“Oh, baby! Oh, my husband!” she cried theatrically. “Take me to our marriage bed before I burst with love for you!”
Dexter’s face was at her neck, but she heard him chuckle, felt him shake with laughter. When she inhaled to call out something else, his lips crashed over hers, probably to stop whatever he thought she was about to say. The forceful pressure of the kiss was still there, but the intensity was different, softer, more lingering and deeper.
Like he’d slipped into fantasyland, too.
When she’d run out of air and was forced to break the kiss, she looked into his blue eyes, now dark and intense. For a split second, everything felt…real.
This realization, fear, and uncertainty made her want to squirm out of his arms.
“Don’t leave me,” he whispered. “Not yet.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Let’s get inside first.”
Once they were in the mudroom, Dexter set her down. Her muscles were weak and strained, rubbery. She felt flushed, and her heart was galloping way out of control.
“A little warning would’ve been nice,” she said.
“There wasn’t time.” He was having trouble breathing, too, and he stepped back, pressing a fist to his forehead. “What is that douche bag doing here, anyway?”
“Checking up on us.”
“That’s not part of his job. He’s lucky I don’t call the cops.”
“Why do you hate him so much? What’s with you two?”
Dexter opened his mouth to reply, but closed it and ran his hands through his hair, straightening it into place. “Nothing.”
Oh, obviously it’s nothing. You only look like you want to murder the guy every time you see him.
She wasn’t supposed to care about Dexter, or his feelings, or what made him upset. Even if she already did.
“I gotta get out of here,” she said, needing to put space between them. Lots of space.
“There’s a wedding reception going on. We can’t disappear.”
“Oh, please. We just made the PDA exit of the century. No one will miss us for at least an hour. And I didn’t say you had to leave.”
Dexter eyed her and shifted his weight. “Where are you going?”
“Grams’s cottage,” she said, thinking fast. “It’s why I’m here in the first place.”
“You don’t have the key yet.”
“Don’t need one. I know how to get in. Can I take your car?”
“Um, sure.” He led the way as they walked through the busy kitchen, and Jules tried not to enjoy the feel of his warm, steady hand on her arm. “I’ll get the keys for you.”
“Keys?” Roxy was at the end of the hall. “To what?”
Suddenly, Eileen was there, too. And Natalie and Luke. Why did the Elliotts always travel in herds?
“My car,” Dexter said.
Eileen arched her brows. “Juliet? You’re leaving?”
Jules couldn’t stand seeing the confusion in her eyes—all of their eyes. “Just to the cottage. I haven’t been there yet, so…”
Eileen turned to Dexter. “Oh, you’re both going.” She put a hand to her chest and laughed in relief. “For a second, I thought… But that’s silly.”
No reply was coming to mind, and Jules scrambled for a lie as a fresh wave of blush crept up her neck. Please don’t hiccup, please don’t hiccup. “Um, well, I was going first—”
“We’re both going,” Dexter cut in. “How odd would it be if I wasn’t. Right, dumpling?” He cupped her cheek affectionately, all part of the act.
“The reception isn’t over for another hour,” Roxy said. “Are you coming back, or—ouch!”
Natalie elbowed her. “Of course they aren’t coming back,” she said out of the side of her mouth. “They’ve been married two days. I know I wouldn’t spend my third married night under this roof.” She took Eileen’s hand. “No offense. You know what I mean.”
“Of course I do.” Eileen smiled, then turned to Jules. “Well then, don’t let us keep you. Go upstairs for your things and we’ll say a quick good-bye for now.”
Jules couldn’t move. Not until her loving husband’s hand pressed into her back did she get her legs to work. Dex at her cottage was not part of their act.
…
“That was your fault,” Jules hissed when they were alone.
“What was the alternative? You just have to see the cottage now.” Right after Dexter said it, he felt like a jerk. It was kind of his fault. If he’d had two seconds to think, he would’ve come up with an excuse to tell his family, but they’d caught him off guard.
He hated being caught off guard. Hated pretending, lying. He’d been so off his game this weekend.
“I’m not even dignifying that with a reply,” Jules said, pushing open their bedroom door and nearly slamming it in his face. “If you’re in my house, you’ll suck out the positive aura.”
“The what?” he said, deadpan. Despite himself, it was cute when she got this way, all new-agey and prickly. No shoes.
“Let’s just get it over with.”
For the next few minutes, they packed their bags in silence.
“Farewell, all you ghosts of Dexter’s past.” She slapped a fake high five on Allen Iverson, then hung on to the doorknob. “Never grow up,” she said to the room, “because if you do, you’ll become a work-obsessed, washed-up playboy.”
“Washed-up?” Dexter said.
“Wasn’t talking to you.”
He laughed and had another of those sensations to hug her.
They said a quick good-bye to Vince and Maddie, and a “sorry we can’t stick around to see you off, but we really, really have to get going—if you know what I mean.” For added effect, Dexter rested a hand on Jules’s ass. The entire time. He felt her flinch but didn’t move it even a centimeter. Karma, babe.
Jules smiled and waved as they pulled away from the house, but he knew from the way her knee bounced under her dress that she was ticked.
“Never do that again,” she said as they headed down the hill.
He smirked and slid on his sunglasses. “Do what, exactly?”
“That was a violation.”
Yep, she was ticked, and he didn’t even mind. Maybe it made him an ass, but he kind of liked her like this, too. Emotion put color on her face, fire in her eyes, heat in her voice. When all of that passion was aimed at him… Hell yeah, he liked it.
“What you did to me last night wasn’t a violation?”
She looked away and shaded her eyes. “Just don’t talk. The drive will be faster.”
Honoring her wishes, he didn’t reply, but he did laugh. Damn hard.
A few minutes later, his phone beeped. He was maneuvering a windy part of the hill, so he asked Jules to answer.
“Swipe your finger across the face,” he instructed. “You don’t know how to use a smartphone? Why don’t you have one, anyway?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Is it a Virgo thing? If so, you’re right.”
“You’re Virgo,” Jules said, that feisty kitten again. “I’m Cancer, and someone named Angela is waiting for you to answer.”
“Oh.” Dexter kept his eyes on the road. “Let it roll to voicemail,” he said, making a tight left.
“Dear me.” Jules hit a button and dropped the phone to her lap. “I hope you’re not missing a date or booty call, or whatever she is.”
“Booty call?”
“I said ‘or whatever.’” Her voice was so loud, a flock of birds flew off the telephone wire they drove past. “I’m not down with today’s man-whore vernacular. You should’ve taken the call and told ever-faithful Angela that you can’t hook up at the moment because you’re with your wife.” She gave him a big, bright, too-toothy smile.
He narrowed his eyes at her, but seeing that smile aimed at him—full of sarcasm and sass—made him want to kiss her, then let her keep talking, then kiss her again.
Instead he adjusted his shades and stepped on the gas.
Jules
didn’t have to direct him. Even though he hadn’t been to her grandmother’s place since high school, he knew where it was.
“Oh, my grrrrshhh,” she said in her highest high-pitched voice, her fingers covering her grinning mouth. “We’re here.”
Dexter had barely put on the brakes when Jules was out of the car, skipping toward the cottage. That’s right, skipping, in bare feet, her mermaid dress and hair streaming behind her like a comet’s tail. He couldn’t help smiling at how excited she was. Until he saw the house.
Ten thousand dollars won’t put a dent in this.
Wearily, he got out of the car and removed his sunglasses. His memory might’ve recalled the address, but not how tiny the place was. “Cottage” was not a misnomer. It was so small, it reminded him of a beach bungalow or a hunting cabin. Nice view of the lake, though, and the paint job and landscaping looked relatively maintained.
Jules was having a hard time opening the front door, until she punched the wood right under the knocker, and the door magically opened. It might’ve been his imagination, but Dexter smelled incense wafting out of the house.
The living room was something out of the ’60s. Light wood paneling, canary-yellow walls, and an orange shag rug were just the beginning of this hodgepodge of a room. Sheer curtains every color of the rainbow hung beside the windows, none of the end tables matched, and a red velvet couch was the focal point of the room. The walls were covered in blindingly bright paintings. Some framed, some on bare canvas, and some on paper, even just scraps of paper.
The whole room was so jarring that Dexter wondered if he should close his eyes for fear of triggering an overstimulation coma.
The sound of Jules’s bare feet skidding across the hardwood floors in another room reached him, along with her non-stifled squeals of delight. Obviously, the house wasn’t jarring to her. She’d told him a million times how much she loved it.
Hoping for something he could relate to, he walked through the kitchen. Besides a carved-up butcher block table, it consisted of little more than appliances tinier than what you’d find at Ikea, one long, narrow butcher block counter, and a shower rod mounted to the wall with hanging pots and pans. From the look of it, everything in the kitchen was old enough to have been gifts to Grandma Rosy when she’d graduated from high school.
The room did have something pretty kick-ass going for it. The windows. Practically the entire wall was either a window or a sliding glass door that went out to the back deck.
“Are you dying?” Jules said, flying into the kitchen. “Without Grams, I thought it might feel different, but it still has the same energy.” She drew in a deep breath, then twirled into the living room. “Same vibe and vibrant chakras. Can’t you feel it on your skin?”
Dexter stared at her. Was she speaking English?
“It’s, uh, well… That’s a nice painting over there,” he said, pointing to an unframed canvas covered with a bunch of squiggly lines in various shades of blue. Something a three-year-old might’ve done with his fingers.
“You like it?” Jules beamed. “It’s mine.”
“Oh.” He looked at it again and rubbed his chin. “How old were you?”
Her grin quirked. “That’s a random question. Nineteen, I guess. Maybe twenty. Few years ago.”
Dexter tried really hard not to burst out laughing as he replied, “Oh. Nice. Um, I should check out the rest.”
It wasn’t an actual hallway since the house was too small for such a necessity. It led to the guest bedroom. Or maybe it was a graveyard where pillows with tassels came to die. The master bedroom was connected to the first bedroom by a bathroom with walls the color of the Caribbean Sea.
“What do you think?” Jules said, floating in from around the corner, bright-eyed and smiley. “Is it what you remembered?”
“Not at all. I mean, I don’t remember it being so”—while backing up, he knocked against a tall, rickety bookshelf lined with empty wine bottles—“cluttered.”
“Grams is a collector,” Jules said. “She loves beautiful things.” She picked up one of the bottles, but then her hand froze. “Loved,” she corrected, her voice weakening as she set it back down. “Grams loved beautiful things.” She walked out of the room. No more free-spirited spring in her barefoot step.
Sensing her mood change made Dexter frown and follow after her. He wished there were something he could do to make the loss of her grandmother easier. Maybe just being with her, giving her someone to talk to, would help. She’d opened the glass door off the kitchen and was out on the deck.
“Whoa,” Dexter said, shading his eyes from the sun. “This is awesome.”
“You’ve been here.”
“I don’t think I ever came out back this way…” He trailed off as he stepped onto the wood-planked deck. The size of it was easily more square footage than the entire house. Wicker chairs and tables, wooden seats, benches, plastic lawn chairs, and a few beach loungers were spread around the deck. Dozens of plants in ceramic pots, hanging plants, ivy and natural vegetation, all coming back to life under the spring sun.
What Dexter couldn’t keep his eyes off was the lake. No other house was built so close to the water. It was probably less than a two-minute walk, or forty-five seconds if he followed his impulse and ran straight for it to take a swim.
“This is impressive,” he said, walking past a family of faded ceramic garden trolls in the corner. “Does the house have its original floors and beams?”
“I’m sure it does. Probably original plumbing, too.”
He moved to the middle of the deck, slid his hands in his pockets and turned to stare at the house. “It’d have more curb appeal if you could see more of this yard from the front of the house. A place like this, if the integrity is sound, is worth a lot.”
“Five hundred thousand. Maybe more after the renovations.”
“Renovations? I thought you said it’s all original.”
“It is. Now. I’m renovating. Grams and I planned to do it together, but…” She tucked some hair behind an ear. “We ran out of time.”
“You cannot renovate this house. That’s insane.” When she didn’t reply, he had to laugh. She was wise about many things, but maybe real estate wasn’t one of them. “Jules, listen. This house is a classic. If you upgrade anything, that’ll make it less historic. People are into retro these days.”
“I don’t care what people are into, I’m building an art studio—screened in.”
“Where?”
She stomped a foot. “Right where we’re standing.”
Dexter felt the blood actually drain from his face. “No, you can’t. Are you nuts? This…” He spread his arms. “This is the focal point of the house. This is what sells it. And you want to take away half of it to add a screened-in porch?”
“Not a porch. A studio—my art studio. Right here has incredible natural light year-round. It’s perfect. Grams was all for it.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
Jules folded her arms. “Why do you care? It’s not like you’re going to live here.”
Okay, she had a point, and maybe he’d gotten a bit carried away. “I’m just thinking of your…your future. The value of the house will depreciate.”
“I’m never selling. It’s where I’m going to live.”
This was news to Dexter. Didn’t she live in Vegas? “I thought it was just a property you’d use in the summer.”
She chuckled a bit sarcastically. “Some of us can’t afford a summer house. Some of us only have one primary residence. And this is mine.”
“Let’s just drop it,” he said, knowing that arguing right now was pointless. He’d never considered the difference in their bank accounts to be a big deal, but apparently it was to Jules. He pulled his cell from his pocket and checked the time. “I suppose it’s useless for me to fly out today. I’ll change my flight to first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Fine.”
“I need you to promise you’ll lay low once I’m gone. M
y family will think we’re together in Manhattan.”
“We already told them we’re living here.”
“I’ll fix that, and it’s not like you’ll run into them.” He looked her squarely in the eyes. “Promise me, Jules, promise you won’t go into Hershey for at least a month.”
“A month?”
“You can go to Lancaster or Bethlehem when you need food or whatever.”
“Gee, thanks for your permission.”
“You know it’s how it has to be. Not counting Roxy and maybe my mom, I think the rest of the family would be okay with the truth now. But do you really want to take that chance? The news will shoot straight to Quent Sanders.”
For a moment, she stared at him in terror, then pursed her lips as her shoulders dropped. She’d done the mental math just like he had. “No, I can’t risk it. I supposed you’ll tell me when it’s safe to show my face in public again?”
“Sure.” The return of her sass made him smile. Sass was almost as appealing as her sweet side. Which did he prefer?
Definitely the sweet—the real Jules.
“I’m assuming there’s no landline here,” he said. “So I’ll need your cell number.”
“Why?”
“For one thing, to let you know when…how did you put it? When it’s safe to show your face. Also, in case my lawyer has any questions.”
She twisted her lips. “I don’t give it out to just anyone.”
“Not even to your husband?”
“Well…”
He shook his head and sighed. This adorable, free-spirited girl needed so much taking care of. For a second, Dexter wondered if he’d be the perfect guy for the job.
And just like that, another whirlpool of nervousness hit his stomach. Though he knew by now it wasn’t nerves, even if his mind still didn’t know what to call it.
“Here. Hold on,” he said, going into the house for a pen and paper. “This is my number. Call me and I’ll program yours in.”
“My phone’s dead.”
“Recharge it.”
“Ugh. That’s such a pain.”
So many muddled feelings were zapping through his brain and body that he didn’t know if he wanted to kiss her or spank her.
Instead of either, he suggested they walk to the lake. It was a pleasant afternoon for April, and he hadn’t been to Conewago in years. They didn’t talk much, mostly because Dexter found a spot with good reception and spent a bulk of the time on the phone. If he wasn’t getting back to the office for another day, plans needed to be adjusted.
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