Laura picked up and he said, “Hey. It’s Jonathan. Do you and Emma want to drive up to Hyannis and do a duck boat tour with me?”
When the girls arrived, Emma threw herself at his legs. “Hey, Tiny,” he said, laughing and ruffling her hair. “You want to go in the funny boat?”
“Why’s it called a duck boat?” she asked. She was wearing a ladybug headband with antennae, and her shoes were a sparkly red. “Does it quack?”
He pointed at one of the amphibious vehicles, open on the sides with a tarp on top. “It can drive on the road like a car but also float in the sea like a boat. So, it’s kind of like a duck because of that.”
“That’s silly!” the little girl exclaimed. “Ducks don’t drive!”
“Here,” he said, handing her the gift he’d purchased at the toy store down the street. “This is for you.”
“For meee?” she squealed, her ladybug antennae bouncing as she dumped the red kite out of the shopping bag and picked it up in her little hands. “Mommy, look! It’s a kite! A birdie kite!”
“That’s nice, honey. What do you say to Mr. Jonathan?”
“Thank you, Mr. Jonafin! Thank you so, so, so, so, so, so much!”
He laughed and ruffled her hair again. “You’re welcome, Tiny. Maybe we can fly it on the beach later.”
“Yeah!”
They got on the duck boat, which was only a quarter full, and the tour guide handed out duck whistles to all the kids. Emma happily started blowing. They drove through the streets of downtown Hyannis, which featured a large number of sights related to JFK—his church, his memorial, his museum.
The town, with its salty air and cedar shingles and oddball bakery that specialized in making treats for dogs, was similar to Wychmere Bay in its humility. There was no flash here, no ego. Just unpretentious people living their unpretentious lives.
When the boat dipped into the ocean for the wet part of the tour, Emma squealed in delight.
Laura touched Jonathan’s wrist, and said in a low voice, “You didn’t have to buy her a present, you know.”
“I know, but I saw it in the window and thought she’d enjoy it, so...” He spread his hands. He hadn’t flown a kite since he was a kid, and it had just seemed like it might be fun to take one to the beach and try it out.
“You sure you’re doing okay, Harvard?” she asked softly. Her hair was getting windblown in the sea breeze.
“I’m just glad you two could come join me for this.”
“I thought you needed to work this afternoon.” There was something watchful, something vigilant, in her eyes.
He shrugged. “I’ve literally wanted to go on a duck boat since I moved to Boston. Seemed too good of an opportunity to miss.”
“And the stuff this morning?” she asked. “That was okay?”
He gave her a half smile. She was definitely perceptive. “It was okay. No one knew anything about my dad. But Dean was telling me about the homeless camps here. They sound pretty dire.”
She gave his arm a little pat. From anyone else, it might have felt patronizing, but, from her, it felt...natural. Comforting. Nice. “Well, hopefully if he’s still here, he’s in a shelter. Or off the streets altogether!”
“Yes,” he said, placing his hand on top of hers and pressing it to his arm for just a second before letting it go. “Hopefully.”
He really did like her. He wondered if she liked him, too. Was she this kind and compassionate to everyone, or was there something special, in her eyes, about him?
* * *
Laura sat atop one of the dunes behind the inn, holding the red kite Jonathan and Emma had been flying before Angie and her boys showed up, the air cooling as afternoon turned into evening. Emma and Angie’s four smaller boys—aged four, six, eight and ten—were trying to shoot Jonathan with Nerf guns.
He did a pretty good job of dancing away from the darts until the boys hatched a plan to tackle him. Then he had little guys hanging from his legs and his waist while Emma and the ten-year-old shot him with impunity.
Angie laughed and plopped down next to Laura as Jonathan went down on one knee in the sand, putting his hands over his face as the Nerf darts rained down. “Monsters!” She turned to Laura. “Does he babysit? Maybe he wants to take one or two of them home.”
Laura smiled. “You birth ’em, you buy ’em, Ang.”
Her friend drew her knees up to her chest. She was in her late thirties and had her auburn hair piled on top of her head. “How is this guy not taken already? Tall, good-looking, great with kids—I don’t get it.”
“You’re seeing him in vacation mode. You haven’t seen him in work mode yet.”
Angie waved her hand. “Work, schmerk.”
Laura watched him laugh as he pulled the Nerf gun out of the ten-year-old’s hand and started firing. “For guys like that, work’s all there is.” She bit her lip as she said it, though, because she knew it wasn’t true. She’d seen him at the shelter last night. She knew that work wasn’t all there was to him, but it was a big enough part of who he was. It was big enough that she knew she had to stay away.
Angie gave her an assessing look. “You sound awfully cynical, Laura. It’s not like you.”
Laura shrugged. “Once bitten, twice shy, I guess.”
“Well, I think he’s great,” Angie said decisively. “And now that Jason and I are expecting another baby...”
“Wait, whaaat?” Laura squealed.
“Yeah,” Angie said happily. “It’s a girl!”
“Oh, my gosh! Congratulations!” Laura threw her arms around her friend.
Angie returned the hug and grinned. “So, seriously, if he babysits, let him know I’m going to be in the market for a nanny pretty soon.”
Chapter Seven
Laura took Emma out for breakfast every Saturday morning. Same time, same place, same pancakes. It was their tradition.
Without Emma, it was a five-minute walk from the inn to the restaurant on Main Street. With Emma, it was more like a twenty-minute walk, but that was part of the fun.
She led her daughter away from the beach, up Sand Street with its classic Cape Cod cottages and forested yards lined with budding oak trees and scraggly pitch pines. They saw a bunny and Emma tried to chase it, although it disappeared into the brush before she’d taken more than a delighted step in the startled animal’s direction.
“Did you see him, Mommy? Did you see? He had a white tail like Peter Rabbit!”
“I saw him, honey. That was cool.”
“Do you think Mr. Jonafin wants to see the bunny?”
“The bunny’s gone now, Em.”
“But he might come back, Mommy. Then Mr. Jonafin could see!”
Laura bit her lip. She didn’t know that he’d want to be bothered today. He hadn’t done any work yesterday, and he might need to catch up. “We can ask him when we see him, okay, honey?”
“Okay,” Emma said happily, already looking for the next natural wonder.
They ducked off the street onto a sand-strewn path that cut through a small wooded area, allowing them to bypass the gas station and the convenience store on the corner of Main Street and head straight to the more pedestrian-friendly section of Wychmere Bay’s one-street “downtown.”
As they rounded a bend, Jonathan came jogging toward them, face sweaty, color high. He slowed as Emma barreled toward him, screaming “Mr. Jonafin!” at the top of her lungs.
“Tiny!” He scooped her up and gave her a twirl, then set her down and wiped the sweat off his brow. “What are you girls doing out here?”
“We’re going for breakfast, Mr. Jonafin, at The Barnacle Bakery! They have pancakes and meltaways and everyfing. You should come.”
He laughed. “I’m not really dressed for breakfast, Tiny.”
She scrunched up her little face. “You’re dressed.” She po
inted at his running clothes. “Those aren’t pajamas, are they, Mom?”
“Not pajamas,” Laura confirmed. Her eyes flicked to his. “It’s not fancy, I promise. Join us.”
He held her gaze a beat longer, then smiled at Emma. “All right, Tiny. I’ll come, as long as you don’t mind having breakfast with a sweaty runner.”
“I can run really, really super fast!”
“How about super-duper fast?” he asked.
“Super-duper, duper fast!” Emma yelled, then demonstrated, running ahead with her arms held like chicken wings. They watched her in silence for a moment.
“Didn’t mean to crash your parade.” He knocked Laura’s arm with his elbow.
“Did you see her face? You made her day.”
He tilted his face to the sky. “What a morning. Even the air smells better here.”
“Any good running trails connect to this path?” she asked.
“A few. Plenty to explore while I’m here.”
“How long are you sticking around?”
He gave her an inscrutable look. “Until the contract’s signed.”
Emma ran back toward them, panting hard. “Was that fast, Mr. Jonafin?”
He ruffled her hair. “So fast.”
“I’m ti-red,” she whined.
“C’mere.” He hoisted her onto his shoulders. She squealed and grabbed a handful of his hair. “Ooh, careful there, Tiny. That hurts.”
She let go of his hair. “Sowwy,” she said.
They came out of the woods into a parking lot behind a large white building with a clock tower. Once they were in front, he nodded up at the clock. “Roman numerals.”
“Uh-huh,” Laura said.
“Classy.”
“This used to be a church. Now it’s a second-run movie theater. But not one of those second-rate ones. This one has comfy couches and—what else, Em?”
“Ice cream!” Emma cheered.
Jonathan nodded. “Nice. I seem to remember that you like ice cream, right, Tiny?”
“Ice cream is yummy! Super-duper yummy!”
“Now, that’s yummy,” he said, mock serious, before giving Laura a little wink. If she hadn’t thought he was handsome before, she certainly did now. “I saw a place down the street called The Sundae School. You been there, Tiny?”
“I love The Sundae School. I love it so much! It has the yummiest ice cream of all time!”
He laughed. “Of all time, huh?”
“Yeah! Yeah! Ice cream, ice cream, it’s the best! It is better than the rest!” She was doing some kind of crazy arm calisthenics that were making it hard for her to balance on Jonathan’s shoulders. He put her down, and she kept going.
He knocked Laura’s arm again. “You’ve got a budding cheerleader here.”
She laughed. “That’s what I get for enrolling her in gymnastics.”
They passed a string of storefronts under colorful awnings—a surf shop, a souvenir shop and a boutique clothing store with mannequins showing off the kind of clothes the Kennedys might wear: khakis, boat shoes and polo shirts, with sweaters tied jauntily around the shoulders.
She pointed at a three-story Victorian-style house that was painted a dark forest green. “That B&B across the street—the one with the wraparound porch that’s set so far back from the road—is amazing. Very Victorian.” She did her best imitation of a British accent. “They serve afternoon tea.” She took Emma there every so often to partake of the finger sandwiches, biscuits and clotted cream.
They passed a bookstore that stocked only mysteries, a greasy-spoon diner and a souvenir shop with a fish-shaped weather vane on top. “They have weather cards in there that change color based on the level of humidity in the air. Emma loves them.”
They passed an art gallery and a pizzeria whose main claim to fame was its old-school arcade games. “I still take a roll of quarters with me when I go to Franco’s. Pac-Man, pinball—they’re the best,” she said.
“It’s a real tourist town, isn’t it?” Jonathan commented. He was holding Emma’s hand.
“During the summer, sure. But during the off-season, everyone’s pretty tight-knit.”
Outside, they passed a sandwich shop and a jewelry store with pewter rings and gold-plated sand dollar earrings in the window before they reached The Barnacle Bakery, where they stopped to peer in the front window before heading inside.
“So this is it, huh? The famous Barnacle Bakery,” Jonathan said. “What’s a meltaway?”
“Kind of a cross between pound cake and a glazed doughnut. To. Die. For. The bakery line’s always, like, ten people long, isn’t it, Em?”
Her daughter nodded. “I like the pancakes the best.”
“I like pancakes, too, Tiny. And eggs.”
She squinted up at him. “Scrambled eggs? Or the gross runny ones?”
He held a hand to his heart, faked a stagger. “You wound me, Tiny. Scrambled, of course.”
Emma smiled happily. “You’re weird, Mr. Jonafin. But I like you anyway.”
He ruffled her hair again. “You’re weird, too, Tiny. We’re a good pair.”
They went in, got a table, placed their order. When the food came, Emma soaked her pancakes in strawberry syrup and then asked Jonathan to cut them up for her. He obliged.
“Do you have nieces and nephews?” Laura asked.
He shook some salt onto his eggs. “No.”
“You’re really good with them.”
He shook his head. “Nah, it’s just Emma. She’s a champ.”
Laura felt her chest puff up with pride, although at this moment her darling daughter literally had syrup all over her face. “Do you want kids?”
He looked up, brow arched. “Sure. Someday, maybe.” He took a sip of orange juice. “What about you? Nieces and nephews?”
“My sisters are younger than me. Abby’s only eighteen. She’s at a finishing school in Europe right now. My other sister, Maddie, she’s got some health issues. An eating disorder. Been in and out of hospitals and rehab centers for the last six years.” After everything he’d told her about his father, she knew he’d understand.
He gave a low whistle. “I’m sorry. That’s rough.”
She sighed. “Yeah, it’s hard. The best we can do is support her, but you can’t force someone into recovery. You probably know that more than anyone else.”
“Still.” Under the table, he toed her shin, similar to the elbow bumps he’d given her earlier. It was just a tap, a quick, reassuring touch, and yet... She wanted more. Despite everything she knew about lawyers and their ambition, she wanted more.
Her stupid, treacherous heart wanted more.
She blew out a breath, trying to let go of her childish desires, and gave him a shaky smile. “Still.”
Emma looked up from the mess on her plate. “I want to go to the trampolines, Mommy! Mr. Jonafin, do you want to go to the trampolines with us?”
“Honey,” Laura said, “I’m sure Mr. Jonathan has a lot of work to do today.”
He put his hand on her wrist. She felt her heart rate kick up a notch. “Actually, this is kind of like a vacation for me. And it’s Saturday. So, if you think I could clean up first, I could probably fit in the trampolines.”
Emma jumped up and ran around their table in glee. “They’re so much fun! So, so, so much fun!”
An hour later, after Jonathan had showered, shaved and changed into jeans, a dark blue golf shirt and a black windbreaker with gray fleece lining, they strapped Emma into her car seat and headed to the trampoline park. Now he smelled like aftershave—woodsy and fresh. Laura tightened her fingers on the steering wheel. She couldn’t let her thoughts keep veering places they had no right to be. He was here on business. Period. And if he got what he wanted, she would lose the inn.
She stopped at the intersection of Sand
Street and Main, her left-turn signal blinking. “You’re not wearing a suit today, Harvard.”
“After all those sea stains the other day, I figured I’d better hang it up if I’m going to hang around with you.”
She flicked a glance at him, a smile playing at the edge of her lips. “I warned you.”
He nodded, his eyes dancing. “Yes, ma’am, you did.”
They turned off Main onto South Street and passed a nine-hole golf course. “Mommy takes me golfing there, Mr. Jonafin! I’m weally good!”
“I believe it, Tiny!” Then, to Laura: “You golf?”
“I played with my dad growing up. It was pretty much the only time I saw him for more than ten or fifteen minutes at a time.”
“Where was he the rest of the time?”
“He was a consultant at one of those big management consulting firms. He traveled a lot, worked long hours. For the past eleven years, he’s headed up their office in Hong Kong.”
“Ah.”
Next to the golf course was a cemetery with old, moss-covered gravestones, many of them from the 1800s. Laura pointed. “Tip O’Neill and a few other famous people are buried there.”
“‘It’s not where a man lands that marks his punishment. It’s how far he falls,’” Jonathan droned in a deep, newscaster-style voice.
She gave him a skeptical glance. “Are you quoting Tip O’Neill right now? You’re not that guy, are you? The quote guy?”
“‘You can teach an old dog new tricks if the old dog wants to learn.’”
She laughed. “Oh, you are that guy! Harvard! Have you always been a nerd?”
He smiled and shrugged. He might even have been blushing a little. “I like US history. The more modern stuff, especially.”
“Look, Mr. Jonafin! Look! The trampolines!”
They pulled into the parking lot for the trampolines, which were bordered on one side by batting cages and a go-kart track on the other. Across the street was a mini golf course, an A&W and a clam shack with pictures of lobster rolls and fried clams in the window. “Wow,” Jonathan said, getting out of the car. “This is fantastic.”
Falling for the Innkeeper Page 7
