by Joy Nash
“And what was wrong with how your grandmother looked before?” Nonna demanded of Leigh. “She was fine. She don’t need to starve. She’s gonna get sick.”
“I’m okay,” Rita said through clenched teeth.
Nick knew better than to enter the estrogen-fueled debate. He kept his head down and ate. He was half-finished with his meal when Rita set her napkin down next to her barely touched plate. She rose, her chair scraping the tile.
“I’ve got to go,” she said.
“Go?” Nick asked. “Go where?”
“Church.”
He eyed her. “On a Thursday night?”
“I’m on the committee for the Fourth of July crab bake.”
Leigh nearly choked on her Diet Coke. “What? No way. You swore you were blowing that off this year. You said—”
“Never mind what I said. Fiona Hennessey begged for my help.”
“You’ve hated Fiona Hennessey since middle school,” Nick pointed out.
“Yes, well, that’s the very reason I couldn’t say no when she begged.”
Nonna was clearly displeased. “If Rita’s going out, who’s gonna drive me home? I can’t sit around here all night. I need to watch that new Survivor show.”
“Leigh can take you home,” Rita told her.
“No, I’ll do it,” Nick said, dropping his napkin on the table. “I’m headed back to the office anyway.”
Nonna waved a disapproving hand. “Office, office. Always that office. It’s like you’re married to that job. You work too much, Nicky. When you gonna get a new wife? I want to see a great-grandson before I die.”
“Talk to Alex,” Nick muttered. “Or Zach.” Hell, even his youngest brother, Johnny, was more likely to fulfill that wish than Nick was. The very last thing Nick needed was another kid. Leigh had been more than enough to handle since day one. Another like her, and he’d have a stroke.
“Okay, then,” Rita said. “Don’t anybody wait up for me.” She disappeared into the living room. A moment later, Nick heard the front door slam.
Leigh stood. “Nonna, you go ahead with Dad. I’ll do the dishes.”
Nick raised his brows at his daughter’s sudden attack of domesticity. So she wanted him gone, did she? He wasn’t about to let her off the hook so easily.
“Grazie, carina,” Nonna said. “Nicky, don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
She disappeared in the direction of the bathroom, towing her handbag behind her. She’d carried the bag, a plain black patent-leather trapezoid with a big gold clasp and stiff, semicircular handles, ever since Nick could remember. The thing held the world.
Nick pushed his plate toward the center of the table, his eyes on his daughter. “So,” he asked her. “What is it I’m not going to agree to?”
Leigh headed to the sink with a stack of plates. “If you’re not going to agree to it, why bother talking about it?”
“Because I’m your father, that’s why. What’s up?”
She turned, still clutching the dishes. “Jason’s having a graduation party. All the seniors are going.”
“You’re only a junior.”
“Exactly! That’s why I have to go.”
“Aren’t Jason’s parents on a cruise?”
“Yes. But Beth is home from college. She’ll be there.”
“Jason’s sister is what—twenty-one?”
“Yeah. She’s an adult.”
“Oh, right. An adult who’ll buy the beer and disappear into her bedroom with her boyfriend. The next thing you know, you’ll be with Jason in his bedroom.”
“Oh!” Leigh’s blue eyes flashed daggers at him. “That is so unfair.”
Nick leaned back in his chair. Christ, but Leigh looked more and more like Cindy every day. The long, straight blonde hair, the blue eyes, the high cheekbones. And, of course, the figure.
About the only thing she’d gotten from Nick was her temper.
He sighed. “I don’t want you to get hurt, honey.”
“Jason wouldn’t hurt me! He loves me.”
Nick’s temper flared. “Oh, come off it, Leigh. How many girls do you think he’s told that one to?”
“One! Me. But you—Oh!”
She slammed the stack of dishes on the table. A soggy tomato flew off the top plate and struck Nick in the chest.
He jumped to his feet as it slithered down his shirt. “Jesus, Leigh!”
“God! You just won’t understand! You never do. You won’t even try!”
Nick tried to keep his reply calm, but didn’t quite succeed. “I understand better than you think. And that’s exactly why you are not going to an unchaperoned party with a muscle-bound lifeguard whose neck size is larger than his IQ.”
“Jason’s not dumb! He’s going to Rutgers in the fall.”
“That’s right. He’s leaving, Leigh. Do you really think he’s going to spend his Saturday nights texting you? Get real. He’s gonna find someone else. It’s inevitable.”
Leigh looked away, but not before Nick saw a shimmer of tears in her eyes.
“Ah, Christ, honey, I didn’t mean…” He reached for her, but she took a quick step back and his fingers closed on air. She was always dodging him these days. He couldn’t even remember the last time she’d let him touch her, let alone give her a hug, the way he had when she was little.
She hugged herself, blinking furiously at a point over his head.
Nick felt like kicking himself. Or better yet, kicking Jason.
“Look, honey, I’m just trying to protect you.”
“Don’t bother. I can take care of myself.”
He ran a hand over his face. She couldn’t take care of herself, not by a long shot, but there was nothing else he could say to her now that wouldn’t make things worse.
“Look, I’ve got some work to do at the office after I drop Nonna off. I should be home by eleven. Will you be okay here alone?”
“Let’s see…yeah, I think I can manage.”
He ignored her tone. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He paused. “No visitors. Understood?”
Leigh’s expression hardened. “Yes. Can I go now?”
Nonna chose that moment to reappear, her handbag clutched to her chest. Her knowing eyes darted first to Leigh, then to Nick.
“Dio in cielo,” she said. “I missed a fight.”
Look before you leap.
Tori had heard that maxim about a zillion times from Aunt Millie, but she’d never really listened.
Maybe she should have.
She flung silver paint onto a cloud as she berated herself for fooling around with magic she didn’t really understand. She really should have considered the consequences of lighting that candle before she struck the match. But who would’ve thought it would work so fast?
The brush slipped, smearing silver into blue. She frowned at the damage, then gave up. She’d fix it later, when she was calmer.
At least she had a contractor who would get her shop open before the solstice. The tarot had, as always, been right on the mark.
She collected her brushes and washed them out in the bathroom sink. The faucet leaked, which was annoying, but she had no idea how to fix it. She was sure that Nick Santangelo did. The thought only annoyed her further.
She couldn’t get him out of her mind. But why? He certainly wasn’t anything like Colin. Colin had a wiry kind of energy she’d loved, and an irreverence toward authority that she wholeheartedly shared. Nick? The man had a solid, conservative look about him. His pressed chinos and white golf shirt (complete with company logo embroidered on the left breast) made about as boring an outfit as she could imagine.
So why was her stomach doing backflips? She didn’t want to know.
She tried to push him out of her thoughts. No luck. He filled her head as completely as he’d filled Aunt Millie’s front room. He didn’t belong in either place. He was too tall, too dark, too conventional. Too cynical. She thought of his curly hair and large, capable hands.
He was to
o sexy. Definitely too sexy.
He was too busy to do her job during the day.
And didn’t she know what he was up to with that? How could she not? It had been written all over his face. He was a guy, after all.
He wanted sex.
To be honest, the idea was not without its appeal.
She gave the dripping faucet one last, savage yank. The last dribble of water just wouldn’t stop, no matter how hard she twisted. The kitchen sink wasn’t much better—the thing dripped night and day. There were a ton of other things wrong with Aunt Millie’s house—light switches that didn’t work, doors that stuck, a doorbell that didn’t ring, a roof that leaked.
She wanted to fix them all, but the truth was she’d spent too much on merchandise for the store, and what savings were left had to cover the cost of the building inspector’s list and pay the mortgage she’d inherited along with the house—not to mention her own living expenses. At least until money from the shop started coming in. Little luxuries like working faucets would have to wait.
She dumped the clean paintbrushes into an empty jar. Enough already. She’d go for a walk on the beach and do some tai chi. It was an exercise routine she’d started after her miscarriage, hoping it would help her painful periods. They’d always been bad, but since she lost the baby they hurt like no one’s business. It was as if her body were reliving the trauma of losing that precious new life, over and over. Tai chi helped a little, if she did it every day. At least, she thought it did.
She walked the block and a half to the beach. The lifeguards had long since packed it in, leaving the wide stretch of sand nearly deserted. On the shore, a woman was building a sand castle with two little blonde girls. The younger one was just a toddler, still wobbly on her feet.
She was midcycle at the moment, not even close to her bad time of the month. But Tori’s stomach twinged anyway. She pressed her palm to her belly and started walking the other way.
She headed up the beach past the rock jetty. Breakers pounded the black boulders, coughing sprays of white froth. She slowed at a break in the dunes. On the other side of the sculptured mound of sand and sea grass, she could just make out the house she used to call the Castle.
It was funny: She’d been back in town for a month, but she hadn’t come to see it. She guessed she’d been afraid it would be gone, torn down like so many of the older houses on the island, to make way for something newer and bigger. But then, the Castle wasn’t that old. It’d been completed just before Aunt Millie had her stroke. Tori had run down to the beach every day after school to watch it go up. It rose three stories high on the edge of the sand, each floor stepped back to form a terrace on the roof of the level below, all curved walls and wide windows.
It didn’t look like a castle, really, except in her childish imagination. But she used to pretend it was her castle, and that she lived in it with her handsome knight and their dozen or so children. Her hero was slender and blond, with shining blue eyes and a soft expression. He kissed her hand and composed love poems in her honor.
She’d looked for that knight ever since she was twelve. Now that she was thirty, she knew he didn’t exist. If she wanted a castle, she was going to have to build one of her own. So she spread her legs in the warrior stance—a power pose. Arms lifted, she started her exercise routine, matching her breath and movement to the rhythm of the pounding surf.
She didn’t know her knight was watching.
Tori Morgan was on the beach.
She was impossible to miss in that neon green T-shirt. Nick stood at his bedroom window and watched her do some kind of Asian exercise thing. Yoga, maybe? Her body stretched and swayed like grass on the dunes. The wind whipped her flimsy skirt against her legs. He kept his eye on her as he shrugged out of his tomato-spattered shirt and into a clean one.
She spread her stance wide, arms lifted. Even from a distance, her body intrigued him. She was supple and strong, slender for the most part—except for that beautiful round ass, which faced him now, taunting him as she bent at the waist toward the ocean and planted her hands in the sand.
His palms started itching.
He wasn’t sure what lunacy had prompted him to take her job, but suddenly he was very glad that he had. It had been almost a year since he’d been involved with anyone, and celibacy was wearing thin. Tori struck him as the perfect incentive to get back in the game. She turned him on, and, as far as he could tell, she was unattached. She was a bit kooky, maybe, but that would probably work in his favor. In his experience, the free-spirited, flighty types weren’t looking for long-term commitment, which suited him just fine. They could have some fun together. When it was over, they could both move on with no hard feelings.
He watched her straighten, then rotate and sink into a deep split. Her spine arched. Nick had a sudden, visceral image of Tori astride his body, arching her back in just that same way as he drove himself deep inside her.
By the time she’d finished her exercise and wandered to the water’s edge, he was hard. He watched until she disappeared behind the dunes, then shoved his shirt into his pants and headed down the stairs. He paused on the second-floor landing, listening to the pulse of hip-hop from behind Leigh’s closed door. He sighed. She was probably in there crying.
Some men—better men—would no doubt knock on the door and insist on a father-to-daughter talk. Nick, by contrast, took the coward’s way out and continued down the stairs. He’d talk to Leigh tomorrow, after her emotional storm had blown itself out. It was always easier that way.
Nonna was waiting for him in the foyer, clutching her handbag to her chest and tapping her toe on the tile.
“What took you so long, Nicky? I coulda walked to Atlantic City by now.”
It was almost true. Nonna had never learned to drive, and even now, at eighty-six, she walked everywhere.
“Sorry, Nonna.”
“Were you talking to your daughter?” she demanded.
Nick escorted her out the door and into his truck. He settled Nonna and her handbag in the passenger seat. “Why bother? When it comes to Jason MacAllister, she doesn’t listen to a single word I say.”
“He’s not such a bad boy. He reminds me of you at that age.”
Nick felt his neck muscles tighten. “That’s exactly why I don’t like him. The last thing I want is for Leigh to end up like Cindy.”
He rounded the hood and slid into the driver’s seat. As he buckled his seat belt, Nonna said, “You got a beautiful daughter, Nicky. Do you wish she’d never been born?”
He put the truck in gear and eased onto the street before answering.
“Of course not. I just wish things had been different when Leigh was a baby.”
Nonna clucked her agreement. “Madonna, but she was a feisty baby. She gave us a quite a time, didn’t she?”
An understatement if Nick had ever heard one. A time? It’d been pure hell. Born six weeks early, Leigh had spent every night of her first year strapped to a sleep apnea monitor. When she stopped breathing, an alarm shrilled. Nick could count on one hand the number of nights the thing hadn’t gone off in the first twelve months.
“I love Leigh more than anything in the world, Nonna.”
“You’re a good father, Nicky.”
“I just want to avoid trouble, you know?”
“Trouble?” Nonna shrugged. “When it comes, it comes. What can you do?”
“You can get off the track before the train hits.”
“It’s the trains you don’t see coming that hit hardest.” Nonna patted his arm. “Don’t worry so much. It’s not healthy. Leigh will be fine. She’s a good girl.”
Even good girls get in trouble, Nick thought, but he didn’t voice the sentiment. “I don’t like leaving her alone while Ma’s at her church meeting.”
Nonna snorted. “Nicky, your mother’s been going out every Thursday night for months now. If you think Rita’s at Holy Mother church hall, your brain’s gone soft.”
Nick took his eyes off th
e road long enough to send his grandmother a questioning glance. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“If she’s not at church, where is she?”
Nonna shrugged. “How should I know? Your mother don’t tell me nothing.”
Chapter Three
Nothing comes between daddy and his little girl. Until she grows up and falls in love.
CrazyBoy69 was online.
Thank God. Leigh clicked Jason’s screen name.
The reply came immediately.
Leigh held her breath. Usually Jason asked her that. Sometimes she went; sometimes she didn’t. They made out in one of the lifeguard stands, or behind the dunes. At least, that was all they’d done so far. She knew he wanted more.
Her fingers hesitated on the keys. If she went out before her dad got home, would he check on her when he got back?
After the fight they’d had at dinner, probably not. But Mimi’d be home at eleven, and sometimes she stopped in to say good night. The story about the church meeting was pure BS, of course. Dad might be too clueless to notice, but Mimi went out every Thursday, and Leigh knew for a fact she wasn’t going to church.
Briefly, she wondered where Mimi was going. Mimi had always been more mother than grandmother to Leigh, since Leigh’s own mother had left before she could remember. Mimi was about the same age as some of Leigh’s friends’ mothers, too, since the Santangelos tended to breed young. Which was why Rita insisted on being called “Mimi” rather than “Grandma.”
But once the hot flashes started coming last year, it seemed Mimi had gotten less and less motherly every day. She used to be a mother hen, overweight and overprotective. Now she spent half her time exercising, the other half moody and distracted. She hardly even noticed Leigh anymore.
Leigh used to complain she needed space—well, now she had tons of it. Trouble was, she wasn’t sure it was all good.
<?> Jason typed.
<: - ) Meet me @ 12?>
Jason’s reply took a little longer than Leigh would’ve liked. Who else could he be online with? She scanned her buddy list. ShoreCruiser—that was Matt. PinkAlien—Stacey. Angel42—Julia and BeachBum113—Kyle.