by Julia London
Mia’s face flushed. “No, just . . . just Brennan.”
“Fantastic!” his mother trilled, and opened the cooler.
“I better run,” Mia said quickly, her gaze darting between Brennan and his mother. “I’ll see you tonight,” she said, and grabbed up her messenger bag and bolted from the room.
Brennan waited until he heard the front door close before he turned around to his mother. “Was that necessary?” he asked, gesturing vaguely in Mia’s direction.
“That young man is besotted,” his mother said airily. “You should have seen him when he came to work before I left. He couldn’t take his eyes from her. I would hate to see that ruined because of you.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Brennan said.
“You know what I mean. You yourself said she wasn’t your type.”
“I didn’t say that,” he argued.
She clucked her tongue at him. “Have you told her?”
He felt himself flush under the collar, a sure sign of guilt.
“Oh God,” his mother said, reading the answer in his expression. “How long are you going to let her go without knowing who you are?”
“I will tell her when the time is right,” he said. Maybe tonight.
“The time was right when you first met her,” she said.
“So she can tell all her friends and then have them tweet about it, and then have the press look into it and start nosing around? Is that how I’m supposed to recover? What’s wrong with a little anonymity? I haven’t lied to her. I’ve answered every question honestly.”
His mother didn’t look as if she believed him.
“Stay out of it,” he warned her. “I’ll be gone in a few weeks, and then you can resume passing your judgments about me from afar.”
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” she snapped. “That you’ll just up and leave that poor girl.”
“Then why the hell did you insist on putting her in my face?” he asked angrily. “You made this happen. You wanted her here. Don’t blame me for the consequences.” He stalked off then, unwilling to argue with his mother another moment.
But he couldn’t deny what she said was true.
The problem was that Brennan didn’t know what he wanted. He didn’t know where he wanted this to go. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing right now.
When he arrived at Mia’s some time later, she opened the door wearing a long, backless dress that tied around her neck. The material was soft and looked almost hand painted, and Mia looked sexy as hell in it. “Nice dress,” he said, nodding approvingly.
“Thank you. I made it for Skylar, but she said it looked too much like Grandma’s couch. So I’m going to make her another one.” She stepped back and cast her arm wide. “Welcome to my tiny little piece of quiet.”
Brennan stepped inside and took it all in. The apartment was small, but stylish. He noted the trendy features, like the glass countertops and the raised platform bed, but what he really noticed was the evidence of Mia. She had filled the space of this studio with her essence. There was an easel with the half-finished canvas painting of the lanterns at Eckland’s. There were two dress forms, one with a stunning green dress on it, and the other that looked as if she was working out a pattern. Her sketchbook was open on a small dining table, and stacks of materials—cloth, metal, things he couldn’t identify—took up one entire corner. And tacked along the walls were her attempts at fine art. Small paintings and big drawings, leather and cloth hangings, metal sculptures.
“Wow,” he said, walking inside. “It’s a studio.” His gaze settled on the green dress. “You’re really good with clothes, Mia.”
“Tell that to my brothers. They think I’m weird. Wine?”
She held up a bottle of wine that could be bought in any grocery store and poured two glasses. On the bar that separated the kitchen from the main living area was a plate with crackers and spreads. “This is my date presentation,” she said, teasing him. “Don’t mess it up.”
He accepted the wine from her with one hand, reached for her with the other, and kissed her, his lips lingering on hers. It was strange how he felt the weight of this relationship in his heart after such a short time of knowing her. Like his heart had been nothing more than a whisper until she began to fill it up. There was definitely some substance here between them, and Brennan believed now was the right time to tell her. “Listen, Mia—”
“Please don’t apologize for your mom,” she said, interrupting him. “I had it coming. She saw me and Jesse together a few times before she went out of town, and I’m sure she thinks there is more to us than there is.”
Brennan stilled. He lost his train of thought and put the wine down. “What is between the two of you?”
“Nothing.” She said it so quickly that even she groaned a little. “That sounds suspicious, doesn’t it? Okay, there is some . . . flirtation,” she said, clearly searching for the right word. “We’ve been out on a date . . .” She peeked up at Brennan. “And I sort of said I’d go to a wedding with him.” She waited for his reaction.
Brennan’s belly roiled. He felt a surge of jealousy. Ownership. Things he had no right to feel. “You don’t owe me an explanation. You should see who you want to see.”
“Well, thank you, I don’t disagree with that,” she said with a funny little laugh. “But as it turns out, I suck at playing the field. All these years, I thought it would be so cool to, you know, date around,” she said, making invisible quotes in the air. “But it’s not cool. It’s hard.”
Brennan put his hands on her waist. “Am I holding you back?” he asked bluntly.
“No,” she said with an adamant shake of her head. She peeled his hand from her waist and held it in hers, squeezing it. “I really like you, Brennan. I mean, I didn’t think I would ever like you, much less, you know, be with you. But I do, I really like you.”
“That’s great,” he said.
“No, it’s not. Look, I’ve lived in East Beach all my life. I know how it is.”
“How what is?” he asked, confused.
She groaned to the ceiling and sighed. “Summer people.”
“Who is that?”
“That is you,” she said. “Summer people is what we year-rounders”—she gestured to herself—“call people like you. People who come up to Lake Haven for the summer and live in big fancy homes that are much nicer than anything we live in. They—you—are generally rich, and generally just passing through.”
“Wow,” he said, sinking down onto a barstool.
“Please don’t be offended,” she pleaded. “I mean, I’m right, aren’t I? It’s not like you’re moving to East Beach. Maybe I’m wrong, but I can’t help thinking that this,” she said, gesturing between the two of them, “is a temporary thing. You’re going to leave eventually. And without a miracle, I may never leave.”
Brennan wanted desperately to argue. But how could he? She was looking at him so hopefully, so clearly wanting him to say that it wasn’t so, that he wouldn’t leave, or that he’d take her with him, and Brennan knew he had to tell her.
He was going to tell her then and there, but her phone rang.
“Oh. Sorry,” she said, and held up a finger as she picked up the phone and answered, turning her back to him. “I can’t talk right now,” she said into the phone, and smiled furtively over her shoulder at him. “Because I’m busy,” she said, and grabbed up her wine and moved into the kitchen. As if that helped—the apartment was so small there was no place she could go for a private conversation. “I can’t come to the bistro tonight, Skylar, I don’t care who is there. I have plans tonight . . . none of your business!”
She paused, drank wine. Then put the glass down.
“I don’t know what he meant because I wasn’t there, obviously. Seriously, don’t you have better things to do than keep tabs on my social life? No, that’s not what I am doing . . . ohmigod, I have to go. Bye. Tell Mom I’ll call her later.”
Mia hung up the phone with a sno
rt of exasperation and threw the phone onto a chair. She looked sheepishly at Brennan. “That was my cousin. She’s very nosy.”
“I gathered.”
“The whole world wants to live my life for me,” she said, and put her hands on her hips, obviously frustrated.
That statement resonated with Brennan and opened his eyes to just how improbably connected to her he was. They shared so many of the same experiences, just on different scales. And knowing that gave him a surge of desire so strong that he abruptly put down his wine, crossed the room to her, and took her in his arms, cupping her face with his hand, kissing her long and hard and with all the doubts and desires that were brewing violently inside of him. When he lifted his head, she blinked with surprise. “What was that for?”
“Because I’ve missed you,” he said. “Because I want—”
Screw that. He suddenly hoisted Mia up onto the table. She made a little cry of alarm and grabbed the wine before it toppled, but Brennan didn’t care if it did. He grabbed her skirt and lifted it up, then pushed in between her legs as he kissed her, his tongue seeking hers, his hands seeking her flesh.
Mia responded quickly; she was suddenly fumbling with the belt of his pants. They worked feverishly together, kissing and caressing, clearing the barriers of clothing between them, desperate for the connection of flesh. In a moment he was freed, and he slipped his hand between her legs. Good God, the woman wasn’t wearing panties, and she was slick. Mia wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck, and then bit his lower lip.
Brennan lost all reason—he plunged into her, sighing with contentment as he sank into her body, the sensation of it so electrifying and satisfying. He pumped into her as she clawed madly at his shoulders, trying to draw him closer, trying to press as much of her body to his as she could. And just as quickly, her head fell back with the bliss of her release.
His release happened just after hers.
He dropped his head to her shoulder, dragging air into his lungs, his mind flitting around all the things he was in this moment. Elated. Spent. Emotional.
“Wow,” she said breathlessly, and with her hand, pushed his head from her shoulder. She stared into his eyes, caressed his cheek, brushed his hair from his face. She kissed his lips softly. Mia didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to—she was a master at reading his expression. Or maybe it was the artist in her that could sense a man’s vulnerability. If she could read his conflicting emotions, if she could see that he was torn between her and the world beyond East Beach, she didn’t say. If she could see that his feelings for her had gone well beyond sex, beyond general curiosity, and were drifting into uncharted waters of love, she didn’t give any hint. She suddenly smiled and said, “Are you trying to avoid my chicken? Because that’s definitely the way to do it.”
“Not your chicken. Never your chicken,” he promised her, and ignored the voice in his head that roared at him to admit the truth.
Nineteen
Mia was in a fabulous mood. After months of watching everything she thought she’d worked hard to achieve crumble around her, things were finally happening for her.
Her creative juices were flowing at last, but interestingly, not in the usual direction. Lately, she’d been making so many clothes that she hadn’t had time to paint. What surprised her was that she really enjoyed it. She’d found a creative outlet that had piqued her interest.
And, for the first time in her life, she was having above-average sex. Way above average. Knock-your-socks-off sex. And, bonus, there were two men flirting with her on a daily basis. She’d had lunch with Jesse yesterday while Brennan was out and had let him flirt with her. It was fun! This had never happened in her life, and Mia had to admit, she liked it. She liked it a lot. She walked around giddy and giggly and so damn happy to be alive it was amazing she didn’t float to work every morning on a balloon of her happiness.
Last, but not least, while Aunt Bev could be a pain in the neck to work for, she paid well, and Mia was actually earning a little bit of money for once in her life.
Mia annoyed Wallace with her bubbly demeanor when she asked to borrow the shop van the next night. She wanted to drive over to Grandma’s house to meet Emily and Skylar and deliver the dresses she’d made.
Grandma met her at the door and swung it open. “There she is! Skylar informs me you’re dating Jesse Fisher. Is that true?”
“Ohmigod,” Mia said cheerfully. “Hello, Nosey Parker.” She dipped down to kiss her grandmother’s cheek. “And no, I’m not dating him. I’m going to a wedding with him. That’s not a date, that’s a favor.”
“Sounds like a date to me,” Grandma said, eyeing her shrewdly.
“Nope. Not a date. Skylar needs to stay out of my business. Where is the big blabbermouth, anyway?”
“She and Emily are out on the porch with the boys,” Grandma said. “Hope you like cabbage soup. We’re having it for dinner.”
“Are you on a diet?”
“Diet! Why would I need to diet at my age? I happen to like cabbage soup, and so does your Grandpa.”
Mia wrinkled her nose.
“Go out there with your cousins. They don’t have any sense, either. I’ll call you when it’s ready.” Grandma retreated to the kitchen.
Mia walked out onto the back porch and was met with shrieks of joy from her cousins, which, for a brief moment, she was foolish enough to believe were for her. But the shrieks were for the dresses, which they snatched out of her hands. Little Ethan joined them in the screeching, and Elijah slept through the ruckus.
“I can’t wait,” Emily said, holding her dress up to peer at it. “It’s gorgeous, Mia. Remember that picture I took of it? I put it on Pinterest and now one of my friends is dying to meet you,” she said excitedly.
“Emily,” Mia groaned. “Why did you do that?”
“Well? Think about it, you could make a little money on the side.”
Mia hesitated. “I could?”
“Of course you could, silly,” Skylar said, holding her dress up to admire it. “I love it,” she said. “So much better than the first one.”
“According to you. I like the first one better.”
“Then you can wear it on your date with Jesse this weekend,” Skylar said, and waggled her eyebrows at Mia.
“Skylar, butt out of my life,” Mia said cheerfully, and fell into a wicker chair.
“How can I?” Skylar asked. She hung her dress from a hook for a potted plant. “I work at Mom’s shop where there is nothing to do but gossip. Wallace has a lot of gossip, by the way. About everyone.” She looked slyly at Mia. “A lot, if you know what I’m saying.”
“I don’t.”
“And then Jesse came in to get a check and totally volunteered the wedding this weekend. Which, frankly, surprised me. Because according to Dalton, you’ve got all kinds of stuff going on.”
Mia sat up and pinned her cousin with a look. “Wallace, too? Seriously, butt out,” Mia warned her. “I’m having a good time, okay? I don’t need anyone messing things up for me.”
Skylar giggled, clearly unperturbed.
“Wait, what’s going on at your apartment? Aren’t you dating Jesse?” Emily asked as she lifted her dress high out of Ethan’s reach.
“No! We went out for drinks, and I’m his plus one at a wedding. That’s it.”
“He’s a great guy,” Emily pointed out.
“I know, I know, Jesse is a great guy. But I’m not looking for a relationship—”
“Of course not,” Skylar said. “You’re playing the field!” she added grandly. “But here’s what I don’t get. Why would you play the field with that odious summer guy from Ross house?”
“What?” Emily cried so loudly that she awakened Elijah.
“It’s true! She’s blushing!” Skylar cried, pointing at Mia. “Wallace was right. Mia, for God’s sake, not a summer guy. Especially not one living with his mother.”
“Okay, all right,” Mia said, waving her hand at her cous
in. “You’re reading way too much into it. I’m not sixteen, you know. I know what I’m doing and I’m just having fun.” That was so not true, but Mia wasn’t about to tell Skylar the truth. “You of all people should get that.”
“Oh, I get it,” Skylar said as she dipped down to pick up the baby, “but when I have fun, it’s with fun people. Not summer people with psychological problems.”
“He doesn’t have psychological problems,” Mia sighed.
“Skylar, leave her alone,” Emily said. “You are the last person to give relationship advice. Mia can see who she wants to see, and if Little Lord Fauntleroy is as weird as she said he is, it won’t last.” She smiled at Mia. “Just don’t blow it with Jesse. We love him.”
“Oh, great, you too?”
“So anyway,” Emily said, holding up a hand to silence Mia’s protests, “you could get three hundred bucks for one of these dresses, easy. You should really think about it.”
Mia forgot her irritation with Skylar for a moment. “Really?” she asked doubtfully.
“Yes, really,” Emily said, and began to extol the benefits of making clothes for other people as a side job. Mia was interested, and she listened. She didn’t think more about Skylar’s meddling, because Grandma called them to a dinner of tasteless cabbage soup, and the talk turned to other things in East Beach.
When Mia left that night, she had agreed to let Emily bring her friend up to her apartment to talk about another dress. She was nervous and excited about it. It was one thing to make clothes for herself or her cousins, but it was another thing entirely to make something for a stranger. It was a challenge she was looking forward to.
The next day, Mia was so busy with work and the dress she was making to wear to the wedding, she could scarcely carve out the time to meet Emily’s friend. So naturally Emily showed up with not one friend, but three, all of them wanting dresses. It was amazing to Mia how she saw colors and shapes when she looked at these women. It was as if each of them presented a different canvas upon which she could create something beautiful and special. She was creating art for them. Up until now, she’d never thought of creating anything other than paintings for others. It was a new and stimulating way to look at her art.
