The smile that lit his face was sweet and mischievous.
Tony looked like his dad. Dark hair, olive complexion, chocolate brown eyes that slanted down at the corners to give him a slightly tortured, sad look even when he wasn’t trying. The teenage girls had to be going crazy over this kid.
She slung her arm around his shoulders. “We’ll talk scary stories around the fire pit one night, okay?”
He nodded. “I’m up for a good horror story.”
“You have no clue, kiddo.” She chuckled and shook her head. “Now why don’t you do your job and go wash those lunch dishes?”
“What? All three plates?” He grunted as he slipped off the stool to head to the kitchen. “When is this island going to get more people?” he griped.
“Hey, don’t knock it. That’s three paying customers.”
“You could have so many more customers. Do you know how many people would flock to this island just to catch a glimpse of acting whiz kid Jordan Drake? Dude.”
“That would be dudette to you. And, no. People wouldn’t come in droves. I’m ancient history.”
Tony shook his head, denying her words. “Wanna bet me? You’re still hot, even if you are my aunt.” He grinned. “I could post a video of you today on YouTube and I bet it would go viral.”
She glared at him. “Don’t you dare. Not if you want a bed to sleep in for the summer.”
He groaned. “Oh, all right. Whatever. I’ll be in the kitchen.” He picked up a guitar she’d never noticed before and trudged toward the kitchen.
While he was music crazy and talked music all the time, he hadn’t arrived in Serenity with an instrument a week ago.
“New guitar?”
Tony looked down and shrugged. “It was a gift last night. I met a generous patron at the concert. Someone who knew my dad.” The mischievous smile reached his eyes this time. “Pretty cool, huh? Maybe I’ll be discovered, like dad.”
Red flags unfurled and snapped in front of Jordan like a matador’s cape. Someone gave Tony a gift at the concert? Shit. She wanted to ask more, find out who, but she didn’t. He hadn’t spent a lot of time with her. She had no credibility, no right to ask him yet. He needed to get to know her better before she started to ask those harder questions. Before she began to caution, probe, and coach him against the wickedness inherent in the world of entertainment. Otherwise, he’d never listen to her warnings about the lies that seduced and wrecked entire careers and lives.
But not here. Not in Serenity. This was a safe haven.
She breathed a sigh of relief. He was here now. He’d be okay. Far, far away from the music industry and any kind of talent scouts who could snare him and pull him into a destructive lifestyle he wasn’t ready to cope with.
He’d be okay in Serenity. This community protected its people. Part of its magic was the people, the other part was the place itself.
Tony was right, though. The island people had closed ranks around her when she’d returned home as a teenager, without her parents, to live in Serenity—an island whose economy was solely dependent on her grandfather’s fishing business and cannery at the time.
Her grandparents had both been alive then.
They protected her. Helped her figure out her life and pull things together. She’d gone to community college, then Wilmington University to get her business degree. And when she was twenty-one she’d purchased The Down Dog Café, the local watering hole and café here on Serenity Island, which was the core of the town really.
But even The Down Dog Café could no longer save the town.
Tourists didn’t come.
Serenity was the best-kept secret, just like its most infamous resident, Jordan Drake, child actress turned party girl who’d finally transformed her life at sixteen, just in the nick of time. It had taken her best friend, Faith, dying beside her on a hotel bed of a drug overdose to bring Jordan around. The island people had adopted her as one of their own right away. And they’d done everything in their power to protect her identity, even calling her J.D. instead of Jordan Drake.
Nope, Jordan Drake had been a precocious child star turned troubled teen and young drug addict. A throw-away kid, really. She’d started modeling at the age of three, had her first TV sitcom role at the age of eight, by ten she’d been cast in her first Disney motion picture. Then she’d starred in two others. At fourteen, two years younger than Tony, she’d begun her spiral downward into drugs and alcohol. By then, her mom and dad had divorced, gotten back together, and split again twice. They’d always fought over her career and her money.
What she understood now, after years of therapy and self-discovery was that she’d been sorely equipped to handle all the upheaval, the constant mercurial changes in her life—her unstable parents, their chaotic home life, the expectations thrust upon her at such a young age. So she’d anesthetized herself against the pain, took the edge off with alcohol and drugs.
The Entertainment Industry was no place for kids.
And she was dead-set against Tony’s relentless dogging about getting into the music industry. If she had any say about it, he’d stay far, far away from anything entertainment-related for the next fifteen years.
Maybe she could get her sister and Tony to stay here in Serenity permanently. Right now, her sister was commuting to Wilmington General, across the bridge for her three twelve-hour shifts. She’d taken a three-month stint to get Tony out of Chicago. The area they lived in was a bad one. But it was the only one they could afford since Luke died. A nurse’s salary only stretched so far. Which is why it was better that they stay here with Jordan. If she could just sell this place. Make a little cash, then she could really help them out.
The front door to The Down Dog Café opened. Sidewinder walked in. “Afternoon, J.D.”
“Wondered when you’d make your way in today.”
“My granddaughter came to see me. I am a little later than usual.” It was almost five o’clock. With not much of a nightlife on the island, The Down Dog was the place to come for dinner, drinks, or just to hang out to learn the latest gossip.
Sidewinder, rumored to have gotten his name from being meaner than a rattlesnake, was a regular. Crotchety, Jordan agreed. Mean, no. He’d never had an unkind word to say to anyone. He usually showed up at three and closed the joint down each night at eleven. And as far as she was concerned, he had a reason to be grumpy.
He tapped his white cane on the floor and made his way to the piano on the small stage at the far end of the café. “Mind if I play, girlie?”
Sidewinder asked the same question every day. And every day she gave the same answer. “Like I could stop you.”
The laugh rattled in his chest. “Sure enough.”
“What are you going to do when I sell this place?”
“Same as I’ve always done. Come play every day. Whether you like it or not.”
Jordan sighed. Sidewinder just didn’t get it. Most people wouldn’t let him keep coming in to play. Especially if someone from outside Serenity bought the building. “Never know. They might put a fancy fitness gym in here.”
Sidewinder hooted and slapped his knee. “Like that’s what we need. Plenty of exercise all around this island in the fishing lines that need to be pulled in every day. No one here needs exercise leading to nowhere. What we need, girlie, is for you to cash in on that fame of yours. Bring some celebrities to Serenity who will invest a little cash locally by buying food at our restaurants, staying the night in our B&B or a weekend at the Seashell Inn, or camping for a week at Sandy Cove Campground. Now that’s what we need. A little notoriety.”
“You don’t need the notoriety I’d bring this island, that’s for sure.”
“Ain’t that bad. All publicity is good publicity, isn’t that what they say?”
“They’d be wrong.” Jordan
snapped, the subject a sore one with her. “Red eye?”
Sidewinder chuckled. “I’m sure you’d like to give me one the old-fashioned way.”
“You know better than that, old man. I’m a lover, not a fighter.”
“Not true, girlie. You, J.D., are one of the toughest fighters I know. Woo-whee. Watch out, Mr. J.D., you gonna have a tough road.”
“As you well know, there is no Mr. J.D. And there’s not likely to be one in my future. Aren’t too many eligible men left on this island. Plus, none that will have me.”
“Wind blows ‘em in every once in a while.” He chuckled to himself. “Yep, why don’t you gimme that red eye. Make it a double. A blind man’s gotta see.” He laughed again. The joke never got old for him. He took off his fedora and placed it on the piano bench next to him. He folded up his cane and put it between his hat and his thigh.
Same routine every day. Some days he came a little earlier. Some days a little later. All in all, he played the piano for hours, never tiring and playing an endless repertoire of songs that didn’t repeat often.
“Too late for a double. You’ll never sleep tonight.”
“Sleep is highly overrated.”
She grabbed a ceramic mug and brewed the espresso-automatic coffee mixture. “Still, you’ll get the red eye.”
“And don’t you make me that lazy eye you tried to pull over on me the other day. I can tell when you use decaffeinated coffee, girlie.
Jordan flung the bar rag over her shoulder and bit the inside of her lip. Bullshit. He never noticed the difference. She’d been making his favorite cup of Joe with decaffeinated coffee from day one. Plus, he might actually sleep if she continued to use decaf.
He ran his fingers over the ivory keys and began to play at the baby grand piano that had been a leftover from The Down Dog’s heyday, when it was a piano bar. The classic structure was still there. The brick arches, the painted tin roof, the hard wood floors. Only these days, everything looked a little well-worn. Shabby chic, Jordan called it.
She placed the mug on a serving tray and delivered it to the cocktail table next to the piano.
The slow bluesy tune Sidewinder played slid up Jordan’s spine and wiggled into the tight places, easing the tension in her neck and shoulders. The tune was sad and mournful. But she liked it. A lot. It kind of felt like her. A little lonely, but still standing tall and proud, if a little raggedy around the edges.
Sidewinder was at the piano, all was right in Serenity.
She’d met The Piano Man, as the residents called Sidewinder, the day she bought the old café. The realtor had joked that he came with the place. He required one meal a day and all the coffee he could drink.
He’d become a permanent fixture at The Down Dog Café.
Jordan closed her eyes and swayed to the music, letting it touch and move her to its intrinsic beat.
Someone cleared a throat across the room.
Jordan’s eyes shot open. Tony? Shit. No. A man, a hot, hunky man stood inside the café door watching her in her short cut-off shorts that dipped low on her belly and her favorite too-tight UCLA T-shirt. Not that she would have dressed any different. Hell, she didn’t dress up for anyone any more. Not for a long, long time. Not since her last red carpet event at the age of sixteen. A lifetime ago.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
The man wore aviators. Dark jeans and a light blue T-shirt stretched across his solid chest. A lightweight black jacket emphasized his broad shoulders. His dark hair looked tousled and a little curly. Light stubble darkened his strong jaw and chin. His full, sensual lips were a dusky rose color; they spread into a wide smile over even white teeth. A deep dimple creased his left cheek and made her belly flip-flop in an odd, fluttery way.
“I certainly hope so,” he said. His rich, deep voice had a rough, raspy edge that sent heat arrowing through her body straight to her core. If that voice could be trapped in a bottle, someone would make millions from it. They could exchange it for gold, maybe solve world hunger, or find a cure for cancer. It was that powerful. His voice was pure auditory sex. Slow, syrupy, and sensual. “I saw the For Sale sign in the window. You know who owns this place? I’m interested in buying it.”
She cleared her throat to try to dislodge the dryness. “Yeah. Sure do. It’s me.”
“Cool.” He pulled his aviators off and she stared straight into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. God. He was drop-dead gorgeous. And Jordan had seen some gorgeous men in her lifetime. “What are you asking for it?” he said.
She took a moment to assess the stranger. He could model Calvin Klein underwear. Wow. She got dizzy just thinking about it. Then, she realized she’d been holding her breath, instead of breathing.
Clearly he was a tourist, but not a run-of-the-mill tourist. This guy had money. He wore an expensive Rolex watch and Berluti shoes that went for eighteen-hundred dollars a pair.
Yeah, this guy had money.
Jordan knew what she and Ivy, the island realtor, had discussed as a good asking price for the property based on the condition of the building. One hundred-fifty thousand dollars.
Tony and Grace needed help, plus she could pad her banking account to last her a good long while if she doubled the price. She didn’t want to be too greedy.
What did she have to lose?
She held her breath a moment and made a snap decision.
“Three hundred thousand. Cash.”
Sidewinder whistled behind them. “Girl . . . I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Quiet, old man,” Jordan barked at him. “And the old man comes with the place. You can’t throw him out.”
The guy smiled. “Deal.” He extended his hand. “I’m Josh, by the way.”
“J.D.”
“You look familiar, do I know you?”
“Nah. I have one of those faces,” she lied.
“Huh.” He shrugged and let it go. “Let me know what bank and name to wire the money to.”
“Seriously? You’re for real? You’re buying the café on the spot.”
“Hell, yeah.” He grinned at her. “I consider it an investment in my future.”
“You haven’t even looked around. You have no clue about the condition of this place. That’s just not a good business decision. There’s a commercial kitchen in back, if you want to keep the café running as a restaurant. There’s a full apartment upstairs. All the plumbing is in order. The roof is good for another ten years.”
“Sounds great. I’ll take it. I’d like to move into the apartment upstairs now if it’s vacant.”
“Ah, yeah. No one lives there. I keep it clean. It comes fully furnished. The furniture is old, but in good shape.”
He walked to the window and pulled down the For Sale sign and handed it to her. He punched a number into his cell phone and spoke to someone. “Wire three hundred thousand dollars to the . . .” He looked at Jordan. “What’s the name of your bank?”
“Atlantic Mutual.”
“Yes, wire three hundred large to Atlantic Mutual in Serenity, North Carolina, to . . .” He raised an inquiring eyebrow, waiting for her name.
Jordan studied the floor, jammed her hands in her back pockets, then took a deep breath. What were the chances he’d recognize her name after her being away from Hollywood for over ten years? He looked to be in his early-thirties.
Maybe he’d recognize her name. Maybe not.
But if she didn’t tell him her name, she’d never get a deal like this again. Shit, shit, shit. She didn’t know this guy. Didn’t know if she could or should trust him. He could be a player.
“Jordan Drake,” she whispered, rubbing her hands on the bar rag she pulled off of her shoulder.
“Sorry, I didn’t hear you.” He angled his head. “I thought you said Jordan
Drake?” Dawning awareness made his eyes go big. “Holy shit. You are Jordan Drake.”
She nodded. “Yeah.” So much for anonymity. She narrowed her eyes at him. “But that’s confidential information.” She pointed a finger at him. “And I swear, if you sell that information to the gossip rags, or bring the paps charging here, I will find a way to eviscerate you. Got it, buddy? Deal or no deal. Your silence and whoever you have on the other end of that telephone line must guarantee that this will not leak out. Got it? It’s my only condition for the sale.”
“Yes, sorry, Joe. Wire the money to Jordan Drake. And that’s confidential information. No one needs to know. No, not even Ben. Got it? I’ll call him with my whereabouts later tonight.”
He disconnected the phone. “Done.” He reached out and shook her hand. His long, strong fingers gripped her palm.
Jordan’s fingers tingled, an electrical pulse surged up her arm. They both looked at their joined hands.
Wow. He’d felt it, too.
She pulled back hastily and braced her hands on her hips. “What are you? A rock star?”
His mouth dropped open and his eyes widened. He blinked. Then he smiled. “Well, yeah, kinda. Hi. Sorry. I didn’t introduce myself properly. I’m Josh Nicodemus, front man for the band Nicodemus.”
Shit, shit, shit. She couldn’t breathe. Her chest squeezed. Not because she was star-struck. Jordan didn’t get star-struck, not even when she’d met George Clooney or Val Kilmer. No, this was an oh-fuck-what-have-I-done panic attack. She didn’t need this. Didn’t need a celebrity here. In her café. Bringing unwanted attention to Serenity. To her. Shit, shit, shit. Everything she’d worked so hard to build could all be ripped away by this one man.
Every Heart Sings (Serenity Island Series) Page 3
