Summer at Seaside Cove (48 page)

They sampled food from several vendors, washed down a dozen baked clams with ice-cold beer, and had their photo taken with the giant clam mascot. Jamie bought two copies and presented him with one. “To remind you of me,” she said.

He looked down at the photo, of the two of them and Godiva, their arms around each other, smiling, standing next to that silly giant clam. They both looked so happy . . . so happy together. So
right
together. Like she belonged there beside him. A perfectly matched puzzle piece—one he hadn't even known was missing until she'd filled the space, proving it had been empty before she got there.

And it suddenly hit him, like a fastball to the chest. The thing he'd refused to examine too closely, had refused to admit to himself, but could no longer deny.

He loved her.

God help him, he loved her. Loved being with her. Talking to her. Laughing with her. Loved her sense of humor. Her integrity and loyalty. He loved her in bed. Out of bed. Anytime.

All the time.

Damn. So much for his fancy Ivy League education giving him any sort of smarts. Because falling in love with her was the stupidest thing he could have done.

And yet that's exactly what he'd done.

And wasn't that just a colossal pain in the ass? Jesus. She'd made it clear from day one that her time in Seaside Cove was temporary. That her life, her job, her family, her everything was in New York. That that's where she belonged, where she wanted to be, and where she'd return at summer's end.

He'd known it. Had known feeling anything deeper for her than mild affection was the height of idiocy. And yet, here he stood. Painfully in love. With a woman who was leaving tomorrow.

He lifted his gaze from the photo and looked into her beautiful eyes. And had to clear his throat to dredge up his voice.

“I don't need anything to remind me of you—you're unforgettable,” he said, mimicking her earlier words. “But I'll treasure this. Always. Thank you.”

The day marched on, with the early afternoon marking the crowning of all the clams. Dorothy Ernst was crowned Senior Clam and proudly took her place on the clam float with the other winners, one of whom was Megan's three-year-old daughter who won Baby Clam. No other Seaside Cove residents were crowned, but Nick figured that was good—if locals won all the titles, people would assume the contest was rigged. After the parade, Nick and Jamie wandered down to the beach to watch the fireworks display.

Then Nick remained by the bonfire and watched as Jamie said good-bye to all her Seaside Cove friends. Watched her embrace Megan and Grace and the other members of the Clam Committee. Ira Silverman lifted her up and spun her around, then gave her a smacking kiss on the cheek. Maria held her close and whispered something in Jamie's ear that brought tears to her eyes. And the entire time he watched her say good-bye to all those people, all he could think was,
How am
I
going to say good-bye to her?

God help him, he didn't know. Other than to know he didn't want to.

Which meant he couldn't let her go without at least trying to convince her to stay.

After she'd said good-bye to Dorothy and Melvin, Jamie joined him by the fire. “Guess what?” she whispered.

I love you. I want you to stay. Don't go.
He drew her into his arms, buried his face against her neck, and breathed her in. And knew that for the rest of his life, he'd think of her every time he ate a cookie. Which, given how much he liked cookies, didn't bode well for ever being able to forget her. “Don't know.”

“Melvin asked Dorothy for a date.”

“Oh. Yeah, that I know.”

She planted her hands on his chest and leaned back. “You know? How?”

“Melvin told me.”

“When?”

“A few hours ago.”

“And where was I?”

“Waiting in that ridiculously long line for the ladies' room.”

“What did he say?”

“Um, that he'd asked Dorothy for a date.”

“Details,” she demanded. “What else did he say?”

“He's taking her to Oy Vey Mama Mia tomorrow night. He told me he hasn't taken a woman to dinner since his wife died seventeen years ago and asked if I had any advice.”

“Did you?”

“I told him a bottle of Chianti wouldn't hurt, especially if he keeps himself to one glass and Dorothy to several. And that if he senses an argument coming on, the best way to forestall it is to lay a kiss on her—one that'll make her forget all about arguing.”

Jamie laughed. “Good advice. I hope he takes it.”

She was still chuckling when he lowered his head and kissed her—a long, slow, deep kiss that he wished could go on for days and made him wish like hell they were alone.

“Wow,” she said, when he lifted his head. “Not that I didn't enjoy that, but in case you didn't notice, I wasn't arguing with you—I was agreeing with you.”

“Good. What do you say we go home and get naked?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him. “And once again, we agree.”

T
he next morning Jamie ran her hand along Southern Comfort's shiny granite countertop. She'd come to some profound realizations in this kitchen with regards to her sister and her mother and ultimately herself. And now as she looked at her packed suitcases standing by the door next to the cat carrier, which contained a very unhappy Cupcake, she came to another realization.

She did not want to leave here.

Yet on the heels of that realization came another one.

She had to go.

Nick entered the living area through the sliding doors leading to the screen porch. “The taxi just pulled up.”

Which meant it was time to go. Her time was over. She and Nick had made love for the last time. Showered together for the last time. Eaten breakfast together for the last time.

He walked into the kitchen and took her hands. “I don't mind driving you to the airport.”

“I know. But I don't want you to. I hate airport good-byes. I'd rather say good-bye here.” A hitched breath escaped her and she looked at the floor. “Actually I'd rather not say good-bye at all.”

“Then don't.”

Her head snapped up. And she found him looking at her with a grave expression she'd never seen on his face before. “What do you mean?”

“You don't want to say good-bye—so don't say it.” His green gaze bored into hers. “Stay.”

Stay. Stay. Stay
. One single word. One that seemed to echo in the air, so tempting, so enticing.

So impossible.

A lump lodged in her throat and she could barely speak. “I can't stay, Nick. I want to, but . . . I can't.” She swallowed, then added softly, “Maybe we could try a long-distance thing . . .”

The suggestion evaporated when he shook his head. “We could, but we both know it wouldn't work. Not really. Not for any length of time. And it would just wind up ending badly. As you've said—my life is here. And your life is there.”

He was right. Her life was there. Her job wouldn't allow her to keep coming here. It was better to make a clean break. Now. Right this minute. Before she fell apart.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For the best summer of my life.”

He cupped her face between his hands, brushed his mouth over hers with a tenderness that welled tears in her eyes. Then he rested his forehead against hers. “Back atcha, sweetheart.”

The sound of a horn honking broke the silence, and without another word, Nick carried her luggage down the stairs while Jamie followed, carrying Cupcake. Godiva clamored after them, and after her belongings were loaded in the cab, Jamie crouched down to give Godiva a final belly rub.

“You take good care of Nick,” she said. “He didn't quite master cooking eggs, so don't let him feed you too many burned ones.” After a final pat, she rose. Then feeling as if she were experiencing some sort of out-of-body, numb dream, she gave Nick a final hug, clinging to him for a few extra seconds to imprint the feel of him on her. A final soft kiss to his beautiful mouth. One last look at Paradise Lost, with its decapitated flamingo.

Then sliding into the cab. The door closing, the sound like that of a crypt slamming shut. The taxi moving slowly away. Watching Nick and Godiva through the rear window until the cab turned the corner. And then they were gone. She thought she'd cry the entire way to the airport, but instead she just stared out the window, dry-eyed.

When the cab stopped in front of the terminal, she still felt as if a fog engulfed her. She opened her purse for her wallet and stared. At a palm-sized square box on top. With shaking hands she lifted the top and caught her breath. Inside lay a perfect sand dollar, accompanied by a tiny card that simply read
Love, Nick
.

And the tears she'd been unable to shed filled her eyes and ran unchecked down her cheeks.

 

 

T
welve long, draining hours later, after the sun had set and stained the sky with the first dark mauve streaks of twilight, Jamie once again slid into the rear of a taxi.

“Where to?” the cabbie asked her.

“Home,” she said in an exhausted voice. “Take me home.”

N
ick sat on the dilapidated picnic bench on Southern Comfort's carport and listlessly tossed Godiva's tennis ball between his hands. Godiva lay at his feet, her head resting on his sneaker. She heaved a heavy sigh, then looked up at him with mournful eyes.

“Yeah, I know exactly how you feel.”

Jamie had left twelve hours ago—actually twelve hours and forty-eight minutes ago, not that he was counting—and by damn, they'd been the worst twelve hours and forty-eight minutes of his life. He felt . . . gutted. Eviscerated. Empty.

“This sucks, Godiva.”

Godiva heaved another sigh, gave his ankle a halfhearted lick, then flopped her head back on his sneaker.

Another painful minute passed—bringing the count to the worst twelve hours and forty-nine minutes he'd ever spent—and Nick shook his head.

“That's it. I'm done.” He pulled his iPhone from his pocket and accessed the Internet. “I'm such an idiot. Damn it, I should have told her how I felt. Should have at least given the long-distance thing a shot. Maybe it would work. Maybe if she knew I loved her, she'd want to stay. Or maybe if I gave it more time and she fell in love with me . . . I don't know. All I know is that this whole ‘she's there, I'm here' thing definitely isn't going to work. And I need to tell her. In person. End of summer is a great time to visit New York.”

But then a thought occurred to him—one that had him jolting upright. He turned it over in his mind a few times, then said slowly, “You know, Godiva, as much as we love Seaside Cove, there
are
beaches—and beach houses—in New York.”

Godiva raised her head at that news and looked at Nick with a “tell me more” expression.

“I think while we're in New York we should go and check it out,” Nick continued, nodding. “Yeah. I mean, I know I said I'd never leave here, but that was before we met Jamie. And there's just no way around it—I'd rather be there with her, then here without her. You'd be just as happy on a New York beach, wouldn't you?”

Godiva jumped to her feet and pranced, clearly saying,
I don't care what beach it is as long as I have you! And Jamie, too! And what's for dinner? Please tell me it's dinnertime!

Nick laughed and barely resisted the urge to thump himself on the head. “Yup, definitely an idiot. I think I'm going to demand a refund from Princeton. Either that or they need to start offering a course called How to Not Screw Up Your Love Life 101.”

He accessed his favorite travel site, and in less than ten minutes, the transaction was done. “We're going to New York,” he told Godiva. “Tomorrow.”

Godiva thumped her tail and Nick drew his first easy breath in what felt like weeks at the knowledge that he'd be seeing Jamie tomorrow. And that he wouldn't leave New York until they'd come to some sort of arrangement. Until she knew he loved her.

“C'mon girl. Flight leaves early in the morning. Let's go pack.” He stood and Godiva jumped to her feet. They were just heading for the steps when a car stopped in front of Southern Comfort. Nick turned and stilled at the sight of the taxi. The rear door opened and Jamie emerged, holding a large shopping bag.

With his heart pounding hard enough to crack a rib, he hurried toward her, stopping when only an arm's length separated them. He wanted to grab her, but forced himself not to. Forced himself to wait and hear her out. Because once he grabbed her, he wasn't letting her go.

“Hi,” she said, reaching down to give a prancing Godiva an affectionate pat.

“Hi.” His gaze flicked to the shopping bag, and he frowned when he noted the Seas the Moment logo—the shop they'd discovered during their explorations the previous week. “What's going on?”

For an answer she held out her hand. The sand dollar he'd given her rested on her palm. “Where did you get this?”

“I found it on the beach a few days ago. I hoped if I gave it to you, the legend would come true and you'd return to Seaside Cove. Seems it worked.”

She nodded, then cleared her throat. “When I saw it, I made some pretty amazing realizations. Realizations I might have made before I left if not for you, by the way.”

“Me? What did I do?”

Color rushed into her cheeks, and her lips pursed in that prim way that never failed to both amuse him and set him on fire. “You distracted me. Very badly. And almost constantly.”