My Kind of You (A Trillium Bay Novel Book 1)

by Tracy Brogan

  “Guess what I saw the other day,” Chloe said to her grandfather.

  “Turtles?”

  “Nope.”

  “A freighter?”

  “Nope. I saw a couple of horses doing it.”

  Emily gasped. “Chloe! We’re in church!”

  Harlan quickly pulled out a handkerchief and proceeded to blow his nose, but if Emily didn’t know better, she might think he was chuckling behind that little square of fabric. Hope he’d still be chuckling later when he found out she’d forgotten it was Father’s Day!

  Lilly slid into the pew with only seconds to spare, looking flushed and radiant. She grinned at Emily, and Emily rolled her eyes in response. Geeeeez. She may as well be wearing a sign around her neck that said, I just had delicious Sunday morning intercourse. Good Lord, it was so obvious that Father O’Reilly was sure to call her out for her wanton, lascivious ways. The very notion of it stirred up a collection of emotions for Emily. Dismay. Disapproval. Jealousy.

  Wait a minute. Jealousy? What did she have to be jealous of?

  Oh. The sex. She was jealous about the sex. Because while her sister had been rolling around in the sheets an hour ago with a man who by all appearances seemed to adore her, Emily had been taking ibuprofen and B vitamins in the kitchen of Gigi’s house while bitching at Chloe to get her heathen butt out of bed. Then she’d gotten into a fight with her grandmother over how many scoops of coffee to put into the percolator just because Emily needed it to be extra strong today.

  Plus, with a little bit of mental math and a review of her electronic calendar, Emily had figured out it had been exactly one year and seven months since she’d had sex. And that last time, it had been thoroughly un-memorable. The only way she could even recall that it was that particular night was because the name of the restaurant was still listed under the date, and she remembered the morel linguine. Delicious linguine that had brought her much closer to an orgasm than her date had.

  Her mind wandered, as it was apt to do in church, as she thought about linguine. And sex. And the wanting of the sex. There was something especially naughty about thinking of it in church. Like God was just that much closer, and therefore it was just that much more risqué. Her thoughts wandered even further . . . and there was Ryan Taggert, first in the red tie, then in his soaking wet T-shirt. God bless him. And then Ryan without his soaking wet T-shirt. Shit. Shit. She did not need him in her mind, especially in church, and double-especially when she was already thinking about sex. But the image of him coming up out of the lake, all of the droplets dripping off all the muscles. Whoever that last guy had been, linguine guy whose name she could hardly recall, he had not been muscular. Ryan was. Oh, was he ever, and now, damn it, she was going straight to hell, because her mind flooded with all sorts of wonderfully unholy thoughts. Thoughts of Ryan, who was muscular and handsome and who had nice hands.

  And who was standing in the aisle next to her.

  That was not her imagination. He was actually standing there, and Emily prayed to God, ironically, that her wicked thoughts were not written all over her face. Ryan smiled over at her and stepped forward, moving down the aisle behind his father. They sat down just a few pews in front of Emily and her family. It was pretty bold of Tag, all things considered, sitting so close to the pulpit, knowing how he’d spent his morning. Then again, who was she to judge?

  Lilly took a big breath and let it out slowly. Then she leaned closer to whisper into Emily’s ear. “We’re going to tell Dad today.”

  “What?” Emily’s voice went an octave too high, and she quickly looked around to see who had noticed. It all made her head hurt. Fortunately, the acoustics in that old church were terrible, and so no one could tell exactly where that yelp had come from. “You can’t tell him today,” she whispered urgently. “It’s Father’s Day.”

  Lilly’s eyes went round. “It is? Why didn’t Brooke tell us?”

  “Shhhh,” Gigi hissed, and their conversation was over for the time being.

  “Hey, look,” Chloe whispered loudly and pointed blatantly. “There’s Tag and Ryan.”

  “Who?” Harlan asked, arching his neck a bit to see them.

  Emily pushed Chloe’s hand down and leaned in toward Harlan. “You met them last Sunday. John Taggert and his son Ryan.”

  You know. John Taggert, who is having sex with Lilly, and Ryan, the guy I wish was having sex with me.

  The thought was so not appropriate, but she was in church, and there was no lying in church . . . so she had to tell the truth.

  The truth was . . . she did want to have sex with Ryan Taggert. She didn’t want to just go back to San Antonio and start looking for some other guy. She liked Ryan. But that just couldn’t happen. Because . . . um . . . Why, exactly? She was a grown woman, after all. She was in charge of her own body and responsible. She knew how to be safe while still enjoying herself. He was nice and sexy and made her laugh, and he made her . . . well, he made her want to have sex, apparently. Not that it was much of a shock. Guys like him pretty much made every woman want to have sex.

  That didn’t mean it was going to happen. It couldn’t happen. At least, it shouldn’t happen because if Lilly actually married Tag, Emily and Ryan would be . . . how would that work? Gosh, this was not the time to have a hangover. She was trying to figure something out. Let’s see . . . Ryan would be Lilly’s stepson. And Tag would be Emily’s brother-in-law. So that would make Ryan . . . her stepnephew? Seriously? Her head started to ache again, and the organ music added a nice dramatic backdrop to her thoughts as Delores Crenshaw banged on the keys. Dun-dun-dunnnnnn.

  There was no way Tag and Lilly would get married, of course. Just no way. Somehow she and Ryan would make sure, but . . . what if they failed and his father really did marry her sister? She and Ryan would be stuck together as relatives of a sort. She didn’t need that. She needed some random sex buddy that she could get away from when she was through. Not one who might show up on her sister’s Christmas card every year. Nope, she could not have sex with Ryan. It was a bad idea all the way around.

  Nothing wrong with just imagining it, though. Right? So for the next hour, as the church choir sang and Father O’Reilly pontificated about doing unto others, Emily fantasized about doing unto Ryan.

  After Mass was the usual rigmarole, with everyone milling around. Lilly quickly disappeared, but Brooke arrived. She was wearing a short blue dress and a wide white headband.

  “Don’t you look nice,” Gigi said.

  “Where have you been?” Emily asked.

  “Getting the Father’s Day brunch buffet ready in the community hall. You didn’t forget, did you?” She arched an eyebrow, already knowing the answer.

  “Of course I didn’t.” So much for honesty in church. They were outside, so it didn’t really count.

  “Chief. Chief Callaghan, a word please.”

  “I’ll give her a word. How about yikes,” Brooke murmured into Emily’s ear just as Gigi snorted into the other.

  Emily turned to see Vera VonMeisterburger bearing down on them.

  “Chief Callaghan, someone has been tampering with the locks on my shed. They’re going after my bat houses. I’d like a security detail stationed there until the culprits are apprehended.”

  Harlan looked down at her, as dour as ever. “You want one of my officers to stand outside your shed all night long just to protect your bat houses?”

  “Yes, that’s what I said. White-nose syndrome is nothing to be taken lightly. Imagine the police force you’ll need when mosquitoes start carrying away young children.”

  “Vera, mosquitoes don’t do that.”

  “Well, of course, they don’t now because of my efforts to keep them at bay, but mark my words. If we do not address this bat problem, well, children may not be carried away, but they could certainly be drained dry of all their precious blood. The island will be littered with little empty shells of bloodless children everywhere. Think of that now, would you?”

  “I am quite c
ertain I’ll think of little else for the rest of the day, Vera,” he said, patting her arm.

  “You think about it, too, young lady.” Mrs. VonMeisterburger turned and pointed a finger at Brooke’s face. “This will be the first scandal of your new administration if you don’t do something about it.”

  “I’m not the mayor yet, Mrs. VonMeisterburger, but if I run, and if I win, you can be sure I’ll look into this. I’ll even put you on the task force.”

  Mrs. VonMeisterburger suddenly smiled. “A task force. Does that position come with a uniform?”

  “Um, do you want it to come with a uniform?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’ll look into that as well.” Brooke exhaled as the bat-shit crazy bat lady walked away. “How does that woman still scare the crap out of me?”

  Emily smiled. “She scares everybody, but you’re going to make an excellent politician someday because you just said all that shit to her with a totally straight face.”

  “It’s good practice, I guess.”

  “Oh, don’t let that woman scare you, Brooke,” Gigi said. “She thinks she’s so special because she knows about bats. Well, she’s got ’em in her belfry, if you ask me. And everybody knows she makes the soggiest pie crusts on the entire island.”

  Harsh words spoken in a place where a woman’s baked goods established her rank in society. One undercooked Bundt cake could ruin your standing for life.

  “Harlan, take me over to the community hall,” Gigi added, putting her arm through his. “Girls, we’ll see you there.”

  “I think Gigi is giving me time to go buy him a card,” Emily said as her father and grandmother walked away.

  “Hmm, maybe that’s where Lilly was off to in such a hurry.”

  “Lilly? Where did you see her?”

  Brooke’s smirk could have melted butter. “Heading down Marquette Street with that sexy old Taggert guy. You know. The one she’s been sleeping with.”

  Emily gasped. Would her sisters please stop dropping bombshells on her today? Did no one care that she had a hangover and a very dull headache? “What? Who told you that?”

  The smirk turned into a full-on smile. “Oh, come on, Emily. Have you really been gone so long that you’ve forgotten what this place is like? Did Lilly really think twenty bucks was going to keep Dmitri Krushnic quiet?”

  “Holy shit, Brooke. How many people know?”

  “Um, let’s see.” Brooke started counting off on her fingers. “One, two, three . . . Oh yeah. Everybody. Everybody knows. Except Dad, of course.”

  “No one has told him?”

  “Oh hell no. Nobody wants to be that messenger. Those honors are all on Lilly.”

  “Does Gigi know?”

  Brooke snorted. “Who do you think told me?”

  “What did she say, exactly?”

  Brooke pulled a tinted ChapStick from her pocket and applied some before answering. “Basically she said, ‘How’s an old gal like me supposed to compete if the fellas can have Lilly instead?’”

  “That was her main concern? Her shrinking dating pool?”

  “Gigi has her own set of priorities. Plus, she has a new urn and no one to put in it.” She slipped the ChapStick back into her pocket. “You know, this situation with Lilly and the old dude is all kinds of messed up, but all things considered, I guess I can kind of understand why you took off with Nick without telling anyone.”

  “It seemed easiest at the time, but as you know, it caused a lot more problems than it solved. Did you know Lilly wants to tell Dad today?”

  That got a startled reaction from Brooke. “Today? She can’t tell him today. It’s Father’s Day. Is she crazy? Well, I guess we all know the answer to that. They are good-looking men, though . . .” Brooke’s voice trailed off, and her gaze floated past Emily.

  Emily turned, and there was Ryan, looking very sharp in dress pants and a white button-down shirt.

  “Hi,” she said breathlessly.

  “Hi. How was drunk puzzle night?”

  “Fun, but they ganged up on me. We did not finish the puzzle. Have you seen your dad lately? And my sister?”

  “My dad took off right after the service. Why?” He nodded at Brooke, who gave a circular wave in response.

  “Hi there,” she said. “I’ll leave you two to it, then. Seems like you have some talking to do. I’ll see you at the community hall, Em. Don’t forget it’s Father’s Day.”

  “Oh shit. It’s Father’s Day?” Ryan said.

  Chapter 19

  It was eight o’clock Tuesday morning as Emily walked up the path to Gigi’s rental cottage hoping to find her crew hard at work. They normally started around seven o’clock, except for Horsey who, just as Harlan had forewarned, always seemed to be late for one reason or another. One day it was because his bike chain had come loose. Another day it was because his barn cat was having kittens and he felt he should be there since, even though he wasn’t technically the father, emotionally he felt as if he were. And then there was the morning he was late because he’d fallen back asleep next to his cereal bowl. The cornflakes in his hair confirmed his story.

  This morning his bike was near the front gate, which was a good sign. Tiny sitting on the front porch steps was not a good sign. Georgie was next to him, her arm slung around his big, drooping shoulders. He glanced up at the sound of Emily’s approach, but the ever-present twinkle in his eye was definitely missing.

  Garth was sitting on the porch railing looking like the slacker he was. “Mornin’, boss lady. How are you on this fine day?”

  “Pretty good. I’d be better if you were all inside working. What’s the story? Tiny, is something wrong?”

  Garth wiped his hand under his nose, and Emily wished he’d get himself some allergy meds. If she had an insurance plan for her employees, that’s the first thing she’d get him.

  “I’m fine. Just a little blue. Nothing some good hard work won’t fix,” Tiny said.

  Emily clapped her hands together. “Excellent. Wonderful to hear. Let’s get to it.” She took a step closer, but Georgie patted Tiny’s back and gazed up at Emily with concern.

  “We’ll be inside in just a second,” she said.

  This is where real Emily needed to pretend to be ball-busting Emily, but Tiny really did look sad. Even ball-busting Emily wasn’t heartless Emily.

  “Is there something I can help with?”

  Garth filled in the blanks. “Tiny’s got a big old case of puppy love, just like a big old slobbery Saint Bernard.”

  “Shut up, Garth. You don’t know anything about anything,” Georgie said.

  Tiny’s head dropped back down. “Naw, he’s right. It’s just puppy love. It’ll pass.”

  “It doesn’t have to pass, T. You just have to tell her how you feel. Maybe she feels the same way about you.” Who would have guessed Georgie was so sentimental? Along with all those tattoos and piercings and chronic PMS.

  The sunlight bounced off Tiny’s bald head as he shook it. “An exotic beauty like her? She’d never go for a jughead like me.”

  “I don’t know about that. Let’s give her a little credit. If she’s smart enough, she’ll realize she’d be lucky to have you.”

  Georgie’s soft side was endearing, but whoever this woman was, and however earnest Tiny’s affection might be, Emily couldn’t imagine a woman jumping at the chance to be his girl. He was three hundred pounds of tattooed bad judgment. He had a dog collar on his ankle, for God’s sake. And as if the collar alone wasn’t insult enough, Garth had gotten him a little pink bone-shaped dog tag that said Tiny on it, so now when he walked, he jingled, like Bad Biker Santa.

  “Um, I don’t mean to pry, but since we’re technically talking about this during business hours, might I ask who is the object of your affection?” Emily asked.

  “More like the object of his affliction.” Garth snickered at his own pun.

  “Shut up, Garth,” Emily and Georgie said in unison.

  The screen door slammed
as Horsey wandered out onto the porch eating an apple with his enormous teeth. “What’s up, pussycats? Oh, pardon me, boss lady. I didn’t mean you. Didn’t see you down there.” His skin flushed, but Emily smiled back.

  “No problem. We were just having a discussion about the state of Tiny’s love life.”

  “Oh, so he told you about Gloria, huh?”

  “Gloria?” Emily responded. “Not . . . Gloria Persimmons.”

  Tiny’s jack-o’-lantern-like head popped up and his cheeks went scarlet, confirming her guess. “Do you know her?”

  “Of course I know her. I grew up here, remember? Gloria and I are friends.”

  “You are?” His tone was reverent, and Emily had to wonder if they could possibly be talking about the same Gloria Persimmons. Walrus-faced, too-loud, bubble-gum-popping Gloria Persimmons. But there could not possibly be two of them. She was a true original.

  The screen door slammed again as Matt and Wyatt joined the rest of them, and Emily resigned herself to the fact that she’d get no work out of them until this topic had been thoroughly discussed. Over the past few days, remodeling progress had been delayed by discussions about why deer was plural for the animals but dear wasn’t plural for people, if the moon landing had actually happened, followed by a lively discussion about Area 51, and why anyone thought that a tree falling in the woods wouldn’t make noise if there was no one there to hear it. And of course there were the yoga breaks that Matt said he needed, which meant Georgie stopped whatever she was doing just so she could discreetly watch him. It really didn’t take much to get this group off track, but it took an enormous amount of effort to get them back on track.

  “What’s going on?” Matt asked, looking around at the group.

  “Nothing you’d understand, dude,” Horsey answered. “Not with your chick-magnet man bun and all your caramel sultra sexy yoga moves.” Horsey swayed and moved his arms around slowly in what was probably supposed to look like a . . . yoga pose? Please be a yoga pose and not his idea of a sex position.