Summer at Seaside Cove (34 page)

“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.

“What's so funny?” she asked.

“Nick was just telling me why boys are so dumb.”

Jamie smirked. “Well, he would know.”

“Hardee-har-har,” Nick grumbled.

She handed Heather her phone. “How did your conversation with your mother go?”

Heather shrugged. “Okay. She was pretty mad about me coming here without telling her. What did she say to you? Can I stay?”

“She just wanted to make sure you were okay. I told her you were fine and could stay.”

“Thanks, Aunt Jamie. Did you talk to her about Italy?”

“No. That's between you and her.” She picked up her towel and shook out the sand. “I don't know about you two, but I've had enough sun and I'm starving. How about we head back to the house and I'll make some lunch?”

“I could eat,” Heather said with her customary shrug.

“Thanks, but I think I'll stay here and hit the waves again,” Nick said.

“You're turning down a meal?” Jamie asked. “Are you ill?”

No. Just sick and tired of fighting this overwhelming need to touch you.
He forced a laugh. “I'm fine. Just in the mood for another swim before heading home. I'll catch you ladies later.”

He felt the weight of Jamie's stare, but with her sunglasses hiding her eyes, he couldn't tell their expression. He watched them gather their belongings, then climb the half dozen wooden steps to the beach-access path. The instant Jamie's curvy ass disappeared from view, he sucked in what felt like his first easy breath in hours. Finally she was out of sight.

Unfortunately she was nowhere near out of mind.

“
P
lease tell me you'll share the recipe for this incredible dessert,” Jamie said to Dorothy later that night. The clam meeting had concluded—her PowerPoint presentation had been a hit, as had her handouts—and now the dozen committee members packed into Dorothy's living area were enjoying their favorite part of every meeting—dessert. Tonight's offering was their host's homemade hummingbird cake, a Southern classic Jamie had never heard of but now ranked high on her Oh, God, That's So Yummy list.

“Happy to share the recipe,” Dorothy said around a mouthful of the moist cake topped with a to-die-for cream cheese frosting. “Especially with the person whose ideas for the Clam Festival have generated so much revenue for Seaside Cove.”

“Hear, hear,” said Megan and Grace in unison, lifting their cake-laden forks.

Everyone else chimed in, and warmth flooded Jamie's cheeks at the praise and show of friendship, and she marveled at the fact that a mere five weeks ago she hadn't even known any of these people, yet now she considered them friends.

“Tastes different than the hummingbird cake I grew up with,” grumbled Melvin, although Jamie noted he was among the first to finish his slice.

“That's my grandma Ernst's recipe and it won her the blue ribbon at more county fairs than you can shake a stick at,” Dorothy informed him tartly. She turned to Jamie and said out of the corner of her mouth, “Shoulda known giving that sour old coot some cake wouldn't sweeten him up any.”

“I'm not sour, nor am I deaf,” Melvin informed her.

“Seems I gotta give ya the deaf part, but I'm stickin' with the sour part,” Dorothy said, throwing him a scowl that he returned with equal force.

He then turned his frown on Jamie. “Saw you got yourself a teenager staying with you now, Newman. Regular hippie commune you've got going on there with all them guests of yours. Hope she doesn't think she can play raucous music at all hours of the night. You'll recall it's lights out at twenty-one hundred at Gone Fishin'.”

Jamie smothered a smile. “She's my niece and she has earphones, so there's no need to worry about loud music.”

She enjoyed her last bite of the delicious cake, then helped Dorothy gather the dirty dishes. She hugged Megan and Grace good-bye, promising they'd meet at the beach the next day.

“The boys will be there with some friends,” Grace said, “so Heather will have kids to hang with.”

“That's great,” said Jamie. “She's with my mom and Alex this evening, discovering the previously unknown wonders of Walmart.”

Megan's jaw dropped. “She's never been to Walmart?”

Jamie shook her head. “They don't have a location in Manhattan. She was pretty blasé about it, you know, rolling her eyes and muttering, ‘whatever,' but I'm thinking she's going to be hooked, just like I am.”

“She'll want to go every day,” Megan predicted with a laugh. “Looking forward to meeting Heather tomorrow and hearing all about it.”

“See you tomorrow,” said Grace with a wave.

They departed, with the other committee members trickling out with promises to see each other the following week for the annual potluck dinner the Clam Committee held for its members, until finally only Jamie and, to her surprise, Melvin, remained. He was lingering, studying Dorothy's collection of shells and sea glass she kept in a big bowl on her coffee table.