Summer at Seaside Cove (32 page)

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?”

“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.