Summer at Seaside Cove

by Jacquie D'Alessandro

  “So would it kill you to eat a meal at one of the best restaurants on the planet?”

  “—or to Newman’s where she’d get involved with work and forget all about me.” Heather shrugged off Jamie’s arm and glared at her through eyes swimming with confusion and betrayal. “Why are you taking her side?”

  “I’m not. I’m just trying to get you to look at things from a different perspective. If someone makes a suggestion you don’t like, you have nothing to lose by offering up one that you do like. It’s called compromise. And it’s one of those life things everybody sometimes needs to do. Maybe tell your mom that you’ll go to the Four Seasons this time if you get to pick the restaurant next time.” Jamie nudged her with her shoulder and grinned. “Then go somewhere you know she’ll hate.”

  Heather’s lips gave a tiny twitch, then she shrugged for what had to be the hundredth time since arriving on Jamie’s doorstep. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Good. Remember—you catch more bees with honey than with vinegar. And you’re not going to get your mom—or anyone else for that matter—to listen to you or respect you if you don’t listen to them and respect them in return.”

  “Tell that to Mom. Right after you convince her that I’m not going to Italy.”

  Jamie shook her head. “Oh, no. I’m not getting involved in that.”

  Heather’s gaze turned pleading. “Pleeeeeze, Aunt Jamie. She’ll listen to you. If she won’t let me stay with Lindsey, I can stay here with you instead.”

  The thought of her mother and Alex and Heather all cramped into what was supposed to be her sanctuary at Paradise Lost shivered a chill down Jamie’s spine. “I can’t talk to your mom about Italy, kiddo.”

  “Why not?”

  Jamie hesitated. She had no idea what, if anything, Laurel had told Heather regarding their estrangement, but she had no intention of disclosing or discussing Laurel’s betrayal with Heather. Choosing her words carefully, she said, “Your mom and I are having our own issues right now—things that have nothing to do with you. Just sister stuff. Believe me, having me as an advocate won’t help your cause with your mom.”

  “It’s because her new boyfriend Raymond is that guy you used to date, right?”

  Uh-oh. Clearly she knew something. Jamie couldn’t foresee any good answer to that particular question. Obviously anything that contained the words “your mother stole my boyfriend” wasn’t appropriate. So what to say? God, why didn’t teenagers come with an instruction manual? “Who told you that?” she hedged.

  That earned Jamie another eye roll. “Jeez, Aunt Jamie, I have eyes you know. Did you think I wouldn’t remember that afternoon I spent with you and him at the museum? When I asked Mom, she just said you weren’t going out with him anymore, and since she liked him, now she was going out with him.”

  Jamie wondered if steam was actually coming out of her ears. “Yup, that’s the way it went down.” Give or take a few cheating-related details. But Jamie wasn’t about to share those with Heather.

  “I don’t understand what the big deal is about him. That afternoon the three of us spent together? I thought he was a douche. I mean he said like two words to me the whole time.” Another shrug. “It doesn’t bother you that Mom’s dating him?’Cause I think it’d be weird.”

  Yes, it bothers me, and it damn well breaks every rule of sisters and girl code ever written, and yes, he is, as you so eloquently put it, a douche. “It’s a little awkward, but no worries. I’m a big girl.” Who’d like to slap your mother and her boyfriend into next week. Anxious to change the subject, she asked, “So what else prompted you to get on a plane to see me?”

  “What makes you think there’s something else?”

  Because a blind man could see it from a mile away. “Just a guess.”

  She fidgeted with her hoodie zipper. “I’m not sure I still want to go to Princeton.”

  Jamie’s brow shot up. Okay, this was serious. Heather had dreamed of going there ever since discovering her literary idol, F. Scott Fitzgerald, had attended. Unlike Fitzgerald, Heather planned to actually graduate. “Why not?”

  “I think I’d rather go to UCLA.”

  “Oh? Which of your favorite authors attended UCLA?”

  “None. But UCLA gives the gift of distance, you know?”

  Realization dawned and Jamie nodded. “Yes, there is that.” Of course, until someone uninvented airplanes, she could attest that distance didn’t always work to keep one’s family away. Still, it seemed that the drama storm had passed and they were cruising into smoother waters. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much right now. You have plenty of time to decide.”

  “I guess. Besides, I have other stuff to worry about.”

  “Such as?”

  Heather heaved a sigh. “I think I’m a lesbian.”

  So much for drama-free, smooth waters.

  Not wanting to say the wrong thing, yet not having a clue as to what the right thing might be, Jamie asked carefully, “What makes you think so?”

  “I hate men.”

  Jamie had to cough to cover up the laugh that bubbled up in her throat. “Oh, honey, there’s not a woman on the planet who hasn’t hated men at some time or another. Or even most of the time. Even the very best of them can be real pains in the ass.”

  “So … it’s normal to hate men?”

  “ Absolutely.”

  “Even one you kinda maybe like a little?”

  Her gaze flicked toward Southern Comfort. “Especially ones you kinda maybe like a little. If you think you’re a lesbian, the question isn’t ‘do I hate men?’ It’s ‘do I love women?’ ”

  “You mean in that way?”

  “Yes.”

  Heather considered, then shook her head. “Not a bit. But I still think men suck.”

  As if the mention of “men” summoned one to appear, the screen door over at Southern Comfort banged shut and Nick, followed by a tail-wagging Godiva, descended the wooden stairs. Dressed in board shorts and a blinding white T-shirt that stretched across his broad shoulders, his hair still shower damp, Ray-Bans resting on his head, with Godiva’s leash dangling from his long fingers, her neighbor looked more delicious than triple-fudge brownies with rocky road ice cream on top.

  And that was saying something.

  Heather glanced over, then, to Jamie’s amusement, did a double-take. “OMG. Who’s the hottie with the cool dog?”

  Jamie hiked up a brow and forced herself not to stare at said hottie. “I thought you hated men.”

  “I do. But since I don’t know him, I don’t hate him. And I def don’t hate his dog.”

  “His name’s Nick Trent. He’s my neighbor.”

  Heather’s eyes widened. “He’s who you were having coffee with?”

  Heat rushed into Jamie’s face. Which meant … oh, damn, here came the blotches. “Yes.”

  Scarlet rushed into Heather’s cheeks—clearly the embarrassing trait had been passed along to the next generation—and a giggle erupted from her. “Coffee? Suuuuure, Aunt Jamie.” She giggled again, then whispered, “You hittin’ that?”

  Embarrassment turned the heat in Jamie’s cheeks into allout fire, bringing out the dreaded prim, schoolmarm voice. “What kind of talk is that?” she hissed.

  “It means are you sleeping with him.”

  Sleep had absolutely nothing to do with it. “I know what it means. I meant that not only is ‘hittin’ that’ not a proper way to refer to sleeping with someone, it’s also a completely inappropriate question.”

  Heather rolled her eyes. “I know about sex, Aunt Jamie.”

  I thought I did, too—until I started hittin’ that and my hot neighbor taught me some things that damn near stopped my heart. Any reply Jamie might have made was wiped from her mind when her gaze collided with that of her hot neighbor who stood on the other side of the hedges. The heat in his eyes stole not only her words, but her breath as well.

  He lifted his hand in greeting. “How’s it going, ladies?”
r />   “Ooooh, he even sounds hot,” Heather whispered.

  “Good grief, lower your voice, he’s not deaf,” Jamie whispered back. Then she smiled at Nick. “Going great. Come meet my niece.”

  Nick ambled around the hedge, with Godiva trotting at his heels. When the dog spotted Jamie, she broke into a run, skidding to a halt at her feet, then flopping on her back for a tummy rub.

  “As you can see, Godiva is very shy,” Jamie told Heather with a laugh as she crouched down to comply. “This is her owner, Nick Trent. Nick, my niece, Heather Newman.”

  Nick stuck out his hand and curved his lips into that kneedestroying killer smile. Jamie bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from laughing at Heather’s wide-eyed reaction. “Nice to meet you, Heather.”

  As if tapped by a magic wand, Heather transformed from sullen and ill-mannered to smiling, blushing, and uber-polite. Great to know she had some manners. Too bad she rarely dusted them off for people who weren’t strangers.

  “Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Trent. Your dog is beautiful.”

  “Thanks. Call me Nick. But your aunt was wrong—I don’t own Godiva. She owns me.”

  “OMG, that is so sweet,” Heather said in a breathless voice, tugging on several of the dozen or so spaghetti-thin, black rubber bracelets adorning her wrist. She dipped her chin, looking away from the gorgeousness that was Nick, then squatted down to join Jamie with the tummy rub—although Jamie suspected that the squat was more likely a result of her niece’s knees melting.

  With Heather taking over, Jamie rose and found herself standing next to Nick. Freshly showered Nick. Who’d also shaved. And smelled deliciously of soap. And warm skin. And yummy, sexy man. Her fingers positively itched to reach out and ruffle through the thick waves of his still-damp hair. Then explore his smooth jaw.

  “Everything okay?” he silently mouthed.

  She nodded, and her heart swelled when he looked relieved—as if he’d actually been worried about her.

  He cleared his throat, then said, “Godiva and I were heading to the beach for a run and then a swim. You ladies care to join us?”

  “What do you say, Heather?” Jamie asked.

  Heather stood and pushed up her glasses. “Sure. Sounds cool.”

  “Great.” Jamie turned to Nick. “We need to change and grab some towels and sunscreen. We’ll meet you down there in a little while.”

  “You’re just avoiding going on the run,” Nick said with a teasing grin.

  “God, yes,” Jamie agreed.

  He gently tugged on one of her curls, a casual gesture at complete odds with the “I wanna get you naked” look burning in his eyes. Then he shot her a wink, smiled at Heather, and said, “See you soon.” After clipping Godiva’s leash to her collar, they set off at an easy jog toward the beach.

  “OMG,” said Heather, her gaze glued on Nick’s departing figure. “How come none of the boys at my school look like that?”

  “Because he’s not a boy.” No—he was a libido-igniting, breath-stealing, kiss-you-’til-your-panties-fell-off man who was capable of making her forget both her own name and the fact that knees were attached to her body. In other words, a menace.

  She dragged her gaze from Nick and cleared her throat. “Listen—before we bring your suitcase upstairs, get settled, and head for the beach, I want to finish our chat and tell you why my life sucks.”

  Heather shot her a look of utter disbelief while pointing at Nick’s disappearing figure. “You can’t be serious, Aunt Jamie.”

  “Oh, I’m serious. My mom is here.”

  Heather blinked. “What’s wrong with that? Your mom is cool. And fun. Def cooler than my mom.”

  “She’s also pregnant.”

  “Who?”

  “My mother.”

  Heather’s eyes widened to saucers. “You mean, like having a baby pregnant?”

  “Is there some other kind of pregnant?”

  “No way!”

  “Way.”

  “Isn’t she like too … old or something?”

  “Apparently not. Her boyfriend is here, too. Alex. You might have met him at the restaurant—the guy who did the kitchen renovations.”

  Heather frowned, then her jaw dropped. “Like Alex—the guy in charge? The kitchen hottie?”

  “Well, I never heard him referred to as that, but yes.”

  “Alex the kitchen hottie is doing your mom and he’s her baby daddy.”

  “Not the most delicate way to put it, but yes. You’ve summed it up very succinctly. She’s been here for more weeks than I care to remember, doing pretty much nothing except barfing, pressuring me to come back to New York, expecting me to make decisions for her, and just generally driving me nuts. Alex showed up a couple weeks ago. They’ve been arguing and God only knows what else.”

  “What else?” Heather repeated in a horrified voice. She scrunched her nose. “OMG, Aunt Jamie. I’d be like so mortified . I mean, ewww. That’s just gross.”

  Jamie laughed. “Oh, honey, you said a mouthful. So—who wins? The person who’s being forced to fly first class to Italy for a week to stay at a luxurious villa on Lake Como, or the poor slob whose mother is preggers and barfing all over the place and fighting with her baby daddy?”

  “Well, when you put it that way … fine. You win. Kitchen cleanup on me.” Heather rolled her eyes. “Jeez, Aunt Jamie. You have so much drama in your life.”

  And again, the kid said a mouthful.

  “On that note, I vote we change into our bathing suits. I’ll show you the beach and we can hang with Nick and Godiva.” She picked up her purse from the picnic table, grabbed the handle of Heather’s suitcase, and walked toward the stairs.

  Heather fell into step beside her. “So this thing with Nick—is it serious or is he just a hook-up?”

  Wondering that very thing yourself, aren’t you? her inner voice whispered. Jamie shot Heather a fulminating look. “I am not having this conversation with you.”

  Heather flushed. “I’m only asking because, well, if you’re serious about him and he lives here, what’s going to happen at the end of the summer when you go back to New York?”

  And for the third time in as many minutes, the kid had said a mouthful.

  “Because you have to come back to New York, Aunt Jamie.”

  She forced a smile. “Don’t worry, kiddo. I’ll be back. Nick and I are just friends.”

  Really? asked her very skeptical, very pesky inner voice.

  Yes, really. Because that’s all she wanted. Especially with a man who lived hundreds of miles away.

  Just friends. Who’d had amazing, mind-blowing sex, and would hopefully do so again very soon. But still just friends.

  And if she said it enough times, it would certainly remain true.

  Just friends.

  Chapter 20

  “I have to thank you,” Jamie said.

  Sitting on a striped beach towel with salt water still dripping from his hair courtesy of their last round of body surfing, Nick turned from watching Godiva race down the beach after the tennis ball a laughing Heather had just thrown, to look at the woman he’d been doing his damnedest not to stare at every minute since she and her niece had joined him at the beach several hours ago.

  All three of them had splashed in the waves, walked to the pier—where he’d treated them to a gelato—built a sand castle, and played with Godiva, and through each activity he’d had to actually force his gaze away from her. Had to actually say to himself, For God’s sake, stop staring at her! Only his Ray-Bans had saved him from her knowing he couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

  Yet who could blame him? With her honey hair blowing wild in the ocean breeze, the sun bringing out every shade of gold and brown, her skin glistening with something that made her smell like a cool, tropical drink, her gorgeous smile, and her killer curves showcased in another one of those bikini bottom/tank top bathing suits that left those few tempting inches of toned tummy bare—this one in bright turquoise with white polka do
ts that made him want to play connect the dots, first with his fingers, then with his tongue—she was completely irresistible. For some inexplicable reason he found those mere two inches of bare skin completely, utterly erotic, in a way he’d never found a skimpy bikini to be.

  Maybe it’s not the bathing suit but the woman wearing it that turns you on so much.

  Definite possibility. And no doubt if she wore a skimpy bikini, his tongue would roll out onto the sand.

  Yet if keeping his eyeballs off her was difficult, keeping his hands and mouth off her had proven an exercise in torture. The urge to touch her, tunnel his hands through that wild tumble of curls and kiss her breathless had all but choked him since the moment she’d appeared on the beach. And if not for the company of her impressionable fourteen-year-old niece, that’s exactly what he would have done. For starters.

  He managed to tear his gaze away from her long enough to note that Heather was now a good, safe fifty yards away, running after Godiva, affording them a brief moment of quasiprivacy. Yet he knew if he gave in to the temptation to steal even a quick kiss, he stood in real danger of losing the tenuous grip on his control and it turning into a full blown make-out, devour-her session.

  So instead of doing what he wanted, he clasped his hands around his upraised knees to keep from grabbing her, and asked, “Thank me for what?”

  “Curing Heather of any thoughts she might have been entertaining about her sexual preferences.”

  “How’d I do that?”

  She huffed out a laugh and buried her toes in the sand. “Pretty much just by standing there and breathing. That smile of yours, however, really sealed the deal. She may hate men—which means there’s a boy she really likes—but apparently only in the way most women hate them at some point in their lives.”

  “Happy to help. You need somebody to stand around and breathe, I’m your guy. You have any doubts about your sexual preferences you’d like to put to bed?”

  Her quick glance in Heather’s direction confirmed what he’d picked up on as soon as they’d joined him at the beach—that she wasn’t comfortable with any public displays around her niece. Which instead of annoying him in any way only made him admire her more. He knew plenty of adults who didn’t bother to consider how their words or actions might affect their kids—his own father among them. Heather wasn’t even Jamie’s child, yet she clearly loved her and was obviously being careful to set a good example.