She struggled to keep herself together. “Yeah, sure, it’s in the . . . It’s not on the coffee station?”
“You put it in the refrigerator,” Thalia said. She took out the dispenser and grinned. “Right next to the milk.”
“Oops.” Lauren smiled apologetically. “I guess I’m a little distracted today.” An understatement.
“I’m really sorry,” Jane said. “It’s my fault.”
Lauren blinked. Concentrate. “Why?”
“I should have given you the passcode. You must have totally freaked when the alarm went off.”
Sirens blaring, stabbing, vibrating through her like electric shocks . . . Lauren took a careful breath. “Why should you? You had absolutely no reason to think I would need to be in the bakery after hours.”
“Besides,” Thalia said cheerfully, “she got rescued by Hot Cop Rossi.”
Jane’s distressed frown stayed in place. “I still should have warned you. I’m so sorry.”
“Jane, it really is all right. He was very . . .” Professional? “Reassuring.”
“Is that all? Because when he came in this morning?” Thalia put her hand on her chest and mimed a thumping heart. “Major vibes. I thought he was going to order coffee to go and you on the side.”
Heat swept through Lauren. He’d already had her on her side. And on her back. And . . .
“Oh, wow, he did, didn’t he?” Thalia asked in an awed voice. “You and Chief Rossi? Seriously?”
“Thalia, that’s none of our business,” Jane said firmly.
“I think it’s great,” Thalia said. “I mean, you’re both single, healthy adults.”
“Which doesn’t make her private life a suitable topic of discussion for you. You’re sixteen.”
“Mom says adolescence is a modern invention of wealthy industrial societies, and that I’ve been a woman since menses,” Thalia said. “She feels I should be free to explore my natural sexual impulses before deciding if a monogamous heteronormative relationship would be personally fulfilling.”
“Bless her heart,” Jane said.
Which Lauren had learned could mean anything from You poor thing to Your mama is an idiot. She bit down on a laugh. “Did she also talk to you about the importance of using protection while you’re, um, exploring?”
Thalia grinned, apparently unfazed by a relative stranger quizzing her on birth control. She was a very self-possessed sixteen. “No, that was my dad. He told me the frontal lobes of boys my age aren’t fully connected yet, and I shouldn’t waste my time on them.”
“And what do you think?” Lauren asked, falling into counselor-speak.
“I’m going to college—Chapel Hill—in another year. I don’t really want to get serious about anybody yet.”
“What about Josh Fletcher?” Jane asked.
Matt Fletcher’s son, Lauren thought. Meg’s nephew. Meg had mentioned the two were dating. Lauren had seen the teen around the Pirates’ Rest, a handsome boy with broad shoulders and big hands and a mop of tawny hair.
A cloud passed over Thalia’s round, sunny face. “He understands. We’re friends.”
“‘Friends’ is good,” Lauren said gently. And probably hard to pull off when you were sixteen years old and spending time with a boy who could have modeled for Michelangelo’s David.
“Yeah.” Thalia wiped her hands on her apron, looked at Jane. “Would it be okay if I took off now? Camille wants some Mommy-and-me time with Océane, and I told her I’d take Chloe to the pool.”
“That would be fine. Thalia works for a French family in one of the big houses on the beach,” Jane explained to Lauren.
“It’s not work work. I’m babysitting.”
“Still . . . Two jobs,” Lauren said.
Thalia shrugged. “More money for college. Anyway, I like kids. I’ve got four younger brothers and sisters.” She hesitated. “I can watch Aidan, too, if you want. Camille won’t mind. She wants Chloe to practice her English.”
“Oh, that’s sweet of you, both of you, honey, but Aidan’s got camp ’til five. Anyway, I’m taking him to the beach later.”
“Mommy-and-Aidan time,” Thalia said.
Jane smiled. “Something like that.”
Thalia left. Customers came in, three laughing, chatting women who settled at a table, a couple who took coffee and pastries outside, a family picking up a cake. Lauren pulled shots and watched as Jane expertly boxed a Chocolate Seduction with Bavarian cream for the young mother’s birthday.
Jane was a mother. How could she have missed this important piece of personal information? But Jane never talked about herself.
“So, Aidan is your son?” Lauren asked when the shop was quiet again.
Jane nodded.
“How old is he?”
“Almost seven.”
“So . . . starting second grade?”
“First.” Jane wiped unnecessarily at a spot on the counter, as if disclosing even that much information made her uncomfortable. “His birthday’s in October.”
“How long have you and his father been . . .” She trailed off deliberately, leaving a space for Jane to define any way she wanted.
“Separated?” Jane asked.
Lauren nodded.
“Forever. He took off right after Aidan was born.”
Lauren winced in sympathy. “Ouch.”
“Yeah. I was stupid.” Jane shrugged. “I’ve always been stupid about men.”
“When I first got here, I thought maybe you and Jack Rossi . . .” Another pause Lauren wasn’t sure how to fill. A space she hoped would stay empty.
Jane shook her head. “I would never marry a cop. My dad’s a cop. If I ever take a chance on another guy, it won’t be somebody who always puts his job ahead of me.”
Lauren drew a relieved breath. So, no romantic attachment on either side. That was good news.
She should drop the whole subject right there, Lauren thought. She and Jane worked well together, but the other woman had no particular need or reason to trust her. To confide in her. Jane had lived on Dare Island all her life. For all Lauren knew, she could have this great, giant support system of friends to laugh and talk with, to cry and confide in.
Or not. Maybe familiarity carried the same cost as fame. Maybe a small town was like the online community, everybody thinking they knew you, that they had the facts to judge, the right to comment . . . Hard to sustain friendships when every move was under the microscope. When every neighbor remembered your mistakes. Maybe Jane needed a friend.
Maybe Lauren was ready to be a friend again. “It’s tough,” she said. “Raising a son and running a business on your own.”
“We do all right,” Jane said.
“You do a great job. I’m impressed. When my dad died . . .” Lauren’s chest tightened. Positive thoughts. But being friends wasn’t about having all the answers or even asking the right questions. Friendship required making yourself vulnerable. Admitting weakness. Opening yourself to the possibility of loss.
Jack’s words glowed inside her. You’re not afraid to get involved. You’re not afraid to get hurt. That takes a kind of courage most people will never have.
“My mom had a lot of trouble coping. I had to leave school to look after things for a while.”
Jane’s smooth face creased in sympathy. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. Shit happens, right? I’m just saying, if you ever need someone to talk to . . .”
“Thank you.” Jane’s gaze met hers. “I mean that. But it’s not the same. Aidan’s father isn’t dead.”
Lauren leaned against the counter, refusing to be turned away. “Maybe it would be easier if he was.”
A shocked laugh broke from Jane. “Maybe.”
“That guy who came in last week,” Lauren said. “Was that him? Aidan’s dad?”
> “Travis is incapable of being anybody’s dad.”
“Oh.” Okay. She hadn’t seen that coming.
Jane slid her a sideways glance. “It’s not what you’re thinking. What I mean is, Travis doesn’t care about Aidan. He never has. Leaving was the best thing he could have done, for Aidan and for me. Anyway, Travis has some job lined up in Florida. He just needs a stake to get down there.”
A stake? The errand at the bank, Lauren thought. “So basically you’re paying him off.”
Jane bit her lip. Nodded. “I don’t want him to have any contact with Aidan. I don’t even want Aidan to know that he’s here. Especially now that Aidan’s old enough to ask questions.”
“He’s going to ask anyway,” Lauren felt compelled to point out. “Or his friends at school will.”
“I know. But they’ll be easier to answer when Travis is gone.”
“Jane.” Lauren searched for the right words. “You can’t pay to make your problems go away.”
“How do you know?”
Because I’ve tried. The thought caught her under the ribs like a missed breath. Every month, a check to Ben’s mother. Every week, a letter to Ben with a credit to the prison commissary for pens, for paper, for candy bars and shaving supplies. How is Joel? Did you read the book I sent? Have you forgiven me yet?
“I’m just saying money doesn’t solve your underlying issues. You still have to deal with your feelings.” The guilt.
Jane smiled wryly. “I have a six-year-old depending on me. My feelings are the last thing I’m worried about.”
Lauren inhaled slowly. “Okay.”
“So you won’t say anything to Aidan?”
“Of course not.”
Jane relaxed. “Thanks. That’s all right, then.”
But it wasn’t. Not really. And Lauren didn’t know what she could do to help.
Eleven
THE LAST BACHELOR party Jack attended, a twenty-year-old stripper named Brandi ground on the bridegroom’s lap—big Mike Malone from Vice—while a bunch of wasted cops stuffed bills into her G-string.
Jack was no Boy Scout. But he was too old for that shit.
Marriage was enough of a crapshoot. A guy who kicked off the whole I-Do deal by getting high, drunk, and laid days before his wedding was just worsening the odds.
But for Luke, Jack could put up with the ritual boobs-and-booze fest. Sam Grady had offered his family’s restaurant, the Fish House, for the party. Jack figured he’d sip a beer for a couple of hours and then play cabbie before giving Lauren a call. He walked into the bar’s back room feeling pretty good about life in general and positively optimistic about the way his night would end.
He hadn’t counted on Luke’s dad, Tom, being there, tall, weathered, and tough as a telephone pole. Or Luke’s seventeen-year-old nephew Josh, nursing a Coke at the poker table. Jack had routed the town’s teens out from under the pier enough times to guess the boy had snuck a few beers before. But at Luke’s party, in Sam’s bar, everybody was on their best behavior.
The only bills seeing any action tonight were in the pot in the center of the table.
Jack’s muscles relaxed. He was glad he wouldn’t be breaking up a bar fight tonight. Or talking the groom back into his pants.
Luke introduced him to some guys from his old squad who had made the trek from Camp Lejeune and a couple of buddies from boot camp. There was talk of a third, Gabe Somebody, who had left the Corps and couldn’t be reached. But all in all, a nice group. Nice guys.
It seemed almost a shame to take their money.
“Seven-card stud,” Matt said, shuffling the deck in his work-hardened hands.
“What’s wild?” Josh asked.
His grandfather, Tom, snorted.
One of the Marines smothered a grin.
“Seven-card stud,” Matt repeated quietly. “No wilds.”
“Unless I get trash all night,” Sam said. “Then it’s deuces, eights, and one-eyed Jacks.”
Josh shot him a grateful look.
Jack sat with his back to the wall, angling his chair to keep an eye on the entrance. Like a cop. Or, he thought, looking around the table, a guy recently returned from a war zone. Luke and his Marine pals had already commandeered the chairs on the other side, facing the door. Guarding their backs, watching the entrance. Clearly, they’d had the same idea. The same training.
Matt dealt the cards.
Sam, Jack thought as the game progressed, was his only competition, the only one watching as the others picked up their cards, the one who understood that you played your opponents and not your hand.
Matt was shrewd but conservative, betting the cards he was dealt, never taking the big risks that rake in the pot. Tom’s expression never changed, but he had a significant tell, glancing at his stack of chips on every strong hand. Josh threw everything he had into the game, betting, bluffing, and losing with boyish enthusiasm. The Marines had skills. In a Muslim country, cards were pretty much the only acceptable vice to while away the long hours of tension and boredom. But they drank more than the others, and young Danny Hill kept texting his wife.
“Sorry,” he said, looking up. “This is the first night I’ve been away since we got back.”
Luke was a fine player, alert and careful, but his heart wasn’t really in the game.
When Jack bluffed him with a pair of threes, Tom rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Shit, son, didn’t I teach you better than that?”
Luke grinned, unapologetic. “Guess I’ve got other things on my mind.”
Matt smiled. “Understandable.”
Sam, who was sitting out this hand, set another plate of sandwiches on the table. “I’ve got orders to keep you away from the inn until eleven. Deal.”
Eleven, Jack thought. He’d told Lauren it would be an early night. But eleven?
Get over it, Rossi. You’re not in Philly anymore.
Not too late at all, Lauren said in his head, her warm eyes glowing, her lips curving, and his dick surged behind his fly. Like he was Josh’s age again, when every random thought gave him a hard-on.
Jack dropped his gaze to his cards, shifting in his chair, giving himself a moment to recover.
“You betting? Or playing with yourself?” Tom wanted to know.
Jack grinned and tossed the required bid into the pot.
Rafe Slater, one of the Marines, reached a long arm for another beer from the bar, offered a bottle to Luke.
Luke gave a quick shake of his head. “I’m good for now.”
“Jesus, pal, you’re getting married in four days. You can’t be whipped already. Gotta drink up while you can.”
Jack knew, because Luke had told him, that Kate Dolan’s old man was a hard-drinking Marine who took his career frustrations out on his wife and daughter until he died. Obviously Luke didn’t intend to provoke bad memories in his bride by stumbling home to her reeking of alcohol.
But this was his bachelor party. It wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye out.
The last hand ended near midnight when every man but Jack and Sam was out. Jack got a queen on the final deal and won with an ace-high straight.
Sam shrugged philosophically as he turned over his two pair. “You got lucky tonight, pal.”
That was the plan.
Jack smiled and pushed the pot across the table.
Luke looked down at Jack’s winnings and raised his eyebrows. “What’s this?”
“Wedding present,” Jack said and stood. “Who needs a ride?”
“We’re good,” Matt said.
Josh grinned. “I’m designated driver.”
Tom winked at his grandson. “God help us.”
Jack looked at the four Marines. “How about you?”
“We’ve got an empty rental,” Sam said. “Sudden cancellation. I can put them up there tonight, se
e them on their way in the morning.”
Jack doubted Grady Real Estate had a cancellation at the height of the rental season. But Sam was generous that way. As long as the impaired Marines stayed off the road tonight, Jack was happy.
“Great. Let’s get you home then,” he said to Luke.
He waited patiently while the groom said good-bye to his buddies with as much sentiment as if they were all going off to war again. Matt caught his brother in a fierce, short hug. Backs were slapped, arms punched.
Seventeen-year-old Josh collared his uncle with one arm around his neck. Something about the way they stood together, almost the same height, Luke’s blond head against Josh’s tawny mop, grabbed Jack’s throat and wouldn’t let go.
“Unc Luke.” Josh’s voice was muffled against Luke’s shoulder. “I hope you’ll be as happy as my dad.”
Ah, Christ. Jack’s eyes stung.
It should have been corny.
But seeing their closeness reminded him of what he’d left behind, his father, his brothers, his nephews and nieces.
And it recalled in a worse way the things he’d once counted on and never really had at all. His hand curled in his pocket as if he could hold on to his illusions.
He missed Frank. Not the partner who had betrayed him, but the friendship he’d thought they had. The trust.
He missed the life he had planned with Renee, back when he’d believed they could make it. The Sunday dinners, the baptisms and first communions, surrounded by her family and his.
If she’d gotten pregnant on their honeymoon, the way she’d feared, their oldest kid would have been a few years younger than Josh by now.
Moving forward? Or running away?
He had moved out. He’d moved on.
But tonight, watching Luke with his family, he felt his foot caught in the door of the life he’d left behind.
* * *
LAUREN SAT WITH her back to the headboard, surrounded by the story of her life—okay, the last eleven months—in the form of two hundred and eighty printed manuscript pages.
Carolina Blues Page 14
