by Beth Andrews
“Written about in Life magazine,” Erin and Nora said at the same time.
“Have I mentioned that before?”
“A few hundred times or so,” Erin said.
“Is that all?” Astor asked in the precise accent that made her sound like a Kennedy. “Well, remind me to regale you all once again with the story at dinner.”
“Sorry I’ll miss it,” Anthony said as he came into the kitchen. “I’m going out with some friends.”
“But I’m making that grilled salmon you like.”
“Sorry, Ma.” He stuck his head in the stainless steel refrigerator, straightened with a bottle of orange juice in his hand. “I’ve already made plans.”
“Anthony Michael, does this look like a dorm room?” Astor asked as she squeezed juice from half a lemon into a bowl, her back to her son. “Or worse, a bachelor apartment?”
In the act of raising the bottle to his mouth, he slowly lowered his arm. “No, ma’am.” He took a glass out of an upper cabinet. “How do you always know?”
She tossed the lemon into the sink, rinsed off her fingers and looked up at him. “I’m a mother.”
“I can’t wait until I’m a mother,” Erin said. “I could use a few superpowers at work, including having eyes in the back of my head. Especially if this year’s class has a kid that’s half as bad as that Dakota Douglas I had last year.”
Flipping through a book of wedding invitations, Nora nodded. “I won’t have to spend hours poring over legal briefs. I’ll be able to win all of my cases with a single, Because I said so.”
“The powers of motherhood are amazing,” Astor agreed. “Unfortunately they don’t often work on people who aren’t your children.”
“Yours worked on me,” Nora pointed out.
Astor smiled indulgently. “That’s because you’re my other daughter.”
Something in Nora warmed. How could it not? Astor’s words were genuine, the sentiment as true as could be. Astor and Ken loved all three of their nieces but they held an extra fondness for her that went above and beyond what they felt toward Layne and Tori. Nora knew she held a special place in their hearts and in their lives. It was…nice. Comforting.
She adored her father, loved and appreciated her sisters for how they took care of her when she was little, but spending so much time at her aunt and uncle’s house had taught her what it meant to be a part of a family. Being wanted by them had helped her get through her mother’s abandonment.
But it had done little to soothe the sting of being left. Of knowing she and her sisters weren’t enough to make her mother want to stay.
Anthony drained his drink, rinsed his glass and put it in the dishwasher then kissed his mother’s cheek. “Bye. Don’t wait up.”
Astor held on to his arm. “Won’t you at least eat first?”
“We’ll probably have dinner at the club,” he said of Mystic Point’s country club. “Or maybe we’ll try that new burger joint on Main Street.”
“Are you sure?”
“Mom,” Erin said. “He’s sure. Let the boy go, now.”
“All right. Be safe. If you’re going to be drinking, be sure to designate a responsible driver.”
“I’m not drinking tonight,” he told her as if she was crazy to think a twenty-one-year-old college student would consume alcoholic beverages. “So don’t worry.” He turned to Nora. “I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty tomorrow. Be ready.” He saluted his father and Collin, then spun on his heel and walked out.
Astor watched the spot her son just vacated as if trying to use one of those maternal superpowers to bring him back again.
Erin put her arm around her mother’s shoulders and squeezed. “Stop worrying so much about him. He’s fine.”
“I’m not so sure. I wish he would open up to us. Ever since it happened, he’s barely spent any time at home. And when he is here, he’s so distant.”
It being the whole underage Jessica fiasco where Layne and Ross had caught him and the teenager in a compromising position in his parents’ hot tub a few weeks back.
“He’s probably embarrassed,” Nora offered, reaching down to tug off her shoes. She wiggled her toes. “Jess really did a number on him.”
“He shouldn’t be embarrassed around us.”
“Maybe not,” Erin said as she took out a stack of white plates from the cupboard, “but we’ve all agreed to give him his space.”
“Yes, we did.” Astor looked, as always, perfectly put together and composed. Was it any wonder Nora wanted to be her when she grew up? “Although I was considering waterboarding him until he shared his feelings with us, I shall refrain.”
Nora gathered Erin’s things off the table including the binder of wedding ideas Erin hadn’t been without since the day after Collin proposed two months ago. “Are we still on for the florist this weekend?” she asked.
“Ten o’clock Saturday morning. Why don’t we have breakfast at the café before we go?” She looked at her mom and then Nora. “Eight-thirty?”
“We’d better make it seven,” Astor said, taking a platter of salmon out of the fridge. “I told Tobey we’d meet him at the church at nine.”
Erin set her fisted hands on her hips. “Mom, you didn’t.”
Astor scooped up the asparagus and added it to the pan. “Didn’t what, dear?”
“You didn’t hire Tobey Lacosta to sing at my wedding.”
“I asked him to meet with us to discuss the possibility of you hiring him.”
“I’ve already told you, I want a female soloist.”
“That’s only because you didn’t attend Ashlee Sheffield’s wedding. I swear when Tobey sang ‘Ave Maria’ there wasn’t a dry eye in the entire church.” She picked up the platter and crossed to the French doors. “What’s the harm in giving him a chance?”
“No harm,” Erin admitted, a pout clear in her voice. “But I don’t like you making these decisions without even discussing it with me first.”
“Of course not, dear.”
Astor went out to the patio and shut the door behind her. Erin exhaled heavily, ruffling her bangs. “Just when I start to believe she isn’t going to try to take over my wedding, she proves me wrong.”
“Her finding a soloist doesn’t quite qualify as taking over,” Nora said, stretching to brush out a wrinkle on the white-and-green-checked tablecloth she’d spread out. “She’s trying to help. She wants you to have the wedding of your dreams.”
“Yes, but between her, Collin’s mom and his stepmother, I have three of them to deal with. They all have opinions and suggestions…” She added air quotes. “Times like this I think Collin’s right and we should elope.”
“I hardly think you have grounds for elopement,” Nora said, unable to keep the bite from her words. But really, when Erin went into this drama queen mode, the best way to get her out was to call her on it. “You’re overreacting.”
“I realize it might not sound like a big deal,” she said in a patient tone Nora knew damn well she used on the five-year-olds in her classroom, “but I’d like to make the choices for my own wedding instead of having other people’s wants shoved down my throat.”
Nora opened the utensil drawer, took out forks and knifes and pointed them at her cousin. “You and Collin are lucky to have mothers who love you and want to be a part of the planning of your wedding. Your mom gets to help you pick out your dress and flowers and the food and music. She’ll be there on the most important day of your life to watch you walk down the aisle.” Nora slammed the drawer shut with more force than necessary, her voice shaking, her face hot. “Maybe you should be a little more grateful for what you do have instead of complaining about things that aren’t a big deal.”
The silence that followed her mini-tirade hung in the air, thick and heavy like fog over the water. She
stared at the two-tiered, wrought-iron fruit basket on the island as if it alone could take away the lump in her throat. The resentment burning in her chest.
“I’m sorry,” she forced out. “I’m…God, I’m jealous. And it sucks and I hate it because I love you and I want you have the wedding of your dreams. But your mother is here. She’s always been here for you. You deserve to have everything you want, including your mother tearing up when she sees you walk down the aisle. I just…I want that, too,” she admitted in a whisper. “And I’ll never have it.”
Erin, always one to be way too sympathetic, didn’t try to hold back her own tears as she hurried over to give Nora a hug. “Honey, I’m so sorry.”
Nora returned the embrace for a moment before stepping back. But she squeezed Erin’s hands. “Thank you, but you don’t have to apologize. I don’t want to do or say anything to ruin even a moment of us planning your beautiful wedding.” She smiled, hoped her cousin didn’t notice how her mouth trembled. “I’m just going to have to learn to deal with everything that’s happened, the truth about my mom’s disappearance and now Dale York being back in town.”
As soon as Dale left her office Monday, Nora had called Layne and told her what had happened before spending the next forty-five minutes pacing like mad while she waited for the P.I. to arrive. She’d explained to Mr. Hepfer that his services were no longer needed, paid him generously for the time it had taken him to drive to Mystic Point, then met her sisters at Tori’s house where they had tried to wrap their heads around this new development.
“You don’t have to deal with it by yourself,” Erin said. “You have Tori and Layne and Uncle Tim and you have me—” She nodded toward her parents and fiancé on the patio. “You have all of us. You’ll always have us.”
Nora nodded. “I know. And even though I may not act like it, I’m so grateful.”
Even if, for the first time in her life, she wondered if settling for someone else’s family would be enough for her.
* * *
FRIDAY MORNING, GRIFFIN walked up the short driveway, passing a brand-new Jeep on his way to Nora’s tiny, saltbox house. It had white siding, blue shutters and a cheery flower garden on both sides of the front stoop. It was warm, bright and charming.
Like its owner.
He’d take cool, dark and sexy any day.
He knocked on the door. Up close he could see the cuteness factor hid a few defects: peeling paint on the shutters and the windowsills, aging siding. The roof looked new as did the windows. But that still didn’t explain how someone with a junior lawyer license, or whatever she had that gave her the right to spout off about laws and justice, could afford a place this close to the beach. Maybe her rich uncle helped her out. The Sullivans liked to stick together.
He knocked again.
“I’ll get it,” a male voice called. “But if you’re not ready in five minutes, I’m leaving without you.”
Griffin raised his eyebrows. So, Little Miss Sunshine had male company.
The kid who answered the door had four inches on him, though two of those inches seemed to be his mop top hair. He came from money, Griffin thought, lots of it if the preppy, designer clothes, casually tousled hair and expensive watch were any indication.
“Nora home?” Griffin asked when the kid just stared at him.
“Who is it?” Nora came up behind her boyfriend. She had on a shiny red top tucked into a knee-length black skirt that accentuated her small waist and the curve of her hips. Her feet were bare, her hair once again in a neat twist, a pair of red high heels hung from her finger by their straps.
“Griffin.” She frowned and damn if he didn’t rethink the allure of sunny blondes after all. “Good morning.”
He nodded. The kid glowered. Nora looked confused and, if he wasn’t mistaken, a bit sleepy. Must’ve been one hell of a night, he thought, oddly irritated.
“Your car’s done,” he said.
“And you came all the way over here to tell me that?” she asked, holding on to the kid with one hand while she struggled to put on a shoe. A tricky task given that snug skirt but you wouldn’t hear him complain. Not when her movements caused the material to slide a few inches up her thighs.
The kid cleared his throat. Griffin slowly raised his gaze, sent him a smirk before facing Nora. “I brought it.”
She blinked, froze, her hand still on the guy’s arm. “You brought me my car.” She made it sound like a question. “You brought it here.”
“Did I stutter?” he asked mildly.
“No, it’s just…that’s a nice thing to do.”
Now he grinned, slow and easy. “Angel, I’m all about being nice.”
“And you’re making jokes.” She looked up at the kid. “It’s a Friday-morning miracle. Go tell it on the mountain.”
“Great,” the kid said while Nora used him once again as a balancing board to slip her other shoe on. “Give her the keys and you can go.”
Griffin didn’t take his eyes off her. He liked how, with the heels and her being inside and up a step, she was eye to eye with him. “Cute kid. You adopt him?”
“Nah, he eats too much.” The kid growled low in his throat. “What?” she asked. “You do. But he’s right. You’re cute. Adorable even.”
His jaw worked and, if Griffin wasn’t mistaken, when he spoke, his voice was a little deeper. “I’m also going to be late if we don’t leave. Now.”
“Well, go ahead. I have my car back so you’re off the hook.” She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Thanks for playing chauffeur.”
“No problem. But don’t pay him until you double-check his work.”
“Oh, Anthony,” she said, exasperated and reproachful. “I know your mother taught you better manners than that.”
Anthony jerked a shoulder. “I’m looking out for you,” he muttered.
“I can look after myself.” But she squeezed his hand.
“I’m starting to wonder about that,” he said, sending a pointed glance at Griffin.
He loped down the sidewalk with all the confidence and swagger of someone who held the world in his hand. Who knew that if his grip slipped, Mommy and Daddy would do whatever it took, spend any amount of money, to fix all his problems for him.
“Had a sleepover last night, huh?” Griffin slouched against the door frame as Anthony backed out of the driveway. “And on a school night, too.”
“I don’t go to school.”
“Maybe not, but your plaything doesn’t look old enough to vote. If you wanted something young that would adore you, you could’ve adopted a puppy,” Griffin said, not sure where the resentment in his stomach originated from.
“What are you… Oh. Oh.” The second time she dragged it out so it was at least three syllables. Then she laughed. At him. Seemed to be a habit of hers. A bad one. “Anthony’s my cousin. He’s been taking me to work.”
And that knot in his stomach loosened. “None of my business.”
“No, it isn’t,” she said, way more freaking cheerfully than the situation called for. “But he’ll get a kick out of you thinking he’s some big stud who hooks up with older women.”
“Glad I could make his day.” He dug a folded invoice out of his front pocket. “Here’s your bill.”
She took it, read it. “Seems reasonable. Do you accept personal checks?”
“The kid was right,” Griffin said because he didn’t want her or anyone to think he took advantage of his customers. “You shouldn’t pay unless you’re sure you’re satisfied with the work.”
She studied him, her brows drawn together. He had the strangest urge to rub his thumb along that crease in her forehead. “I didn’t want to offend you.”
She was way too sweet. Too worried about other people’s feelings. “I’m damn good at what I do. I don’t mind someone checkin
g my work.”
Then she bestowed one of those warm smiles on him, making him feel as if he’d won the freaking lottery. “Okay, then.”
She went down the walk to her car and studied the headlights. He pursed his lips as she bent, this way and that, her contortions doing some seriously interesting things to her skirt. Her shirt twisted tight against her breasts. And those shoes. Those damn shoes were putting ideas in his head better left for a woman who didn’t look like an angel and want to dig up his past, want to take on his father.
“It looks great,” she called as she sauntered in a hip-swaying stride back toward him, the rising sun haloing her hair. “Come on in, I’ll get you a check.”
“That’s not nec—”
But she was already walking into the house, her fresh, floral scent lingering. And he couldn’t help but follow her. For his money, he assured himself as he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. Not because he liked the way her ass looked in that skirt, how those heels made her legs look longer.
She wasn’t in the same league as her sisters when it came to sex appeal but he could see why a man would be interested. Attracted. Yeah, he thought, watching her as she walked into the kitchen, he could definitely see the appeal.
And he viciously shoved his own interest and attraction aside.
He glanced around. Her house reminded him of where he and his parents had first lived when they moved to Mystic Point when he’d been nine. It had the same open floor plan—living room, dining room and kitchen all flowing into one another. There was no hallway, just two doors at the back of the living room—probably an extra bedroom and a bathroom—and a staircase in the front corner.
Of course their place had stained, matted carpet, holes in the drywall and mismatched, secondhand furniture instead of shiny wood floors and framed pictures, photographs and a white twig wreath decorating cream-colored walls. She had a deep green sofa facing the TV and two armchairs—one a flowery print, the other a burgundy that reminded him of her shirt. They were plush and feminine and enticing enough to make him want to take a seat.