract her.
“And that’s another thing, why won’t you tell us why you split? Was it from seeing Kelly married? Did you want your own wedding and he didn’t?”
Please let the house catch on fire or a freak cyclone hit Sydney.
Given I couldn’t smell smoke or hear wild winds, I quickly counted to ten before replying. “I haven’t told you because I don’t understand it myself. It just happened.”
“Nonsense. Things like that don’t just happen. I’ll never know why you can’t seem to keep a man. You’re attractive and well-spoken. Men don’t mind if your career isn’t flourishing. That’s for your parents to worry about. Maybe if you—”
“Mum, can we not talk about my love life tonight, please?”
She shrugged and continued eating.
At least she hadn’t asked about my ex-job—she just had a standing expectation I wasn’t doing well in my career. One small mercy.
But still, I didn’t need her pointing out on a regular basis that my love life was a disaster area littered with failed relationships. I was well aware of its status.
Only Thomas had seemed to last any length of time, but there was just something that hadn’t felt right about being with him. On the surface, everything was fine—he said he loved me, we got along well, we liked the same things, and my mother liked him, despite his modern day hippie family. But something was missing. Maybe my mother was right and the wedding had put me off. I couldn’t see myself staying with Thomas long-term, and truthfully, I knew why.
I was a hopeless dreamer. My parents had always wanted me to focus on my schoolwork, on my music and dance lessons, on anything substantial and proper.
Instead, I loved silly and frivolous things, like running along the beach and feeling the wind in my hair. Like surrounding myself in vibrant, not-at-all-conservative colors, and designing clothes people might never buy.
Like watching boys in surfing competitions.
I looked at my parents and wondered if we’d clashed because of the large generation gap. Maybe as a child, I’d felt I couldn’t connect with them because they were older than any of my friends’ parents? Then again, I suspected we’d have had the same differences if I’d been born earlier in their marriage. Perhaps I’d been switched at birth.
We ate in silence for a few minutes until my mother spoke again. “Why did your father loan you the Volvo? Has that ridiculous car of yours broken down again?”
I took a breath and said in a cool, controlled tone, “She’s not a ridiculous car. Mindy’s a good car, and I love her.”
“Love a car? That’s absurd—”
I threw a pleading look at my father, who gave a slight nod then cleared his throat. “How are your designs going, dear?”
Finally, a topic I could talk about without seeing that touch of disappointment in their expressions. “I’ve arranged to have two designs in Jake Maxwell’s surf shops. You remember him? Kelly’s brother.”
“Of course we remember him,” my father said. “I read another article about him in the paper last week. About his business expanding. The press loves a local-boy-made-good story.”
“He has done really well, hasn’t he?” I felt an inexplicable surge of pride, even if I was still angry with him.
“Mmm,” my mother said. “He’s a good catch. Why don’t you set your sights on him?”
Set my sights on him? Annoyance flushed through my body. If it were that easy, I’d have just set my sights on him years ago. Besides, would my parents have approved of me dating teenaged Jake? He wasn’t a local-boy-made-good back then. Just a local-boy-surfing-all-the-time-looking-scruffy.
I put extra effort into ensuring my voice was civil. “Don’t you want me to be happy? Whether I’m with a good catch or not?”
“You would be happy with him, dear,” my mother said patiently. “He’s rich, attractive, and successful, despite that unfortunate business with his father. You already know his mother and sister, and you’ve always said he was respectful to them. What more do you want? Of course you’d be happy.”
“What more do I want?” I felt my temper rising, an uncommon event with my parents, even considering my regular irritation in their presence. “Love. To love and be loved.”
“Don’t be silly, dear,” my mother answered, laying down her cutlery. “Stability, security, respect, and affection are what you want in a marriage.”
I looked from my mother to my father and back again. They did appear happy in their practical marriage. I blew out a breath and looked down at my plate.
Was she righ
t? Maybe I was still stuck in teenage fantasies of what love and marriage should be. Maybe the adult reality of relationships was something more like my parents’ marriage.
I felt a hollow emptiness in my stomach. Maybe I should have married Thomas. What if I’d been reaching toward a fairytale-type dream all these years and missed my real chance at happiness?
Chapter Four
Annalise
I checked my watch again as I looked out my front window. This time it said five to eleven. Jake’s visit was a guilty pleasure, like sneaking chocolate on a diet. I knew I shouldn’t, knew that all this effort was for another woman, but I indulged myself anyway.
Lying in bed the night before, I’d come to a decision. Since I’d agreed to help Jake with his makeover, I may as well enjoy the experience. And I was enjoying his company, even if he’d annoyed me yesterday over Scarlett. I couldn’t let my parents’ opinions influence me into turning every attractive man into a future groom. The best thing to do was relax and appreciate the time I had with him.
“Rrrreht.” Rover sat beside me on her special table, her paws on the window ledge—her favorite position to bark at passing cars.
Pushing the curtain aside, I saw him pull up in his Jeep and felt a flutter of adrenaline as he stepped out onto the street. Whether I was sixteen or not, he still looked like a love god. At six feet tall, with his body sculpted from a lifetime of surfing, bronzed skin, and striking dark eyes, he radiated healthy masculinity. I wasn’t at all surprised when I saw a woman walking down the street check him out while he paused to set the keyless lock.
But it was more than his looks. It was in the confident way he walked, it was in his slow smile, and it was definitely in his flirtatious eyes. Except that he wasn’t looking at the woman in the street. He was looking straight up at me in the window. My heart hiccupped to a stop, but I somehow managed to smile and casually wave.
He was wearing another pair of old blue jeans with a black T-shirt. With each step he took, the shirt moved, smoothing over his shoulders, tightening with the swing of his arms. Having watched him so many times on the beach without a shirt, I knew by heart how the play of muscles under his shirt would look as he walked.
The Summer of Jake Page 4