“Thank you. So your superpower is the ability to make flowers miraculously appear?”
He smiled. “Nope. Turns out there’s a rose bush in my overgrown backyard.” He turned to her mom and held out an identical rose to her. “And one for you, Maggie.”
Her mother accepted the flower. “Thank you,” she murmured. Then promptly burst into tears.
Nick’s smile instantly turned to alarm. “Crap. Shit. I’m sorry.” He looked at Jamie with a panicked “help me” expression.
Her mom wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, then gave a shaky laugh. “You didn’t do anything wrong and I’m the one who’s sorry. It’s the hormones. I’ll be right back.” She hurried into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.
Nick scraped a hand through his hair. “Hormones?”
Jamie nodded. “Mom’s pregnant. She cries at everything. Yesterday she cried during a car insurance commercial.”
“Is she … okay?”
“Aside from all the drama associated with an unplanned pregnancy, she’s fine.”
“I feel like I walked into the middle of a movie.”
“My mother frequently has that effect on people.”
He frowned at Jamie. “You’re not going to cry, are you?”
“Nah. It’s my mom who’s knocked up, not me.” A short huff of laughter escaped her. “There’s a sentence I never thought I’d say.”
“Or one I ever thought I’d hear.” His gaze flicked to the door through which her mom had disappeared. “You sure she’s okay?”
“Health-wise she’s good. Emotionally, however, she’s pretty much a mess, but not because of anything you said or did.” She reached into the cabinet over the stove and pulled out a jelly jar. “Not much of a vase, but the best I can do.”
“Well, it’s not much of a flower, but the best I could do on short notice.”
“It’s beautiful. I love roses. And it was very thoughtful and gentlemanly of you.”
He leaned his butt against the counter and casually crossed his ankles. “Glad you think so. But here’s a tip on compliments, princess—they’re a helluva lot more complimentary if you don’t sound shell-shocked when you give them.”
“I wasn’t—” Her words cut off when she caught his look. “Okay, you surprised me. In a nice way.” She added water to the jar, then set the rose inside. “I hope you’re hungry.”
“Starving. And it smells”—he closed his eyes and took a deep breath—“incredible in here.”
Jamie’s mom reentered the kitchen. She set her flower in the jar with Jamie’s, then sent Nick a sheepish smile. “I’m so embarrassed. Sorry.”
“No worries. Women take one look at me and cry all the time.”
“I bet,” Jamie said dryly. And she didn’t doubt it for a minute. Any man who looked like him had to be a heartbreaker—something it would be really wise for her to remember. Because another heartbreak she did not need.
While her mom poured glasses of iced tea, Jamie served the plates and they all sat around the small snack bar area. She watched Nick take his first bite. His eyes slid closed and he made a sound in his throat that sounded more like sex than scampi and raised her temperature a good five degrees.
After he swallowed, he said, “Wow. Incredible. Makes me wish I was a poet so I could write something called Ode to Jamie’s Shrimp Scampi.’ ”
Pleasure washed through her at the compliment. “Glad you like it, although I don’t think the benchmark was too high considering you’ve been eating peanut butter and jelly all week.”
“ ‘Like’ doesn’t really cover it, but I’m too happy to argue.”
“Okay, now I’m plotzing. Note to self: Scampi makes Nick agreeable.”
“Jamie, are you suggesting this hard-working, cat-feeding man who brought us roses is normally disagreeable?” Mom asked, her voice filled with mock horror.
Jamie snorted. “Suggesting it? No. Saying it flat-out? Yes.”
Nick stabbed a shrimp with his fork. “Now that I know you can cook like this, I’ll be a perfect angel.”
“To quote the late, great Buddy Holly—that’ll be the day.”
Nick smiled at Jamie’s mom. “She’s crazy about me.”
Jamie nearly spewed her iced tea. Before she could recover, her mother smiled back and said, “Just be careful with her. She’s suffered enough recently. Bad breakup.”
“Hey, no need to go into all that,” Jamie said with a forced laugh. She shot The Look at her mother.
“She’s not only a great cook,” continued her mother, blithely ignoring The Look, as well as obviously forgetting there was to be no matchmaking, “she’s smart, funny, a whiz at planning parties, great at her job, unbeatable at Scrabble, an extremely loyal friend, and a truly wonderful daughter.” She batted her eyelashes. “Not that I’m biased.”
“Thanks, Mom, but hey—enough about me.” This time she shot her mother the evil eye. “How about those Yankees?”
“So this bad breakup—I guess that makes me the rebound guy?” Nick asked her mom.
“Hello, I’m sitting right here,” Jamie said, waving her hand.
“I’m not sure rebound is the right word,” Mom said, her brow puckered in thought. “I think for a rebound situation—”
“There’s no situation,” Jamie broke in.
“She’d need to be heartbroken,” Mom continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “And I believe she’s more angry than hurt over the breakup.”
“Happens when you get cheated on.”
“She told you?” Mom asked.
“No, I didn’t,” Jamie said, leveling a murderous look at her mother. Mom, who seemed to have developed Teflon skin, continued to ignore her.
“No, she didn’t,” Nick agreed. “But I figured that’s what went down. I know the signs.”
“Someone cheated on you?” Mom asked, her voice filled with sympathy.
“Yup,” Nick said, helping himself to another piece of garlic bread. “Do you live in New York, Maggie?”
Jamie chomped on her sautéed shrimp like she was chewing glass, and listened to them chatter on. After a few minutes, she realized a pattern had emerged in their conversation. Every time her mom asked Nick a question about himself, he’d answer with a noncommittal, short reply, then immediately change the subject by asking Mom something about herself. She recalled Jack Crawford saying that Nick didn’t like to talk about himself, and clearly he was right.
Why not? And who had cheated on him? And when? Curiosity tugged at her, and although she tried to shove it aside, it remained right there, asking, What’s up with this guy? What was he hiding? He didn’t look like a hit man—or did he? What the hell did she know—she didn’t know any hit men. Maybe he really was in the CIA. Or the witness-protection program. Or maybe he’s just a regular guy who doesn’t like to talk about himself, her inner voice whispered.
Maybe. But she wasn’t used to that. Raymond had never been shy about regaling her with tales of his private school exploits, college days at Yale, skiing in Europe, beaching on St. Bart’s. At first she’d been enthralled, but with the wisdom of hindsight, instead of interesting, he just seemed full of himself. Definitely not an attribute she could assign to Nick. But his closemouthed nature piqued her curiosity.
“Don’t you think so, Jamie?”
Her mother’s voice yanked her from her thoughts. “Huh?”
“That this would be a great evening for a walk on the beach.”
“Is there a bad night for a walk on the beach?”
“Never,” said Nick. He set his napkin beside his empty plate and patted his flat stomach. “Best scampi ever. Seriously. And I’m not just saying that because you saved me from another night of PB and J. If I knew how to cook, I’d be begging for the recipe.”
“Jamie can give you some beginner cooking pointers,” Mom said. “She’s an excellent teacher. She gives lessons at the senior center twice a year. They were so disappointed when she canceled her session for August.” H
er tone made it clear she’d better not cancel again or the entire senior world would collapse.
No pressure.
Good grief. Why had no one ever invented a Mom muzzle?
Nick’s gaze fastened on Jamie. “Teacher, cook, restaurant manager … is there anything you can’t do?”
Yes. Get my mother to stop talking. “Yes—teach the dishes to clean themselves.”
“I’ll help,” Nick said, rising. “It’s the least I can do after that incredible meal.”
They’d just finished clearing the table when a knock sounded at the kitchen door. All three of them turned. Jamie’s mother whispered, “Oh, God,” and grabbed Jamie’s arm in a viselike grip.
Alex Wharton—her mother’s baby daddy, aka Bringer of More Drama to Jamie’s Supposed Sanctuary—stood on the other side of the screen door.
Chapter 12
Nick heaved a tennis ball toward the pier and Godiva took off like a rocket, kicking up sand behind her.
His shoulder bumped against Jamie’s, sizzling an absolutely ridiculous bolt of heat through him. She walked next to him, her bare feet leaving prints in the wet sand in unison with his. He glanced down and inwardly shook his head. Damn, even her feet were cute—small and tipped with bright pink nail-polished toes. He really liked the way they looked strolling along next to his much larger feet. “You’re unusually quiet,” he said. “You okay?”
She shot him an assessing sidelong look. “Is that just a polite question to which I should just as politely answer ‘I’m fine,’ or do you really want to know?”
“I wouldn’t want you to tell me you’re fine if you’re not.”
“In that case, no, I’m not okay.” She blew out a long, frustrated-sounding breath. “I came to Seaside Cove to get away from drama, yet it keeps showing up on my doorstep—first in the form of my preggers mom, who isn’t shy about stating, and reiterating, her displeasure with my decision to stay here for the entire summer, and is pressuring me to make decisions for her that only she can make, and now in the form of her baby daddy. Twenty minutes ago I was eating scampi and now I feel as if I’ve been evicted from the place that was supposed to be my peaceful haven so my mom and Alex can talk. I know they have issues to work out, but jeez, can’t they do it somewhere else? Like in New York? Where they belong?”
She raked her hands through her windblown hair. “And the fact that I’m thinking that way makes me feel rotten and guilty. Totally selfish and unsympathetic. But you know what? I have my own problems that I’m attempting to work through, and damn it, why can’t I be selfish? Just this once? Where does it say that I always have to be responsible for everyone else and help solve their problems? Why can’t I be allowed to just concentrate on me?”
She shot him a sheepish look. “Bet you’re thinking, ‘Sorry I asked.’ ”
“Maybe a little.”
“And now you know what a selfish person I am.”
“I learned a long time ago that if you don’t take care of yourself, no one else will, so where you’re seeing ‘selfish’ I’m seeing ‘smart.’ There’s nothing wrong with taking time for yourself, Jamie. And it isn’t as if you kicked your mom to the curb. In fact, it seems like you’ve been taking good care of her.”
“Well, she requires taking care of. Ever since my dad died, she’s been sort of high-maintenance and I usually don’t mind helping her out. But in this instance the timing is less than stellar.”
“Timing rarely is stellar. But maybe Alex coming here is good.”
She turned to look at him. The setting sun glinted off her windblown curls, gilding the shiny honey strands. Her huge golden brown eyes reminded him of sweet caramel, and damn it, he loved caramel. The tip of her tongue peeped out to moisten her lips, a flick that filled him an overwhelming urge to stop walking, yank her into his arms, and kiss that beautiful plush mouth. But no way in hell was he going to give in to the craving. Next kiss was going to have to come from Miss No More Kissing.
“How do you figure?” she asked.
Damned if he knew—he’d looked at her mouth and completely forgotten what he’d said. “Figure what?”
“That Alex coming here is a good thing?”
Oh, right. He forced himself to look straight ahead and focus on Godiva, who’d momentarily stopped to gnaw on the tennis ball. “If they’re able to work out their problems, then there’ll be no reason for them to stick around. They’ll head back to New York, and you’ll have Paradise Lost all to yourself.”
“And if they don’t work out their problems?”
“Are you always so ‘glass half empty’?”
“Believe it or not, no. Usually when life gives me lemons I—”
“Make lemonade?”
“Actually, I add cutlets and capers and make chicken piccata.”
“Even better. But obviously not in this case because you’re very”—he heaved the ball again for Godiva and searched for the right word, finally settling on—“tense.”
“Jeez—ya think? Yes, I’m tense—and frustrated—because I planned this time away, and in spite of my intentions, it’s not turning out at all the way I’d envisioned. This time was supposed to be for me. For me to fix me.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Now who’s being a smart-ass?”
Nick shook his head. “I’m serious. I mean, yeah, you’ve got your quirks and faults and you’re bossy as hell—”
“Wow, you really are a sweet-talker—”
“—but who doesn’t? So what about you needs fixing?”
“What about you needs fixing?”
He grinned. “Aw, you don’t think I’m perfect?”
“No.” Godiva came back and dropped the ball at Jamie’s feet. She picked it up and hurled it an impressive distance. “What you are is adept at sidestepping personal questions. You did it all through dinner with my unsubtly probing mother.”
He shrugged. “I’m not comfortable being the center of attention.”
“Or maybe you just like to keep people at arm’s length.”
Unable to keep from touching her, he skimmed his hand down her back and said softly, “You’ve been closer to me than arm’s length.”
“Briefly. And only physically.”
“Nothing wrong with physically.” He paused and snagged her hand, forcing her to stop and face him. “Do you want to be closer to me than that?”
The question hung in the air between them and he wondered what in God’s name had prompted him to voice it. What the hell was wrong with him? She’d made it perfectly clear she didn’t want to get involved. And even more importantly, he didn’t want to be involved. With anyone. Let alone this woman with her recent breakup and her pregnant mother and the mother’s boyfriend and oh, yeah, she lived seven hundred miles away, and God only knew what else. But it seemed that he’d figured out Jamie Newman’s superpower—it was the ability to make him say and do things that were the complete opposite of what he actually wanted to say and do.
She held back her curls with one hand and studied him through those caramel-colored eyes. “Do you mean do I want to be physically closer to you, as in have sex, or do I want to be closer to you more than physically, as in emotionally?”
When he didn’t answer right away, she lifted her brows. “Are you listening?”
“Uh, no. ’Fraid not. My train of thought jumped the track when you said ‘sex.’ ”
She blinked. “You didn’t hear anything I said after the word sex?”
“ ’Fraid not.” He shook his head to clear it of the mental image of them naked and sweaty. “Sorry.” To keep himself from giving in to the temptation to yank her into his arms, he started walking again, and she fell into step beside him. “So finish telling me what about you needs fixing. I’m pretty handy.”
“You are, but I’m not a leaky roof.” A humorless laugh escaped her. “Although I feel like one.”
“Which is why you came to Seaside Cove.”
She turned to look at him. �
�And why you came here, I suspect. I’ll tell you if you tell me.”
“Sort of like I’ll show you mine if you show me yours?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you talking about sex again?”
“Um, no?”
“I thought you said you didn’t lie.”
“Okay, then yes.”
“Well, I’m not. No showing—just telling.”
“I like my version better, but I’ll play. You first.”
“Why me first?
Nick looked skyward, then muttered, “Bossy and she questions everything.”
“Part of my charm.”
“I have no idea why I find you more charming than annoying.”
“And there you go sweet-talking me again.”
“I actually meant that as a compliment.”
“Seriously? Here’s a tip—your complimenting skills need some improvement.”
“I’ll work on it. You first.”
She drew a deep breath. “Fine. You know my boyfriend cheated on me.”
Nick nodded. “Yes. And for the record, any guy who would cheat on you is an asshole.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. See? Told you I’d work on it.”
“Noted. Anyway, he didn’t just cheat—he cheated with my sister. My eight-years-older-than-me sister.”
Nick winced. “Ouch. Triple whammy—you lost a boyfriend, a sister, and your dignity.”
“Nail on head. Laurel’s actually my half sister. Her mom and our dad divorced when she was six. My dad met my mom a few months later and it was love at first sight. I was born a year later. I adored Laurel the way I guess most little kids do their older siblings, but as I got older I sensed that she’d always resented me for coming along. That I, in her mind, stole our dad’s affections and time.”
Nick spied a sand dollar, but when he bent down to pick it up, realized it was broken. “She didn’t see your dad?”
“She stayed with us every other weekend, and the entire month of July. Then, when she was nine, her mother remarried Martin Westerly.”
Nick’s brows shot up. “The Martin Westerly? As in Westerly department stores?”
Summer at Seaside Cove Page 16