by Gina Wilkins
After paying the flirty barista, he turned toward the door with his purchases, only to stop when he recognized the young woman sitting in the darkest corner of the shop. Lori Bell wasn’t alone—and she wasn’t exactly sitting. Rather, she was wound around a long-haired, bearded guy in a black tee and black jeans, their lips fused in a kiss that would have been more fittingly exchanged in private.
She must have spotted him out of the corner of her eye. Peeling herself away from the embrace, she looked shocked to see him. He nodded in greeting. “Hello, Lori.”
Murmuring something to her friend, she stood and hurried toward him, her filmy gray sundress fluttering around her. She seemed to dress in shades of mist, he thought. Not as clichéd as her companion’s stark black, but definitely a statement of its own, especially when combined with her black-and-blue hair.
“Um—hi, Aaron,” she said, her smile strained. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
He held up his bag of pastries. “Just picking up a few groceries and snacks. Taking a little time off, yourself?”
She nodded somberly. “Listen, Aaron, I’d really appreciate it if you don’t mention seeing me here, especially with—”
She looked toward the young man watching them with a grim expression. “My family hates him,” she confided with a sigh. “They would freak if they knew about...well, what you just saw.”
“I see no reason to mention running into you,” he assured her. Lori was over eighteen. It was certainly none of his business whom she wanted to make out with in a public coffee shop, though that didn’t seem the brightest location in which to carry on a secret romance.
Gratitude flooded her pretty, dramatically made-up face. She rested a silver-nailed hand on his arm for a moment. “Thank you.”
He shrugged. “Sure. I’ll see you around. Uh—take care,” he added, the closest to a warning he felt acceptable to offer her.
Her smile glittered, a hint of a hard edge making her look older than her years. “Sure, no problem. See you, Aaron.”
Shaking his head in bemusement, he headed for his car, needing to get his groceries put away as soon as possible. He thought about the promise Lori had just elicited from him. Yet another confidence shared with him by one of the Bell siblings, though this one had been by accident.
Hard to believe he’d known this family less than twenty-four hours, he thought with a rueful chuckle. And even though he’d come here to escape the hovering of family, he found himself surrounded by yet another too-close clan. The irony did not escape him.
Chapter Five
Shelby spent entirely too much time thinking about what she was going to wear for dinner with Aaron. For someone who usually cared so little about fashion, especially for a casual fish fry in the resort, she had a hard time making up her mind. She even thought about asking Maggie’s advice, but she rejected that impulse immediately, telling herself not to be ridiculous. After taking a shower, she donned a pair of jeans and a white top with lace edging and tiny buttons running down the front. Feminine, a little dressier than work clothes, but not over the top for a fish fry, she decided. She brushed on a touch of makeup, left her hair loose and curly and decided that was enough primping.
Aaron had instructed her not to bring anything, but that didn’t seem right. She wasn’t much of a baker, as her family could attest, but her specialty was a quickie peanut butter cookie with chocolate chips. If Aaron had provided another dessert for this evening, she would leave the cookies with him for snacks. She figured everyone liked peanut butter cookies. Unless they were allergic to peanuts, she thought with a sudden frown, clutching the plastic container of cookies in her hands. She’d made the cookies once when Andrew was here, and he hadn’t been allergic. Could one identical twin be allergic to peanuts and not the other?
Sighing, she shoved her keys into her pocket and moved toward the door. If Aaron was allergic, he would surely tell her rather than risk death to be polite. Why was she overthinking everything this evening?
She decided to ride her bike rather than walk or take a golf cart. Snapping her hot-pink-and-purple helmet on her head, she pedaled past the family houses and toward Cabin Eight, taking the most direct path past the tent area. The familiar smells of smoldering charcoal briquettes and grilling meats wafted past her as campers prepared their evening meals. Some cooked inside their fancy RVs, and others went into town or to the Chimes Grill for dinner, but outdoor grilling was as much a part of camping as water sports. She exchanged waves and nods with people she passed, then swerved to miss a yappy little dog who’d escaped its pursuing owner. There was a strict leash rule in the resort, but Shelby didn’t bother to remind the obviously embarrassed owner, who held a dangling leash in her hand as she scooped up the mischievous pup.
She saw Aaron moving around outside his cabin before she pedaled into the driveway. She skidded to a stop, put down the kickstand and reached up slowly to unfasten her helmet without taking her eyes off Aaron. How foolish was she to think he was even better-looking than his twin? The man was pure perfection in jeans and a pale yellow polo shirt that emphasized the rich tan of skin and coffee-brown of hair and eyes. Had she
really asked him to allow her to reject him in front of her family? Sometimes she amazed herself with her own crazy impulses. As for why he’d agreed—apparently he was easily amused.
She saw that he’d set the picnic table, using a red-and-white-checked plastic cloth and bright blue unbreakable plates from the cabin’s kitchen. She did not recognize the cheery yellow vase holding a bouquet of white daisies at the center of the table. A fat citronella candle in a clear glass holder flickered beside the daisies. Even though the sun had not yet set, the candle added a nice touch. That wasn’t something they provided, either. Aaron had been shopping.
He turned to smile at her in greeting and her pulse rate tripped in response. She reminded herself not to take any of this too seriously. So maybe she didn’t remember her heart ever doing quite this same frantic Texas two-step just because a good-looking man smiled at her. Maybe she found herself getting mesmerized by those gleaming dark eyes to a point where she, who rarely lacked for words, could hardly put a coherent sentence together. And maybe the fact that he’d set out daisies and a candle made her knees go all shaky. It was all just an act, at least on his part.
She brushed a hand through her hair to make sure it hadn’t been flattened by the helmet she’d left dangling from her handlebars. “Everything looks very nice,” she said, carrying the container of cookies as she approached him. “I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble.”
“I had a good time with it,” he assured her. “It’s been a while since I put together a fish fry.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Everything’s ready.”
She raised her eyebrows in surprise. She’d assumed she would be helping him prepare the meal. “Oh—well.”
A little flustered, she all but shoved the plastic container into his hands. “I made some cookies. If you’ve prepared another dessert, you can save these for later.”
“Actually, I don’t really make desserts. I just bought some lemon bars. We’ll have both.” He set the container on the table. “Have a seat. I’ll bring out the food.”
They couldn’t see Cabin Seven from this side of Aaron’s cabin, and trees blocked sight of the first RV pad on the other side, so they were able to enjoy the meal in a semblance of outdoor privacy. They were visible from the road and the lake, of course, but Shelby had lived so much of her life surrounded by resort guests that she hardly noted passersby while she and Aaron ate and chatted.
“This is really good,” she complimented him halfway through the meal. He had fried the fish fillets in a crisp breading and had made his own tartar sauce and crunchy, tart coleslaw. Rather than fries, he served oven-roasted potato wedges and yellow pepper slices tossed with olive oil
and rosemary. “I’m impressed.”
Though he looked pleased, he shrugged lightly. “I’m sure you get tired of fried fish, living in a resort all your life.”
“You changed it up. The spices on the fish are delicious.”
“I added a few Cajun seasonings. Not too spicy, I hope.”
“No, I love everything spicy.”
He winked at her. “So do I.”
Shelby cleared her throat. “Um, the coleslaw is really different, too.”
“Jicama, green apples, red onion and carrots tossed with a little low-fat mayo, lemon juice and rice wine vinegar. A little salt and pepper. Easy.”
“And healthy. Actually, the whole meal is pretty healthy, considering the main course is fried.”
“I fried the fillets in canola oil and drained them as well as I could, but some foods just cry out to be deep-fried. Like fresh-caught fish,” he added with a chuckle. “My mom’s a health-food nut. Andrew and I were raised on fresh fruits and veggies and lean, broiled or grilled meats. Our favorite after-school snack was a ball of equal parts peanut butter and oatmeal, kept firm in the fridge. Sometimes she’d stir in some raisins or carob chips.”
At least she knew now that he wasn’t allergic to peanuts. “My mom tried to raise us on healthy food, but it wasn’t easy living here at the resort,” she confessed. “With her running the grill every day and so much fried food and convenience-store snacks all around us, it was hard not to fall into bad food habits.”
“You all look healthy enough.”
She laughed ruefully. “It’s not that difficult to stay in pretty good shape with the amount of physical activity that goes into running a resort this size. Even keeping the books, I’m always walking or biking or skiing or swimming. I’m too restless to sit still for very long.”
Maybe it was just an automatic response that his gaze swept her body from head to toe. He looked back at his plate quickly, but still her skin tingled as though there had been actual physical contact between them. Stop this right now, Shelby.
“I met your brother today,” he said.
Grateful for the change of subject, she nodded. “I heard. He said you helped him cut down a dead limb.”
“Yeah. I just happened to be walking past at the time. Nice guy.”
“He likes you, too. He said you’re going out on the water tomorrow.”
“Yes. Want to join us?”
“Maybe I will,” she said, pleased that he’d asked, even if it was simply to further their cover story.
Speaking of which... “Steven told me your neighbor had another visitor today,” she said in a stage whisper.
“He did. But I’m afraid I didn’t notice any contraband changing hands between them.”
He’d spoken teasingly, but he wasn’t mocking her. She knew the difference all too well. “You know, there probably is nothing illegal going on over there,” she admitted. “The guy’s odd, but that’s hardly against the law.”
Aaron laughed. “If it was, half my family would be locked up. Myself included, I guess.”
Grinning, she shook her head. “You’ve met the Bells, right? I think we could give the Walkers a run for your money.”
He took a sip of the light beer he’d been nursing during his meal. “You might be surprised.”
“Do you and Andrew have any other siblings?” She knew very little about their family, actually. She hadn’t realized quite how little Andrew had shared until she’d discovered there was an identical twin he’d never even mentioned.
“No. Dad said the two of us were all they could handle.”
She giggled, remembering the “terrible trio” nickname they and their cousin had been given. “You said your dad is a twin, too?”
He nodded. “Also identical. The only way you can tell them apart is that my father has a scar across his left eyebrow.”
“How do people tell you and Andrew apart?”
He flashed a smile. “I’m the better-looking one.”
She wrinkled her nose at him, even though she foolishly agreed with the joking comment.
Shaking his head, he said, “No, really, people who know us well rarely get us mixed up. I mean, there’s the hair—Andrew has always liked his shorter—and just something about our personalities, I guess, that tips them off.”
She could understand that. She was quite different from her own siblings, of course, but she’d never really thought about identical twins having such diverse personalities. She’d bet that was frustrating for twins trying hard to establish their own unique identities.
The shadows around them had lengthened as the sun dropped lower, glittering golden on the water, deepening the sky to azure. She hardly noticed the sounds of boat motors and drifting conversation and laughter and children’s chatter, a few barking dogs and the rumble of a passing motorbike. Any out-of-the-ordinary sound would catch her attention, but this was simply the everyday background of her life.
What made up the soundtrack of Aaron’s life in Dallas? Traffic, car horns, sirens? Did he live in the city or the suburbs? There was so much she found herself eager to know about him. “What was it like growing up in a family of private investigators?” she asked, propping her elbows on the picnic table to study him.
He seemed to find her wording funny. “My dad’s not much different than any other businessman. He goes to the office every day carrying a briefcase, comes home most evenings in time for dinner. He and my uncles gave up stakeouts and most out-of-town trips years ago, focusing on the management of the business instead. Dad said he got tired of being shot at and living undercover identities. After he was a married man with kids, he said he found all the adventure and excitement he needed at home with us.”
“That’s nice. But—he was shot at?” she asked with a puzzled tilt of her head. “Andrew told me the investigation business is a lot less dangerous than fiction would have us believe.”
“That’s true,” Aaron acknowledged. “But most of my dad’s escapades took place before the D’Alessandro-Walker Agency was even formed. He and my uncle Joe worked in risky undercover government operations for a while when they were younger. They also served as bodyguards in a few dangerous situations. They don’t tell us a lot of the details, but we’ve figured out that their lives were on the line more than once.”
“Wow.”
“Uncle Joe actually met his wife, my aunt Lauren, when he was working as her bodyguard. Her dad was a judge in an organized-crime case and Lauren was seen as a threat to hold over his head. My uncle was shot protecting her, almost died, himself.”
“Oh, my gosh! Was your dad hurt, too?”
“He wasn’t involved in that operation. Dad was nearly killed a couple years earlier than that when he was deliberately run down by a speeding car on an undercover operation in the Caribbean. To this day, he has no memory of that incident—which means he doesn’t remember meeting my mother.”
She must have looked thoroughly bewildered. Aaron laughed and explained. “Dad met my mother during that operation. She was a photographer on a photo shoot, totally unconnected to his investigation, but they crossed paths at the worst possible time for him. Because of the sensitive and dangerous nature of his investigation, and because he and my mom had just met and she was deemed a possible security risk, she was told he died of his injuries. She says it broke her heart. Two years later, they ran into each other again in Dallas when Dad and his twin tracked down their long-lost biological sister, who was my mom’s best friend. Dad didn’t have a clue who Mom was, but she recognized him as the lover who had supposedly died in front of her, which—needless to say—was awkward all around. They fell in love all over again, married and had us, so it all worked out.”
Shelby followed along with an effort. “Your dad fell in love with his long-lost sister’s best friend while he was underc
over in the Caribbean?”
Aaron’s chuckle was wry, as if he fully understood her confusion. “Yes. Then found her again two years later. Trust me, we know how improbable it seems. One of my cousins is really into fate and the stars and stuff like that, and she’s convinced paths are meant to cross. She insists that when Mom and Dad were separated through no fault of their own, fate stepped in to bring them back together.”
Sighing, Shelby murmured, “That’s so romantic.”
“I can’t dispute that they were meant to be together. Even all these years later, my folks are crazy about each other.”
“Is your mom still best friends with your dad’s sister?”
“Oh, sure. Mom and Aunt Michelle are as close as sisters themselves. Michelle’s husband, Tony, is the D’Alessandro part of D’Alessandro-Walker. He was already a P.I. when my dad and Uncle Joe were reunited with Michelle. When he heard about their undercover work, he talked them into joining and expanding his own fledgling agency.”
“You have a very interesting family history.”
He wiped his hands on a paper napkin and grinned. “You’ve only heard part of it. Dad and his twin were separated from five other siblings when they were still in kindergarten, after their parents died. Two of them were adopted, the others went into foster care. One died in his late teens, leaving a pregnant girlfriend behind. Almost thirty-five years ago, my aunt Michelle hired Tony to find her siblings. That’s how Michelle and Tony met. Anyway, the siblings were all reunited—they even found the daughter their late brother left behind—and they’ve remained very close since. We get together often so that I’ve grown up close to my cousins. Pretty much like you and Maggie and Hannah. We don’t all live in the same compound the way you do, but it seems like we’re always gathering for some family event or another.”