by Wendy Wax
“Yes, very lucky.” The response was somewhat wooden, but it was far too dark now to read Nikki’s expression.
“She’s perfect, isn’t she?” Kyra asked. “Like a nanny sent over from central casting.”
“She’s pretty perfect all right,” Nikki agreed.
Conversation slowed to a halt as the sky grew darker and stars began to appear. Nearby on the Sunshine’s rooftop deck, chairs scraped back from tables. Murmurs of good-bye and the clatter and clang of clearing and closing up floated down on the evening breeze.
Maddie yawned. Glad as she was to be back, it had been a long day. “Are there any plans for tomorrow?”
There was silence as they stood and began to gather their things. In the dim glow of a distant pool light, she saw Bitsy and Avery look at each other then at Kyra.
It was Nikki who finally spoke. “Troy invited us all over to Bella Flora for a cookout tomorrow.”
Kyra went still, but only for a moment. “Is that right?”
“Um, yeah. It’s at noon,” Avery added. “Steve is coming.”
“And I think the Franklins are going to be there,” Bitsy said.
“Yeah,” Nikki said. “He told me I should bring the girls.”
There was a harsh rasp of laughter from Kyra. “Troy Matthews is entertaining my father and my friends. In my home.”
“I’m sure he’d love for you and Dustin to be there,” Avery said.
Maddie knew for a fact he would, but Kyra gnashed her teeth.
“Maybe I’ll just give him a call,” Bitsy offered. “To let him know that you’re in town. And, um, find out if there’s anything he’d like you to bring.”
Fifteen
As far as Kyra was concerned, “weird” wasn’t a strong enough word to describe what it felt like to go to her own house as a guest for a cookout. Being welcomed by a smiling, noncombative Troy Matthews was even weirder.
“Hey, really glad you could make it,” he said with an almost blinding smile. He looked freshly shaved. His hair was still sun streaked a million shades of blond, layered and shiny. He still looked like a surfer, not the shaggy, “follow the wave in my beat-up VW van” type but the upscale, glossy kind you might see in a Ralph Lauren ad.
Her son gave a shouted “Broy!” and launched himself into Troy’s arms. Her mother handed Kyra the macaroni and four-cheese casserole she’d insisted on making and gave him the kind of hug she normally reserved for family. Max wagged his tail with such happiness that he knocked over the umbrella stand.
Traitors. Kyra managed to lift the corners of her mouth into a smile. Instead of pushing Troy outside and locking the door behind him like she wanted to, she handed him her mother’s casserole and fell in behind him, checking out each room they passed for signs of mistreatment. But Bella Flora had not been abused or turned into a bachelor pad. In fact, she looked pretty much as they had left her. And, although she tried her hardest not to notice, Bella Flora felt and smelled like home.
In the kitchen, Troy motioned to open bottles of wine on the counter and the full pitcher of something red and frothy in the blender. “Strawberry margaritas. There’s another batch in the freezer. There’s beer, soft drinks, and juice boxes outside in the cooler.
“Oh, and there’s fresh sand in the sandbox. Picked it up this morning. And the playhouse has been looking kind of lonely.” He smiled down at Dustin. “Your grandfather’s out there firing up the grill.”
“Oh, boy!” Without a backward glance he raced outside to the loggia with Max on his heels.
“And, um, maybe I should have mentioned that Steve’s date is out there helping him?”
He looked relieved when the doorbell rang again. “Be right back.” He winked at Kyra. “Make yourselves at home.”
“I think I’m going to need this.” Kyra picked up a large plastic cup from the counter and poured herself a margarita. “Mom?”
“Thanks.” They clicked plastic rims. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad your dad has someone to spend time with.” Maddie took a rather large gulp of her margarita. “I just didn’t realize I was going to meet her today.” Craning her neck, she checked her reflection in a glass-fronted cabinet. “Am I wearing lipstick?”
“You look great. And remember, you’re the one having a relationship with a rock star.”
The sounds of laughter and Troy’s voice drew closer.
“Thanks. I’ll try to keep that in mind,” Maddie said. “And I don’t think any of us should forget that Troy paid good money to live here. He has every right to treat Bella Flora like his home. And . . .”
Kyra gulped her drink so quickly she could barely taste it; her greatest hope was that it would kick in just as quickly so that she could survive watching Troy play lord of the manor. Their manor.
The “lord” entered the kitchen with John and Renée Franklin and her sister, Annelise. Happy hugs were exchanged.
“We heard you were back!”
“How are things going on the film?”
“How long are you here for?”
John headed outside to help supervise the grill action. Renée found a vase and arranged the flowers she’d brought from her garden. Annelise set a home-baked apple strudel on the counter.
Another ring of the doorbell brought Bitsy, Avery, and Nikki. Bitsy and Avery each held one of the twins. Nikki carried a huge diaper bag stuffed to the brim.
“You look like you’re moving back in,” Maddie teased.
“If only it were so simple.” Nikki’s smile turned rueful. “This is what it takes to survive out in the world for more than fifteen minutes. If you’re lucky, it’s preventive—you know, kind of how carrying an umbrella can prevent rain or getting your car washed can cause it.” She shoved the bulging bag into a corner. “Oh, my gosh. Are those margaritas?”
Troy bustled in and out with a huge smile on his face that annoyed the crap out of Kyra. Avery poured the bags of Cheez Doodles she’d brought into large plastic bowls. Her mother chopped and tossed the salad ingredients Nikki and Bitsy had brought. Then she walked over to Kyra and slipped an arm through hers. “Shall we go meet your father’s date?”
Kyra nodded, because her mother was already propelling her outside, only stopping when they stood directly in front of Dorene Fletcher. Who turned out to be attractive, age appropriate, and far more nervous about meeting them than they were about meeting her.
“There, that wasn’t so bad was it?” her mother asked when Dorene had excused herself to retrieve more hamburger buns from the kitchen. “And you only brought up Will and the tour two or three times.” She grinned. “In the first sentence.”
Kyra grinned back. “I couldn’t help it. But better safe than sorry, right?”
“Absolutely, I just think you could have waited until after the introductions.” Maddie laughed. “She handled it pretty well. He could have done worse.”
“He has.” Kyra thought about the Realtor her father had already been dating the Christmas she’d found out her parents were getting divorced. Then she thought about Troy Matthews, who seemed to be taking his job as jovial host quite seriously.
“Why is he so hard to avoid?” she hissed to her mother when she noticed him just behind her, refreshing John Franklin’s drink. “Everywhere I go, there he is. Underfoot. Just like Max.”
Her mother’s look turned enigmatic as they headed back to the kitchen, where they found Avery munching Cheez Doodles while Nikki blended another batch of margaritas. Troy entered just behind them and went over to help. The whole lot of them were smiling. It seemed Kyra was the only person present who had a problem with Troy and his good mood. Until Chase Hardin arrived with his father, a large bowl of baked beans, and a date. Who was nowhere near as nonthreatening as Dorene Fletcher had proven to be.
Avery’s blue eyes got so big they seemed to take over her face. Her Cupid’s bow mouth, lightly
coated with cheese residue, pursed. Her chest, which she’d always hated because of the way it dwarfed the rest of her, heaved as the introductions were made.
Riley Hancock was a younger, taller, and, at least at the moment, less angry version of Avery and apparently had no idea there was a problem. Chase also looked remarkably unperturbed as they helped themselves to margaritas then wheeled Jeff outside. Which Kyra took as proof that he had a heretofore undisclosed death wish.
Kyra handed Avery a margarita. “Drink this.”
“I don’t want another margarita.”
“Trust me. It’ll help you ignore just how big an asshole Chase is for bringing that girl with him. I’ve had two and a half and I don’t want to punch Troy’s face in anywhere near as much as I did when I first got here.”
Avery took the glass and chugged it. Then she fortified herself with a large handful of Cheez Doodles.
By the time Troy rang the dinner gong, an accessory that had not come with the house, Avery’s anger had been muted enough to allow her to do an impressive job of ignoring Chase and the Dewy-Clingy Barbie he’d brought with him.
Pleasantly full from what had turned out to be a truly stellar meal on top of three and a quarter margaritas, Kyra lay on a chaise watching Troy toss Dustin around the pool. Each splash down produced shrieks of pleasure followed by her son’s cries for more.
Surrounded by her family and her “village” and with a whole twenty-four hours left before she and Dustin had to return to Winter Haven, she drowsed lightly, only waking when droplets of water landed on her bare legs.
“It’s nice to see you looking so relaxed.” Troy’s voice was warm and friendly without the slightest edge.
The same could not be said of Troy’s body, which was, she noted as her eyes opened, all hard-cut edges, planes, and angles wrapped in smooth, tan skin. Her head tilted back to take in the broad shoulders and chest that tapered down to extremely well-defined abs that did, in fact, resemble a washboard. A light dusting of blond hair covered his chest. It arrowed downward, ultimately disappearing beneath the waistband of low-slung black bathing trunks.
She sighed as a droplet of water slid down the hard slope of his body, then grimaced in an effort to pretend that she hadn’t just checked him out. His grin told her she’d failed.
“Do you mind?” He motioned to the chaise, but sat before she responded.
His trunks were damp, his bare legs oddly warm against hers. She inched away and made a show of shivering, beyond glad it had been too cold to put on anything skimpier than shorts. Has he always been this hot?
“Sorry.” His grin said he didn’t mean it.
He watched her face for several long minutes. Until she was no longer remotely relaxed.
“I saw Dustin on Hollywood Tonight,” he said finally. “It’s incredibly rare to see a child that age appear to perform so effortlessly. Using an actual four-year-old instead of an older child who could play four was a huge risk. Just like so much about that film. Daniel must have been pissing himself with relief.”
“Ah, there’s the Troy Mathews I’ve been waiting for.” She sat up. “You just can’t bear for Daniel to do well, can you?”
Troy’s jaw tightened. His blue eyes were pinned to hers. “I don’t really give a rat’s ass about Daniel Deranian,” he said quietly. “Or any personal risks he might take.” Once again he hesitated and she prepared to jump up and walk away. “It’s Dustin I care about. There’s nothing effortless about what it took to pull off that first take. And I don’t think there’s much Dustin wouldn’t do to try to impress and please his father.”
Her heart thudded at the mention of the thing she feared most. Not what they asked of Dustin, but what he so wanted to give. Just that morning he’d insisted on working on his lines for Monday before they came to the cookout.
“I understand why they’d celebrate and share that perfect take,” Troy continued. “It’s hard to blame them when they have so much riding on this film. What with pledging every penny they have and then some.”
Her head jerked up in surprise. She’d known that Daniel and Tonja had put in money, but everything they had? “You don’t know that.”
“Unfortunately, I do.” Troy’s voice, still quiet, carried real regret. “I have contacts in the business, and people like to talk.” He sighed. “I also know what it feels like to want to please your father. And what it feels like when you can’t.” He continued to watch her. “You’re going to have to be careful not to let Dustin turn himself inside out trying to do a perfect take every time.”
She scooted as far from him as she could get. “I’m his mother. I don’t need you to tell me what to do or how to take care of my son. Why are you forever inserting yourself into my life?” She wanted to get away from him, but she couldn’t seem to find her feet. “You’ve taken over this house like it was always meant to be yours. I don’t know who the hell you think you are!”
He had no trouble getting to his feet. By the time she’d rolled to the side and swung her legs over to stand, he was already towering over her. Vaguely, she was aware of others watching, but she’d had it with his interfering. She was sick and tired of holding her tongue.
“I know who I am,” he said quietly. “I haven’t always liked it and for a lot of years, I ran away from it. You, however, don’t know a thing about me.”
“Is that right?” All she wanted was to turn and run, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “Then maybe you need to just go ahead and tell me what you think I need to know.”
He looked away. She saw him glance at her mother, who had just picked up Dustin to carry him inside. Soon they were the only two left on the deck.
“First of all, I did not steal Bella Flora from you. You put it at risk and could have lost it. I am, in fact, grossly overpaying you for the privilege of renting it and saving your ass.”
“This is you saving my ass?” She wanted to slug him. “Well, feel free to stop. In fact, if you don’t want to live in Bella Flora, which by the way is way too good for you no matter how much money you have, you can leave right now.”
“Kyra, I am not insulting Bella Flora. All I’m trying to say is that I didn’t rent her to rub your nose in it. It was the only way I could think of to help. Because I want . . .”
His voice trailed off. Suddenly, he looked uncertain. He turned, his eyes wild, like an animal caught in a fire trying to find an escape route.
“Yes, I see how much you’re helping. Living in our house, hanging out with my friends and family. I don’t understand what’s going on here. You’ve got everything I care about in the palm of your hand. What else could you possibly want?”
He looked at her. “Is it possible you really don’t know?”
“Know what?”
His shoulders and his chin lifted. Resolve and, possibly, resignation filled his eyes. “I’ve pretty much had a . . . thing . . . for you from the moment we met in South Beach on Max Golden’s front yard.”
He winced at the admission.
“A thing?” She was fairly certain her mouth had gaped open as she stood there waiting for the guffaw. The wink. For the hidden cameras to pop out. “You mean when you came there representing the network? When your job was making us look bad and helping them turn our renovation program into that mean-spirited reality TV show. You already had a . . . thing . . . for me?”
He shrugged. But he didn’t apologize or hang his head or pretend he’d only been joking. “Okay, that may have been a bad choice of words. But . . . I could be good for you and Dustin. I know I could. And I think we could be good together. If you could just let go of your crush on that pretty-boy movie star and see him for what he is.”
“You’re crazy.” She looked around wildly. But everyone was gone. Except for the noses that might be pressed against the salon windows. “You are making this up to . . . I can’t even come up with a g
ood reason why you would say these things.”
His voice got so quiet she had to strain to hear. “I’m saying these things because they’re true. And because I should have said them a long time ago.”
She shook her head as if that might keep the words out. Or make the look in his eyes disappear.
“You asked me what I want?” Troy said. “It’s simple. I want you. And I want you to give me a chance to show you why you want me, too.”
Sixteen
Maddie was already awake early Sunday morning when Dustin and Max appeared in the living room. Max whimpered and wagged his tail. Dustin yawned and rubbed at his eyes. “Max needs to go outside and I’m hungry.”
“That’s a lucky thing,” Maddie said, leaning down, lifting him into her arms, and kissing his cheek. “Because there’s an egg soufflé in the oven right now and it looks like a beautiful morning.” She set him back on his feet and motioned to the wall near the door. “Your sweatshirt’s hanging on your hook.” She pulled on her own sweatshirt then clipped Max’s leash onto his collar.
Dustin shook his head. “I need to memberize.” He climbed onto the couch and wiggled back against the cushion. His feet barely reached the edge. “Will you quids me when you come back?”
“Wouldn’t you rather come out with us and then have juice and help me make cinnamon toast after?”
“No!” He scooted forward so that he could retrieve the script pages off the coffee table. “Wanna practice my lines!” he said in a tone she’d never heard from him. “Now!”
“Dustin. You know that’s no way to talk to anyone.”
He dropped his eyes to the pages as if he intended to read them, but he didn’t apologize. “I halfta get them right.”
Max shook his collar and whined more urgently. With a last look at her grandson she took Max outside, where he sniffed and squatted and circled. When they returned, Dustin was still staring down at the papers in his lap. He looked up at her, his forehead creased, a frightened look on his face. “I thought I knewed them.” His voice broke on the last words.
