Somebody to Love(95)

Mrs. Kandinsky’s peeping voice came clearly through the heating vent, piercing the warm, drowsy fog.

“Is that your other girlfriend?” Parker whispered.

“I was trying to keep you two apart,” James said. He leaned over the bed and shouted, “Be there in a few, Mrs. K.!”

“Thank you, dear! You’re an angel!” she chirped.

“I should get back, anyway.” Parker propped her head on her hand and looked at him a long moment, her face serious. “You’re not nothing to me, James,” she said gently, and the words felt like a gift.

“Glad to hear it,” he murmured, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I do want something with you,” she said. “But to be honest, I have no idea how to do this. Whatever it is, it’s going to be glacier-slow, okay?”

“I like glaciers.”

She smiled, and there it was again, that aching pressure in his chest. Love, or a heart attack. Kind of the same thing.

They pulled on their clothes. James followed her to the door and kissed her, and watched as she blushed and then made her way down the stairs. She waved from the sidewalk, then walked briskly away.

He closed the door, smiling like a fool. An hour ago, he’d been moody, horny and glum.

He wasn’t any of those things anymore.

Life was good. Wicked good.

“James, dear! The pretty blonde is gone! Could you help me find the remote?”

“Coming, Mrs. K.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHANTAL HAD SHOWN the house twice, and the second couple had seemed genuinely interested. It was August now, and Parker had to face facts. Her time in Maine was winding down. She sighed, sitting down at the kitchen table, the sun streaming in through the windows.

Two nights ago, she and James and Nicky had gone to Dewey’s, along with half of Gideon’s Cove. Nicky had shown off his impressive belching abilities, though Lavinia had him beat in that area; Parker had held little Luke Beaumont while Chantal and Jonah danced; Maggie sat on Malone’s lap to make room for Collier Rhodes, who’d come in to mingle with the locals.

And every time she’d glanced at James, he seemed to be looking at her, a little smile playing on his face.

They hadn’t slept together since she’d gone to his apartment. There’d been some very hot groping on the couch after Nicky had fallen asleep one night—the things her boy toy could do with his hands, without even taking off her clothes, should be documented and sent to men everywhere—but James didn’t seem to mind that it hadn’t gone further. “Another satisfied customer,” he’d murmured against her neck, and if she hadn’t been so weak and trembly, she would’ve smacked him. Ended up kissing him instead. He’d left with a grin on his face.

During the day, James was around, putting on some final touches to spruce up the little house. The fresh shingles, green tin roof and the pots of flowers had sweetened the place; it might not be a jewel, but it definitely looked like a house. Not a shack.

As for Nicky, well, if he didn’t adore James, he didn’t hate him, either. But while James did have a knack for bringing her son great presents—the lobsterman gloves, a key chain flashlight and a shovel that folded—he wasn’t exactly comfortable around her boy. She caught him watching Nick a lot, almost the way a person once bitten by a dog might watch a puppy, as if he wanted to like her son but wasn’t quite sure how to.

But real life was waiting. Parker had to get a job. Since the ridiculous Ark Angels, she hadn’t managed to send in another idea for a series, and the weekly prodding emails from her editor only made her sweaty. The creative part of her brain felt utterly empty.

We were your one and onlies, Spike informed her.

The truth was, she didn’t really miss writing—Thanks a lot! the HRs said, pouting. She loved working with Lavinia, though; Vin had passed most of the duties off to her and spent her time smoking and reminiscing on the great loves of her life. Her cousin adored Nicky, and the two of them spent a lot of time drawing pictures of swords and maces, Nicky’s latest passion.

Another thing to miss about Gideon’s Cove. Lavinia.

But Parker missed Mackerly, too; missed Lucy and the sweet little town, the bakery, the Mirabellis. And now, she actually had a place to live. The rental deal had gone through, according to the email she’d gotten earlier.

“Nicky!” she called. “Come see our new place. The internet’s back up.” James had brought her an antenna for her Mac, so she no longer had to traipse to the library to go online.

Nick came running into the kitchen; James followed, smelling sharply of wood and paint. “Where is it?” her son demanded.

“It’s about three blocks from Daddy’s restaurant.”

“I’m gonna be a chef,” Nicky announced. “Like Daddy. Or a spy.”

“Or both,” James said.

“Yeah! Both! Which one’s my room, Mommy?”

She clicked on a photo. “I thought you’d like this one. See the slanty ceilings!”

Nicky’s eyes widened in a most gratifying manner. “It’s like a fort! Or jail! Like where Grandpa Harry lives!”

Okay. Change of subject called for. “And here’s the yard,” she said, clicking on another picture. Tidy and tiny, filled with flowers.