“Just that darn hip. I’m fine. I brought you lunch.” She gestured toward Olivia, who held up the bag from the deli. “Lord knows you’d die of malnourishment if you were left to your own devices.”
“Pizza contains all four food groups, you know.” His features softened, and he gave Greta a grateful nod. “But thank you. I appreciate you thinking of me.”
Whenever Luke interacted with his grandmother, Olivia saw another side of him, a side that cared, worried, tended. She suspected that was the real Luke underneath all the anger, but she still didn’t understand where the bitter side came from. What had happened to bring out this other Luke, a man who lived in the dark and growled like a dog backed into a corner?
Luke’s attention swiveled toward Olivia again. Like a spotlight. A smirk flitted across his lips. “And thank you too.”
“Oh, I didn’t—”
“We better get these sandwiches out of the wrappers before they get soggy,” Greta interrupted, taking the bag from Olivia and thrusting it into Luke’s hands. “Aren’t you going to invite us in to eat with you? Be a good host, Lucas, and don’t leave us ladies to swelter on the porch.”
For the first time since she’d met him, Olivia saw Luke get flustered. He sputtered, then stopped, frustration in his brows and his stony expression. She could tell he wanted to refuse but would clearly never deny his beloved grandmother anything. “Of course, Grandma. You know how much I love to entertain,” he said.
Greta shrugged at the dry sarcasm and patted her grandson’s cheek. “It does a body good to socialize. Keeps you from talking to yourself.”
Luke sighed but opened the door wider and stepped aside. Greta headed in first, followed by Chance, then Olivia.
“And no snide remarks about the Early Bachelor décor,” Luke said as she passed him.
Olivia grinned and glanced up at him. “I had no idea that pizza boxes and beer cans were de rigueur for accent pieces.”
“Don’t forget the boxers on the floor,” he said against her ear. “They add the perfect touch of I-don’t-care-what-the-designer-thinks to the space.”
Her face heated and a ribbon of desire unfurled in her gut. A boxers man. Oh. My. Now her mind was picturing his muscular body in a pair of plaid cotton shorts. Showing off a lot more than just his delicious legs. “Those, uh, those might be hard to ignore.”
And hard to keep on, should she ever find herself in a bedroom with him. A part of her wanted to journey to that destination. Very, very much.
A grin curved up one side of his face. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Greta was already in the kitchen, bustling around, grabbing plates and napkins. “Come on, you two. Sit, sit,” she said as they came into the kitchen, with Chance taking a space by the back door. The golden let out a contented sigh and slid to the ground, watching the humans.
“Did I ever tell you my grandmother is bossy?” Luke said to Olivia. But he placed a kiss on Greta’s cheek and did as she asked.
“Someone has to tell you what to do and take care of you, you big lug. At least until you get yourself a wife.” She wagged a finger at him.
His face paled two shades. “Grandma, I’m not—”
“Oh my goodness!” Greta popped to her feet. “Will you look at the time? I’m meeting the girls for lunch. I darn near forgot. Luke, you can have my sandwich. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”
Then she was gone, whirling out of the kitchen so fast, Chance let out a bark of surprise. The front door shut with a decisive click. And Olivia and Luke were alone.
“What the heck was that?” Olivia asked.
“That was us getting snookered by a woman more than twice our age.” He chuckled and shook his head.
Olivia had fallen for the entire hurting hip act, hook, line, and sinker. She’d never imagined Greta would try to fix her up with Luke. But then again, hadn’t Greta talked about Luke almost every time Olivia saw her? Olivia glanced at the table and realized this had been Greta’s plan from the first ouch. “Well, that explains why she only laid out two plates.”
“My grandmother is smart as a fox but as obvious as a billboard. Anyway, if you want to go, I’ll understand. She kind of roped you into this.”
“If it’s okay, I’d like to stay. I’ve . . .” She swallowed, then met those blue eyes, those hypnotic, tempting eyes. The loneliness that had bubbled inside her earlier disappeared, replaced by something else, something far more dangerous. Yet she didn’t move, didn’t change course. “I’ve been alone a lot lately and I’m tired of my own company. It’d be nice to talk to someone who isn’t covered in fur. I mean, if you don’t mind me staying.”
“I don’t mind, Olivia.” He slid one of the sandwiches over to her, and a grin lit his face. He leaned in closer, close enough for her to catch the dark, woodsy scent of his cologne, get a glimpse of his hard, muscular chest beneath the faded gray tee that he wore, and close enough to want him to move closer still. “But I can’t guarantee I won’t growl. Or bite.”
“That’s okay, Luke,” she said, her voice dropping into the same deep, dark range as his. She held his gaze for one long, hot moment. “Because sometimes I bite, too.”
Nine
Diana hated being on this side of the desk. She fought the urge to pace, to tap her foot, to sigh, to do anything that would betray her nerves. God, she really was a total introvert, wasn’t she? No wonder she spent her day with furry creatures.
Her gaze landed on her son. He had a brown mop of hair, with laughing blue eyes and an infectious smile that she saw far too rarely nowadays. He’d worn his favorite jeans, shredded at the hem, frayed at the knees, and reluctantly put a blue button-down shirt over his favorite BRING ME THE HORIZON T-shirt. She’d tried to nix the jeans, then given up the fight. Sometimes, she’d learned, it was easier to say yes to one thing and no to another.
Jackson slumped in the chair, doing his best impression of a sullen teenager. Most days, Jackson earned an Oscar in that category. She worried that he had gotten a little too thin, his skin a little too pale. The boy, no, not a boy anymore, a teenager edging toward young man, could put back more food than anyone she knew, but it seemed like none of the calories stuck.
For the thousandth time, she wondered if she could have done things differently and had a different outcome for her son. Chosen a better man to be Jackson’s father, or worked less often, or gone to the playground more when Jackson was little. If she had, would her son be less angry now? He seemed to have developed a perpetual chip on his shoulder, and she worried that it was more than normal teenage “the world sucks” attitude.
The only person who’d connected easily with Jackson had been Bridget. Jackson and his grandmother had had a special bond, and when she died, his attitude toward Diana had shifted to outraged defiance, as if he blamed her for their loss. Diana wished she could find a way back to the little boy who’d asked her for one more reading of Ferdinand the Bull, the same boy who would snuggle up on the couch at the end of the day and snack on peanut butter and Ritz crackers.
Beside her, Jackson let out a dramatic, impatient sigh. “How long do we have to be here?”
“It shouldn’t take too long.”
“Whatev.” Jackson looked at his nails, then picked at an errant thread on his shirt. “This stupid school isn’t going to want me. I don’t know why we’re wasting our time.”
Diana bit back a sigh and prayed for patience.
Jackson got out of his chair, headed for the window, and blew a circle onto the glass. “I don’t understand why I can’t stay where I am.”
Or at the place before that. Or the one before that. Jackson knew the reasons, and Diana didn’t reiterate them.
Three schools in the past two years. All she wanted for her son was stability and had found far too little of that. She prayed this school, with its stomach-twisting price tag and stellar reputation, would be the right one for her son. Paying the tuition would mean some sacrifices, but in the end, if Jackson was happy, it would
be worth every dollar.
“You’ll enjoy it here, Jackson. They have a heck of a science program.”
He didn’t respond. Just stared out the window some more.
Jackson, her only child. Once, Diana had dreamed of having three, four, maybe even five kids. A whole houseful of noise to compensate for the silence of her childhood. Sean hadn’t wanted kids at all, and she’d foolishly hoped when Jackson was born that Sean would fall in love with their incredible son and change his mind. He hadn’t.
Now, ironically, Diana was the one with a sister. A sister. The very thing she’d prayed for as a child but wasn’t so sure she wanted or needed at this late stage in life. She hadn’t even realized that Olivia Linscott and Olivia MacDonald were the same person. Her married name, Olivia had told Diana. She was divorced now, and ready to make a new start in Rescue Bay, and hoping to get to know Diana, and through Diana, their mother. Diana sighed. She’d deal with the whole Olivia thing after she figured out a direction for Jackson. Her son came first and always would.
The door opened and an older, trim man in a designer suit strode into the room. He had a shock of white hair and light blue eyes that seemed to zero in on and assess Diana, then soften when his gaze dropped to Jackson. “Hello, hello. Nice to meet you. I’m Ron Miller, principal here.”
Diana rose, shook with the principal. “Nice to meet you.”
Miller turned to Jackson. “And you, young man, you must be Jackson.”
Diana sent her son a warning glare. They’d been over this a hundred times in the car. Don’t play angry teenager, not today.
Jackson hesitated, then worked a polite smile to his face and put out his hand. “Nice to meet you . . . sir.”
She let out the breath she’d been holding. Miller grinned, then waved Jackson back into the visitor’s chair.
Miller came around his desk and took a seat. He laced his hands on the desk, then met Diana’s gaze. “This is just a preliminary meeting. No pressure, just a general get-to-know-you, and so you can get to know us here at Prince. We want to make sure both sides feel a good fit before we get too far into the process. Okay?”
Diana nodded. Jackson raised one shoulder, then let it drop.
The tolerant smile stayed on Miller’s lips. “Tell me, Miss Tuttle, why do you want your son to attend Prince?”
Diana shifted in her chair. “It offers the perfect education for him. Jackson’s got a real interest in science, and I want to do everything I can to help him pursue that.”
Miller nodded, then turned to Jackson. “And you? Why do you want to go here, young man?”
“My mother said it’ll be good for me.”
Not the answer Diana wanted to hear, but not the worst answer he could have given. She worked up a smile of agreement.
Miller chuckled. “Well, at least you’re honest, Jackson. And you’re smart. Your test scores were”—he paused to flip through a few papers on his desk—“quite good. Surprising, even.”
“So he’s in?” Diana had worked for months to get Jackson into Prince Academy. The school had a wait list as long as her arm, and just to secure this interview, she’d had to ask the owner of one of her patients for a favor. Sending Jackson here would mean a longer commute in the morning, along with the belt-tightening, but Prince Academy offered the kind of education that could ensure Jackson’s future, and that meant more to her than anything.
“Well, let’s cover a few more issues first.” Miller leaned across the desk. “Does Jackson’s father agree with sending him to this school?”
She bristled. Even without mentioning his name, just the thought of her ex sharpened Diana’s spine. “Jackson’s father isn’t involved in any decisions.” She didn’t add that she had kicked Sean out for good a year and a half ago. He’d been no kind of father to their son, and the chaos Sean had brought to their household had lingered, even after she’d gotten Jackson into counseling. Sean had been a sporadic father at best, a horrible influence at worst. One of these days, she’d have to honestly answer Jackson’s questions. Hopefully that day was a long way off.
“We’d like to welcome Jackson to our school,” Miller said, and then the tolerant smile became a pained look, “but . . .”
She heard the word, and the nerves in her stomach turned to a heavy, thick stone. “But?”
“But there’s a problem.” The principal steepled his fingers and looked at Jackson as he spoke. “You have gone to three different schools in two years, which concerns us greatly. Your grades were good, but you had many discipline issues at those previous schools.”
She tried a smile. “Jackson is simply . . . an energetic boy who really needs to be challenged. I think he was bored in the other schools.”
But it was more than that, and both Diana and the principal knew it. Jackson had been through so much in his short life, and losing his grandmother after his father’s sudden disappearance from his life had multiplied those issues. She thought of her son, so angry, so scared, and so worried about the sand shifting under his feet. He was acting out, the psychologist said, trying to get attention, to feed that constant worry that he’d be alone. Give it time, the counselor said. Time and patience. He’ll find his way.
Right now, all Diana wanted to find was a school that would provide stability and a challenge for Jackson. He was attending Rescue Bay Middle School, a good school, for sure, but one that had made it clear Jackson’s days there were numbered. He’d spent more time in the principal’s office than the classroom. At the last parent-teacher meeting, the principal had suggested she “explore other educational options.”
“Mrs. . . . Miss Tuttle.” Miller pressed his lips together, then met her eyes with a kind, work-with-me gaze. “We need to be realistic. Jackson may not find his best home at a school like this. We have quite a long list of expectations for our students.”
Jackson let out a snort. She covered his hand with her own. He shifted away from her.
“I like you, Jackson,” Miller said. “You’re a very bright boy, and a very energetic one. You’re also very astute about scientific principles and had above-average test scores in that area, not to mention an amazing science fair project last year. You won the state competition with that research about asthma and air quality. That was high-school-level work, which normally would make you the perfect fit for us.” Miller turned his attention back to Diana. “But his discipline record gives me pause. Prince Academy takes only the best students, the ones who are most committed to their education.”
Unspoken message: Spending a good part of the week in suspension didn’t show educational commitment.
“Jackson really wants to go here and—”
Miller shook his head. “I’ll reconsider his application in a couple of months, provided his disciplinary issues are resolved.”
Meaning, get her kid straightened out and there might be a slim chance he’d be able to attend the school. It was a message she’d heard before and had expected, even as she’d hoped Jackson’s academics would outshine his discipline record. She nodded, thanked the principal, then got to her feet and headed out the door, with Jackson following behind her.
The defeat hit her hard. When was all this going to get easier? When would she and Jackson find their way again? Diana felt like she’d been living in limbo for the past few weeks, and all she wanted was some forward motion.
Her life was a disaster, her son was a mess, and on top of that, she had a long-lost sister she’d never known about living here in town, in the house that Diana had hoped would be hers one day. Jackson might be the one in counseling, but right now, Diana could use some therapy of her own.
“Let’s go get some ice cream,” she said to her son. “Chocolate chunk. Sound good?”
Jackson sat in the car, a silent angry stone.
A double scoop, Diana decided. With extra whipped cream.
* * *
The sandwich could have been made of glue and cardboard for all Luke noticed and tasted. The second Olivia said
, “Sometimes I bite, too,” his libido had roared. She sat a foot away, but still he cursed the expanse of the kitchen table. He wanted to touch her, to taste her.
This close, he could see the outline of her breasts under the dark-blue T-shirt. Could catch the light floral fragrance of her perfume, mingled with the coconut in her shampoo. Thank God for the table, because otherwise his desire would be broadcast, loud and clear.
He shifted in his seat. Focus on something other than her breasts, Romeo. “You still channeling Bob Vila next door?”
“More like Murphy’s law, but yeah.” She got to her feet, and when she did, Luke noticed she was wearing dark shorts that emphasized her tight butt, her shapely peach legs. He bit back a groan. Olivia crossed the kitchen, then loaded the plates into the sink.
Luke rose and followed with the empty glasses. Instead of returning to the table, he stood beside her, grabbing a towel to dry as she set about washing the few dishes in the sink. It was such a scene of domesticity, of normalcy, that for five seconds, Luke could believe he was an ordinary man in an ordinary kitchen leading an ordinary life with two-point-five kids and a dog in the yard.
It was . . . nice.
Olivia rinsed a plate and handed it to him. “Have you lived in Rescue Bay long?”
“I grew up here, just a few streets away. Spent most of my childhood with Greta, which was”—he chuckled—“an adventure.”
“I bet.” She slid the plate under the running rinse water, then handed it to him. “What about your parents? Brothers? Sisters?”
“My mother died when I was three. My dad wasn’t good at being a single parent, so Greta stepped in.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” He didn’t remember much about his mother, only that she had seemed like the polar opposite to his uptight, distant father. His mother had been the one to color pictures with him, to bake cookies in the middle of the day. When he thought of her, he heard her soprano voice singing, everything from pop tunes to lullabies. “As for siblings, I’m the only one.”
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