Summer at Seaside Cove

by Jacquie D'Alessandro

  “I like him very much.”

  Jamie smiled. “I like him very much, too.” And she meant it. So why did the words feel like a lie? Maybe because you more than ‘like him very much,’ her pesky inner voice whispered.

  “You’re heading back to New York in just over two weeks’ time,” her mom said. “What happens then?”

  An unpleasant cramping sensation gripped Jamie. She gave what she hoped passed for a carefree laugh. “Then we won’t be enjoying each other’s company anymore.”

  Saying the words out loud gave her a heart owie that continued to linger the entire time she and her mom walked back to Paradise Lost. But no matter how much the heart owie hurt, Jamie knew she’d just have to suck it up. Nick’s life was here. He’d made it clear he’d never leave Seaside Cove. Her family, her job, her everything was in New York. And in little more than two weeks from now, their time together would be over.

  When they arrived back at Paradise Lost, her mom went directly to Alex, and with their hands joined, they announced they were getting married. Congratulations and hugs were shared all around, then a flurry of activity commenced as Alex loaded Jamie’s mother’s car with their luggage, and Laurel and Heather’s bags were moved downstairs to await the arrival of the taxi that would drive them to the airport for their flight to Italy.

  “We would have driven you,” Jamie’s mom said to Laurel, “but there’s no way we could fit everyone and all the luggage as well into my car.”

  “Definitely not my luggage,” Laurel agreed with a laugh. “A light packer I am not.”

  Nick gave Jamie’s hand a light squeeze. “I need to get something from Southern Comfort. Be right back.”

  While he was gone, Jamie and Heather returned to the house and performed a quick check through each room to make sure none of their belongings were left behind. They’d just finished and were about to head back downstairs where the others were waiting when Nick entered the house holding a Piggly Wiggly bag.

  “For you,” he said to Heather, handing her the bag.

  “You’re giving me groceries?” Heather asked with a giggle.

  “No—I just don’t have any wrapping paper.”

  Still giggling, Heather looked in the bag. Then gasped. Her eyes widened and her gaze flew to Nick’s. “No way,” she said, then pulled a black jacket bearing a formidable-looking tiger from the bag. “But … but this is your Princeton beer jacket,” she said, tracing the bright orange numbers that denoted the year Nick graduated. “I can’t accept this.”

  “Sure you can. Consider it a belated birthday present.”

  “But what will you wear to your reunions?”

  “Only alumni who are out of school four years or less wear them. After that the class designs something new. So if I decide to go to a reunion, I wouldn’t wear my beer jacket anyway.” He shot her a conspiratorial wink. “When you tell your mom what it is, be sure to call it a senior jacket.”

  “I will, I def will,” she said in a breathless voice. She dropped the Piggly Wiggly bag and shrugged into the jacket. It was way too big on her, but she quickly rolled back the sleeves, then held out her arms and asked in an awed voice, “What do you think?”

  “I think it looks a lot better on you than it ever did on me,” Nick said with a laugh.

  “OMG, Lindsey is just going to die when I text her!” She launched herself at Nick and gave him a quick hug, then, with her face resembling a ripe tomato, she stepped back. “Thanks, Nick. It’s the coolest present ever. Seriously. I can’t wait to show everyone.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She dashed from the house, and as the screen door banged shut behind her, her excited voice floated through the window, “OMG, Mom, wait ’til you see what Nick gave me!”

  Jamie turned to Nick and her heart … God, how many owies could it take in one day? It was one thing for him to be nice to her, but quite another for him to make her niece look like she’d just been given the moon and stars. “That was really nice of you.”

  He set his hands on her hips and urged her forward until their pelvises lightly bumped. “I’m a really nice guy.”

  Yes, he was. And the idea of saying good-bye to him—

  She ruthlessly cut off the thought and shoved it as far down as it would go into the Cross That Bridge When I Get There abyss. “So I’ve noticed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so excited. Especially over something most teenagers wouldn’t be caught dead wearing.”

  “Speaking of stuff you wouldn’t wear …” He slipped a single finger beneath the thin strap of her tank top, eliciting a delighted shiver from her. “I’m looking forward to you not wearing this top.” His other hand slid down to cup her bottom. “Or these shorts. And as soon as all these people leave—”

  His words were cut off by the honking of a horn. “Sounds like they’re ready to go.”

  “Good. Because as much as I like them, I’m ready for them to be gone.”

  Jamie couldn’t help but laugh. “Me, too.”

  They joined the others downstairs, and amid much hugging, laughing, and a few tears, Jamie’s mom and Alex piled into the car, while Laurel, Heather, and their mountain of luggage squeezed into the taxi, then both vehicles drove away. Jamie and Nick waved until they’d turned the corner and vanished from view. The instant they did, Nick swung her up in his arms and walked purposefully toward the stairs.

  “In a hurry?” she asked in a prim voice—as if she wasn’t.

  “Yeah.” He paused at the bottom of the stairs and treated her to a deep, fierce, tongue-mating kiss that made steam pump from her pores. When he raised his head, he looked into her eyes and said, “We only have about two weeks left, so I’m not inclined to waste any time. That okay with you?”

  Since his kiss had stolen her ability to speak, she merely nodded. Two weeks left. Two weeks left. And as he climbed the stairs with her cradled in his arms, she shoved those words right down into the Cross That Bridge When I Get There abyss to reside with the depressing thought of saying good-bye to him.

  Chapter 29

  “What’s all this?” Nick asked, looking at the array of ingredients and cookware set out on his countertop.

  “We’re ready for your cooking lesson.”

  “What are we making?”

  “Three things—first are frosted sugar cookies.”

  Nick nodded his approval. “Excellent. I love cookies.” To prove it he stepped in behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, then lowered his head to nibble on her neck. “Yum.”

  She laughed and wriggled out of his reach. When he reached for her again, she snatched a wooden spoon from the counter and brandished it like a sword. “Back off, big boy. Cooking is serious business. Don’t make me get rough with you.”

  Nick grinned. “Rough? Oooooh, baby. This gets better and better.” He made a rolling motion with his hand. “Carry on. What else?”

  “While the cookies are baking, I’ll teach you the other basics I promised—how to boil water for pasta, and how to cook eggs.”

  “How long do the cookies need to bake?”

  “Eight minutes. This recipe makes three batches, so we’d better get—hey! Where are you going?”

  “Be right back,” he said over his shoulder as he walked out of the kitchen. He returned less than a minute later. “You forgot an ingredient.” He set his contribution on the counter.

  Jamie glanced down, then cocked a brow. “Condoms?”

  “We have to do something for those eight minutes while the cookies bake.”

  He watched color bloom on her skin and couldn’t resist smoothing his fingertips over her velvety smooth cheek. Damn but he loved that blush. And was amazed she still could do so after the countless hours they’d spent naked together.

  “And since it’s only eight minutes,” he continued, “we’ll need a head start.” He flicked open the button on her denim shorts, pulled down the zipper, and with a single tug, they landed around her ankles, leaving her dressed only in her whi
te tank top and black lace panties. “Now that’s what a cooking teacher should wear.”

  Her lips twitched. “I’ll remember when I give my next lesson at the senior center.”

  The subtle reference to her life in New York knotted Nick’s insides. With the same effort he’d put forth every day of these last two weeks, he ruthlessly shoved aside all thoughts of her leaving and forced himself to concentrate on the present. On this special moment. Because they were nearly out of moments.

  She eyeballed his jeans. “So how come I’m the only one in my underwear?”

  In the blink of an eye, he’d rid himself of his jeans—and his T-shirt as well. And had snatched her into his arms. “Now we’re cookin’,” he said, nuzzling her neck.

  She laughed and pushed back against his chest. “I can see that baking cookies with you is going to take all day.”

  He palmed her breast. “I sure hope so.”

  She laughed again—damn, he loved that husky sound—then adopted her schoolmarm voice—another sound he loved. “Behave yourself or there’ll be no cookies for you.”

  He heaved an exaggerated sigh and let her go. “Fine. Show me what to do so we can get these suckers in the oven. I have plans for those eight minutes.”

  Amidst much laughing and kissing and leaving floury fingerprints on each other, she taught him how to preheat the oven—which worked like a charm now that the operating manual wasn’t inside—how to cream together butter and sugar, operate a hand mixer, roll out dough, and use a cookie cutter. It was fun—but only because she was there. He sure as hell couldn’t imagine himself baking cookies without her. Which made this but one more in a very long list of things that were special because of her. Things, moments, he’d never forget.

  After they slid the cookie sheet into the oven, she showed him how to set the timer. The instant she was done, he yanked down her panties, jerked her tank top over her head, swooped her into his arms, and carried her to the nearest chair—snagging a condom on the way.

  All amusement, all playfulness vanished as the need to be inside her, to feel her wrapped around him, nearly strangled him. He set her down long enough to shuck off his underwear and roll on the condom, then sat, pulling her down so she straddled him. With her gaze on his, she lowered herself, engulfing him in her tight, wet heat. When he was fully, deeply inside her, they both stilled.

  With her beautiful caramel-colored eyes looking deeply into his, he reached up to frame her face and realized his hands weren’t steady. Emotions collided in him, a jumble of feelings he’d been trying for these last two weeks to figure out how to express. A thousand words that needed to be said, yet in the end they all boiled down to just one word. The word that had drummed through his brain for the past eight weeks, gathering speed as the days zoomed by, careening forward until now … when they had only this day, then one more. And then there would be no more days.

  “Jamie.”

  Her name passed his lips in a fervent whisper that ended in a groan when she rocked against him.

  With her gaze still on his, she captured his hand and pressed a lingering kiss against his palm. “Nick.”

  Gazes locked, they moved together, slowly at first, each stroke pushing him toward a climax he didn’t want to reach. He wanted to prolong this day, this moment, never let it end. But need, desire built and soon, much too soon, they climaxed, shuddering against each other, holding tight. He’d barely caught his breath when the timer beeped. Still joined, their gazes met. The sight of her—tousled and flushed, her lips moist and swollen from his kisses—touched something inside him that he hadn’t even known was there until she proved its existence.

  With the incessant beep piercing the silence, she whispered, “We’re out of time.”

  And his heart ached with the knowledge that she was right—and it had nothing to do with cookies.

  The morning after their lesson, Jamie awoke in Nick’s bed. Lying on her side, she felt his warmth pressed against her back and took a moment to simply drink in the feel of him. God, she loved waking up in his arms. Falling asleep with his naked body pressed against hers. The sensation of his skin on hers. She glanced down and her heart constricted at the sight of his large hand splayed against her abdomen. It looked so right there. Felt so right.

  And it was about to end.

  Because today was her last day in Seaside Cove.

  Stifling a sigh, she opened her eyes and looked at the small bedside clock. Seven A.M. Time to get up and start getting ready for the Clam Festival. Then, after the festival, she’d spend her final night with Nick. Then wake up early to catch her morning flight back to New York. To the hectic pace of the city. To everything that was familiar, that she’d known her entire life. To her family and Kate and all her other friends. To her apartment and her job and the restaurant her father had built. To her life.

  Where she belonged.

  Her insides ached with the knowledge that there were so many things she’d miss about Seaside Cove. The neighbors who’d become friends. The cats that wandered the neighborhood and cleaned out the food bowl she filled twice a day. The gorgeous sunrises. Walks on the beach. Buying shrimp on the side of the road. But what she’d miss most of all was Nick. How was it possible that her time here had passed so quickly? Especially the last two weeks since her family had departed. Two blissful weeks spent with Nick.

  Nick … She’d spent every day with him and each day, each hour, had proven more magical than the one before it. Lounging on the beach, splashing in the waves, playing with Godiva, walking hand in hand along the shore, talking, laughing, kissing. She’d accompanied him to Kevin and Liz’s house twice on day trips, and both times she’d loved spending time with the couple and Emily.

  She and Nick had enjoyed several meals at Oy Vey Mama Mia, and one night Jamie cooked a big spaghetti dinner for Megan and Grace, and their families and Dorothy Ernst. She’d also invited Melvin, who, to her surprise, had brought her a small bouquet of flowers as a hostess gift. “Don’t get many dinner invitations, Newman,” he’d said gruffly as he’d shoved the blooms toward her.

  They’d spent hours exploring the quaint beach towns surrounding Seaside Cove, discovering one particular store called Seas the Moment that was like the Home Depot for beach-themed items. Nick asked her for help in choosing some lamps and wall prints for both Southern Comfort and Paradise Lost, and they’d laughed as they staggered out to his truck with his numerous purchases.

  They’d devoted several days with the other volunteers to finishing the float, and when it was finally done, the entire committee headed to Oy Vey Mama Mia for the lunch special of bagels and lox with a side of melon-wrapped prosciutto. Jamie completed her paperwork for the vendor submissions and layout and felt a real sense of accomplishment and pride when, during the final clam meeting, everyone applauded her efforts. The camaraderie and team atmosphere of the committee reminded her very much of Newman’s—except without the stress of turning out thousands of meals a week.

  Evenings were spent enjoying the nightly bonfire. Several times she and Nick rented movies and they’d snuggle on the sofa with Godiva and Cupcake and a huge bowl of popcorn. They rarely managed to make it to the end of a movie, however, as Nick had wandering hands and lips and Jamie found him far more interesting than anything on the screen.

  And the nights … they’d spent every night together. Exploring. Learning. Laughing. Making love. The way he touched her left her breathless. Sated, yet aching for more. Never in her life had she felt so in sync with anyone.

  Especially yesterday during their cooking lesson.

  The way he’d made love to her while the cookies baked had lodged a lump in her throat. There’d been so many things she’d wanted to say, to express how much their time together had meant to her, but the only word she’d been able to manage was his name. Just … Nick. Yet somehow, that had said it all.

  And now it was about to end.

  Nick stirred behind her and she briefly squeezed her eyes closed as the wor
ds that had haunted her for the last several days once again drifted through her mind.

  How was she going to say good-bye to him?

  God help her, she didn’t know.

  Any more than she knew how she’d ended up sleeping with a guy she hadn’t even liked when she first met him. Or when what was supposed to be nothing more than a light, no-strings fling had started to feel so very … not light.

  Slowly, so as not to awaken Nick, she sat up in the bed. Turned to look at him over her shoulder. And found him regarding her with an indecipherable expression.

  “Hi,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “You didn’t. I’ve been awake for a while.” He took her hand and gently tugged. “Come here.”

  The teasing warmth she was accustomed to seeing in his eyes in the morning was gone, replaced by a solemn intensity that heated her right to her core. She snagged a condom from the supply on the bedside table. He wordlessly took the packet from her, sheathed himself, then settled his body between her splayed thighs. With her gaze locked on his, she glided her hands over his torso, his back, memorizing again every inch of the skin she’d endlessly explored these past few weeks. Her orgasm overtook her, and with a cry, she absorbed every shudder. Nick’s strong hands gripped her hips, and with a final deep thrust, he found his release.

  Aftershocks still rippled through her when she pressed a kiss against his neck. His pulse thumped hard and fast beneath her lips and for several seconds she savored the sensation. Until reality returned, along with those depressing words.

  How was she going to say good-bye to him?

  For Nick the Clam Festival passed by in a blur. With Jamie’s palm snug against his and Godiva’s leash in his other hand, they’d visited every one of the dozens of craft booths. She’d done a great job arranging the layout, and he lost count of how many times they were stopped by Seaside Cove residents who echoed that sentiment.