Somebody to Love (25 page)

Had James ever been married? The thought lanced Parker with an abrupt arrow of shame. She’d never asked. Was he divorced? A widower? Or was this laughing woman his sister? He had mentioned a sister, as well as three brothers, but Parker couldn’t see enough of her face to tell if they looked like each other.

But she could see that the woman had curly hair, beautiful skin and that she loved James. And he loved her back.

Very carefully, she put the picture back and started on the taping. When she was done with that, she pulled the bed away from the wall. There was hardly enough room to get past, as James’s room was significantly smaller than her own. A thought occurred to her. “Hey, James?” she called, going back into the hallway. He was right there, and she jumped back. “Oh. You’re in. I thought you were, um, still outside.”

“I’m gonna shower and head for Dewey’s,” he said.

“Oh.”

“It’s Malone’s bachelor party,” he added.

“Right. I knew that.” Too bad they couldn’t shower together. Save time and all. Wet, naked, soapy James and her own wet, naked self—holy halos, Batman. Her knees softened, then thunked into place, locked. Great. She was staggering without even taking a step. “Well, have fun, Thing One.” Her voice was brisk. “Don’t drink and drive, of course.”

“I never do.” He leaned against the wall and looked at her. He hadn’t shaved today. He was still fairly baby-faced, in fact, not one of those men who could grow a beard in a couple days, like Malone or, um, what’s-his-name. Ethan.

“What did you need?” he murmured.

What indeed. She felt her cheeks warm. God, this was just not her, all this swooniness and blushing! “Well, if I start painting tonight, the fumes might bother you. So maybe you should sleep at your uncle’s house. Or on the couch. Or something.”
Your bed is pretty big, Parker,
the Holy Rollers pointed out. Great. Now her angels were becoming pimps.

“Okay. Want me to move Apollo while you’re painting?”

“Sure. Your call. Whatever. It’s all good.”
You babble when you’re nervous,
the HRs noted. “Thanks,” Parker added, then closed her eyes. “So who’s the woman in the picture?” She inclined her head toward his bureau.

“My sister.”

Oh, goody. Sister. Not wife. “You guys are close?”

“Yes.” His mouth pulled up on one side, and her knees wobbled again.

“Well. You have fun tonight, James.”

He smiled and went past her, and the brush of his arm against hers was enough to make her entire side tingle.

Fling.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

J
AMES
WAS
POSSIBLY
a little bit drunk.

The thing was, he never really could hold his liquor. His father and brothers, man, those guys could pound beers like coal miners or teamsters or some other group who drank a lot of beers. And these lobstermen, damn, they were drinkers, too. But James had been working in the hot sun all day; he hadn’t slept much the night before because of
that kiss,
and he might’ve been pretty dehydrated and fairly exhausted before those beers hit his system. Three beers, one cheeseburger, a very loud bachelor party with guys making toasts to things like “not being a priest” and “Maggie’s desserts” and stuff like that.

Jonah, the brother of the bride and Chantal’s husband, lucky bastard, was sitting next to him, talking about nothing the way men do—why Boston could beat the Yankees in practically every game this season yet still be in third place. Guy stuff. Same sort of nothing James talked about with his buddies in Providence.

All in all, James felt slightly dizzy, pretty foggy and generally happy. “I got a question for you, Jonah,” he said, watching as Malone won another game of pool. “How’d you get Chantal to marry you?”

“Got her pregnant,” he said. “Then I kept bugging her till she said yes. Why? Oh, hang on a sec. Georgie’s calling me.”

“Here’s the deal,” James said, possibly slurring a little, “I have a thing for this woman, right? A big thing. But it’s like her heart is…I dunno. Made outta Plexiglas. Stuff bounces off Plexiglas, right? And that shit’s hard to break, know what I mean?”

“Dude, you are whipped,” a female voice said. James blinked. He thought he’d been talking to Jonah, but this was not Jonah next to him. No. It was a woman. A very, very, veryveryvery beautiful woman who could even give Perfect Parker a run for her money. If you liked black-haired, blue-eyed Liv Tyler type of princesses, that was. Which guys did.

And you know what? He was a guy. Who probably should look for a woman whose heart wasn’t made out of Plexiglas. She looked like…what was that thing that turned into a seal? Mary Elizabeth loved that book. A selkie. That was it.

“Hi, I’m James. You are so beautiful, I shouldn’t even look directly at you or I might go blind.”

She smiled, growing even more beautifuller, if that was a word. “Hi, I’m Emory. Malone’s eighteen-year-old daughter.”

“Shit. I take it back and apologize, and if we could pretend this conversation never happened, that’d be great.” He looked at her glass. “Also, I hope that’s soda, because I’m an officer of the court.” Yep. Drunk.

She laughed. “It’s root beer.”

“Why are you here? Aren’t women banned from these things?”

“Nah. I hardly get to see my dad, so I got to come. Dad! Come over here!”

“No, no, that’s fine,” James said, but Malone turned, his eyes locking on James in an unmistakable look—
If you touch my daughter, I will kill you, cut up your body and use it as bait.
James shoved his chair a little farther away from the Liv Tyler selkie thing as Malone approached.

“Is he bothering you?” Malone growled.

“No!” James said. “No. I’m not. Absolutely not. I barely even know her. Besides, I like someone else.”

“Father dear, James was telling me his romantic woes. He’s in love with someone who doesn’t love him back. It’s really tragic.”

Malone’s face creased a little. “I know.”

“You do?” James asked. Malone here was psychic or something. Cool.

“Ayuh. Parker, right?”

“Right! Parker,” James said, nodding. Nodding made him feel a little sick, so he stopped. “You guessed? Is it really obvious?”

“Ayuh.”

Okay, here was a guy who had spoken maybe three sentences that James could remember, but he was marrying the cutest girl—woman—in town. There was Jonah, who wasn’t even as old as James, and he’d dated and mated Chantal the Delicious.

“So how’d you do it, man?” James asked. “’Cuz I’m trying my best, and she doesn’t seem to even notice. Her heart is like Plexiglas. Or cement. Something really hard, whatever.”

“Jeezum crow,” Emory said, taking a sip of her soda. “It’s like watching a puppy being put to sleep. Help him out, Malone.”

“Yeah. Help me out, Malone,” James said. “’Cuz you got Maggie, who’s so cute.” Another glare from Scary Lobsterman Guy. “Sorry. She’s not. I mean, she is… I’ll stop now. Good job, is what I meant to say.”

Emory laughed. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t that easy, James. My dad was as pathetic as you are. Right, Dad?”

Malone took a sip of his beer. “Ayuh.”

“So whatja do?” James said.

Malone shrugged. “Waited her out, I guess.”

Emory shoved his shoulder. “He didn’t wait. He kissed her, and according to her, he’s a great kisser, which made me throw up in my mouth. I mean, ew! We have to have a talk about boundaries, since she’s gonna be my stepmother and all. And why anyone would want to kiss that ugly mug…”

Malone slid his arm around his selkie’s shoulders and smiled.

“I tried the kissing,” James said. “Didn’t work.”

Malone grinned. “Try again.”

James leaned back in his chair and pretended to fire a pistol at Malone. “Good advice, partner,” he said, just before the chair tipped over.

An hour or so later, James followed his uncle upstairs to the little apartment.

“You have fun, kid?” Dewey asked.

“Definitely,” James answered. “Thanks for letting me crash here.” He’d switched to water after Beer #3 and was feeling much improved.

“Your mom called today,” Dewey said, pulling a blanket out of the closet and handing it to James.

So much for feeling improved. “How’s she doing?”

“Good. Worried about you. She saw something on the news about your boss and whatnot. Figured out you’re unemployed.”

James nodded. “I paid Beckham for the next few years. She doesn’t have to worry.”

Dewey folded his arms across his massive belly. “I think she was worried about you, Jamie. When was the last time you saw them?”

“It’s been a while.”

“Ayuh. Well, they’re your parents.”

“Yep.”

His uncle sighed. “I know it’s tough, kid. And for whatever it’s worth, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you need. Wouldn’t mind having you around more. You were always my favorite nephew.”

James gave a halfhearted smile. Staying was a nice thought. Find a sweet, easygoing girl, do some blue-collar job. Carpentry, maybe. Those options, however, had died when he was much younger. “Thanks, Unc. But I can’t. Gotta make the big bucks. Or at least as big as I can manage.”

Dewey nodded. “Right. Well. You’re a good kid, you know that?”

“Sure.”

“All right. Sleep well.”

He probably wouldn’t. The clock was ticking on getting a real job, taking care of his responsibilities. He couldn’t play house with Parker forever, and the thought of leaving her, of not seeing her anymore—ever, maybe—made his chest hurt.

Tomorrow, he’d be helping Dewey set up for the wedding, basically transporting the bar over to the town green, serving drinks, cleaning up. Parker would be doing the flowers and whatnot.

It occurred to James that the last time he’d been at a wedding with Parker, they’d ended up in bed.

A guy had to wonder if he might get that lucky again.

As he lay there on Dewey’s lumpy couch, James felt the beginning of a smile. Weddings had always been good to him.

Maybe there was reason to hope tomorrow’s would be, too.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

P
ARKER
WOKE
UP
at five—the curse of a parent. Nicky had always been an early-to-bed, early-to-rise kind of kid. He could sleep through fireworks, thunderstorms and alien invasions, but he was bright eyed and bushy tailed long before the sun came up.

Well, the one small benefit of having him with Lucy and Ethan for three weeks was that at least she didn’t have to answer his endless stream of questions before having two cups of coffee. She stretched, and her little dog did the same.

“Sleep well?” Parker whispered, petting the dog’s silky head. She’d have to make sure Nicky understood how shy Beauty was, as the little guy tended to charge toward whatever caught his fancy. “You’ll be sweet to Nicky, right?” Parker asked the dog, and Beauty’s tail gave a slight wag.

Today was the wedding, and she had a ton to do. She got out of bed, pulled on jeans and a Joe’s Diner sweatshirt—because prior to this month, she hadn’t
owned
a sweatshirt, for heaven’s sake.

James wasn’t on the couch; Parker figured he must’ve opted for his uncle’s place instead.

Or maybe he’d found some cute woman who didn’t have so many hang-ups and suspicions. That was a definite possibility. Sure, he’d kissed her the other night. And she’d told him not to do it again.

You really need to figure out what you want,
Spike advised sagely.

“Shush,” she told him.

When the coffee was finished brewing, Parker filled a travel mug, clipped a leash on Beauty and got into her car. She drove through the silent town, past the lovely brick town hall, the more modern and uglier police station, where she’d been a guest. Across the diner was a paper banner—Congratulations, Maggie and Malone!

The couple was getting married by a justice of the peace right on the town green, in the little gazebo next to the flagpole and war memorial. A potluck reception—Parker had never been to one of those—would be held under the white tent. The tables and chairs were already there, Parker could see, though not yet set up.

They might not have much in the way of a flower budget, and Maggie was definitely a casual bride, but there was something really touching about the two of them—lovely, outgoing Maggie and the quiet, honorable Malone—and Parker wanted to make their day beautiful. Going to all those wildly expensive, over-the-top weddings of her cousins and family friends and college mates…well. She knew something about floral arrangements.

A short way out of town she pulled off the road. A field rich with lupine was just past the scrubby pines that lined the road. Parker had never seen the cone-shaped wildflowers in bloom before, but last week, she’d nearly driven off the road at first glimpse.

She pulled over, got a few buckets out of the back of the Volvo and started cutting.

* * *

B
Y
THREE
O
’
CLOCK
that afternoon, Parker was finally satisfied. Everything looked…well, stunning; she really had to give herself credit here.

The gazebo was twined with garlands of ivy and hydrangea blossoms, most of which she’d, er, appropriated from a lush bank at the edge of the Pines property. Collier wasn’t around, but Parker figured that he wouldn’t mind—or even notice. On the wide steps leading into the gazebo were two huge arrangements of pine, lupine, twigs and more ivy and phlox, a riot of color and deep, dark green. Parker had filled eight tin buckets with smaller versions of the arrangements and set them out at intervals along the makeshift aisle.

Inside the tent, she’d strung up fairy lights; Vin had had some in a closet, and last week, Parker had emptied a going-out-of-business craft store of its cache. All the supports and poles were lit up like the old Tavern on the Green in Central Park and twined with more blossoms of hydrangea, wild roses, baby’s breath and lupine. For the centerpieces, Rolly had helped her drill holes into split white birch logs, into which Parker had put tall white candles, then set that into a bed of pine, roses and fern.

It was magical and lush and uniquely Maine, and she couldn’t wait to see the look on Maggie’s face.

Lavinia was delivering the bouquets and boutonnieres to the bride and groom, so Parker was free to go. She took one more smug look around the tent. Time to go home, shower and change. Good thing Lucy had convinced her to bring a really nice dress in case of a fling.

And speaking of flings and weddings, it was hard not to remember Esme’s big day, when Parker had ended up with James. He’d been little more than a stranger back then.

This time, she had reason to like him.

The thought made her knees wobble a bit.

* * *

L
IKE
MOST
MEN
,
James wasn’t crazy about most weddings. Ceremonies were mostly the same, give or take. Brides looked pretty. Food was mediocre and took too long to be served. The expense always seemed a little grotesque. Single women tended to eye him the way a starving coyote might eye a plump, blind baby bunny, then make their predictable and unsubtle advances. In fact, that’s how he and Leah had met. A New Year’s Eve wedding. She’d been cute, she eyed him, she kept positioning herself closer and closer, till she could accidentally bump into him and apologize, with plenty of hand laying and hair tossing.

Parker’s wedding pass had been, by far, the least subtle ever. She’d been no sneaky coyote, no. More like a strike from a great white. Didn’t see it coming, was completely stunned.

Not that he’d complained.

This wedding, he acknowledged, was nicer than most. Parker and Vin had done a great job on the flowers; in fact, Maggie’s mouth had dropped open when she got out of the limo, and people couldn’t stop talking about how pretty everything looked. Every time he heard someone gushing, he felt a little rush of pride for his housemate.

And speaking of, she looked…perfect. Wearing a long blue dress cut low in the front and low in the back. Hair up in a twist. She wasn’t wearing shoes, and the sight of her toes peeping out from under the silky fabric was getting him a little aroused. Didn’t take much where she was concerned. Whether she wore that horrible Yankees cap and stained jeans or a gown, she was beautiful.

She was also avoiding him. She’d waved. He’d waved back. She seemed to be arming herself with babies; first Chantal’s fat little package, then a smaller baby, then one that could walk.

The bride herself appeared. “Jamie, you don’t have to stay glued behind the bar,” she said, her cheeks flushed with happiness. “Eat something! We can pour our own wine.”

“You sure look pretty, Maggie,” he said.

She smiled, and for a second, she looked exactly like the cute waitress he’d had a crush on way back when. “Thanks,” she answered. “But go. I’m the boss of today, right? Go eat something. Dance with someone. Parker, for example. Malone said you have a huge crush.”

James shot Malone a look. “Thanks, pal.”

Maggie leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m so glad you came up this summer.”

“No kissing other men,” Malone said. “Wife.”

“Oh, that’s right, we’re married,” Maggie said. “I forgot why I was wearing this white dress.” She slid her arms around Malone’s waist. “Go, James. I am queen and therefore dismiss you. Have fun. Oh, hang on, there’s Parker. Parker! Over here!”

“She’s really bossy,” James muttered to the groom.

“Ayuh,” he agreed.

Because Maggie was queen, Parker came over, and James felt his nerve endings do the now-familiar howl.

“Parker, these flowers are amazing! I can’t get over it!” Maggie said, hugging her.

“Thanks, Maggie. So glad you like everything.” She paused. “Hi, James.”

“Parker. Always lovely to see you,” he said. Her cheeks grew pink. James smiled. Used to be, he could only make her ears turn pink. Now he had the whole face. Progress.

“Oh, I love this song,” Maggie said. “Come on, Malone, let’s dance.” Malone grimaced—what straight guy wouldn’t—it was something by Beyoncé about all the single ladies.

“You have to obey her,” James said. “She’s the queen…”

“Thanks for nothing,” Malone muttered, following his wife as she dragged him onto the dance floor. Poor slob. Well, he wasn’t that poor. He was smiling.

James turned to Parker. Her blush deepened. “Did you have fun last night?” she asked.

“Sure.”

“You stayed at your uncle’s?”

“Yep.” She smelled so good. “You look beautiful,” he said quietly.

“Thank you,” she answered, then cleared her throat. “You look very…um, nice to see you dressed.” She winced, closing her eyes. “Dressed up, I meant. In a suit. More like yourself. Whatever, don’t listen to me. Nice wedding, don’t you think?”

She was nervous; he could feel the electrical current radiating from her. She licked her lips—
God
—and the blood made the cheerful and familiar flight from James’s brain straight to his groin. “The flowers look great.”

“Thank you.”

Such pleasant chitchat, when what he really wanted to do was…her. Yeah. That was right. Just clear off this table and tip her back on it, and let nature do its sweet thing.

A lock of her hair slipped out of its twist, brushing against her cheek. James reached out and slowly tucked it behind her ear, his fingertips brushing her silken skin, touching her earlobe. Her lips parted. He looked in those green eyes, which had grown soft and unguarded, and felt his heart slow to thick, solid beats.

The Beyoncé song ended, and something slow came on. “Want to dance?” he murmured.

“Excuse me?” she whispered.

“Would you like to dance, Parker?”

She blinked and seemed to come out of the trance that had wrapped around them both. “Oh, I should— I have to check something. Um, rain check?”

“Okay.”

With that, she turned and fled, like a scared little horse or something, stopped and fussed with an arrangement, and glanced back at him, then looked quickly away.

James felt a smile begin in his chest. Parker was afraid of dancing with him. Had to be a good sign.

He looked over the guests. There were a couple of age-appropriate women there, giving him the coyote stare.
Not today, ladies,
he thought, and approached a tiny, ancient old lady who was looking at the group on the dance floor with a bit of longing on her face. Bingo. His date for the evening. “Would you do me a favor and dance with me?” he asked.

“Oh, my
word!
” she exclaimed. “I can barely
stand,
let alone
dance,
sweetheart!”

“I’m extremely handsome and strong,” he said. “You sure you want to turn me down?”

“Fine. You’ve
convinced
me,” she said, standing with the help of her cane. She came up to his chest. “What’s your name, young man?”

“James Francis Xavier Cahill.”

“Oh! What a
lovely
name! I always did love the name James! I was so sorry when they shortened James Stewart to Jimmy.” She patted his shoulder fondly. “You can call me Bess. Do you know it’s been at least a
dozen
years since I danced?”

“I think you’re lying,” he said, maneuvering very carefully among the other dancers. “You’re too pretty to be on the sidelines. You must have at least three boyfriends.” He grinned as she laughed.

Parker had made herself scarce.

Well. They happened to live together, so she couldn’t hide forever.

James also danced with Lavinia, danced with Maggie’s mother, dodged a pass from a woman he didn’t know, and made his way back behind the bar and stayed there, watching the crowd. Parker stayed on the sidelines, though she did dance with one of the Three Musketeers, the guy whose wife died earlier this year.

She didn’t come his way again.

A while later, his uncle approached, sweaty from having danced with Maggie’s twin. He sat down in front of the bar and eyed James. “Why don’t you go home, kid?” he said, wiping his forehead. “We’re all set here.”

“No, I’ll stay, Unc. Help you pack things in later on.”

“Nah. You did all the setup. Don’t worry. The McConnell kid will do it. He needs a little money. Going off to Dartmouth this fall.”

James hesitated. “Okay.” He started to walk off, then stopped. “Dewey,” he said, “I wanted to thank you.”

“What for?”

“For letting me come stay with you when I was a kid. When things were tough.”

Dewey’s expression changed. “Sure, kid. Now go home. Go. Git. I’m gonna see if Chantal will dance with me for old times’ sake.”

* * *

L
ITTLE
M
ONKEY
WATCHED
the other monkeys swinging through the vines. Gosh, it looked like fun! But what if she missed the vine? She might fall, breaking her bones as she crashed through the branches, possibly rupturing some organs as she fell to the jungle floor, where Hungry Jaguar was waiting to gobble her up. On second thought, maybe she’d stay in the tree instead, make a martini and call it a day.