Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to her keeping her distance than merely not wanting to engage in any PDA in front of her niece.
The unsettling question had drifted through his mind several times during the day. Maybe her lack of flirting and the physical space she’d carefully maintained between them meant she wasn’t interested in picking up where they’d left off. Maybe after her abrupt departure that morning, the heat she’d felt for him had cooled and she was done. With what they’d shared. With him.
A sense of loss walloped him. Done with him? The hell with that. Last night had only served to whet his appetite for her. The thought of not having a repeat reverberated a single word through him.
No.
“I don’t have any questions about my sexual preferences,” she said in an undertone. “But thanks for the offer.”
He frowned. Now what the hell did that mean? Somehow her words seemed fraught with a deeper meaning. Or maybe he was just losing his mind. He wanted to ask her, but Heather was nearly upon them, so he kept his mouth shut.
“I think Godiva’s finally tired,” Heather reported, flopping down on the towel next to Jamie. A tail-wagging Godiva trotted up, dropped the ball at Heather’s feet, then barked.
“OMG, you can’t be serious.” Heather groaned.
“She’s good for at least another four, five hours,” Nick said with a perfectly straight face.
“I’m gonna need some water,” Heather said, ruffling Godiva’s fur. “Godiva, too.”
Jamie reached into the small cooler she’d brought and pulled out a plastic bottle, which she handed to Heather. Nick pushed off his towel, then knelt in the sand next to Godiva. “Pour some of that in here,” he said to Heather, cupping his hands together to form a bowl.
Heather did as he asked, refilling Nick’s hands several times as they all laughed at the slurpy, splashy spray Godiva made lapping up the drink. When Godiva had had her fill, Heather took a swig from the bottle, then asked him, “Can I take a picture of you and Godiva?”
“Sure.”
Heather slipped her phone—the same iPhone he had, he noted—from the denim backpack she’d brought with her. Nick slung his arm around Godiva and smiled. Heather took more photos—of Jamie, Godiva, the beach, then Nick used her phone to take pictures of her and Jamie and Godiva together.
“Thanks,” she said, taking the phone from him with a shy smile. “I’m going to text these to Lindsey, then post them on Facebook.”
“Lindsey is Heather’s BFF,” Jamie explained to him as Heather settled herself on her towel, her thumbs flying over the phone’s touch screen.
“ ’Fraid I’m not really up on the teenage lingo,” Nick said.
“Best friend forever.”
“Ah. So Kevin’s my BFF.”
“Right. Do you think of him like a brother?”
“Definitely.”
“Then he’s your BFADM,” said Heather, not looking up from her busy typing. “Brother from a different mother.”
Nick chuckled. “I’ll tell him.” He looked at Jamie and tightened his hold around his knees. “So what’s on your agenda for the rest of the day?”
“Not much until the clam meeting at Dorothy’s house tonight. Before I go I need to see if any more vendor applications have come in and adjust my figures. Make sure everything is up to date.”
“Did you say clam meeting?” Heather asked, glancing up from her texting. “Do I even want to know what that is?”
“Oh, honey, you aren’t in Manhattan anymore,” Jamie said with a laugh. Heather listened to her explanation of the festival and all its activities with such a classic “you’ve got to be kidding me” expression, Nick could barely keep a straight face. Jamie concluded with, “There’s even a clam mascot— one of the locals wears the giant clam costume and mingles through the crowd all day.”
“No way,” Heather said. “Who would want to do that?”
“Apparently it’s the hottest gig at the festival. There’s actually a lottery held the week before to see who wins the honor of being the Giant Clam.”
“I’d rather die,” Heather proclaimed. “All that—for clams?” Heather turned to him. “Is this true or is she just yanking my chain?”
“Completely true. The float is going to be a work of art this year, if I may say so myself.”
“Nick’s going to compete for the title of Clam King,” Jamie said.
“Not in a million years,” Nick corrected.
Heather giggled. “OMG, Lindsey is going to collapse when she hears this,” she said, her fingers flying once again. “She won’t believe it without evidence. Can I see this float so I can take a pic to send her?”
“Sure,” Nick said. “But it’s a work in progress—and you know what happens when you get anywhere near a work in progress.”
Heather shook her head and kept on texting. “No. What happens?”
“You get put to work—so progress happens.”
Heather frowned. “What kind of work? I don’t know how to build a float.”
“The building part is almost done. Think you can handle a paintbrush?”
She considered for several seconds, then shrugged. “I guess.”
“Great. I’ll add you to the clam painting committee,” Nick said, nodding solemnly. “Which is fitting since your aunt told me you’re an F. Scott Fitzgerald fan. Obviously you know James Gatz was a clam digger on the shores of Lake Superior.”
Heather’s fingers stalled and her head snapped up. “That’s right. When he was seventeen.”
“Who the heck is James Gatz?” asked Jamie.
“Jay Gatsby—before he changed his name and invented his persona,” Heather answered, although her gaze remained on Nick. “You like The Great Gatsby?”
He lifted one shoulder. “It’s been a long time since I read it, but it made an impression when I did.”
“You read it in high school?” Heather asked, setting down her phone and pushing her hair over her shoulders.
“College actually. It was pretty much required reading at the time.”
“Where’d you go?” Heather asked.
“Princeton.”
He noticed Jamie’s brows lift, but Heather’s jaw dropped. “That’s where F. Scott Fitzgerald went!” she exclaimed.
He grinned. “Which explains why The Great Gatsby was pretty much required reading. Even though he didn’t graduate, there’s still a strong connection.”
“You didn’t tell me you went to Princeton,” Jamie said.
“You didn’t ask.” He pumped his fist in the air. “Go, Tigers!”
“Well, aren’t you just full of surprises,” she murmured.
There was any number of surprises he wanted to share with her, most of which involved them getting naked—a factoid best kept to himself. For now.
“I want to go to Princeton,” Heather said in a rush, making the sentence sound like one long word.
“It’s a great school. I’d be happy to answer any questions you might have about it.”
“Cool. Thanks.” She took a sip of water, then asked, “Did you like it?”
“I did—but it took a while. I didn’t want to go.”
Her expression indicated he’d sprouted a second head. “Why wouldn’t you want to go to Princeton?”
“Mostly because my dad insisted I go.” An image of his stern-faced, cold-eyed father flashed in his mind. You will attend Princeton, Nicolas, and that is final. “He’d graduated there, and so had his father, which made me a legacy. It was just always expected that I would go there, too.” He shot her a half smile. “Which, of course, meant I would have preferred to go anywhere else.”
She giggled, then bombarded him with a series of rapid-fire questions, which he answered as honestly as he could while remaining age appropriate. When she asked what his favorite Princeton tradition was, he sure as hell didn’t admit it had been the drinking game Robopound. He felt Jamie’s gaze on him and he wondered what she was thin
king as he extolled the virtues of the Ivy League and imparted a few G-rated anecdotes.
“Did you go to arch sings?” Heather asked. “They sound totally cool.”
“What are arch sings and how do you know about them, Heather?” Jamie asked.
Before Nick could reply, Heather said, “Late-night a cappella concerts under one of the campus’s arches. And I know about them because of Google. Duh.”
“I went to a lot of them,” Nick said. “Especially my freshman year when I roomed in Blair Hall.”
“Were you in a bicker club?” Heather asked.
“I was,” Nick answered, impressed with her knowledge.
“Bicker club?” Jamie repeated. “Now that sounds up Nick’s alley—a club for arguing.”
Nick laughed and Heather giggled. “You bicker to get into an eating club,” Nick explained. “They’re sort of a cross between a dining hall and a social club—”
“And hello, they’re in these totally awesome mansions,” broke in Heather, “that were the primary setting for Fitzgerald’s This Side of Paradise. Seriously, Aunt Jamie, you need to make better use of Google. So which club did you bicker, Nick?”
“Cottage,” he said, using the students’ name for the University Cottage Club, figuring she’d know, courtesy of her apparently exhaustive Internet searches.
She drew in a quick breath. “Oh! Fitzgerald began This Side of Paradise in the library there.”
“Yes, he did.” He turned to Jamie and teased, “See how much you can learn with Google, Aunt Jamie?”
“Do you still have your beer jacket?” Heather asked.
“Beer jacket?” Jamie shook her head at Heather. “You are not wearing anything that has a beer logo on it, kiddo.”
“It’s nothing like that,” Nick said. “It’s a huge Princeton tradition—every senior class designs a jacket to wear to events and reunions. They were originally called that because they protected the seniors’ clothes while they tossed back beer.” He shot Heather a conspiratorial wink. “Better call it by its more formal name—senior jacket.”
Heather had just asked him another breathless question about the school when her phone rang. She grabbed up the instrument, then looked at Jamie. “It’s Mom. Can I let it go to voice mail?”
“No. You need to talk to her. And listen to her.” Jamie squeezed her hand. “I’m right here if you need me.”
After heaving the sort of dramatic sigh teenagers were known for, Heather rose to her feet and walked briskly toward the water while saying into the phone, “Hi, Mom.”
“How do you think that’s going to go?” Nick asked Jamie once Heather was out of earshot.
“Hard to tell. For sure it will go better if Heather doesn’t cop an attitude.”
Nick nodded. “Yeah, fourteen-year-olds have plenty of that. But she’s obviously a great kid. And really smart. And lucky to have you as an aunt.”
“Thanks, but I’m the lucky one. She really is great—especially when she’s not being a mopey, eye-rolling drama queen. But that comes with the teenage territory, so I grin and bear it. I’m hoping my experiences with her will help me someday with my own kids.”
An image instantly flashed in his mind—of a laughing Jamie, swinging a miniature version of herself into her arms. A miniature version that squealed in delight and said, “I love you, Mommy.”
He blinked and the mental picture disintegrated, leaving a sensation he couldn’t name in its wake … an odd brew of yearning and envy, mixed with a dose of jealousy toward the imaginary guy who’d gifted her with that child.
“So … Princeton, huh?”
Her voice jerked him from his crazy thoughts. “Yeah. You have something against Princeton?”
“Not at all. I’m just surprised.”
“Why? Did you think I was a high school dropout?”
She made a self-conscious sound. “Of course not. I guess I just somehow pictured you staying closer to home and helping out at your family’s B and B, learning all the ins and outs of the business in preparation of running it someday.”
Guilt slapped him. Hard. He could understand the note of confusion in her voice. An Ivy League education certainly seemed like overkill for running a small-time family-owned bed-and-breakfast. “Well, as I told Heather, both my dad and grandfather were alumni, so attending was expected. And at seventeen I wasn’t prepared to buck my father’s wishes or family tradition. Even though I resented being told where I had to attend college, I was glad for the escape it offered me.”
“Very expensive escape for a middle-class kid.”
“You’ve never heard of scholarships?” This time guilt didn’t merely slap him—it punched him right in his mouth, which had uttered that misleading question. Definitely time to change the subject. He shot her what he hoped was a convincing grin. “I’m a lot smarter than I look.”
But she didn’t smile back. Instead she said, “I owe you another thank you. You’ve been great with Heather all day—patient, sweet, amusing.” She hesitated, then added, “I especially appreciate it because I brought her on a museum outing with Raymond once and he pretty much just ignored her.”
Annoyance rippled through him at being compared in any way to her cheating ex. “I’m not Raymond.”
Yet even as the words left his mouth his inner voice whispered, No, but you do have something in common with him.
Another punch of guilt walloped him and her words that he’d never forget filtered through his mind: Getting involved with a guy from that world of elite entitlement was a huge error in judgment on my part. Never again.
Damn. Based on her experience with Raymond, Jamie had made it clear that she had no use for men who came from wealth and privilege. Nick knew not telling her the whole truth was a bad idea. Yet he also knew the moment he told her, she’d tell him to take a hike. Either way, he was screwed.
And not in the happy-ending way.
No need to tell her something that’s not important and doesn’t matter, he assuaged his conscience. Especially since she’s leaving in a few weeks and you’ll never see her again.
“I didn’t mean to imply you’re like Raymond,” she said quietly. “My comment sprang from concern for Heather. During the afternoon we all spent together, Raymond had no rapport with her whatsoever and I knew she was uncomfortable. With him now involved with Laurel, he’s going to be a part of Heather’s life …” She blew out a sigh. “I just meant that you were great with her and it was nice to see her smiling and laughing. And the fact that you went to her dream school? A yummy cherry on top of an already delicious sundae.”
“Is that your roundabout way of saying you think I’m yummy and delicious?”
Scarlet rushed into her cheeks and he stifled a groan of want. The urge to brush his fingertips over that wash of color was damn near strangling him. She pursed her lips in that prim way of hers that often followed her blushes. It shouldn’t turn him on, but it did. Fiercely.
“Noooo,” she said in that schoolmarm voice that ridiculously rushed blood straight to his groin. “It’s my way of saying thank you. Do you always fish for compliments so shamelessly?”
“I wasn’t fishing. I was just asking for clarification. Because I think—” His intention to tell her that he thought she was yummy and delicious was cut off by Heather’s return.
She stood in front of Jamie and thrust her phone at her, all belligerent attitude. “She wants to talk to you.”
Nick saw Jamie stiffen. He knew damn well speaking with her sister was the last thing she wanted to do. Protective instincts he didn’t even know he had rushed to the surface and it was all he could do not to grab the phone and tell her sister exactly what he thought of her and what she’d done to Jamie.
She drew a deep breath, then rose. Took the phone, and walked toward the water, not lifting the instrument to her ear until a good fifteen feet separated them.
Heather flopped down on her towel and scratched behind Godiva’s ears. A full minute of silence passed, then
finally she said, “Can I ask you something?”
Oh, Jesus. He hoped like hell it was something he knew the answer to. “Sure.”
“You’re a guy, right?”
Okay, that he knew the answer to. “Last time I looked, yeah.”
She giggled, then cleared her throat. “So then can you tell me why guys are so dumb?”
“Dumb in general, or regarding something specific?”
“Specific. Namely girls.”
Ah. Well, given he was currently painfully attracted to a woman who 1) was on the rebound, 2) lived seven hundred miles away, and 3) he hadn’t been completely honest with, he probably wasn’t the best person to ask because he clearly didn’t have a clue.
“I think women are just really, really smart, so we men can’t help but seem dumb in comparison.”
She kicked at the sand and mulled that over. “So you’re saying it’s because women are brilliant and opposites attract?”
He laughed. “Exactly. You know the title of the shortest book ever published?”
“No.”
“What Men Know About Women.”
That earned him a half smile. “Why are boys so hard to figure out?”
“Maybe I only think this because I’m one of those dumb guys, but I don’t think we’re hard to figure out at all. In fact, I think we’re pretty simple. And very basic. Food, clothing, shelter, a partner—done.” Being conscious of age-appropriateness, he didn’t point out that the clothing part was definitely optional, especially where the partner part was concerned. “Some boy giving you trouble?”
She looked down, hiding her face behind her dark curtain of hair, and shrugged.
He made a big show of cracking his knuckles and adopted his best Marlon Brando as the Godfather voice. “You want that I should kick this boy’s ass?”
That drew a giggle. “Nah.”
Just then Jamie approached them. One look at her tight lips and now pale face told him her conversation with her sister had upset her. He wanted nothing more than to jump up and wrap her in his arms, but as he didn’t believe she’d welcome the gesture, he forced himself to remain seated. She pulled in a deep breath, then smiled as she rejoined them, but Nick could tell the smile was forced and obviously for Heather’s benefit.
Summer at Seaside Cove Page 25
