Carolina Dreaming: A Dare Island Novel

by Virginia Kantra

  Her little boy was vulnerable.

  She met her troubled gaze in the mirror, her heart pounding painfully with guilt and fear and hope. She had a right to risk her own heart again. But she had the responsibility to protect Aidan’s.

  Gabe said he wasn’t going anywhere. But that alone was no guarantee for the future.

  She tousled her son’s fine, straight hair, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. “Let’s not count our chickens before they’re hatched, okay, Boo?”

  He rolled his head to look at her. “What does that mean?”

  “It means I don’t want you to be disappointed.” Either of us to be disappointed.

  “Maybe we can have a sleepover, too,” Aidan suggested. “You and me and Gabe.”

  Jane caught her breath. “Let’s take things one step at a time.”

  Twenty

  HE WORE JEANS with a button-down shirt and his dress shoes. Gabe figured as long as he didn’t wear a feed cap inside the restaurant, he was good to go. But when Jane came to the door, he wished he’d borrowed a tie from Luke or something.

  His tongue tangled. “You look beautiful.”

  Her eyes lifted to his, pleased but doubtful. Her hands smoothed her skirt. “You like the dress?”

  “The dress. You. Everything.”

  The blue fabric flowed over her curves like water. He wanted to back her through the door and up the stairs and into that bedroom with the lacy white curtains.

  Where her father could walk in on them at any moment.

  Bad idea.

  She stepped back, and he realized too late that he should have kissed her hello, a hi-honey-how-was-your-day kind of kiss, like a boyfriend. Or a husband. He cleared his throat. “Where’s your dad?”

  “He has a date with Marta tonight.”

  Right. So . . . they were alone? The possibility sent a jolt straight to his groin.

  Their dinner reservation was for seven o’clock.

  But he could be quick. Or he could go slow. Whatever she wanted.

  “Marta is Grandpa’s girlfriend,” Aidan said.

  Hello. Not alone. Gabe looked down, regrouping. “Hey, sport. How’s your jump shot coming?”

  “Okay.” A small smile. “I beat Hannah in Horse today.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Aidan is spending the evening at Hannah’s house. I thought we could drop him off on our way to dinner,” Jane said.

  “Sure. No problem.”

  “We need to take my car. Because of the booster seat.”

  He’d never had to think about car seats before. Something else to add to his list, Gabe thought.

  “Where’s Lucky?” Aidan asked after he was buckled in.

  Gabe turned, resting his elbow on the back of Jane’s seat. His fingertips brushed her hair, loose on her shoulders, and another tingle traveled up his arm. “Lucky’s spending time at a friend’s house, too. I dropped him off at my buddy Luke’s so he can run around in their yard with their dog.”

  Because if the evening went the way Gabe was hoping, he wouldn’t be sharing his motel room with the dog.

  * * *

  AIDAN’S PAL HANNAH lived in Paradise Shoals. Jane walked Aidan up the rickety steps of the trailer, exchanging hugs and instructions with the very hot brunette standing on the porch.

  When Jane returned, Gabe slid out of the car to open her door.

  Maybe she was impressed by his officer-and-a-gentleman routine, because she stopped before getting into the driver’s seat. “I don’t know where we’re going. Why don’t you drive?”

  “You trust me?”

  Her eyes examined his face as if searching for some hidden meaning. His heart pounded. Because, yeah, that was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? The one she’d never answered directly.

  Do you trust me? With your car. With your son. With your life. With your heart.

  He grinned.

  She made a sound between laughter and exasperation and got into the car. Giving up her keys. Giving up control, at least long enough for him to drive them to the restaurant.

  The parking lot was full of Beemers and Mercedes. Gabe pulled Jane’s Accord into an empty spot between a Lexus and a Land Rover. The aging sedan looked almost as out of place among the luxury cars as Gabe felt.

  Jane blinked. “You brought me to the Brunswick.”

  The fanciest dinner spot on the island. Where she used to be a line cook. Where she still had a dessert contract.

  “Too much like work?” he asked.

  “No.” Her smile warmed him all the way through. “No, this is perfect.”

  “It’s not like you haven’t eaten here before.”

  “Never for dinner.” Her eyes sparkled. “And I’ve always used the service entrance.”

  He grinned, relieved. “Let’s see if they’ll let us in the front door.”

  They were barely inside when Jane excused herself and disappeared in the direction of the ladies’ room.

  Gabe approached the host station. “Hi. Murphy. Seven o’clock reservation.”

  The guy in charge—sleek blond hair, black shirt, black tie—sized him up and signaled an underling.

  “Yes, Mr. Murphy,” the underling said smoothly. “I’ll see if your table is ready.”

  The dining room was quiet. Elegant. White tablecloths, exposed brick, and lots of shine. Candlelight flickered on clustered glasses and silverware. Wide windows showcased views of the harbor and garden. Gabe shoved his hands in his pockets and prepared to wait.

  Another couple came in and was seated. Regulars, he guessed, when the Man in Black greeted them by name.

  “Everything is so pretty,” Jane murmured behind him. “Look at that sunset.”

  The sunset was nice. Very orange. The water was silver and gold. And Jane . . . Her eyes were the color of the sea and almost as bright.

  “Sweet Jane!” The Man in Black swooped in and hugged her. “I didn’t know you were joining us tonight.”

  Jane emerged, blushing and smiling, from the Man in Black’s embrace. “I didn’t know myself.”

  The guy drew back to arm’s length, directing another glance at Gabe. His eyebrows lifted. “And this is . . . ?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Gabe, this is Shawn Prescott, the manager of the Brunswick. Shawn, this is—”

  “Gabe Murphy. Her date,” Gabe added, in case there was any doubt.

  The underling returned. “Hey, Jane.”

  “Hi, Greg.”

  “Right this way, Mr. Murphy. Table—”

  “Four,” the manager said.

  The underling hesitated. “I put them in Jesse’s section.”

  “Table Four.” Prescott smiled at Jane. “Enjoy.”

  Table Four was in the center of a long bank of windows, with an uninterrupted view of the changing waters of the Sound. A formation of pelicans skimmed the water, black against the brilliant sky.

  “Thank you so much,” Jane said after they were seated and the waiter draped her napkin across her lap and left. “This is such a nice surprise.”

  She was so pretty, her face pink in the golden light. She liked it here. She was happy, being here with him.

  Gabe relaxed. “You got us the table,” he pointed out.

  “You made the reservation.”

  He asked Jane to choose the wine, ordered an Aviator IPA for himself. “I know the dessert will be good. But you’re going to have to talk me through the rest of this menu.”

  She did. She was so enthusiastic, so into the whole food scene, that he found himself ordering things he’d never heard of before just to make her happy, to see her eyes shine and listen to her explanations. Duck confit with some kind of bitter lettuce and an egg. Braised short ribs with cheese grits. After talking with their server, Jane ordered mussels in a red curry and ginger sauce and the day’s special, shrimp from the Sound and thyme risotto.

  “You learned all that working here and reading cookbooks?”

  Jane smiled. “Well, I took some classes
. Business courses and cake decorating mostly. But you don’t need a culinary school degree to get a job in a kitchen.”

  “It must help, though,” Gabe said. “Having that piece of paper.”

  The busboy came around with bread and water. “Hey, Mr. Murphy. Jane.”

  The face—dark eyes, gold skin, solid jaw—was familiar.

  “Hi, Miguel,” Jane said.

  Right. Tomás’s younger brother. “How’s it going?” Gabe asked.

  “I’m good. We’re all good.” The kid used silver tongs to put a little hard roll on Gabe’s plate. “Ma really appreciates what you did for Tomás.”

  “Glad I could help,” Gabe said.

  Jane looked at him after Miguel left, not saying anything. But her eyes spoke volumes.

  It could have been annoying, that stubborn faith of hers, the expectation that he could make something of himself. But he wasn’t annoyed. At all.

  A corner of his mouth kicked up. “Five months.”

  “Five months, what?”

  “To get my basic EMT certification. Classes start in August.”

  Her eyes widened. “You’re going to take classes to become a paramedic.”

  “Paramedic’s two pay grades up and another eighteen months of training after that,” Gabe said. “But, yeah. The GI Bill covers tuition and fees. Even books.”

  Her beautiful smile lit her face, her gray eyes shining and soft, and his heart turned to mush. “Gabe, that’s wonderful.”

  He nodded, trying to act like it was no big deal. Except that after three years of not believing in himself, her faith in him felt big and solid. Real. Right.

  “The hours won’t be great,” he said. “Especially in the beginning, while I’m training and working for Sam. I’ll be gone two nights a week from six to ten. And that’s not counting the commute.”

  “But you’d be helping people. Like Tomás. Doing something that matters to you and to the community.”

  “It won’t all be life-and-death stuff. But, yeah. Should be fun.”

  She smiled wryly. “You mean you’ll get your adrenaline rush.”

  He reached across the tablecloth and took her hand. “I’ve pretty much got all the rush I need right here.”

  That flustered her. She looked down.

  “There’s a housing stipend, too,” he added.

  She looked up at that. “But wouldn’t you have to live on campus?”

  “No.” He took a deep breath, stroking his thumb across her knuckles. “Actually, I’ve had my eye on—”

  The server arrived with the smallest appetizers Gabe had ever seen. “Amuse-bouche. Chef’s compliments,” he said, setting the plate between them.

  Gabe released Jane’s hand.

  She smiled up at the waiter. “Please tell Adam thank you.”

  “What is this?” Gabe asked when the waiter had gone.

  “Amuse-bouche? It means ‘to amuse the mouth.’ A taste to tease your appetite.” She sent him a shy look through her lashes. “It can also mean morning sex.”

  Gabe grinned. “Yeah? Then I’m really eager to try it. I meant . . . what is it?”

  “Oh.” She laughed. “I think this one is seared scallop with local pea puree and . . .” She dipped the tip of her finger into one of the green dots decorating the plate.

  And . . . Hell, yeah. Watching her suck her finger into her mouth definitely teased his appetite.

  “Cilantro gremolata,” she proclaimed. She pressed her lips together. “Maybe a little lemon zest.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  He wasn’t a big fan of green stuff generally, but he ate it out of respect for her.

  Sweet Jane, who had turned around the lack of nurturing in her own life by making a career of feeding everybody else. He admired her more than he could say.

  The pea puree tasted like fancy baby food, but the scallop was good. All the food was good.

  As they ate, he told her about his phone call with the lawyer. “Turns out he’s also the executor of my uncle’s estate.”

  Jane lowered her fork. “But your uncle died years ago, you said. When you were seventeen.”

  “Yeah. Funny thing.” Gabe stared into the amber lights cast by his beer, flickering like tiny candle flames on the white tablecloth. “Uncle Chuck, he never could convince Mom to leave my old man. He tried. I was just a kid, but I remember him talking to her when I wasn’t supposed to hear. But he never gave up on her, either. When he died, he left all his money, from his house, his business, his life insurance, everything, in this trust. A discretionary trust, the lawyer called it. That way, my pop couldn’t get his hands on the principal, and, if Ma ever did leave his ass, she would have a little income to get by.”

  “But she never did,” Jane murmured.

  “Nope. My . . .” His throat closed on the word father. “The old man died three years ago, and she kept living in that same rat-hole apartment. Like she was still trapped, even after he was gone.”

  Jane reached across the table, her touch, her voice, gentle. “At least your uncle gave her the choice.”

  “Not that she ever did anything with it, but . . . yeah.” Gabe shook his head, dispelling the memories. The regrets. “The thing is, the lawyer said that when she died, that ended the trust. All the money goes to the residual beneficiary.”

  Jane didn’t say anything, her eyes steady. Waiting.

  “Me.” He cleared his aching throat. “Uncle Chuck left everything to me.”

  “Because he loved you. Obviously, he wanted to take care of you. You must have still been a child when he wrote his will. Any money he left to you would have gone to your mother anyway. He loved you both. But he must have known that by the time you were an adult, you could take care of yourself.”

  Of course she would see Uncle Chuck’s legacy that way, in terms of family ties and affection rather than money.

  “There wasn’t anybody else,” Gabe said. “He never married. No kids. Just Ma and me.”

  “Even one person who’s there for you can make all the difference,” Jane quoted softly.

  He stared at her, shaken. He’d said those words to Aidan. “Yes.”

  But who do you have now?

  He wanted to show her that he could be worthy of her, that she could trust in him, that he had something to offer her and Aidan in return for everything she had given him. But he didn’t want to make it about the money, either.

  Money wouldn’t buy her love.

  He had to earn that.

  Although, shit, who was he kidding? He’d use pretty much any argument that would convince her to give him—to give them—a chance.

  The chef came to their table, a tall man built like a bear in a white chef’s jacket unbuttoned at the collar. “Jane. How was your dinner?”

  “Wonderful.” Jane smiled. “Which you know.”

  “I’m glad you approve.” A bright blue, assessing glance at Gabe.

  “Gabe Murphy.” He introduced himself. “Great meal.”

  The chef nodded, accepting his due. “Adam Reeves.”

  They shook hands, a short, invisible contest that ended in a draw.

  Jane glanced between them, her brow puckering slightly.

  The server reappeared with miniature scoops of something that looked like ice cream and probably wasn’t.

  “Merlot and watermelon granitas.” The chef bestowed a smile on Jane. “I took your suggestion about the cardamom.”

  “It’s delicious.”

  “Your desserts will be out shortly. Also delicious. Jane is quite amazing,” Reeves said to Gabe. “I would hate to lose her.”

  “I feel the same way,” Gabe said evenly.

  Dessert came, hummingbird cake with cream cheese frosting for Gabe, Tiramisu dusted with cocoa powder for Jane.

  “You’re a rock star,” Gabe said when he and Jane were alone again.

  She smiled, shaking her head. “Adam was just being polite. Plus, he would hate getting stuck making his own desserts.
Pastry isn’t really his thing.”

  “He was more than polite.” There had been both professional respect and a subtle masculine challenge in the chef’s visit. “You ever think about going back to work for him?”

  “I do work for him. I mean, I sell my desserts to him. But the bakery is my dream. Mine. That’s important to me.” She poked at her dessert with a spoon, not quite meeting his eyes. “After Aidan was born, after Travis left us, I had to move home. It felt like such a big step back. I felt like a failure. I need to know I can stand on my own two feet, that I can provide for myself and my son.”

  “Seems to me you’ve proved you can do both,” Gabe said quietly.

  “Thanks.” A quick glance. A brief smile. “I’m getting there. Maybe when Aidan is older . . . I don’t want to live with Dad forever. I know I’m lucky to have his support, and I’m thankful for everything he’s done. But I guess it’s just natural for a woman my age to want her own space. There are nights I would love to turn off that TV. Or get a cat. Or let Aidan invite over as many friends as he wants for a sleepover one weekend.”

  He took her hand across the table, playing with her fingers, tracing the little nicks, the scar at the base of her thumb. There were so many things he wanted to ask her, so much he wanted to say, that he didn’t know where to start. “You want a cat?”

  “Maybe.” She grinned suddenly. “Or a dog.”

  He raised his head and met her gaze. “I’ve got a dog. I need a yard to put him in.”

  Her eyes were soft and warm. “So you said.”

  He took a deep breath. “I’m thinking of buying a house. I was talking to Sam about a rent-to-own kind of deal, figuring I’d have the housing allowance from the GI Bill to help me save up. But now I can afford the down payment outright.”

  “You’re buying a house.” She made this sound sort of like a laugh. “Just like that?”

  “If something’s right, it’s right.”

  “But you have money now. You don’t have to stay on the island. You’re free to go anywhere, do anything. Be anything.”

  Not exactly the response he was hoping for. “That’s the plan.”

  “You have a plan.”

  He nodded. “There’s this one house . . . cottage, I guess you’d call it. On the Sound side. Nice-sized yard, quiet street. Built back in the fifties, so it needs a lot of work, but that puts it in my price range.”