Summer at Seaside Cove (25 page)

There was a quick call he needed to make before his trip with the princess.

G
lad to have escaped the Palace of Tension, Jamie sat in Nick's pickup, enjoying the sea-scented breeze whipping through the open windows almost as much as Godiva, whose head was stuck out the back window in ear-blowing bliss. “So where are we going?”

“A small town about an hour inland called Harmony Crossing.”

“And what's in Harmony Crossing?”

“A friend's house.”

Jamie's brows shot upward and she turned in her seat to look at him. She wasn't sure what she'd expected, but it hadn't been that. “Seriously?”

He flicked a glance her way. “Are you shocked because I'm really not dragging you off to some lecherous lair or because you don't believe I'd actually have a friend?”

“A little of both. Is this friend someone you met since moving to Seaside Cove?”

“No. I met Kevin our first year of high school. We became good friends and I spent a lot of time with him and his family during those four summers. Kevin's father owned a small home-building business. Kevin helped him when school let out and I pitched in. They taught me everything I know about building and fixing houses and instilled in me a real love of working with my hands.”

“And you've remained friends all these years.”

“Quit sounding so shocked.”

“I'm not. I was actually thinking it was nice to have a friend of such long standing. My best bud, Kate, and I have been friends since junior high.”

“Kate must possess the patience of a saint.”

“Ha, ha. So now Kevin lives in Harmony Crossing.”

“He's always lived there—it's where his family is from and where I spent those summers.”

She frowned. “I thought you said you grew up in the Chicago area.”

“I did.”

“Then how did you meet a guy who's lived his whole life in Harmony Crossing, North Carolina in high school?”

He hesitated a beat. “Kevin had an aunt and uncle in Chicago. He stayed for the school terms.”

“That's a long way from home for a kid.”

“He was close to his aunt and uncle so it worked out well. It was during the summer between our junior and senior years, when we drove to Seaside Cove for a day at the beach, that I first discovered the place. I sort of forgot about it, but then during a visit a few years ago we hit the coast. We crossed the bridge to the island, and I . . . felt something. I can't explain it, but it just felt like a homecoming. When I made the decision to relocate, there was never a question as to where I wanted to go.”

“And now you live there.”

“I do. And I'm never going back.”

She noted the way his fingers tightened on the wheel when he said that. She studied his profile for several seconds—and a damn fine profile it was, darn him—then asked, “You never told me who cheated on you.”

Another quick tightening of his fingers. “Fiancée.” He shot her a glance. Their gazes met for only an instant but there was no missing the emptiness in his eyes—as if he'd very carefully wiped his face clean of all expression, leaving his features as blank as his tone. After returning his attention to the road, he said, “Yeah, yeah, I know, you're shocked that some woman would agree to marry me.”

Myriad emotions rippled through her—annoyance, sympathy, but mostly shame that she'd given him the impression that she thought so little of him when that wasn't the case. He might be a pest, but he was a
likeable
pest. At least some of the time.

Most of the time,
her inner voice corrected.

Jamie shook her head in the hopes of dislodging that stupid voice. “That isn't what I was going to say.”

“Maybe not in those exact words, but I'm sure that was the basic sentiment.”

She made a sound like a game show buzzer. “Wrong. I was thinking that I know how much it hurts to be cheated on and it's not a pain I'd wish on anyone. And that I'm sorry something so hurtful happened to you.” She paused, then asked, “How long ago did this happen?”

“Two years.”

“Are you . . . still in love with her?”

Silence swelled between them. Jamie peeked at him from the corner of her eye and noted his stiff shoulders and the muscle ticking in his jaw. Oops—obviously she'd asked the wrong question. Which could only mean that yes, he was still in love with her.

Her heart seemed to lurch sideways, filling her chest with an ache she couldn't name, along with something else that felt oddly like jealousy, but of course wasn't. Probably indigestion. Yeah, that's what was causing the discomfort. Indigestion. She definitely shouldn't have eaten that spicy chili for lunch. She placed her hand on her stomach but experienced no relief.

“No,” he said. “I'm not still in love with her.”

Suddenly her indigestion felt exactly like . . . relief? Weird! “You sure? It took you like five hours to come up with that answer.”

“I'm sure. And I knew the answer immediately. I just had to decide how much of it to say.”

“How many parts of ‘no' are there?”

“She cheated on me, but she didn't break my heart. Because she never really owned it. I never really loved her. Not the way you're supposed to love the person you're going to marry.”

“Then why did you ask her to marry you?”

“Looking back, I think I must have suffered a blow to the head. There were all kinds of red flags that should have warned me that she didn't love me for me, but just like you with your boyfriend, I either ignored them or chose to believe her. We'd lived together for a year. Everyone expected us to marry, including her . . .” He shrugged. “I caved to the pressure. I reasoned that it was normal to question my feelings. Figured there's no way to ever
really
be sure,
completely
sure, that you're choosing the right person.”

“How'd you find out?”

Again he paused, then said, “Three weeks before the wedding I saw pictures of her kissing another guy at a party—and I don't mean a peck on the cheek. When I confronted her, she confessed.”

Jamie winced. “Yikes. Well, better you found out three weeks before than three weeks after.”

“Amen to that. After that, I really started reassessing my life, thinking about what I was doing and why, deciding what would make me happy—and realizing I wasn't doing it. When I turned thirty, I decided it was time to stop thinking and start taking action. I began planning for my future, and basically for my . . . I guess
escape
is the best word. I sold or donated everything that reminded me of my former life, moved to Seaside Cove, and haven't looked back. Don't intend to. I'm exactly where I want to be, doing exactly what I want to do.”

He stopped at a traffic light and looked at her. She felt the intensity of his gaze right down to her toes. “I know you were pissed at me for calling you a puppet, for saying you allow people to take advantage of you and pull your strings, but I look at you and I see myself ten, five, even two years ago. Sometimes it takes an outsider, someone who's not a family member or close friend, to give us a different perspective. Or that kick in the ass we sometimes need.”

“I think you just like the thought of kicking my ass.”

“Kicking it isn't exactly the right word.” His gaze skimmed over her, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. When his eyes met hers once again, her breath caught at the unmistakable heat burning in the green depths. “It's a really great ass, by the way.”

To her alarm she felt flattered instead of annoyed at his comment, which surely she should find sexist. Even worse, she couldn't dredge up any indignation for him once again using the word “puppet” in relation to her actions. And worser—was that even a word?—she didn't understand why.

Because you're glad he likes your ass,
Stupid Inner Voice informed her.
And because you know damn well, as much as you don't want to admit it, that there's a grain of truth in his assessment.

Before she could find her voice, the light turned green and he returned his attention to driving. At the next corner, he turned right, then said, “We're almost there.”

Jamie shoved aside her unsettling thoughts to examine later, and asked, “Does Kevin know you're bringing a guest?”

“Yes. I called him. But even if I hadn't, it would be fine. Things are very casual and down-to-earth at his place.”

Seconds later he pulled into the driveway of a modest brick ranch. The front lawn was small but meticulously groomed, as were the flowerbeds, which bloomed in a profusion of cheery purple, pink, and white. Jamie followed Nick and Godiva up the flagstone walkway, noting the wooden ramp that had been built over the several steps leading to the porch. Nick gave a single knock to the screened front door, then opened it. Godiva nosed her way past them and dashed into the house. Nick walked in and held the door for Jamie, who followed him inside.

They stood in a small ceramic-tiled foyer that opened to the right into a living area furnished with a comfy-looking navy blue sectional and an entertainment unit complete with a large flat-screen TV and an obviously at-home Godiva, who lay sprawled in the corner, chewing a rawhide knot. Straight ahead was a dining area that Jamie could see led to the kitchen. A hallway led off the dining area, presumably to bedrooms.

“We're here. Where's the welcoming committee?”

The words were barely out of his mouth when an exceptionally pretty blonde with huge China blue eyes entered the room. She broke into a huge smile at the sight of Nick and rushed forward to give him a hug. After she stepped back, she said, “I know you just escaped us, but we're so glad you're back.”

“Happy to be here.” He grabbed Jamie's hand and tugged her forward. “Liz, this is my neighbor, Jamie Newman. Jamie, meet Liz Sheridan, my buddy Kevin's wife.”

“Great to meet you, Jamie,” Liz said, extending her hand with a warm, engaging smile. She jerked her head toward Nick. “Hope this one isn't giving you too much trouble.”

Jamie returned Liz's smile. “He's trying, but I'm not letting him.”

“Excellent. Just watch that grin of his—when he flashes it, it means trouble with a capital T.”

“So I've learned. Sunglasses help block the dazzle. So does keeping food in his mouth.”

“Uh, I'm standing right here,” Nick said, waving his hand. “And speaking of food, what's for dinner?” He sniffed the air. “I don't smell anything.”

Liz rolled her eyes. “That's because I haven't started cooking yet.”

“Well, get to it, woman. I'm already hungry and I haven't even started working yet.”

“Does he eat constantly at his own house?” Liz asked Jamie.

“Don't know, but based on the couple meals I've shared with him, he can put away enough food to sink a battleship.”

Liz nodded. “Kevin's the same way. And he never gains an ounce.
So
unfair.”

“Ridiculously unfair,” Jamie agreed. “Meanwhile, it takes me seven months to work off three bites of brownie.”

“Did someone mention brownies?” came a male voice from the hallway. Seconds later a wheelchair entered the living area, propelled by a handsome man with ebony hair and matching eyes, whose right leg was encased in a cast from his toes to his hip. He smiled at Nick. “Glad you're here, man—even gladder if your presence has resulted in brownies.”

“Kevin, this is Nick's neighbor, Jamie Newman,” said Liz. She then turned to Jamie. “My husband, Kevin—who loves brownies above all else.”

“Not
all
else,” Kevin protested. “I kinda like you, too.”

Jamie smiled. “Nice to meet you, Kevin. If I'd known you liked brownies so much, I would have baked you some.”

“Hey—you never offered to bake
me
brownies,” Nick said.

Jamie shrugged. “I didn't know you liked them.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “C'mon. Everyone likes brownies.”

“Not
everyone
.”

“Have you ever met anyone who didn't? Especially a guy?”

Jamie considered. “You have a point.”

Nick's brows shot upward. “You're
agreeing
with me?”

She raised her brows right back at him. “It would seem so.”

“Jesus. Where are my ice skates? I think hell just froze over.”

He turned to Liz and Kevin, who, Jamie suddenly noticed, were observing her and Nick with very interested expressions. “Jamie's an excellent cook—which I know firsthand. I
hear
she's an excellent baker—but as I've never tasted any sort of dessert she's prepared, I can't comment.”

Jamie barely resisted the urge to stick out her tongue at him. Instead she smiled at Kevin. “
Some
people deserve brownies.”

“Like guys with broken legs?” he asked with a hopeful expression.

“Exactly.” She shot Nick a pointed glare. “And some people do not.”

Nick shrugged and adopted a bored expression. “I'm saying you're all talk and no action, and couldn't bake a decent brownie if your life depended on it.”

“Whoa,” said Kevin, looking up at Liz from his chair. “Did you hear that gauntlet being thrown to the floor?”

“Sure did.” Liz looked at Jamie. “You going to let him get away with that trash talk?”

“Oh, no. I intend to pick up his gauntlet.” She favored Nick with an overly sweet smile. “And smack him with it. I just haven't decided yet how hard to hit him.”