Authors: Kristan Higgins
When she signed off from Skype after blowing twelve kisses to Nicky, she turned to her mom. “Want to have lunch at the diner? It’s really cute.”
“That diner was here when I was a girl,” Althea said.
“Yeah, it’s a classic, isn’t it? Let’s go. I’m starving.”
“And you wonder why you’re getting beefy.”
“Mmm, beef. You’re right. I’ll get a cheeseburger.”
A half hour later, Parker was eating her beef with gusto as Althea picked at her salad, low-fat dressing on the side. “How is everything?” Maggie called as she came out of the kitchen.
“Fantastic,” Parker called back. “Um…aren’t you getting married tomorrow?”
“I most certainly am.” Maggie smiled.
“Shouldn’t you be doing something other than working?”
“Nah,” Maggie said. “It’s a low-key thing. How are the flowers coming? Have you started?”
“They’ll be beautiful,” Parker said. She hoped that was true. Lavinia hadn’t seemed too concerned over what they were making.
Maggie checked her watch. “Oops. Gotta fly. I have to pick up my dress in an hour. I ate so much last night, I’m not sure it’ll fit.” She waved and bopped into the kitchen. The woman seemed perpetually happy. Then again, with tall, dark and smokin’ as her fiancé, why wouldn’t she? Plus, she was a twin, which Parker had always thought would be so cool. A brother, too, Chantal’s husband. Nice, to have siblings. Or so Parker imagined.
“She’s back there
cleaning,
” Althea said incredulously, craning her head. “She’s getting married tomorrow, and she’s cleaning!”
“She seems pretty laid-back.”
“Hey, Parker, guess what?” Georgie said, stopping by their booth. “I got a tux. I’m the best man. For Malone.”
“I heard that, Georgie. That’s really great. Are you nervous?”
“A little bit. I’ve been practicing.” He solemnly pantomimed reaching into his pocket and handing over the ring.
“Looks like you’ve got it nailed,” Parker said.
“Thanks! It’s a nice day, isn’t it? Well, I have to mop the kitchen floor. Bye!”
“Bye, pal.”
Althea was frowning. Sort of. Must be time for another shot of botulism if Parker could read her expression. “Parker, how do you know all these people?” she asked.
“Small town, Mom.”
“Well, you fit right in, don’t you?”
Parker paused. “I guess. Lavinia helps. I’m related to her, can’t be too bad, that sort of thing.”
Althea shrugged.
“So what’s going on, Mom?” Parker asked gently, taking a sip of her milk shake.
Her mother didn’t answer right away, choosing to examine her water glass for smudges. Finally, she spoke. “I thought you inherited the Pines.”
“So you said.”
“And I thought you might be able to loan me some money.”
Parker’s head jerked back.
Her mom sighed and nudged a cherry tomato with her fork. “Parker, I know it seems like I’m well-off, but the truth is, I’m not. Maury is, and the shriveled old bastard keeps me on a budget. A
small
budget. He wants me to look good, so things like clothes and jewelry, that’s fine. Anything else, anything that’s just for me, forget it.”
“I thought you were really happy,” Parker said. “Bliss incarnate and all that.”
Her mother rolled her eyes. “No. I was embarrassed. Fourth husband, you’d think I could get it right. But it turns out that he has control issues, in addition to that bowel thing. Honestly, I should be getting hardship pay.”
Parker set down her burger, appetite gone. “Why don’t you leave him, Mom?”
Althea blushed. “I’m sixty-two years old, honey. I need to stay married. How would I support myself? Really?”
Parker swallowed, her eyes stinging. “I wish you’d told me earlier. I would’ve given you money, Mom.” She reached across the table and held her mother’s hand. Crap. Two months ago, she could’ve given her mother as much as she needed. Not anymore.
“I was holding out hope that Maury and I would be happy again. I was in denial, whatever.” She paused. “Aunt Julia told me years ago you were going to inherit her place, and for whatever reason, I thought she meant the Pines. You know I never kept in touch with them once you were out of high school. Then Lavinia called me and said you’d been in jail, and I really did want to help. But I also thought…well. I thought I could leave Maury and start over.”
“You’d really leave him, Mom?”
“I think he’s going to divorce me for a younger model, and with that prenup he made me sign, I don’t have much.”
“Oh, Mom. I’m sorry. I can’t help there. But you have three ex-husbands, Mom. Didn’t you save anything? And what about the Harrington money?”
Another huge sigh. “The Harrington money was gone before I was born. All that was left was the memory of what it was like to be rich and a little set aside for my education. At least there was that. And when this all happened with your father, and I heard about your trust fund, I wanted to kill him, because I know how you gave all your book money to the World Wildlife Fund—”
“Save the Children.”
“Same thing. So now we’re both stuck, it seems.” Althea sighed and rubbed her forehead. “At least you’re young. Ish. You could probably get Collier to marry you by the end of the year. He’s clearly not the sharpest tool in the shed. Me, I’ll have to look for someone even older than Maury.”
“You could always…” Parker’s voice trailed off.
“I could always what, dear? Become a party planner?”
She had a point. Althea had never worked, outside of the tremendous efforts she put into husband hunting and wrestling Father Time. “I don’t know, Mom. We could figure something out.”
Her mother snorted. “Well. Being dependent on a man seems to be the way of the world. My world, anyway. Father or husband, you and I have always had some man paying the bills.”
Ouch. “Guess those days are done.”
“I guess so. I hope you’ll be all right. I’d feel so much better if you did marry Collier.”
Poor Althea. She seemed completely unaware of her contradictions. Being dependent on men had gotten her where she was, but she wanted the same thing for Parker.
“I’ll be fine, Mom. I’m doing okay. I can get a job, I have a great education, and I’ll even have a little nest egg when I sell Julia’s house.”
“That shack?”
“That shack.”
Althea nodded. “I do have a little squirreled away, honey. If you need it. If Nicky needs it.”
Parker’s heart softened in a rush. “Thank you, Mom. But we’ll be okay. I promise.”
Althea opened her eyes. “Yes. You always were a tough little customer.” She smiled more broadly. “And Collier is definitely interested, if you need a backup plan.”
“He’s not my type.”
“Do you have a type, dear?”
An image of James grinning at her, all dark hair and tanned skin and sweat and smile. “I don’t know.”
“Well, if you want more children, you’d better get on it. Those eggs don’t last forever.”
“Thanks for the reminder.” Parker couldn’t help a laugh, and after a second, her mother smiled.
“I only want what’s best for you, Parker. Whatever that might be.”
“Right back at you, Mom.”
Underneath the table, her mother’s foot nudged hers. It was the most genuine gesture of affection Parker could remember. “Do you want to stay here?” she asked. “Nicky’s coming up a week from Sunday. He’d love to spend time with you.”
“I can’t, honey. I need to get back and see what I can squeeze out of that cadaver before he serves me with divorce papers.”
“Jeesh, Mom.” Parker laughed.
“Anyway, I have a flight out of Bangor at six. Tomorrow’s our charity fashion show. I’m walking the runway. Can you believe it? Part of the tryouts for
Real Housewives.
”
“I thought you were afraid Maury’s divorcing you.”
“What does that have to do with the show, sweetheart? Half those marriages are shams. More than half, I’m sure.”
“Right. Well, good luck,” Parker said, grimacing. “What are you wearing?”
“A gown. Feathers. It’s a Christian Siriano.”
“Cool.”
“You don’t even know who that is, do you?”
“Nope.”
“Yet I claim you as mine.” Althea stood up. “Lunch is on me, darling. Back to the coal mines. Don’t marry an older man, Parker. I can’t remember the last time I was properly laid.”
“You should talk to Lavinia. The woman is a walking sex education.”
Althea smiled. “She always was. Maybe I’ll stop by her shop. Well, take care, darling.” She air-kissed Parker on each side, but Parker pulled her bony little mother against her and hugged her properly, getting a little contact high on Chanel No. Five.
“Love you, Mommy.”
Althea squeezed her back. “I love you, too, honey. By the way, Pilates will do wonders for that little tummy of yours. And trust me, in five years, this—” she pinched Parker’s ass “—will be three inches lower than it is now. Tempus fugit. Bye! I’ll call soon.”
Bemused, Parker watched her mother leave, seemingly resigned to her fate with Maury. For the moment, anyway. Odd, that she’d come to Parker for help. Odd, but nice.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“D
ON
’
T
KNOW
WHY
your panties are in such a twist,” Lavinia said a few hours later. “It’s not your wedding.”
“Well, I like Maggie. And Malone.” She wound a blue ribbon around the stem of a bouquet, fingers flying.
“So do I,” Lavinia said. “Just don’t see what’s so awful about them there.” She gestured toward the Teleflora book, circa 1972, at the arrangements she’d told Parker they’d be reproducing.
“Orange chrysanthemums, Vin? We’re not doing orange chrysanthemum centerpieces. Trust me. We can do gorgeous.”
“Well, for three hundred bucks, it’s gonna be only so gorgeous.” Lavinia did her trademark stub-out, and while Parker’s own hands had developed some calluses these past couple of weeks, the sight of ciggie against palm still made her flinch.
“It’ll be gorgeous. You’ll see. Get here early, okay?”
“No way in hell I’m getting up at 5:00 a.m., Parker. I got a date with His Honor tonight.”
“I’m sure what he’s doing is illegal.”
“Oh, it is, all right. In some states.”
Parker laughed. “I meant, making you go out with him instead of fining you for growing pot—”
“Medical marijuana, please.”
“—without a license.”
“Whatever, Parker. I’m just scraping by with the flowers. Figured the pot would help. I’m hardly a drug dealer.”
“No. That’s me.” Parker set down the flower-girl bouquet and started on the bridesmaid’s.
Vin laughed. “Look at you, Miss Busy Bee. Want my help with anything?”
Parker straightened up and looked around. The shop was a mess. “You can do the boutonnieres, okay? A little bitty sprig of hydrangea, and a piece of ivy, like this.”
“I think I can make a boutonniere, Parker,” her cousin said. “I’ve been in business for thirty years.”
“Got it. Sorry, Vin.”
Lavinia gave her a grudging smile. “Ah, well. I admit…you’re not half-bad at this.”
By four o’clock, Parker’s back was aching, and they still had miles to go. But Lavinia was growling about the judge, and honestly, everything that could be done today was done. She’d take care of the rest in the morning.
“Vin, you go ahead. You have a date. I’ll clean up.”
“It’s more of a sex date. What do you kids call that these days?”
“Booty call?”
“Ayuh. Don’t get me wrong, my eyes are wide open. Men would fuck a fur-lined knothole, you know what I mean? I’m just glad to be getting a little some-some at my age.”
Parker grinned. “I’m so glad we’re related,” she said honestly.
“You’re a good cousin,” Lavinia said. “Not much like your mother, are you?”
“Mom’s not so bad.”
“That branch of the family never got over being rich. We had more practice, over on my side. Ah, well. Gotta go pluck some hairs and shave my legs,” Lavinia said. “Thanks, kid.”
“You bet.”
Parker cleaned up the mess of stems and bits of blossom and ribbon, then swept the floor.
Admit it,
Spike said, stubbing out a ciggie the same way Lavinia did.
You’re avoiding him.
It was true.
James was five years younger than she was. Did he want a serious relationship with a single mom, or a roll in the hay? Did
she
want more? James always seemed so much like Harry…slick, insincere.
Parker, always lovely to see you.
She couldn’t help feeling as if he was mocking her, that lifted eyebrow, that gleam in his eye. His compliments on her books always stung a little, as if she didn’t already know they were nauseating and fake.
And yet, James had spent the past two weeks working like a draft horse. There had been moments between them, sure. Chemistry and all that. But the truth was, she really didn’t know what kind of a man he was, and…
She paused in her sweeping, a little surprised at the thought that was forming in her brain.
…and if James ever found out just how lonely she really was, it would be horrible.
Because nobody knew that.
She wanted a husband. She wanted more kids, maybe, and yes, she was thirty-five. She wanted someone who loved her the way Ethan loved Lucy, who looked at her the way Malone looked at Maggie, and let’s be honest. She’d never had anything even close.
James was here under orders from her father. He wanted her, sure. But Nicky was coming in nine days.
Well. She couldn’t avoid him forever. She locked up the shop and headed for home. The Volvo was comforting, the smell of Goldfish crackers and old leather, the indentation in the backseat from Nicky’s booster, reminding her who she really was.
A mom. With a sigh, she pulled into the driveway.
James was shirtless, sweaty and doing stuff for her house. Parker’s knees weakened.
He’s beautiful,
said Golly. “Preach it, sister,” Parker muttered. She forced her attention to the house. Her purpose in being in Maine, after all. Flip the house. Earn a little money for a place back home.
She dragged her eyes off Thing One’s arms, those lean, muscular, capable arms that had crushed her against him last night, a kiss so fierce and angry and hot that—
House, Parker, house!
James had reshingled the entire western side of the house. For now, the color was creamy-cedar, but the salt winds and water would turn the shingles to gray. He didn’t look up as she got out of the car, but Beauty came bounding over, her plumy tail wagging, her nose cool against Parker’s leg.
“Wow, Thing One. You’ve been busy,” Parker said as she bent to pet her little dog. Yes. Adopt a casual attitude. Definitely the way to go. “It looks great.”
“Thanks.” He didn’t look at her.
“You’re welcome. Thank
you.
”
“My pleasure.” Still no eye contact.
Beauty lay down in the grass and put her muzzle on her paws, watching the two humans avoid meaningful conversation.
“So the library thing was kind of fun, as debts to society go,” Parker said, reaching out to touch a shingle with one finger.
“Good.” Bang! The sound of the air gun made her jump. James bent—his ass…perfect—and picked up another shingle. Bang!
“Collier was there,” Parker said. No comment. “I reduced him to tears as the Holy Rollers helped bury the squashed kitten.”
“He’s a sensitive soul.” Bang!
Was James jealous? Please, she wasn’t
that
desperate. Still, perhaps clarification would be in order. “Yeah, well, he’s very nice and all, but I don’t think I could be friends with a man who took those books seriously.”
No comment. His neck glistened with sweat.
“So, James, you kissed me last night.”
“Yes.” Bang!
Parker reached out and put a hand on his warm, hard shoulder. “Would you please stop for a second and talk to me?”
He put down the nail gun and folded his arms across his chest and looked at her with those dark, dark eyes. No smile. It was a little intimidating. In a very hot way. In a smoldering, brooding, alpha way. Heck yeah!
“Put a shirt on, Thing One. Cover up all that male beauty and stop distracting me.”
He smiled at that, and crap, it was worse than ever, because that smile
melted
her, and the idea that she could make him look that happy had her heart swelling. It felt
good,
earning that smile. James obeyed, getting his T-shirt from the railing of the porch and pulling it over his head. “There. Can you think straight now?” he asked.
“Better,” she said. “So.”
“So. I kissed you.” He stared at her, the wind ruffling his thick hair.
“Yes.”
She cleared her throat. “And while it had a certain effect, I don’t think it should happen again.”
“I think it should.”
Bang! No nail gun this time, just her rabbity heart. Nine days. Nine days till her son came back. “Well, things are uncertain in my life, as you’re aware, and even though you’re very cute, and yes, we’ve done the deed before, it’s a bad idea.”
“Why?”
Not sure, actually.
“Um…it just is.”
A smile began at the corner of his mouth and spread slowly. Parker’s skin actually broke out into goose bumps.
Get a grip, Parker,
she told herself.
Fling! Fling! Fling!
chanted Lady Land.
“You’re scared,” he said.
“Could be, Thing One. Or it could be that I’m smart. Either way, not gonna happen again. Okay? I’m flattered, and as I said, you’re quite cute, but no. Thank you. Now, I’m going inside to start painting your bedroom. Can I get you a drink of water?”
The smile was full-blown now.
Devastating
smile. Two more seconds of that smile, and James would find himself flat on his back with her on top of him.
“That’d be great, Parker. Thank you.”
She stood there another second. How could she have thought he looked sulky and brooding when he had the most wonderful, open, generous, happy, genuine smile in the whole world?
Crikey.
“One ice water, coming up for my hardworking boy.” She smiled, too—
See? We can get along just great!—
and went inside, stuck her head in the freezer and told Lady Land to pipe down.
An hour later, Parker paused outside James’s bedroom, which would soon be Nicky’s bedroom. His was the last room to be painted.
She’d discovered that she loved painting rooms. Painting was good for the soul. It was soothing and exciting both, the invigorating smell and luscious texture of the paint, the hissing of the roller as she zipped it against the walls. Pulling off painter’s tape, the revelation of the perfect line, the tidiness of it all, had become one of the great thrills of her life. Pathetic but true.
She’d chosen a very pale green for her bedroom—Sage Mist—and repainted the trim bright white. Amazing how it perked up the room. Her quilt was green, blue and pink, and the other day, Maggie had taken her to World of Curtains—Maggie was moving in with Malone, who had no curtains, which both women had found stunning and inexplicable. Parker had found some pale green drapes a shade or two lighter than her walls, lined with pink,
and
they were eighty percent off. Bargain shopping, another new experience for Parker, was also proving quite thrilling.
The kitchen was a nice sunny-yellow—Northern Sunrise—the battered cupboards much improved by a glossy red. With the Formica-and-steel table and the funny yellow chairs, it now looked pretty nice—if you could overlook the linoleum, which was the color of dried blood. A new—and cheap—floor was next on her list.
Maggie had had a tag sale a few days ago, so there was finally a little furniture in the living room—a couch and a pretty nice-looking Mission-style chair. One day, while out walking Beauty, Parker had come across a great hunk of bleached driftwood and hefted it home as the dog tried to chew on it. Ordered a piece of beveled glass from the boys at the hardware store, and voilà. A coffee table was born.
The shack was becoming pretty cute, and completely unrecognizable from the hoarder’s hell she’d first seen.
It was almost too bad she had to sell it.
At any rate, it was time to paint James’s room.
It felt extraordinarily intimate, for some reason, opening his door. Also, her father’s snake was in there. She paused, then went back to the kitchen, where she could see him through the open window. “I’m going to start painting your room now,” she said. “Want to move your porno stash first?”
“It’s all up here,” James said, tapping his temple.
“Okay. Hope your diary’s not open. I’d hate to see how you yearn for me.”
“That’s hardly a secret,” he said, his tone cheery, his smile killer.
“Is Apollo’s cage locked?”
“Sure is.” Then he hefted the ladder, his biceps bulging most attractively, and moved past the window.
Lady Land was getting downright hostile. She sighed, then went back down the hallway.
She hadn’t been in here since Day One. It contained almost nothing: bed, night table, battered old bureau, the glass tank containing her father’s beloved. Had she mentioned the bed? A sudden image of James’s tanned skin against the white sheets made her mouth dry.
Down, girl.
On the night table was a battered paperback by Harlan Coben. A clock.
The room was as neat as a pin; neater than her room, which always seemed to have a towel or a pair of shoes lying around somewhere, no matter how she tried to keep it tidy. His room was like a monk’s quarters. No porno stash anywhere that she could see. She got a towel from the bathroom and draped it over Apollo’s tank so she wouldn’t have to see the creature.
There was a single framed photo on the bureau. Parker went over and picked it up. It was of James hugging a woman with dark hair. The woman’s face was buried in his shoulder, but Parker could see enough of her face to tell that the woman was laughing. James was smiling, his chin resting on the woman’s head, his eyes crinkling. A happy, happy picture.