Somebody to Love (Gideon's Cove #3)(42)

But she hadn’t been feeling the mojo. Not that she’d loved the Holy Rollers, but the books had come easily to her. You’re welcome, said Spike, who now looked to be a thuggish sixteen. About time we got some recognition around here. He tucked a cigarette behind his ear.

“No smoking,” she said. He stubbed the ciggie out against his palm, Lavinia-style, and lifted an eyebrow. Teenagers.

She got up and headed inside. Thing One was still ripping and tearing stuff, apparently having his period. She may as well start dinner.

Once all the crap had been cleared from the kitchen, Parker had scoured it. The linoleum was torn in a few places, but otherwise, the room had a sort of cheap charm. Shabby chic, maybe? There was a kitschy little table, one of those chrome-and-vinyl models from the sixties, white with bits of gold, and a couple of usable chairs. Parker had excavated a strange plastic tomato statue; it wore a top hat, had long eyelashes and sported a cane, which, upon further inspection, turned out to be a smiling green worm. She put it on the table and smiled. Looked kind of cute.

Grayhurst’s kitchen had consisted of granite and marble and steel with rare-wood cabinets and knobs designed just for the house. The knives were German, the china French. The table had been an original Frank Lloyd Wright.

Well. Those days were over. Sparkly vinyl and plastic tomatoes were more her speed now. And the linoleum, while still cracked and yellowing, was clean, at least. Things were moving in the right direction.

The swim had been great, though James had a point. That water was freaking cold. But swimming had always made her feel calmer and happier. Nicky, too, she’d noticed. He’d love the water here, her little eel. She’d been on Skype with him earlier during a quick run to the library; they were at a gorgeous lodge in Muir Woods. Nicky had looked bigger to her. Then again, that might be her imagination. They’d only been apart for five days.

Hard to believe. It felt like five months.

The sound of screeching wood came from the opposite side of the house. James, still hard at work. The noise was like a knife in her eye. Maybe the lad was hungry. She’d see if he had any preference for dinner. Seemed like the least she could do.

Going outside, she saw that James was still shirtless.

Oh, that was…that was good. That was nice. The guy browned up fast, that was for sure. His hair was wet with sweat, and half of the shingles on the side of the house were gone. His muscles bunched and corded as he worked. Beautiful arms, lean stomach, the muscles over his ribs shifting hypnotically with his movements. A bead of sweat ran down his neck into the little hollow at the base of his throat.

He glanced at her without stopping. Right. She should speak. She swallowed. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he answered.

“Are you mad at me?” she asked. “For taking a swim?”

He did stop then. “No. Just had a crappy day.”

Parker felt a pang of guilt. She didn’t know much about Thing One, granted, and she’d definitely been keeping conversation terribly neutral. But here he was, working like a dog for her. And when she’d gone swimming, he’d been rather adorably anxious.

“Want some dinner?” she asked. “I’m cooking.”

His eyes were very dark. Ethan’s were brown, too, but a lighter color. James, though. James had eyes that were so brown they were almost black. A person could look into those eyes and just about get lost.

“Sure,” he said, then went back to ripping off the shingles.

Crappy day, huh? Well, she’d make him something nice. She’d been to the market this morning—not the tiny one in town, but the bigger one about half an hour away—and had stocked up. In the sunny kitchen, she rinsed some spinach, sliced tomatoes, put the water on to boil the pasta. James came in to shower, and it was hard not to imagine him in there, all soapy and wet. And tanned. And naked. And wet. And naked.

“Down, girl,” she said to herself, causing Beauty to flop to the floor. “I wasn’t talking to you, sweetie,” Parker added. The little dog had been trained by someone, it was clear. She didn’t put a toenail out of line, as if afraid of being beaten, poor sweet thing. “You’re such a good girl,” Parker said, giving her a strip of salami. She was rewarded with a slight swishing of the dog’s tail.

Dinner wouldn’t be too fancy, but it smelled heavenly. She opened a nice bottle of Meursault, stolen from Grayhurst’s wine cellar, then brought everything down to the dock and set it up, picnic-style. She poured a glass of wine for herself and sat down, looking out at the water.

The harbor was smooth now, the smallest ripples lapping gently against the rocky shore, and the sun was beginning its descent, filling the horizon with gold, turning the clouds to cream. A piping plover ran along the shore, stopped to peck at something, then ran some more. Always in such a hurry, those little birds.

The dock shifted, and Parker looked over. James had changed into jeans and a white polo shirt and looked like an ad for Ralph Lauren.

“Didn’t know you could cook,” he said, looking down at the spread.

“Surprise. I like cooking. Have a seat, James.” She patted the blanket, poured some wine and handed him a glass. “Thanks for all your hard work today.”

“You’re welcome. Thanks for dinner.”

“You hungry?”

“Starving.”

They ate, plates in their laps, looking over the water, not talking. The tide was going out, exposing a few rocks, and a line of cormorants swam over and clambered up, spreading their wings to dry. A few lobster boats motored in. There was Billy Bottoms, the white-haired man who looked as if he belonged on a postcard; Parker had met him at the diner a couple days ago when she was picking up lunch. Then came the Twin Menace, which belonged to Maggie’s brother, she’d learned. The Ugly Anne came in last, and Malone lifted a hand in greeting. She waved back.