It was going to be an interesting week.
CHAPTER TWO
ISAAC SAT AT Bisky’s kitchen table, turned down the offer of wine and studied Gemma, the woman who’d reappeared in his life after twenty years.
He’d have known her anywhere: porcelain skin, mahogany curls and that shy way she turned her eyes away. He’d thought her gorgeous as a teenager, and she still was, maybe more so. She’d been sweet and kind inside, too, or so he’d thought.
But his family had been right: it was a mistake to get involved with the summer people. Technically, she was more than a summer person; being Bisky’s cousin, she wasn’t exactly a tourist. But still, she was from a different world. She had expensive clothes. She hadn’t had to work. She’d had the accents and speaking style of someone who attended a fancy private school.
And she’d gone on to marry a rich man, just as his mother had predicted. The same man who’d shown up the last week of the last summer with Gemma’s brother, Ron, driving a Porsche and throwing his money around.
So what was she doing back here now, without a wedding ring?
“I’m sorry to spring this on both of you,” Bisky said. “I’d thought Isaac would be done with his part by the time you got here, Gem, but it didn’t work out that way.”
“My fault,” Isaac said. “We had a flood at the store, and cleanup had to take priority.”
Bisky winced. “Yeah, that was rough. I know you must have taken a financial hit, too. You’re good to still make the time to do my project.”
Of course he had; he liked Bisky, but additionally, he had to take on all the work he could manage just to keep his mom and his aunt and his store afloat. There was no time for leisure.
No time for dating. No time for a woman like Gemma, who no doubt was used to being wined and dined. She probably lived in a gated community, and he knew from Bisky’s updates over the years that she’d traveled the world.
Isaac, by contrast, lived in the house he’d grown up in and had done nothing except stay home and work.
He needed to get his old feelings for Gemma right out of his mind.
“So,” Bisky said, reaching for a folder stuffed with papers and magazine clippings, “here are some pictures Sunny showed me a few months ago, when she was begging me to redo her room. I made like I couldn’t afford it. So this is going to be a surprise.”
Gemma studied the pictures. Isaac leaned over to look, too, and ended up getting a whiff of something flowery from her hair. Resolutely, he moved away.
“Looks like we’ll need to do some shopping,” Gemma said to Bisky. “Or maybe you’ll just send me out for stuff, if you have to work. Then, honestly, it’ll be a full-time job to get it all done this week.”
“True for me, too,” he said.
“Can you work together,” Bisky asked, “or will you just be in each other’s way?”
Gemma looked at him the same moment he looked at her, and their gazes tangled for the briefest of moments. Doe eyes, that was what she had. As wild and shy as the sika deer that roamed the Eastern Shore.
“We can work together, I think.” Gemma bit her lip. “I mean, I can.”
“Me, too.” He looked away from her pretty mouth and thought about spending the next few days in close quarters with her. Heat coursed in his veins.
It was going to be quite a week.
* * *
AFTER ISAAC LEFT, Gemma glared, only half-jokingly, at Bisky. “Did you plan this?”
“Plan what?” Bisky raised her eyebrows, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“This! Me and Isaac, working together all week!”
“Nope.” Bisky held up her hands, palms out. “It truly was an accident. I thought he’d be done by the time you got here. But—” she grinned “—now that it’s happening, I think I like it.”
“I don’t!” Gemma picked up Fang and put him on her lap, where he rolled onto his back for a belly rub. “I’m supposed to be celebrating freedom from men. And now I’m thrown together with Isaac Roberts. The handsomest man alive!”
“He is handsome,” Bisky agreed. “A really, really good guy, too.”
Gemma looked quickly at her cousin. “Do you... Is there anything between you?”
“With Isaac? No. No way. He’s like a brother.” She paused. “But everyone in town knows how much he’s sacrificed for his family. That’s all I meant. He’s one of the good ones.”
Gemma felt unaccountably relieved. “How about you? Are you seeing anyone?”
Bisky shook her head. “You know me. I’m busy raising Sunny and working.”
“I thought you sometimes dated when Sunny was away.” Gemma took a sip of wine.
Bisky leaned back in her chair, shrugging a little. “It gets old, these short-term things.”
She sounded a little sad, and that wasn’t like Bisky. “Did something happen?” Gemma asked.
“I just grew up, I guess. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. My life is full.” She refilled Gemma’s glass and then her own. “But my life’s also boring, whereas you... Man, girl, sounds like you’ve had some excitement. How’d you get the guts to dump el jerko?”
“My friend, the high-powered lawyer.” Gemma rubbed a finger around the rim of her wineglass. “She told me exactly how to get my money and paperwork together and then file when he was off on a so-called fishing trip. He didn’t want to end the marriage because of how it would look, but he also didn’t want to be any kind of a husband to me. Not when I’m so boring compared to his special friends at the club.”
Bisky snorted. “I assume the special friends were in their twenties and blonde?”
“And busty,” Gemma said. “Turns out he likes busty.” Which Gemma wasn’t.
“Told ya so,” Bisky said, but lightly. It was true; on the night before Gemma’s wedding, Bisky had taken her out for drinks and had a talk with her.
“Why are you marrying him?” she’d asked bluntly. She’d come up for Gemma’s wedding, had only just met Jeff, but she’d disliked him on sight.
“No one else is going to ask me,” Gemma had said. She was echoing what her mother and brother had told her, but she knew it was true. She was shy and backward and not that pretty. “I want kids.”
“You can have kids other ways.” Bisky had sounded completely exasperated. “You have a college degree. Use it! Move somewhere away from your family and get a job. Come to Pleasant Shores and stay with me! Just don’t marry a man you don’t love.”
In some part of herself, Gemma had known she should take Bisky’s advice. But the relationship and the wedding had built up a momentum of its own. She hadn’t had the courage, back then, to put a stop to it.
“You were right,” Gemma said now, rubbing Fang’s ears.
“Men.” Bisky reached out for Fang, and Gemma passed him over. “You’re the best little man, aren’t you, buddy?” She held him like a baby, which he tolerated for only a moment before struggling to right himself. Bisky handed him back to Gemma. “You know, I’m generally not that big of a dog person, but I like your little guy. He has attitude.”
“He’s been great. My best friend through all this.”
“I’m glad you have him, then.” Bisky gave a great yawn. “Sorry. I can’t wait to spend more time hanging out, but for now, I have to go to bed. Four in the morning comes early. Let me show you where you’re sleeping.”
They cleaned up their glasses and then headed to the second floor, Bisky leading the way, Gemma carrying her suitcase. On the threshold of the guest room, Gemma’s throat tightened.
All along one side of the room was baby stuff: a crib, a changing table, a rocker.
“Sorry it’s got so much junk,” Bisky said. “I cleared out the attic and didn’t have anywhere to put this stuff... Oh, hon, what’s wrong?”
Gemma shook her head and cleared her throat. �
��It’s nothing. It’s just...we were going to adopt, and I had the nursery all ready, and then it fell through.” She swallowed hard. “Twice.”
“Oh no!” Bisky folded her into a hug. “I’ll sleep here, and you take my room.”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll be fine.”
“I can’t believe you went through that without telling me.”
“I actually couldn’t talk about it. Still can’t. You need to go to bed.” She turned her back on the baby furniture, put her suitcase on the bed and opened it.
“Are you okay?” Bisky still had a hand on her shoulder. “To stay in here and to do the attic?”
“Of course! I’m fine. I’ll make the attic great for Sunny,” Gemma promised.
She’d just have to figure out a way to do that without going crazy working in tight quarters with the man she’d never forgotten.
* * *
A WEEK WORKING closely with Gemma McWharter was going to be even tougher than Isaac had thought.
He’d kept busy finishing the bathroom update as soon as she’d started work on the bedroom, but he couldn’t caulk all night. He was supposed to get the bedroom’s window seat fitted and planed out today, but she was out there painting walls, cute and sexy in a skimpy tank top and jeans. He wasn’t going to be able to pretend she wasn’t there.
“Do you need help painting?” he asked finally.
She looked down from the sheet-covered chair she was standing on. “I wouldn’t turn it down,” she said. “But don’t you have things to do yourself?”
“Can’t put in the window seat until the walls are done,” he said. “May as well help you get there.”
“Then sure,” she said promptly. “Trim or roller?”
“Roller,” he said, and so she continued painting along the edges while he poured paint into a pan and started rolling it onto the wall she’d already edged.
“I’m glad Bisky didn’t choose bright purple or pink,” Gemma said. “I thought girls usually liked those kinds of colors, but apparently, Sunny prefers neutrals. The gray is going to be gorgeous.”
“Sunny’s a great kid,” Isaac said. “Works hard and helps her mom. And funny.”
They painted in silence for a little while, and then she spoke. “If you don’t mind my asking... How come you didn’t get married and have kids?”
He glanced back over his shoulder at her. He rarely got this question anymore, since everyone in Pleasant Shores knew him and his situation. “I don’t even have time to date, what with taking care of Mom and running the store.”
“What’s going on with your mother?” she asked as she carefully ran her brush along the woodwork that framed the window. “You don’t live with her, do you?”
“I do.” He stood back to examine the wall he’d just finished painting, looking for bare spots. “Not many women want to date a thirty-seven-year-old man who still lives with his mother. She has Parkinson’s,” he clarified, “and she can’t stay alone anymore. Works for both of us.”
He glanced over to see that she’d stopped painting to look at him, her lips turning down. “I’m so sorry. How is she doing?”
“Her spirits are good. She does as much of the housework as she can. Still cooks a mean lasagna.”
She clapped her hands lightly. “I remember! Hers was the best.”
“Still is,” he said, although the truth was, Mom struggled to remember the ingredients these days. It wasn’t to the level of cognitive impairment, but she had trouble focusing. “Tell me about you. What’s been going on?”
She smiled a little. “Uh-uh, you don’t get to change the subject yet,” she said. “You don’t have kids, and you don’t date much, okay. What do you do?”
He moved to the next wall and started rolling on paint. “I work,” he said.
“At the store?”
He nodded. “Plus I do side jobs like this one.”
“So you’re putting in, what, twelve hours a day?” Her tone was joking.
He nodded. “At least.”
“Is that necessary?” She sounded shocked. “Wow.” After a moment’s silence, she added, “I’m sorry. I’ve never been in need, and I don’t know what it would be like to work two jobs.”
He looked back over his shoulder at her. “We’re not in need, exactly. It’s important to me to build up enough savings that Mom would be taken care of, if anything happened to me,” he said. “Plus, the store has been in the family for decades. It’s an important part of the town, but it barely scrapes by.”
“Why? Are people hitting the big box stores instead of staying in town?”
He nodded. “Some support us, but it’s always a gamble as to whether we’ll be in the black any given month. So we don’t want to hire outside managers. Me and my aunt, between us, we cover the shifts.”
“Isn’t she getting kind of old?”
He grinned. “Don’t let her hear you say that. She feels and acts young. She’s been climbing ladders and lifting boxes her whole life, plus spending most of every day talking to customers. Seems to be a recipe for good health.”
“Good for her.”
They painted a little while longer, and when he’d done all he could, he put down his roller. Standing beside the sheet-covered dresser in the middle of the room, he took a long draw from his water bottle. “This place is looking good.”
She came to the center of the room and turned slowly around, scanning it. Then she smiled up at him. “Thanks for helping me get the painting done. I’ll help you with your part however I can.”
Their gazes met and held. He could see the gold circles around her pupils, the pink flush across her cheeks. His heart thumped, then settled into a rapid pounding.
He remembered the first time he’d kissed her, how hard it had been for him to work up the courage, how surprised he’d been that they both seemed to know what to do and that it felt so good.
He should be smoother now, but he wasn’t. “You have paint on your chin” was what came out of his mouth. He pulled a bandanna from his back pocket and wiped at it.
He was so close now that he could smell her lemony perfume.
His eyes flickered down to her lips and then back to those gorgeous eyes. He remembered more than the first kiss now; he remembered how quickly things had intensified between them as the summer had gone on, and how hard it had been to pull back.
Her eyes darkened, and he could tell she was remembering it, too.
Mom and Aunt Jean had warned him against getting so close to her, and in the end, they’d been right. Which was why he shouldn’t kiss her now.
She made the decision for him. “Well, hey, thanks again!” She stepped away, her cheeks going pinker.
Thanks for what? For almost kissing her? For not kissing her? And then he realized she was talking about the painting. “You’re welcome. Think I’ll go home and check on Mom.” His voice sounded a little funny.
As he walked home, he wondered about it. He knew what had made him hesitate, but what had made her back away?
CHAPTER THREE
THE NEXT DAY, Isaac walked into the hardware store two minutes late, knowing he’d hear about it, rubbing his eyes. Trying to rub away the image of Gemma and her full, pretty lips, but that was futile.
“A little help here?” His aunt—great-aunt, really, his mom’s aunt—was struggling with a large box.
He hurried over to take it from her. “You should have waited for me.”
“I might’ve,” she said, “but Goody is out back waiting for us to load this into her car, and you know how impatient she can get.”
He did. He carried the box through the store to the back entrance and loaded it into Goody’s ancient, wood-paneled station wagon, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn.
“Glad you saw fit to finally wait on me,” Goody snapped as she drove off. Goody ran the local
ice cream shop and was known for being cranky.
Aunt Jean glared after Goody’s car, then sighed. “We can’t afford to alienate her.”
“Sorry I was late.” Isaac knew that all too well. If they couldn’t offer better service than the big box stores, that was where people would go, and they’d be out of business.
As they walked back inside, she put an arm around him. “You’ve been working extra, haven’t you?”
He nodded. “Things are tight.”
He didn’t need to say more; Aunt Jean understood. As small business owners, they bought their own insurance, and even the minimal plan was hard to afford. When his mom needed extra treatments, each one was an expense.
“What are you working on?” she asked.
“Bisky’s converting her attic into a new bedroom for Sunny. I’m doing some of the woodwork and plumbing.”
“I hear her cousin Gemma is there.” Aunt Jean frowned.
Isaac nodded. “She’s starting a redecorating business. Kind of practicing on Bisky’s project.”
They’d reached the middle of the store now. A few customers had come in and were strolling the aisles, shopping, but no one was ready to check out yet.
They both walked around then, checking on people, making sure they could find what they needed. Then Aunt Jean came to straighten paint cans beside Isaac. “So you’re working with Gemma, spending time with her?”
“A little, looks like. We have to get the remodel and the decorating done this week.”
“Bad idea.” Aunt Jean shook her head. “I don’t like it.”
“She’s changed. She’s nice.”
“You stay away from her,” Aunt Jean said darkly. “She’s not our kind.”
“Are we really still doing that?” He pulled out a rag to dust the bottom shelf paint cans. “Separating people out into categories, our kind and the rest?” Gemma had seemed nothing but sweet last night. Sweet, and beautiful.
Home to the Harbor--A Novel Page 28