by Thea Devine
The knock at her door brought her head up.
It was Cliff from accounting, a nice guy with dark curly hair to die for, with whom she sometimes ate lunch. “You ready for a cocktail?”
“Is it that time?”
“Yep, get moving.”
She should beg off. It would be easy to claim she had too much work to do. No, she’d made a deal with herself. There had to be life beyond the office. Besides, having a drink or two wouldn’t kill her. She got her purse out of the bottom drawer, thought briefly about touching up her lipstick and then decided not to bother.
The lobby was crowded with people waiting for the elevator. Fridays were like that around this time of the day. People seemed to start gearing up early for the weekend and tended to leave the office by four, which Patrick encouraged. The concept was totally foreign to Jordan, but she was determined to turn over a new leaf.
An eager group from the art department commandeered the first car, but another one stopped right away. As the doors slid open, Cliff took her arm to make sure they weren’t left behind. Jordan froze, and then took a step back.
“What’s wrong?” Cliff tugged at her hand. “Jordan?”
Zach stepped out of the elevator. Not the same man she’d met a month ago, he wore khakis, a white shirt and navy sports jacket. He looked incredibly good.
“What are you doing here?” She pulled her hand away from Cliff and automatically smoothed her hair, which was absurd since Zach had seen her at her worst.
His startled gaze went briefly to Cliff. “I’m sorry. I should’ve called.”
The elevator doors closed again, without a single taker. Apparently everyone preferred to find out who Zach was. It was never this quiet. Jordan pressed the button again since no one else made the effort and glared at Margie, Patrick’s secretary, but the woman paid no attention. Like the rest of the staff, she looked far too interested in Zach. She was a nice woman, but the first tongue to wag over the silliest rumor.
“Cliff?” Jordan sent him a pleading look.
“I’ll see you later.” The elevator dinged its arrival and he made a herding motion. “Come on, ladies.”
“This way,” Jordan murmured, and didn’t even look to see if Zach followed.
They got to her office, and she quickly closed the door behind them.
“I didn’t mean to intrude,” Zach said, looking uneasy.
“You didn’t. We were all going to happy hour. No big deal,” she said, her ego soothed when he looked relieved and then for good measure she added, “As a group.”
His mouth curved in a smile that spread warmth through her belly, and then his gaze drew to the far wall. “Nice. Did you take those pictures?”
“No. The art department got those for me. What are you doing here?” she asked again.
“I could say I was in the neighborhood, but I won’t lie. I came to see you. May I?” He gestured to a guest chair.
She gave an indifferent shrug, resisted the urge to remark about him not lying being a first, and then hurried around to her desk chair before her knees gave out.
Zach smiled as he sat. “Couldn’t help but notice the new slogan. You did good.”
“You’re not supposed to see that yet.”
“My lips are sealed.”
Her gaze went to his mouth. A vivid memory of where that mouth had been had her clearing her throat. “Okay, so…”
Interestingly, he seemed a bit nervous himself, his gaze wandering to the easels set up near the window. “This is seriously good. I might have some work for you—”
“I don’t need you tossing me a pity bone.”
His eyes came back to meet hers. “It never occurred to me. In fact, when I decided to come here, business was the furthest thing from my mind.”
Her pulse picked up speed. “I’m listening.”
He smiled again. “I don’t blame you for being upset.”
“Gee, I’m so relieved.”
“Man, have I missed that smart mouth.”
She tried not to smile.
“Here’s the thing. I’ve been divorced for five years, no children. I’m a damn good businessman, but I was a lousy husband. I worked too much. Didn’t pay attention. I haven’t been in a relationship since the divorce. Four years ago my business partner and best friend died young of a heart attack. It was my wakeup call. I cut back on the sixteen-hour days.”
His mouth twisted wryly. “I started going back to Idaho for the summers. And lately, after giving you the you-have-to-take-charge-of-your-life speech, I realized I lost you because I just had to take that bloody call from the office. I was wrong. I was stupid. I was reverting to my old ways. And I’ll probably make more mistakes, but I’m trying to learn from them and do better.”
“And you’re telling me all this…why?” She knew, but she wanted to hear him say it.
He got up and came around her desk. “You need to know this about me so that you can decide if you want to give us a shot.” He took both her hands and pulled her to her feet. “I can’t stop thinking about you, Jordan. We connected during that week. Tell me you felt it, too.”
She could scarcely breathe. “It won’t be easy,” she whispered against his mouth when he pressed his lips to hers.
He pulled back slightly and gave her a crooked smile. “We’re both tough.”
She didn’t feel very tough right now with his hands pressing into the small of her back. With his minty breath fanning her chin. If she could, she’d melt right into him. “I might be free tonight.”
He grinned. “I was thinking I owed you a stay in a suite at the Ritz. On the beach. Think you might be able to take off the weekend?”
“Oh, yeah.” She lifted up to kiss him and her phone rang. Automatically she reached over and picked it up. Of all the bad timing. And here was this gorgeous guy…Some habits wouldn’t quit. She had her own crap to work on.
It was Sonya. “Hey, what are you doing tonight? Feel like happy hour at Cagney’s? There’s this new guy—”
Jordan smiled at Zach and ran a palm up his chest. “Sorry,” she said. “I’ve got plans.”
She replaced the receiver and turned to him. “Let’s see…where were we? Oh, right.” She tilted her head back and opened for him.
She didn’t have to offer twice.
NO RESERVATIONS
Samantha Hunter
To Mike, and many more summers on the beach.
1
COMPLETE BLISS overcame Edie Stevens as she sped down the main highway that formed the spine of Cape Cod. Twelve hours from Cleveland, it might as well have been an entirely different country. Still, she was exhausted and ready to get out of the car, even if it was a very nice one.
For this special occasion she’d rented a white Mustang convertible, donned her scarf, sunglasses, and driven all day in style. At first it had been fun, zooming down Route 90 with the tunes blasting, but as the sun was setting low on the horizon, she was ready to be done with the drive.
As she turned onto a small street, she was unsure if it was the one she wanted. She looked around for a street sign, but was quickly distracted by the open vista of a quiet stretch of beach and the ocean beyond.
Her first glimpse of the Atlantic.
Pulling over, she shut off the car and got out, noticing other people milling along the muddy flats; the tide was out. A few dogs ran happily along the water’s edge, sniffing voraciously, and she laughed at a small crab in a comic stand-off with one particularly persistent pooch. Her laugh drew the attention of the dog, who—soaking wet—now bounded directly toward her.
Uh-oh.
“Nice doggy, um, wait, good dog, stay, sit,” she said rapidly, hoping something worked. She held her hands out in a stopping motion that didn’t seem to discourage the dog at all.
As he stood in front of her, he seemed friendly enough, staring at her with big brown eyes and a wagging tail. She relaxed, smiling at how cute he was, when suddenly he shimmied from nose to tail, spraying water and
sandy mud everywhere. Flecks of it stuck to her hands as she shielded her face.
“Oh God! Sorry about that!” a masculine voice exclaimed as she lowered her hands to see a very bronze chest coming close.
Very nice, she thought, forgetting about the ocean view for a moment.
The lines of the torso led to an equally handsome, boyish face and a friendly smile. Twenty-something, maybe? A little flutter worked its way along her midriff, and she smiled back. She was turning thirty, and dallying with a younger man just might be on her vacation to-do list.
“He got you all dirty,” the guy observed with some dismay.
“It’s okay. I’ll wash. He’s cute,” she said diplomatically.
“Thanks. He’s just a little too friendly sometimes, especially with women. He can’t pass up a pretty face,” he said in a flirty tone, and Edie couldn’t believe it. This was a very good sign for her vacation. She hadn’t been on the beach for five minutes and already a guy was flirting with her.
“Greg.”
“Hmm?” she said, charmed by the image he made standing there shirtless against the backdrop of the sunset.
“Greg. It’s my name. You have one?”
She snapped back to the moment. “Yes, Edie. My name is Edie.”
“Hey, Edie. Where you from?”
“Cleveland.”
“You staying here on the beach?”
“To tell you the truth, I don’t know,” she laughed, and blushed a little. The look he was giving her now was definitely one of male interest and a zing of excitement thrilled her. “I’m renting a beach house and I think I might have taken a wrong turn.”
“Where are you heading?”
“Um, North Truro?” She blushed again, feeling stupid. “I rented a convertible, and I had my Google map, but…I lost it. I was trying to read it at a red light, and then when I took off, the map flew out of the car. So I’ve been more or less guessing. I had a rough idea where I was supposed to be. Guess I wasn’t on target,” she admitted.
“Ah, you have a little ways to go yet. I can get you back on the highway, and point you in the right direction,” he said graciously, but she sensed some reluctance—or was it disappointment.
“Is it far away?”
“Not too far. But it can get a little confusing finding some of the backroads after dark.”
“Oh, that’s not good,” she said worriedly, but he stepped nearer.
“Listen, I’m meeting some friends up at Race Point for the evening, and it’s on the same route—why don’t you follow us? I’ll get you on your way, and maybe we can get together sometime while you’re here? I know all the hot spots.”
She wondered if she imagined the innuendo in his words, and then had a moment of worry. Had she been too open or too inviting with a complete stranger? As if sensing her thoughts, he reassured her with another smile, backing up a bit.
“No danger, promise. I live here over the summer. I’m a lifeguard at Chatham, and I’m a civil engineering student at BC—Boston College—so I am completely trustworthy.”
College? Her interest plummeted. “Undergrad?”
“I’m just entering the first year of my Master’s program.”
Edie did a quick calculation. That would make him about twenty-three. Seven years—well, six and three hundred or so days—younger than she was.
She quickly dismissed her apprehensions. This vacation was for fun, for letting go of all of her responsibilities and inhibitions. Greg seemed like a nice guy. A nice guy who was interested. If he pushed too hard, she could take care of herself, but for the moment, he was just offering a helping hand.
“Thanks, I’d appreciate it, as long as it doesn’t take you too far out of your way.”
“No problem. Everything’s nearby here, as you’ll discover.”
“You’ve lived here your whole life?” she asked as they made their way back from the beach, the dog at Greg’s side.
“Yeah, my folks live in Chatham.”
His parents. The idea that he was here, living with his parents, on a break from college, almost made her cringe. She was a dirty old lady.
“How nice. It must be great to spend all your school breaks here,” she said, and groaned inwardly. Now she sounded like a prim and proper schoolmarm.
“It’s my last summer doing that, so I’m enjoying it. I’m starting my own consulting company, focused on urban renewal, restoring abandoned neighborhoods, and improving ignored ones. With grad school, it’s going to be a full load. What do you do?”
They reached her car, and she turned around by the driver’s-side door to face him again. He was a working professional, just like her—an adult.
“I’m an accountant,” she said, expecting him to give her the same pained look most people did when she made that announcement. He grinned.
“Wow. A hot accountant. Nice,” he said, sharing one more long look, before turning his attention to the road. “My truck is just down the street—I’ll circle back. Just follow me up about five miles up and then I’ll tell you where to turn off to find your place. It will be one turn, then go a few miles down and you’ll know you’ve found it when you hit the beach.”
“Sounds good, thanks,” she said, though she was still thinking about his comments from a few minutes earlier. A hot accountant? She was floating on air when she got back into the car.
She’d left her laptop, PDA and anything work-related at home. There was a beach bag full of magazines and books in the back seat, her hot-pink iPod, several different varieties of sunblock, and a scandalous array of condoms. Edie intended to use them all. She didn’t feel guilty; she’d earned this. And if Greg wanted to ask her out, maybe she’d go. He looked as if he had a lot of…stamina.
This was so the right way to celebrate her thirtieth birthday, she thought, smiling back at Greg who pulled up alongside in his shiny blue truck.
It had been years since she’d had a real vacation, and with the big three-o approaching, there had been talk of a party. That was another reason to skip town. She abhorred the idea of a party, it was so…predictable.
She loved her family and friends, but for her thirtieth, she wanted something new and daring. Striking off on her own had been just the ticket, spending time with suntanned, easygoing, temporary guys like Greg if she wanted to. Perfect.
Things were different here. No one knew her, and she was free to do anything she pleased—with a handsome, younger man even. Everything the Cape had to offer would start her third decade out with an air of adventure. With any luck, maybe she’d be able to hold on to that when she went back home. Her life in Cleveland was fine, but that was it. It was just fine. Her job was okay, her friends and the men she dated were nice.
Fine, nice, okay.
The words that defined her. She needed new adjectives. Maybe she needed a new life, but for now, she just wanted a few weeks’ escape.
She followed Greg until he pulled alongside, and then she parked behind him. When he jumped out of the truck and walked back, she looked at him again, and hoped it wasn’t the last she’d see of him. He had amazing abs. Nice shoulders, too.
“Just take this next left, that’s Beach Plum Road, and take it all the way to the water. Your place is the last house at the very end.”
She smiled, deciding to jump in and go for it. “Thanks so much—maybe stop by sometime?”
Interest and a little spark of heat flew between them. “For sure. Take care,” he said, backing away, and she hoped he’d keep his promise.
She felt giddy as a schoolgirl, her mood light as she drove alongside marshes and dunes. There were a few houses on the road, set back and private, and they were all lovely.
Edie’s heart stopped when she finally hit the end of the road and pulled into the short driveway, the Mustang’s tires crunching to a stop in front of the most charming home she’d ever laid eyes on. It was a hundred times better than the pictures she’d seen on the Web, and much larger.
Slanted dune fences l
atticed in vines with bright-pink flowers above the sand and grasses surrounded the house, and she couldn’t have imagined anything lovelier.
A short stone path wound up to the front door, where steps led up to a whitewashed porch that wrapped entirely around the house. Cedar shingles were worn and faded by sun and salt, the roof and dormers angled sharply down in classic Cape style. Wood-framed windows were divided into eight panes each. Everywhere she looked, ocean, beach and marshlands were spread out around her. It was dusk, and a light was on inside, probably left on by the Realtor, which she found very considerate.
“Okay then, time to officially get this vacation started,” she said, wondering if she would be able to take a moonlight walk on the beach later.
Lugging the bags up the steps to the porch, she searched her purse for the key sent to her, but it wasn’t necessary—the door pushed open.
She hesitated for a moment. The place was probably so safe that people didn’t lock the doors, she decided, and she made her way inside, though she kept her cell phone in hand, just in case.
The first thing she spotted was the unexpected sight of two other bags—and a pair of men’s jeans—thrown over the sofa.
“What on earth?” she said and set her bags down, toeing the bag on the floor and taking a second look at the jeans—definitely male. The Realtor’s? Caretaker’s?
“Hello?” she called tentatively, the louder, “Hello? Anyone here?”
Silence answered her, and she moved through the house to the kitchen and the back door. “Hello?” she called again, checking through one beautifully decorated room after another, and finding nothing.
Relief thrummed through her. Someone had left the clothes here, maybe the previous renter, but she’d just contact the Realtor about it tomorrow. For now, she crossed back to the door to go retrieve the rest of her bags, including some groceries she’d picked up en route to tide her over.
