“Go ahead,” Jamie urged, shooing him out of the kitchen. “There’s not enough room in here for you anyway. Too many cooks and all that.”
“First time I’ve ever been called a cook, but fine. And I want extra frosting on my piece of cake.” He looked at Heather. “Make sure I’m fixed up, okay?”
She giggled. “Done.”
“I’ll bring you the spatula to lick when we’re finished,” Jamie said.
He looked into her eyes and didn’t make any attempt to hide the fact that he’d rather lick her—and that he had every intention of doing so at his first opportunity. Given the crimson that rushed into her cheeks, she saw the desire he knew burned in his gaze.
“I’ll look forward to that,” he said with a grin. Then he turned to Alex. “Be right there. First I need to see what Godiva is up to.”
“I think she went out on the porch,” Maggie said.
“Thanks.” Nick crossed the living area. The sliding doors leading to the screen porch that ran the entire length of the front of the house were pushed open. He stepped onto the dark porch and waited several seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Then he grinned.
He looked into the house. Alex sat on the sofa, beer in hand, his full attention focused on the game. Maggie and Heather were busy frosting the cake. His gaze then settled on Jamie—who was watching him. His pulse quickened and he crooked his finger at her.
She crossed the room, then stepped out onto the porch. “Did you find—?”
“Shhh,” Nick said, touching a finger to her lips and pulling her into the far corner of the porch where they couldn’t be seen from the inside. He turned her so that she faced the opposite end of the porch, then stepped up to stand directly behind her.
“Look,” he whispered in her ear, pointing toward the opposite corner, where Godiva lay sprawled on her side. Cupcake was curled against her, her head cushioned on Godiva’s outstretched paw.
“Oh my God, that is so cute,” Jamie whispered.
Just then Godiva lifted her head a fraction of an inch and licked Cupcake’s head. The cat’s purr filled the warm night air.
“Hey—your dog just licked my cat,” she said, her whisper filled with suppressed laughter.
“Yeah, well it doesn’t look like your cat is complaining.”
He breathed in and the scent of cookies filled his senses. With a low groan he turned her around and pulled her flush against him. It required every bit of his will to hold back that part of him that wanted to press her to the wall and devour her in a single gulp.
He lowered his head and fire raced through him in anticipation of kissing her, but before he could, she settled her hands on his chest and leaned back. She hiked a brow and lightly nudged his pelvis with hers. “Either you’re carrying a zucchini in your pocket or you’re glad to see me.”
“It’s a zucchini. I was hoping we could have that cooking lesson you promised me weeks ago.”
“I see.” She eased from his embrace and cast a glance at the nearby open sliding door, through which a swath of light and the sounds of the baseball game drifted. “As I’m sure you can tell, this isn’t the time. Or place.”
“I know.” His gaze searched hers. “Something’s wrong.”
She expelled a slow, heavy breath. “Just a lot of tension in there,” she said, nodding toward the house. “Heather’s been moody and upset all day. A birthday phone call from her dad didn’t go well—he expects her to visit him next week and she doesn’t want to go. A call from her mother didn’t go much better.”
She rubbed her temples as if warding off a headache, then continued in a whispered rush, “My mother is still a hormonal mess—laughing one minute, crying the next. I swear she’s worse than Heather. Plus, my mom is, hands-down, the most indecisive person on the planet. She still doesn’t know what to do about Alex, and even though I’ve repeatedly told her only she can decide, it’s clear she still wants me to tell her what to do.
“Poor Alex deserves a medal for his patience. He needs to get back to his job in New York, but he doesn’t want to leave here until things are settled with my mom. He actually doesn’t want to leave her, period, which I find amazing because she makes me want to run shrieking from the house. One night he’s sleeping on the sofa, the next he’s in Mom’s bedroom … it’s like an emotional roller coaster I can’t avoid because it’s right in front of me. Then the stress of trying to shield Heather from all the turmoil—it’s enough to give anyone a migraine.”
Unable to not touch her, he reached out and linked his fingers with hers. “I’m sorry.”
“Me, too. I laid down the law with Mom this morning and told her she needed to suck it up, set aside her problems for today, and put on a happy face for Heather’s birthday. I know she’s trying, but she doesn’t feel well and she’s upset with Alex for God only knows what reason, and with me because she feels I’m not being understanding. Heather’s picking up on it all, so she’s tense as well as moody.”
She shook her head. “Personally, I like Alex’s method of dealing with the tension—watch TV, drink beer, and try to ignore it all. If it wasn’t for Heather, that’s exactly what I’d do.” After heaving a sigh, she shot him a sheepish smile. “Bet you’re really glad you came over, huh?”
“Actually, I am.” He gently squeezed her hands. “I missed you.” He hadn’t necessarily meant to say that, but the words slipped out before he could stop them. He pressed his lips together before anything else could fall out. Like I thought about you constantly. Or I want you so badly right now I’m ready to just pick you up, carry you off, and to hell with all those people in there.
She flicked another glance toward the open door. Then her gaze searched his. “You were gone longer than just a few days.”
He clearly saw the questions in her eyes. And the confusion. And, unless he was mistaken, a hint of hurt. “There was more to handle at Kevin’s than I thought.” True—although far from the whole truth. “But now I’m back. And I’m here.” He raised their joined hands and pressed a kiss to her soft palm. “And I’m hoping that’s okay.”
When she didn’t immediately answer, an unpleasant sensation that felt like an all-over body cramp seized him. She was still looking at him in silence when headlight beams arced over them. She squinted in the sudden brightness and turned her head toward the street.
Nick looked as well. A yellow taxi stopped in front of Paradise Lost in the circle of light cast by the street lamp. The back door opened and a bright red high heel with a matching sole emerged, followed by a long, slim feminine leg encased in expensive-looking denim. The other leg followed, and seconds later a tall, willowy blonde stood next to the curb alongside a huge suitcase while the driver unloaded several more bags from the trunk.
“Oh. My. God.”
Jamie’s horrified whisper had him turning quickly toward her. Her hands were fisted and pressed to her midsection and her face looked ghostly pale as she stared at the woman who was now pulling one of her rolled suitcases toward the driveway.
He stepped in front of her and grabbed her by the shoulders. Concern filled him when he felt a tremor rack her entire body. “What’s wrong? Who is that?” he asked, although he had a sinking feeling he knew.
“That,” she said, sounding as if she spit the word, “is Laurel. My loving sister.”
Chapter 24
With her heart beating in hard, painful thumps and feeling as if she were slogging through thick, invisible Jell-O, Jamie moved on leaden feet toward the open sliding door. She stepped into the living area. And halted. At the sight of Laurel entering her kitchen.
As always, her sister looked stunning. Tall, slim, and casually elegant in her dark skinny jeans and crisp white sleeveless top, her thick, straight, glossy golden blond hair brushing her shoulders, not suffering a bit of frizz in the humid summer heat. Her designer platform pumps added a good five inches to her already enviable height, made her legs look like they reached the ceiling, and undoubtedly cost more than all
the shoes in Jamie’s closet combined. Jamie wasn’t up on the latest hot designer handbag, but she was certain the gorgeous mahogany leather purse hanging in the crook of Laurel’s arm was one with a waiting list. She exuded wealth and status, and wore the Upper East Side mantle she’d been given at the age of nine by her stepfather as if she were to the manor born. Rich, gorgeous, tall, skinny … if Jamie hadn’t loved her, it would have been soooo easy to hate her.
But Laurel’s betrayal had irrevocably changed and damaged that love.
And now she was here. Invading the sanctuary Jamie had tried to create for herself. Bringing with her the drama she’d traveled seven hundred miles to escape. Resentment and anger bubbled inside her until she felt like a volcano on the verge of eruption.
Jamie pulled in an unsteady breath. She felt Nick come to stand behind her. He rested a hand on her shoulder in a silent show of support she appreciated and desperately needed. She did not want to lose her composure, but God, she was teetering on the edge of screaming. Of striding across the room and ordering her sister to get the hell out. If not for Heather’s presence, that’s exactly what she would have done. She could only pray that her love for Heather would win out over her anger toward Laurel.
It was going to be a very, very close fight.
As Jamie walked toward the kitchen, she took in the tableau before her. Her mom—face pale, frozen in place, glaring at Laurel with the look of a mother bear protecting its cub. Alex—his arm around her mother’s shoulders, looking both concerned and uncomfortable. Heather—wrapped in her mother’s embrace, her expression a dumbfounded, vulnerable combination of Wow, I can’t believe you’re here! and Oh, God, why on earth are you here? that twisted Jamie’s heart. And finally Laurel, standing in Jamie’s kitchen, hugging Heather as if she had every right to be there.
In an effort to locate her voice, Jamie cleared her throat. At the sound, Laurel released Heather, and her gaze collided with Jamie’s.
Anger and hurt exploded in Jamie’s chest. She fisted her hands in an effort to keep her voice calm. “What are you doing here?”
The words were indeed calm, but there was no missing the icy chill in her tone. The question hovered in the air between them for several seconds, then Laurel offered a half smile that appeared uncharacteristically uncertain. “Hi. I’m here for Heather’s birthday.” Her blue-eyed gaze remained steady on Jamie’s, filled with an imploring expression Jamie had never seen from her sister before. “I know you weren’t expecting me, but I hope it’s okay that I came. I didn’t want to miss Heather’s special day.”
Jamie barely swallowed the bitter No, it’s not okay that rushed into her throat. And forced herself to remember what was really important. Heather. “Whatever makes Heather happy.”
There was no mistaking the gratitude in Laurel’s eyes—or the surprise that rippled through Jamie at seeing it there.
“Thank you,” said Laurel. She turned to Jamie’s mom. “Hi, Maggie.” After a brief hesitation, she walked to where Jamie’s mom stood like a statue and gave her a quick, awkward hug—one that wasn’t returned. Laurel stepped quickly back and slid her hands into her jean pockets. “How are you? Patrick mentioned you’d come to visit Jamie. I hope you’re enjoying your stay.”
“I’m fine, thank you,” Jamie’s mom answered, her words clipped and frosty. “And yes, I’m enjoying my stay.”
Silence swelled, broken only by the muted sounds of the baseball game. Laurel’s smile faltered and her gaze shifted to Alex. Recognition, followed by surprise, dawned on her face. “Alex? Alex Wharton? You did the kitchen renovations at Newman’s.”
Alex nodded. The fact that he didn’t appear confused at the thick tension permeating the air made it clear her mother had told him about Jamie and Laurel’s strained relationship. “Hello, Miss Newman.”
Laurel held out her hand. “Please, call me Laurel.” After Alex shook her hand, Laurel asked, “What brings you to Seaside Cove?”
“He’s Maggie’s boyfriend,” Heather said, charging into the electric silence. “And that’s Nick,” she added, pointing to where he’d moved to stand next to Jamie. His shoulder touched hers and his big palm rested on the small of her back, a firm, steadying heat Jamie greatly appreciated. “He lives next door.”
Laurel approached Jamie and Nick, her gaze flicking down to take in his hand resting on her back. Something Jamie couldn’t decipher flashed in her eyes—surprise, maybe. Then she offered him a friendly smile and extended her hand. Jamie stiffened, fighting the urge to slap away those perfectly manicured fingers.
“Hi, Nick. Nice to meet you. I’m Laurel—Heather’s mom and Jamie’s sister. You own the beautiful chocolate lab. I saw the photos Heather posted on Facebook.”
Nick’s left palm gave Jamie’s back what she assumed was meant as a reassuring rub while he shook Laurel’s proffered hand. “Hello. Yes, Godiva is my dog.”
Laurel laughed. “Great name for a chocolate lab.” Then a tiny frown burrowed between her brows and she tilted her head, studying him. “You look vaguely familiar. Have we ever met? Perhaps at Newman’s?”
Nick shook his head. “I’ve never been.”
“At a charity event maybe? Or a gallery opening? Party in the Hamptons?”
“Nick doesn’t attend the sort of events you do,” Jamie broke in, her tone just this side of icy.
Laurel shifted her attention to her. “My mistake,” she said softly. She hesitated, then reached out and gave Jamie a quick one-armed hug that Jamie barely managed to endure without wincing. When Laurel stepped back, she offered Jamie a shaky smile. “It’s good to see you.”
Jamie greeted that remark with stony silence and a cold glare. Then she caught sight of Heather over Laurel’s shoulder. Her niece’s eyes were big and watchful behind her glasses, and once again recalling what was important, Jamie forced herself to say, “We were just about to have birthday cake.”
Without another word she stepped around Laurel and headed toward the kitchen. She offered Heather what she hoped passed for a genuine smile, then asked, “Shall I put on a pot of coffee?”
“I’m good with beer,” said Alex. “In fact, I think I’ll have another one.” He turned to Nick. “You want one?”
“Sure. But coffee sounds good with the cake.”
“I’ll stick with water,” said Jamie’s mom.
“Coffee’s fine for me,” said Laurel. She turned to Heather. “Milk for you?”
“I’m not a baby anymore, Mom. I can have coffee if I want,” Heather challenged.
“Another coffee it is,” Laurel said mildly.
Jamie busied herself with the coffee preparations and pretended her blood wasn’t boiling. She scooped fragrant grounds into the filter, trying to concentrate on the task, but her attention was fixed on the conversation going on behind her.
“So what have you been up to, honey?”
From the corner of her eye, Jamie saw Heather shrug. “Just going to the beach and stuff.”
“I brought you a present.” Jamie turned and watched Laurel reach into her handbag. She withdrew a rectangular robin’s egg blue box garnished with a white satin ribbon. The distinctive color of the box marked it as being from Tiffany’s.
Twin spots of color stained Heather’s cheeks. She took the box and frowned. “Thanks, Mom, but I don’t need another bracelet.”
“I know. But I’m hoping you’ll like this.”
Heather shrugged, then untied the satin ribbon and lifted the lid. And stared. “It’s a … pen.” Jamie didn’t think her niece could have sounded more stunned. She lifted the slim writing instrument that was the same iconic Tiffany’s color as the box it came in and ran her finger over the glossy enamel surface.
“I know how much you enjoy writing,” Laurel said, skimming her hand over Heather’s hair. “I wanted you to have a special pen. To write your special words. And since turquoise is your favorite color …”
Heather didn’t say anything for several seconds. Then she very careful
ly put the pen back in its bed of satin and set the box on the counter. Then she leaned in and gave Laurel’s cheek a quick kiss.
“Thanks, Mom. It’s really cool.”
“You’re welcome.” Laurel blinked back what looked to Jamie like tears, then smiled brightly. “Can I do anything to help?”
Jamie’s brow shot upward. Anything to help? Laurel? Ha! Laurel who was accustomed to five-star service everywhere she went? Who lived in a ritzy Fifth Avenue apartment—the best her stepdad’s money could buy? Jamie barely refrained from asking, Okay, who the hell are you and what have you done with Laurel?
Instead she said, “Sure. We need plates, napkins, forks, and spoons. I’ll take care of the coffee cups.”
Laurel’s gaze flew to the shabby cabinets as if seeing them for the first time. “Okay. I, um, don’t know where anything is.”
“I’ll show you, Mom.”
Whether it was just to fill the silence or because she felt like sharing, Heather told Laurel about the clam festival and the float. Jamie took the opportunity to suck in some much-needed calming breaths. Keeping her back to the rest of the kitchen, she pulled three mugs from the mismatched collection in the cabinet above her head, then watched the last of the coffee brew. Just as the final drops plunked into the glass carafe, a warm hand landed on her shoulder.
“You okay?” Nick asked in a voice only she could hear.
She wasn’t. She felt as if she were hanging on to her emotions by the thinnest of threads that was stretched to the breaking point. Her skin itched with the need to get the hell out of there. Out of the house that was supposed to be her getaway. But how could she get away when everything she’d tried to distance herself from was now here? Crowding her. Closing in on her. God, she felt as if she were trapped in a coffin upon which everyone around her was tossing shovelfuls of dirt.
She wanted to tell Nick she was fine, but knew she’d never pass that whopper off as even partially true. “I’ve been better.”
“You’re doing great. Hang in there.”
Summer at Seaside Cove Page 29
