Rusty Nailed (Cocktail, #2)(44)

His father was tan, tall, and fantastic looking. His mother? Gorgeous. Healthy and vibrant, they stood with their son, just shy of his teenage years. He was at that age when everyone is all elbows and knees, but you could see that this guy was going to be devastating. As I scrutinized their faces, I could see that Simon got his incredible blue eyes from his father, his blinding smile from his mother.

Though I’d never meet them, I’d never have a conversation with the people who shaped Simon into the wonderfully perfect imperfect man that he was today, I knew I was looking at an extraordinary little family.

“Oh,” was all I could say.

“So tragic,” Mrs. White repeated, shaking her head and tsking in a comforting way.

I handed her back the picture, breathing deeply and making sure the tears that had sprung up were under control.

She took the picture, the album, and tucked it away. Taking a breath, she threw her shoulders back and the rest of her drink as well. “Now, what in the world are those boys up to? Arthur? Where have you taken Simon?” she called out, jumping to her feet. I asked if she would mind sending me a copy of that picture. She smiled and said she’d send me the original.

We headed into the library where we found another fireplace, with another crackling fire. Mr. White and Simon were sitting in leather chairs, with glasses next to both of them. Simon’s was empty, but Mr. White’s still had a trace of dark-colored liquor.

Simon’s face wasn’t pale anymore, but his eyes were the tiniest bit red. As were Mr. White’s. They both stood when they saw us, and Simon crossed to me. I mouthed, Okay? He nodded, and took my hand.

“I believe lunch is ready,” Mrs. White announced, and led the way to the dining room.

She disappeared for a moment while everyone settled around an enormous table, with yet another cozy fireplace behind us. As she took her place across from her husband, I asked her if there was anything I could do to help.

“Thank you, Caroline, but I’ve asked our housekeeper to assist us today,” she said.

It didn’t seem at all out of place that for lunch that day, I was served roasted sea bass with fennel and leeks on white china, by a housekeeper named Fran.

Old-ass money.

Very sweet people.

In the end, it was a really nice time. The Whites fawned over Simon and showed me pictures of him that were taken with their family growing up. They told stories, Simon told stories, and we all laughed a lot.

Simon asked about the family that lived in the house now.

“Very nice people, moved into town from Boston after they were married. They’re both physicians, had their children later in life. Two girls, eight and six. There are several new families in the neighborhood; it’s nice to have kids around again,” Mrs. White said.

“That’s good. It was a good house to be a kid in.” Simon cleared his throat and went to the window, his shoulders tight. The window faced his home.

The fire crackled and popped.

“We should get going. I wanted to drive Caroline around a bit before we get ready for the reunion tonight,” he said, his voice gruff. I started to go to him as he turned. “Thank you so much for having us here today, Mrs. White, Mr. White. I can’t tell you how much— Thank you.”

Time to go.

Mrs. White went to him and kissed him on the cheek. “You come back anytime you like, you promise?”

He nodded.

We left in a flurry of good-byes and number exchanges. I promised to send them pictures from San Francisco when we got back home, and as Arthur and Simon were saying their good-byes, Penny pulled me aside.

“You take care of him. He’s still got a ball of hurt in there that’s never come out, and when it does, it’s going to be hell.”

I nodded. “I’m on it.”

She studied me a moment. “I believe you are, Caroline.” She caught me into a surprise hug.

As we got settled in the car, they waved from the front steps before going back inside.

“They seem like very nice people,” I said.

“They’re the best,” he replied.

As we pulled down the driveway, the trees cleared and I could see the house next door. It was magnificent. Brick for days, circular drive, festive for the holidays. Trimmed hedges, wreathes in every window, even the attic windows under the eaves. An expansive lawn with what looked to be the original carriage house set back from the main house.

“Simon,” I breathed as he slowed down just a bit. “It’s a beautiful home.”

“It was, yes.”

He turned the car away.

Brain wanted to push it, Heart said leave it. I listened to Heart.

? ? ?

I wasn’t sure if Simon would still want to go to the reunion. He seemed so blue when we left the Whites, after having such a good visit with them. I think seeing the house had shaken him more than he thought it would. But once we got back into town, he seemed to rally. His spirits up, he drove me by his high school, the field where he played Little League, and the place down by the creek where everyone went to make out.

I offered. Can’t blame a girl . . .

But once we got back to the hotel, we did share a shower. To conserve water, obviously. And to make sure my Simon had a little extra pep in his step, I dropped to my knees and sucked him off right there in the shower. Because I’m thoughtful like that.

As Simon and I pep-stepped into the lobby of the Wainwright Hotel, he was cool, calm, and collected. With a touch of afterglow. Dressed in black pants, a white button-down, and a leather jacket, he was sophisticated but cool. A man about town, a globetrotter, a secret cat whisperer who would sell his soul for an apple pie. And he was mine.