by Emma Tharp
On the ride to the restaurant, it’s nearly impossible to not stare at her sexy, tanned legs—they’re long and silky smooth and my hands itch to touch them. I like the way she couldn’t care less that her hair is blowing in the warm breeze as my BMW convertible drives down the road. It used to drive me crazy that Susanna never wanted the top down because it messed up her hair. It’s a refreshing change to watch Grace turn her face up toward the sun and take it all in.
It's hard not to wonder what she thinks of me. I see the way she looks at me, but what speaks volumes is the solid guard she's had up since the second I laid eyes on her. It's as if she has a permanent "don't mess with me" air about her. I've never been more intrigued and I plan on figuring her out. Sure, I'd like to run my hands all over her naked body, but what's more interesting is how I'd like to get to know this woman on a deeper level. I don't give a damn how old she is.
We pull up to the restaurant and I run to her side to open the door for her. My parents taught me to be a gentleman, and she deserves it.
She takes the hand I hold out for her. The curve of her eyebrows arch high on her forehead. "Thank you," she says, pleasantly surprised.
"You're welcome."
We make our way inside. The entrance is near the bar and the place is packed with people I know.
I catch a glimpse of Susanna staring at Grace and me as we walk in the door. I don't give her the satisfaction of knowing that I even see her by turning my eyes away from hers as quickly as possible. I pretend as if she isn't even there. It feels damn good.
"Hey, Chance, want to be seated in the bar area with everyone?" Sally, the hostess, asks.
Everyone knows me here. "No, I'd like a quiet table in the back."
Grace's mouth falls open and she meets my eyes. "Change of plans, bar boy?"
Her snark and sarcasm get my blood pumping. And our conversation in the car on the way here flowed naturally. I find her subtle joy for life endearing, too. I want to know more. "No. Change of heart. I don't want to prance you around in front of my ex. This is about us."
One of her delicate fingers comes up and touches her throat. "Oh, really?"
I've surprised her and I love it. I know she sees me as a spoiled rich boy, but I plan on showing her that I’m not going to meet any of her stereotypes.
The hostess shows us to a booth in the back corner away from all the prying eyes of the beach crew sitting at the bar.
The waitress stops by as soon as we’re seated and asks if we’d like a drink.
"A bottle of your Château Lynch Bordeaux, please." I glance at Grace—the whites of her eyes are showing above and below her irises. "If that's okay with you."
She nods her head once. "It sounds lovely."
"Great. I'll get your bottle and come right back with two glasses," the waitress says and prances away.
Grace runs her finger along the edge of the menu. "You're old enough to drink?" Her voice is soft and disbelieving.
How old does she think I am? "Yes. I couldn't even bartend if I wasn't. I’m twenty-two. I’m not going to ask you your age, because I don’t care.”
"You’re curious though, right?”
I shrug. Maybe a little, but what difference does it make? I’m interested.
“I’m forty. And not a bad wine selection."
Forty, huh? I’d have never guessed. I’d have put her at thirty-five tops, but what difference does it make? I truly couldn’t care less. "My parents let me drink when I was young," I tell her with a grin. “They were very open and free with me and my siblings.”
“Interesting.”
“What? You weren’t that way with Cam and Max?” Max is a couple years younger than me, but we would end up playing pick-up basketball games from time to time and we’d see each other at parties and bonfires. We weren’t close, but everyone knows everyone here.
She lets out a sigh and a dark, troubled look takes over her expression. “Hardly. Their father was very strict with them. Max with his studies, and Cam with swimming. Looking back, I wish we had given them more freedom. Maybe that way when Henry passed, Cam wouldn’t have rebelled so hard.”
“That’s too bad. But Cam seems to be doing well now. He’s been keeping busy with work and his girlfriend.”
She nods, but doesn’t look convinced. “That’s why I’m here. I need to see it myself.”
The waitress stops by with the bottle of wine, uncorks it, and pours a small amount in my glass. I swirl it around and take a sip. “Very good. Thank you.”
She pours Grace a glass and then fills mine. We place our orders, Grace’s a shrimp pasta, and a Porterhouse done medium rare for myself.
I watch as Grace takes a small sip of the wine and sets the glass in front of her. “You know, you’re kind of nice when you’re not trying so hard.”
“I’m surprising you?”
“You are.”
“Good. I like that.” And I really do. Probably more than I should. There's something about the way she listens. Like she hears me. Not in the halfhearted way Susanna did. Or any woman my age for that matter. Everyone’s so damn preoccupied with their phones and social media. Now, it's my mission to impress Grace.
"So." She raises her chin slightly. “How's this plan working so far? You know, to make your ex jealous? Is she here?" Her eyes flick down to her drink where they stay until I clear my throat.
"Yes. She's here, but at the moment, I really don't care what she thinks."
Grace's eyes dart around the room and her hand comes to the back of her neck. "Oh, really. Why is that?"
My voice drops low. "I'm not sure if I care what Susanna thinks anymore. I'm having a good time with you." I take a drink of my wine.
The waitress brings our food, setting plates in front of us. Even with the distraction, I don't miss the surprise that dances over Grace’s features.
I’m not just saying it, either. It's a tactic I’ve used in the past to get into girls’ pants, but not this time. She's too smart of a woman to get swept up by words. No, if I want to get anywhere with her, I'm going to have to pull out all the stops. “How long are you going to be in town?” I ask.
“I’m not sure yet.”
Hmm. If it’s up to me, she won’t be leaving for a while.
Five
Grace
Leaning against the door, I take a few deep breaths, willing my heart rate to come down.
I keep replaying the last five minutes of the evening again and again.
Chance drove me home, walked me to my door, leaned in, and gave me another peck on the cheek. I asked him if this was when he was going to ask to come in for a night cap. He said no, this is where I see you safely to your door and tell you good night and that he hopes next time I go out with him because I want to and not because I'm forced.
When his eyes dropped to my lips and he leaned in, only grazing his mouth against my cheek, I can't deny how badly I wanted him to give me a real kiss. What's worse is I wanted him to insist on coming into my room. I would've pretended that it wasn't a good idea and that I didn't want it, but in the end, I would've conceded. This is all too damn foolish.
Removing my heels, I throw them on the floor and ease out of my dress. I change into a silk nightgown and go to the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face. Once I lie in bed, I can't get my heart to stop racing. Sleep, it seems, will be impossible tonight.
It's crazy how this kid has gotten under my skin. I can't believe I'm giddy like a little schoolgirl, especially since I've been an ice queen since my husband died, unwilling to take up any man’s date offers. The last thing I need is a man messing with my mind. They lie, cheat, and are horrible with money.
Henry, my deceased husband, taught me that.
I met Henry in college, and we fell in love. Even though I graduated magna cum laude with a marketing degree, I never went to work because Henry was building his dream and I got pregnant right after graduation. It became my job to take care of my children and manage the household. I was
okay with that, mostly. But after Henry died suddenly, I was left with nothing but a mound of debt and regret that I put up with his lying and cheating ways for so long. I didn't know how poorly Henry was at managing our money until he was gone and his partner had completely cut Henry out of the company.
Unfortunately, trying to find work after his death was hard since Henry had such a bad reputation, but I'm resourceful and called in a favor. Now I'm successful, and can stand on my own two feet to support my children. I don't flaunt my success and my son Cameron doesn't even know how successful I truly am. He sees me leaving in the morning in a business suit, but assumes I'm an administrative assistant. I let him think that because I can't have him squandering money like we all used to do. Now, I save and save in case of an emergency, because I never want to find myself in the predicament I was in after Henry's death again.
After a long night spent tossing and turning, dreaming of a handsome boy with his hands all over me, I wake up to a text message on my phone.
Thanks for a great evening. I hope you slept well. I meant what I said and I'd like to see you again.
That’s so sweet. And there it goes again, that static feeling in my chest I get even thinking about Chance.
With a renewed sense of confidence, I brew myself a cup of coffee and scroll through my work emails. When I'm finished, I take a shower and get dressed. In a pretty yet short sundress, perfume on my wrists, and pale pink gloss on my lips, I leave the hotel and make my way to the beach bar. On the ride over, I want to scold myself for the immense amount of excitement whirling through me at the thought of seeing Chance this morning and feeling his soulful gray eyes scan my body.
Since it’s still early, there aren't many cars in the lot. I park, pull my shoulders back, and head to the bar. The sun beats down on my exposed neck, instantly warming me. There are only a few patrons seated around the bar. Good, fewer distractions. Reggae music plays over the speakers—Bob Marley, I think. Its bluesy rhythm relaxes me. Everything about the beach does. It’s going to be a good day. I can feel it.
Chance’s back is to me as he mixes up someone's Bloody Mary. I take my time checking him out before he notices me. He shakes the drink shaker and the outline of his back muscles through his shirt makes me weak in the knees. His body is like a sculpture, and I want to study it to learn all of the curves and planes. Does he have any scars? What's his history? So much curiosity for a woman that's been so closed off.
I take a seat at the bar and when Chance notices me, he gives me a beautiful, wide smile. "Hi. It's good to see you. Did you sleep well?"
"Good morning. It's nice to see you, too." I avoid answering his question about how well I rested. I'm certain I slept less than two hours all night long, tossing and turning, thinking about him.
He never stops smiling as he grabs a glass and fills it with champagne and orange juice, sliding it in front of me.
I take a sip and stare up into his expectant eyes. "This is nice."
He nods and bends over, taking a box out from under the bar and sets it in front of me. It's from a local bakery.
"What's this?" I ask.
"I got it in case you stopped by." He opens the box and there are scones, danishes, and a few other fluffy, decadent pastries.
How could he have known that I would stop over? Well, that's a silly question. Of course, he knew. I'm sure he has women vying for his attention all the time. Yet, he doesn't act arrogant and the gesture is so sweet. Reaching inside the box, I pull out a blueberry scone and take a bite. "This is delicious. Thank you."
His eyes appraise me and my cheeks heat in response. "I'm glad you like it. And thank you again for last night. I had a really great time."
Even the sound of his deep, raspy voice has my insides melting. "Me as well. Thank you."
I notice over his shoulder his ex-girlfriend is sitting in the lifeguard chair and he hasn't even glanced her way since I got here. Good. I like his focus on me.
The desire to know everything about this man is overwhelming, but I need to keep my head on straight. I’m smart enough to know that this all could go sideways in an instant, so I’ll be cautious. Calculating, even. “This is your summer gig. What do you have going on in the fall?” I ask, aching with curiosity.
Chance pulls out a cutting board, a knife, and limes and starts cutting wedges. “I’ll be starting my second year at BU law.”
“Oh, really?” I don’t mean to sound so surprised, but I am. I simply didn’t see him as an academic. I’d just assumed he did something with his body for work, like a personal trainer, a construction worker, or what would’ve been most amazing, a massage therapist.
“Why do you seem so shocked?” Chance quirks a brow and watches me closely.
I take a bite of my scone to give me a second to compose myself. “I didn’t know what you were going to say. I guess I didn’t expect law school.”
“Because you think I look like a dumb jock?”
“No,” I retort and give him a sideways glance. “I didn’t say that.”
He lets out a loud laugh. “I was only kidding. You should see the look on your face. But I do get that all the time. People assume that because of my build, I spend all my time at the gym and couldn’t possibly have a brain in my head.”
Now I feel like shit. “It’s quite an accomplishment. You should be proud of yourself.”
“I am. I worked my ass off to get where I am today. I graduated high school at seventeen and finished undergrad in three years. And now I only have two years left of my three-year law program.” He grabs my drink and refills it. “What about you? What do you do?”
I shrug a shoulder. “I have a great job that I love at a big marketing firm in Boston. I’m a senior analyst.”
Chance finishes cutting the last lime and starts on the lemons. “Which firm?”
“The Sage Group,” I tell him and twirl the stem of my glass between my thumb and finger. It gives me great pride to work at Sage. It’s one of the top firms in Boston.
Chance gives me a crisp nod. “That’s great.”
“You surprised?”
“No, not at all.”
“Why?” I have to know what he’s thinking.
“You have an air about you. You exude success and sophistication.”
“Excuse me. Can I get another Bloody Mary?” A woman in her twenties calls out from down the bar. She’s in an itty-bitty bikini, pushing her small breasts together to create the illusion of cleavage. She’s trying to get Chance to notice her. To give her his attention. Why that bothers me, I’m not sure, but I should get over myself. It’s a beach bar. I’m sure this happens all day, every day.
Chance glances in her direction and says, “Sure. Be right there.” He looks back at me and winks. “Duty calls.”
He walks away and I watch him go, holding my breath. I let his comment swim around in my head. I exude success and sophistication. What a compliment. I grab a bar napkin and jot down a quick note.
Call me.
The hot summer sun beats down on me as I make my way to my car. I’m truly hoping that I hear from Chance sooner rather than later. Once inside, I start the engine and crank the air conditioning. A new text message dings on my phone. Smiling to myself, I pull my phone from my purse and read who it’s from. I’m only disappointed for a moment. It’s Kristin.
Need company? I can drive to the Cape today.
I send a reply.
No thanks. I think I’m going to see the kid again.
The three little dots let me know she’s typing back.
Remember the three-date rule.
What’s that?
Don’t have sex until the third date.
Sex. With Chance. I can’t help the way my body lights up imagining it. Don’t get your hopes up like a silly girl, I sternly remind myself.
Six
Chance
The scorching sun beats down on my shoulders as I take a bite of my ham sandwich. I do my best to keep my cool, but I can't belie
ve my luck. Cam Larsen, Grace’s son, just sat down across from me at the picnic table to eat his lunch.
"Hey, man, mind if I sit?" Cam asks.
Pointing at the seat across from me, I nod. "Knock yourself out."
"It's hot as hell today." Cam drags the fabric of his shirt across his forehead as he sits down.
"I think it's the hottest day this summer. That's the nice thing about standing behind the bar, at least I have the shade and a fan."
Cam opens a takeout box of Chinese and grabs some noodles with his fork. "Lucky you. How is your summer going so far?"
"Not bad, even though Susanna just broke up with me."
Cam’s brows shoot up. Clearly, he didn't know. "That sucks."
I chug some of my water, then replace the cap. "I'll get over it." I don't add that I'd like to get over it with his mother. "What about you? You seem to be getting pretty close with Jenna Hutchins."
"Yeah. She's a good girl. We seem to get along." He says it with an air of nonchalance, but I can tell he's into her.
"Good luck with that. So, how has your mother been?" I try to sound casual.
Cam’s eyes dart around, as if he thinks she’s nearby. "She's okay. She's back in Boston working her ass off. She’s an administrative assistant and her boss makes her work constantly."
I do my best to hide my disbelief. I can't believe Cam can be so clueless. His mother is a successful businesswoman and he thinks she's a secretary. "Oh, really?"
Cam sets his fork down and gives me a hard stare. "Why are you asking questions about my mom?"
Shit. I'm going to need to salvage this one. "No reason. We just never talk about our families. That's all."
"Oh. Okay." He shrugs, lifts his fork, and pops a piece of chicken in his mouth.
Shit. That was close.
I finish my sandwich and decide it's best to get up. I can't have him catching on that I have a serious crush on his mother. "Take it easy, man," I say as I stand up to walk away.
He raises his hand in goodbye. "You, too."
I still have some time left on my break so I go to my car to sit in the AC for a while.
