“Find anything interesting in there?” an already familiar masculine voice taunted from the shadows of the front porch.
Emma nearly dropped the books. Knowing her cheeks had flushed red, she took her time approaching the house. “Sorry. I work at the town library. I love books. I couldn’t help wondering what you’d chosen.”
“You could have waited and asked,” he suggested, though the twinkle in his eyes suggested he wasn’t all that offended by her prying.
“I suppose that would have been the polite, less nosy way of handling it. Or I could have asked Shanna what you’d ordered when she asked me to drop them off.” She noted that he looked no less delicious in his perfectly dry, well-worn jeans and a faded University of Washington tee-shirt. One leg of the pants had been cut off to accommodate the cumbersome cast. “Were you expecting me?”
He nodded, a grin spreading across his face. “Shanna called and alerted me to clean up my language before you got here.” He studied her with warm brown eyes. “So, the two of you were talking about me. I’m flattered.”
“You wouldn’t be, if you’d heard what I told her.”
“Which explains why she was so clear about my minding my manners,” he said. “Would you like a glass of iced tea, a cup of coffee, a glass of wine?”
“That’s okay. I don’t want you to go to any trouble. I was just going to give you these and head home.”
“Stay,” he said.
There was an oddly pleading note in his voice.
“I’d enjoy the company,” he added persuasively.
Emma felt herself caught up in the intensity of his gaze. Against her better judgment, she sat down in the wicker chair next to his. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable with your leg elevated?”
“Comfort is relative these days,” he said. “Truthfully, I couldn’t figure out a way to get the ottoman in the living room out here.”
“And being a man of action, not being able to figure things out is just one more thing that’s driving you nuts,” she guessed.
“You have no idea,” he confirmed. “Any thoughts?”
“Actually, yes. Let me see if I can find a solution,” she said, jumping up and heading for the door. She hesitated. “Do you mind?”
“Be my guest, but don’t judge me on my housekeeping.”
Emma laughed. She walked into the house expecting the worst, but discovered that the living room was surprisingly tidy. The ottoman he’d mentioned was definitely way too cumbersome to be dragged onto the porch. An afternoon shower blowing in the right direction would ruin it, anyway.
In the kitchen, also neat as a pin except for a glass in the sink, she found exactly what she needed, a small plastic step stool. She grabbed that, found a pillow in the living room that looked more shabby than chic, and took both outside.
“Here you go,” she said triumphantly, arranging both in front of him and getting his casted leg settled just right. “Feel okay?”
“Perfect,” he said. “Thank you.”
Emma sat back down, her hands folded primly in her lap in an attempt to keep herself from reaching out to touch the coal black hair that was just long enough to allow a few strands to curl against the tanned skin of his neck. With his olive complexion, the faint shadow of a beard and the occasional amused glint in his eyes, he reminded her of the sexy pirates she’d read about in some of the romance novels she’d once loved.
When she finally dared to meet his gaze, she discovered he was studying her intently. “Why the look? Do I have chocolate on my face? I ate a brownie at lunch.”
“You say that with an awful lot of guilt,” he teased. “Are brownies against the rules?”
“What rules?”
“I’m not sure, but you seem to have a lot of them.”
She sighed. “I suppose I do. My mother’s a stickler for the whole quiet-in-the-library thing, handling books with respect, and so on. She was a single mom, so that carried over to the way she raised me. I grew up with a lot of rules meant to keep me on the straight and narrow.”
“And did you stay there?”
“Most of the time,” she conceded. “A part of me really wants to rebel, but it’s a pattern that’s hard to break.” Uncomfortable with the whole topic of living according to the rules, she said, “Tell me about the books you ordered. The James Patterson I can see, but the other two surprised me.”
“You’ve read Louise Penny?”
Emma nodded. “I love the Canadian setting and Inspector Gamache.”
“Any reason you think I wouldn’t love them, too?”
“Not violent enough?” she suggested, then winced. “I’m stereotyping, aren’t I?”
“Just a little. How about Earl Emerson? Have you read his books?”
“Love them,” she admitted. “I’m so envious that you snagged a signed first edition.”
“Pure luck. When I mentioned his name to Shanna, she said she’d just gotten this book from an estate sale. She’s trying to increase her selection of signed books, especially first editions. I’ve spent enough time in the Pacific Northwest now that I love anything that’s set there. Emerson tells a good story. I’ve read this one, but I like the idea of having a signed first edition. Maybe I’ll start collecting the whole series.” He chuckled. “You look surprised.”
“I guess I am.”
“Didn’t think I could read?” he taunted.
“Didn’t think we’d share the same taste,” she countered. She stood up quickly. “I really do have to go. Enjoy your books. If you need more, I’d be happy to bring you some from the library or pick them up from Shanna if you prefer to buy them.”
“Can I ask one thing before you go?”
“I suppose,” she said.
“You love books, but just this morning you referred to your job at the library as a deadend situation.”
“Actually that’s how you described it. I just didn’t disagree,” she corrected, then sighed. “Unlike my mother who has a degree in library science and loves every nook and cranny of the Chesapeake Shores library, this wasn’t my goal. It’s just a way to fill some hours of the day.”
“While?”
She regarded him blankly. “While what?”
“What are you waiting for? What goal is eluding you?”
Emma always hated that question. Once upon a time she’d answered eagerly. She was going to be a writer. Then she’d actually had a book published. She’d been a writer, one with a bestseller, no less.
It was hard now, though, to explain that she was a washed up writer at the age of thirty-three and after only one book and countless failed attempts at a follow-up. She didn’t like sharing all that with anyone these days, but for some reason she was especially reluctant to tell Jaime her sad life story.
“Long story,” she said succinctly, instead. “Maybe we can get into it another time.”
Thankfully Jaime didn’t push. He just nodded knowingly. “Another time, then. I’ll be looking forward to it.”
Emma started down the steps. Just when she thought she was safely away from that knowing scrutiny and her skittering nerves, he called out. She should have known he wasn’t the type to let her off the hook that easily. Boredom evidently made him even more inclined to be persistent. Taking a deep breath, she turned back.
“How about tomorrow around one? That’s when you get off, isn’t it? I can have some lunch delivered.”
“Mr. Alvarez--“
”Jaime, please.”
“Jaime, then. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Any particular reason?”
Since she wasn’t about to tell him that he made her nervous with that glint in his eyes, their shared love of certain authors, and the way her pulse scrambled in his presence, she said only, “It’s for the best, okay?”
And this time when she walked hurriedly away, he didn’t try to stop her.
***
Jaime watched Emma leave at a hurried clip, then tried to focus his attention on the
opening pages of the Patterson book, but for reasons that weren’t especially hard to figure out, the words weren’t nearly as intriguing as his recent guest.
“She’s a real mystery, that one,” he murmured, staring up the block in the direction she’d taken.
And for the first time since he’d arrived in Chesapeake Shores, he had something fascinating to keep him occupied -- unraveling the mystery of beautiful, uptight Emma Hastings, who was trying like crazy not to acknowledge the sparks flying between them.
Chapter Three
Without his computer and with phone books a thing of the past, Jaime was forced to call the office first thing the next morning. He requested the number for Brady’s, the best seafood restaurant in town. Fortunately he had the number for Flowers on Main already programmed into his phone because he always sent flowers to Megan and Nell after he joined the O’Briens for Sunday dinners on his trips into town to meet with Mick.
“I’ll get Matthew to help you,” the obviously nervous receptionist said a little too quickly.
As he waited for Mick’s nephew to pick up, Jaime wondered what the devil Mick had told his staff to make the women at least clam up around him. He’d asked for a little help with a phone number, not state secrets, for heaven’s sake.
“Are you finally planning to leave the house?” Matthew asked when he’d been persuaded to take Jaime’s call. “It’s about time. You’ve been holed up there too long. I’m surprised it hasn’t driven you over the brink.”
“Who says it hasn’t,” Jaime replied dryly. “But no, I’m not going out. I’ve been thinking about crabcakes this morning. I thought I’d ask Brady to deliver some.”
“I can pick them up and bring them by,” Matthew offered after he’d passed along the phone number. “I’d be happy to join you, if you’re sick of your own company.”
“Not necessary, but thanks,” Jaime said.
“Are you by any chance expecting someone else?” Matthew asked with almost believable innocence, then ruined it by adding, “Uncle Mick mentioned there might be a woman you’re interested in.”
“Your uncle has a big mouth. Thanks for the phone number, Matthew. Have a good day.” He hung up before he could be pestered with more questions he didn’t want to answer.
Brady was more than happy to send over the crabcake sandwiches, along with side orders of cole slaw and potato salad and a key lime pie for dessert. Jaime hoped he wouldn’t be eating all that food alone, but just in case, he’d ordered the key lime pie because it had been a staple when he’d been growing up in Miami. Maybe it would offer decent consolation if his anticipated guest couldn’t be persuaded to join him.
Next he made the call to the flower shop and, after exacting a promise of complete confidentiality, asked Mick’s daughter Bree for some additional help. She was there in minutes, did as he’d requested and exited with barely a single taunt, just a smirk as she left.
The boxes of food arrived promptly at one. Jaime had the delivery boy put them in the kitchen, then settled on the porch to wait. Emma might have said no to lunch, but he was oddly optimistic that she’d wander past any minute on her way home and he’d be able to convince her to change her mind. Much as he hated using it, he’d noted her quick capitulation when he’d dared to play the pity card. He’d never wanted to be pitied by anyone, but at the moment, he was willing to seize whatever tactic worked.
He tried to read while he waited, but kept glancing up the street for some sign of his neighbor. It was closer to two when he finally spotted her coming…on the opposite side of the street. Apparently she was giving his house and him a wide berth. That made him smile.
“Hey, Emma!” His cheerful greeting startled her so badly, she stumbled.
She gave him a wave, but kept right on moving.
Jaime was undeterred. “Had lunch yet?”
She stopped and faced him, her expression visibly torn. Obviously she was no good at little white lies, because she finally heaved a sigh and shook her head.
“I have crabcakes from Brady’s,” he called out. “They’re the best in town.”
“They are,” she agreed.
“It’s not too late to decide to join me.” Again, he added the clincher that had worked so well the day before. “I could really use the company.”
She stayed right where she was, clearly debating what to do. Judging from the hard glint in her eyes, visible even at a distance, she was more than a little suspicious that she was being played.
“Couldn’t you talk whoever brought the crabcakes by into sticking around?”
“Didn’t try. The delivery boy was some pimply-faced kid. It’s your company I want.”
“Why? Just because I’m a challenge?”
Jaime sensed the question was loaded with more importance than her light tone suggested. He sorted through various responses, all of them true, then settled for the one he thought most likely to reach her. “Because you’re interesting.”
“And you’re bored,” she concluded.
“Out of my mind,” he admitted.
He watched as she weighed the invitation some more, then finally relented and crossed the street. She frowned down at him. “This won’t work again, just so you know. I might be a sucker for Brady’s crabcakes, but I won’t give in to temptation a second time.”
Jaime bit back a smile. “Not to worry. I try never to repeat myself.”
She looked startled by the response, just as he’d intended.
“I have everything set out in the kitchen,” he said briskly. “Shall we eat in there?”
“Or I could bring the food out here,” she suggested.
Another smile tugged at his lips. “Emma, Emma, Emma. Don’t tell me you’re scared to be alone with me inside.”
“Why would I be?” she said, a touch of defiance in her tone. “You’re a flirt. You’re not dangerous.”
“Ah, so you’ve heard some more about my reputation. Interesting that we’ve barely met and you’ve already found out so much about me.”
She gave him a wry look. “It’s Chesapeake Shores. People talk. It’s the town hobby.”
“So you didn’t go looking for the inside scoop about me?”
“Hardly.”
He laughed. “Okay, then, get the food and bring it out here if it makes you feel safer.”
“More comfortable,” she corrected emphatically. “And it’s a lovely afternoon. We should take advantage of the weather.”
“Whatever you say.”
When she returned a few minutes later, there was an odd expression on her face.
“Something wrong?” Jaime asked.
“You went to a lot of trouble given the fact that I told you no yesterday.”
“I guess I was just hoping I could change your mind. And how much trouble did I go to, really? I called Brady and placed an order.”
“I’ll bet Brady’s delivery person didn’t set it out on the table with cloth napkins, decent china and a vase of flowers.”
Since it was something she was likely to hear about sooner or later anyway, he admitted the truth. “Fine. You caught me. I made a call to Bree at Flowers on Main. She brought the flowers by and set the table.” He gave her a lingering look with a hint of defiance in it. “Most women like flowers on the table.”
“Like I said, you went to a lot of trouble.”
“My mother taught me to treat women with respect, to pay attention to the things that made them happy. It’s a habit that’s served me well.”
“I knew a man like that once. Good southern manners and all that. It couldn’t quite make up for the fact that he was a liar and a cheat.”
Jaime heard the unmistakably bitter note in her voice. It was hard to miss and spoke volumes about her hard shell. “Old boyfriend?”
“Ex-husband.”
“Ah, so that explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“The wariness.”
“No doubt about it,” she agreed.
“Well
, for whatever it’s worth, I am not a liar and I’ve never cheated on anyone. I could give you references.”
He saw the twinkle in her eyes even as she tried to fight a smile of her own. “Not good enough?” he asked.
“Sorry. Words and promises are too easy.”
“Then I suppose I’ll have to make my actions count.”
She gave him a disconcertingly long, hard look. “Seriously, Jaime, why would you bother? Are you that bored?”
“Sure, boredom motivated me to seek out your company,” he acknowledged candidly, “but I find you fascinating, Emma Hastings. I’d like to spend some time getting to know you. We do have the same taste in books, after all. Isn’t that a good starting point?”
“That depends on where you’re heading,” she said. “It’s a great starting point for some lively conversation, but anything more?” She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Not even the story of your life? You did promise to tell me that.”
She frowned at him. “And you intend to hold me to that, even though it must be obvious that I don’t want to talk about my past?”
“That just convinces me it’s even more critical that I get you to open up about it, if I’m going to really get to know you.”
“Maybe we’re just destined to share crabcake sandwiches and nothing more,” she said, pointedly taking a bite of hers, then sighing with pleasure.
Jaime followed suit and for a few minutes, they focused on Brady’s food. He was the first to finish his sandwich, then sat back to watch Emma. She could have been savoring every bite, but he had a hunch she was deliberately delaying the moment when the questions might start to flow again.
“Ready for dessert?” he asked. “It’s key lime pie, something my mother used to make on special occasions. Brady’s isn’t the same, but it comes close.”
“I don’t think I could eat another bite,” she protested.
“You have to at least try it,” Jaime said, offering her a forkful of the tart pie.
She accepted the offering with undisguised reluctance, then moaned with equally obvious delight. “That is so good. Your mom made pies like this?”
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