Summer at Seaside Cove (22 page)

“I learned a long time ago that if you don't take care of yourself, no one else will, so where you're seeing ‘selfish' I'm seeing ‘smart.' There's nothing wrong with taking time for yourself, Jamie. And it isn't as if you kicked your mom to the curb. In fact, it seems like you've been taking good care of her.”

“Well, she requires taking care of. Ever since my dad died, she's been sort of high-maintenance and I usually don't mind helping her out. But in this instance the timing is less than stellar.”

“Timing rarely is stellar. But maybe Alex coming here is good.”

She turned to look at him. The setting sun glinted off her windblown curls, gilding the shiny honey strands. Her huge golden brown eyes reminded him of sweet caramel, and damn it, he loved caramel. The tip of her tongue peeped out to moisten her lips, a flick that filled him an overwhelming urge to stop walking, yank her into his arms, and kiss that beautiful plush mouth. But no way in hell was he going to give in to the craving. Next kiss was going to have to come from Miss No More Kissing.

“How do you figure?” she asked.

Damned if he knew—he'd looked at her mouth and completely forgotten what he'd said. “Figure what?”

“That Alex coming here is a good thing?”

Oh, right. He forced himself to look straight ahead and focus on Godiva, who'd momentarily stopped to gnaw on the tennis ball. “If they're able to work out their problems, then there'll be no reason for them to stick around. They'll head back to New York, and you'll have Paradise Lost all to yourself.”

“And if they don't work out their problems?”

“Are you always so ‘glass half empty'?”

“Believe it or not, no. Usually when life gives me lemons I—”

“Make lemonade?”

“Actually, I add cutlets and capers and make chicken piccata.”

“Even better. But obviously not in this case because you're very”—he heaved the ball again for Godiva and searched for the right word, finally settling on—“tense.”

“Jeez—ya think? Yes, I'm tense—and frustrated—because I planned this time away, and in spite of my intentions, it's not turning out at all the way I'd envisioned. This time was supposed to be for
me
. For me to fix
me
.”

“What's wrong with you?”

“Now who's being a smart-ass?”

Nick shook his head. “I'm serious. I mean, yeah, you've got your quirks and faults and you're bossy as hell—”

“Wow, you really are a sweet-talker—”

“—but who doesn't? So what about you needs fixing?”

“What about
you
needs fixing?”

He grinned. “Aw, you don't think I'm perfect?”

“No.” Godiva came back and dropped the ball at Jamie's feet. She picked it up and hurled it an impressive distance. “What you are is adept at sidestepping personal questions. You did it all through dinner with my unsubtly probing mother.”

He shrugged. “I'm not comfortable being the center of attention.”

“Or maybe you just like to keep people at arm's length.”

Unable to keep from touching her, he skimmed his hand down her back and said softly, “You've been closer to me than arm's length.”

“Briefly. And only physically.”

“Nothing wrong with physically.” He paused and snagged her hand, forcing her to stop and face him. “Do you want to be closer to me than that?”

The question hung in the air between them and he wondered what in God's name had prompted him to voice it. What the hell was wrong with him? She'd made it perfectly clear she didn't want to get involved. And even more importantly,
he
didn't want to be involved. With anyone. Let alone this woman with her recent breakup and her pregnant mother and the mother's boyfriend and oh, yeah, she lived seven hundred miles away, and God only knew what else. But it seemed that he'd figured out Jamie Newman's superpower—it was the ability to make him say and do things that were the complete opposite of what he actually wanted to say and do.

She held back her curls with one hand and studied him through those caramel-colored eyes. “Do you mean do I want to be physically closer to you, as in have sex, or do I want to be closer to you more than physically, as in emotionally?”

When he didn't answer right away, she lifted her brows. “Are you listening?”

“Uh, no. 'Fraid not. My train of thought jumped the track when you said ‘sex.' ”

She blinked. “You didn't hear anything I said after the word sex?”

“ 'Fraid not.” He shook his head to clear it of the mental image of them naked and sweaty. “Sorry.” To keep himself from giving in to the temptation to yank her into his arms, he started walking again, and she fell into step beside him. “So finish telling me what about you needs fixing. I'm pretty handy.”

“You are, but I'm not a leaky roof.” A humorless laugh escaped her. “Although I feel like one.”

“Which is why you came to Seaside Cove.”

She turned to look at him. “And why you came here, I suspect. I'll tell you if you tell me.”

“Sort of like I'll show you mine if you show me yours?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you talking about sex again?”

“Um, no?”

“I thought you said you didn't lie.”

“Okay, then yes.”

“Well, I'm not. No showing—just telling.”

“I like my version better, but I'll play. You first.”

“Why me first?

Nick looked skyward, then muttered, “Bossy
and
she questions everything.”

“Part of my charm.”

“I have no idea why I find you more charming than annoying.”

“And there you go sweet-talking me again.”

“I actually meant that as a compliment.”

“Seriously? Here's a tip—your complimenting skills need some improvement.”

“I'll work on it. You first.”

She drew a deep breath. “Fine. You know my boyfriend cheated on me.”

Nick nodded. “Yes. And for the record, any guy who would cheat on you is an asshole.”

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome. See? Told you I'd work on it.”

“Noted. Anyway, he didn't just cheat—he cheated with my sister. My eight-years-older-than-me sister.”

Nick winced. “Ouch. Triple whammy—you lost a boyfriend, a sister, and your dignity.”

“Nail on head. Laurel's actually my half sister. Her mom and our dad divorced when she was six. My dad met my mom a few months later and it was love at first sight. I was born a year later. I adored Laurel the way I guess most little kids do their older siblings, but as I got older I sensed that she'd always resented me for coming along. That I, in her mind, stole our dad's affections and time.”

Nick spied a sand dollar, but when he bent down to pick it up, realized it was broken. “She didn't see your dad?”

“She stayed with us every other weekend, and the entire month of July. Then, when she was nine, her mother remarried Martin Westerly.”

Nick's brows shot up. “
The
Martin Westerly? As in Westerly department stores?”

“Yup. And in a heartbeat Laurel became a Park Avenue princess. You call
me
princess? Ha. Laurel could give Queen Elizabeth herself a few pointers. Exclusive private schools, designer clothes, all the trappings. None of that ever really interested me—just as well as my dad couldn't afford it. Laurel started looking at me like the poor relation.”

“And what about the boyfriend?”

Jamie sighed. “He was from Laurel's lofty universe—private jets, trust funds, private schools, blah, blah, blah. Getting involved with a guy from that world of elite entitlement was a huge error in judgment on my part. Never again.”

Nick glanced at her and noted her resolute expression. “It's not his fault he's from a rich family.”

If looks could chop off heads, his would have been rolling in the sand. “You're
defending
him?”

“No. I'm merely saying that just because someone has money doesn't automatically make them an asshole. That's a distinction each person needs to earn on their own merit.”

“Which Raymond did. In spades. But I met his family, I saw and experienced how they live, how they treat people, the subtle—and sometimes not so subtle—don't-you-know-who-I-am attitude. The expectation that their every wish, no matter how outlandish, would immediately be granted, and that there was always a loophole. I believe that deep inside him, Raymond just felt that rules didn't really apply to him, that there was always an exception, and he was entitled to that exception—a trait that resulted from his privileged upbringing.”

“And yet you fell for the guy.”

“I didn't realize that aspect of his character at first. And even after warning bells started ringing in my head and red flags began waving in the wind, I ignored them.”

“Why?”

She huffed out a humorless sound. “One of the many questions I've been forcing myself to examine. And I haven't liked the answer.”

“Which is?”

She hesitated, then said, “I got sucked into the lifestyle. Getting into the best clubs, never having to wait for a table, car and driver at our disposal, VIP sections, quick jaunts by helicopter to his family's Hamptons estate. I didn't question things that I should have. Overlooked character flaws I'd deemed unacceptable in previous boyfriends. And I didn't like what that said about me.”

“Sounds like you learned a lot about yourself.”

“True. It was quite a jolt to realize I'd embraced so many things I'd previously thought of as shallow, activities I'd equated with Laurel, never myself. It's a situation I'll never let myself get lured into again.”

“So . . . no more rich guys with helicopters for you.”

“Exactly. I see one of those helicopter/private-plane/ loophole guys again, I'm heading in the opposite direction.”

Nick pondered that for several seconds, then asked, “How long were you together?”

“Eight months. He started sleeping with Laurel six months in.”

“How'd you meet him?”

“At Newman's—Laurel had convinced him and some of his friends to stop by for dinner. She works there, too.”

Nick whistled softly. “So that's why you took two months off seven hundred miles away.”

“Yes. I needed a break.”

“What does your sister do at Newman's?”

“Her official title is customer relations liaison. She's a networking whiz. Brings in lots of patrons and catering jobs from her wide circle of rich friends and social connections. As much as it pains me to say, she's very good at what she does.”

“Which is schmoozing,”

“Yes. And boyfriend stealing.”

“If he could be stolen he wasn't worth keeping.”

“My mind, my common sense knows that, but my pride took a nasty hit. It's not easy or pleasant to lose your boyfriend under any circumstances. When you lose him to someone who's thinner, better looking, richer, and eight years older than you—who just happens to be your sister? Serious ego blow. The sort that makes you feel frumpy, dumpy, lumpy, and bumpy.”

Nick shook his head. “She can't possibly be prettier than you.”

Jamie laughed. “Okay, you're definitely getting better with the compliments, but that one crossed into bullshit territory.”

“I don't bullshit.”

She looked as if she wanted to argue, but instead she continued, “After we broke up I did a lot of soul searching, and while I didn't solve everything—thus my desire to get out of Dodge and come here—I came up with some interesting conclusions.”

“Such as?”

They reached the pier and in silent accord turned around and headed back. She hesitated, then finally said, “This will probably sound crazy, but I felt like I missed out on being who I was supposed to be, who I wanted, deep down, to be, because I was so busy being the person everyone wanted and expected me to be.”

“That doesn't sound crazy at all.” In fact, he knew exactly how that felt.

“As much as I enjoy Newman's, it was never my dream to work there forever, but it sure was my dad's. It was more something I fell into, and as I got older, my responsibilities grew, and I just sort of became the manager. Then, after my dad died, the restaurant just overwhelmed my life. In the last couple of years, I've tried to make it more my own, put my personal stamp on it, but my mother won't hear of it. She wants everything to remain exactly the same as when my dad was alive. It's been a big bone of contention between us. I love Newman's, but . . .”

“It was your father's dream, not yours.”

Jamie turned her head to look at him. “That sounds like the voice of experience.”

Nick shrugged. “It is. So what's
your
dream?”

“I've always wanted my own dessert place—somewhere that specializes in cupcakes, cookies, pies, that sort of thing. Something small, intimate, maybe live music, great date place. Near the water. Something I've built from the ground up, decorated myself, everything handpicked by me.”

“The way your dad did for Newman's.”

She picked up a flat rock and skipped it into the waves. “Exactly. It's been in the back of my mind ever since I was a teenager, but Newman's just sort of . . .”

“Swallowed you?”

She nodded. “Exactly. And that's it for me. Your turn. What's your dream?”