Somebody to Love (Gideon's Cove #3)(51)

“Good point, kid.” Lavinia punched Parker on the arm fondly. “Have a great day. And thanks. I’m off to have my orgasms.”

“You go, girl,” Parker said, swallowing. Would definitely be throwing away that cranberry muffin from Joe’s, no matter how good it had looked a half hour ago. Lavinia saluted as she left, hitching up the waistband of her drooping shorts.

As soon as her cousin was down the block, Parker opened the windows. She liked Lavinia, sure, but the smell of cigarette smoke was nasty. Made Parker look forward to her swim later on even more than usual.

Funny thing about that swim—the water seemed to do wonders for Beauty, who acted like a normal dog, leaping off the dock, retrieving whatever happened to be floating, joyfully paddling after Parker, making her funny little woofing breaths. But James…James clearly didn’t like it. Wherever he was, he’d stop and watch her go. It wasn’t the bikini thing—though she had to admit, his reaction upon seeing her that first time was very gratifying. No, he ignored her as she went out, and as she came in, but the whole time she was in the water, she could feel his eyes on her. Must’ve seen Jaws too many times as a kid.

But the swims were glorious as far as Parker was concerned. The icy bite of the water, the tang of salt, the sure, strong strokes as she swam. Maybe she could get a job as a swim coach or something. Not that she could support Nicky on that, but it was a thought. She’d been on the swim team in college, after all. Had been the third Olympic alternate, which by Olympic standards meant she was a loser, but by normal human standards meant she was pretty great. Swimming was one of the few times she felt as if she knew exactly what she was doing. That, and being Nicky’s mother.

At the thought of Nicky, she glanced at the calendar. Thirteen more days.

The house was shaping up, as James had predicted. A week and a half, and he had on a new roof. Chimney fixed, most of the old shingles off the side. He worked like an ox, she’d give him that.

But it was still…uncomfortable, being around him. There were definitely moments where she really, really liked Thing One. And then she’d remember how he’d known she and Nicky were about to be financially ruined. How he’d known they’d have to move. How he’d taken care of his own interests and not said a word to her, even knowing that she and Nicky were completely dependent on that stupid family trust. Well, Nicky had Ethan to support him. There was that.

But even as those things seemed to matter less, there were those phone calls from Harry. Oh, yes. She’d overheard them. The easy camaraderie between the two men. Practically father and son. BFFs till the end of time.

Harry hadn’t called her once. She made her own dutiful weekly call, but they never talked for more than three minutes.

“It’s the old wound,” she said, quoting the dying Lancelot. Paternal rejection left a mark on a girl. A woman. Bugger and damn, she was thirty-five. Hardly a girl anymore. Half a decade older than Thing One. Ethan, too for that matter, which had never seemed to be an issue. He had an old soul. James did not.

Time to whip out Mr. Clean, her favorite male these days. Lavinia didn’t really seem to care much about where things were in the flower shop, but Parker had been itching to rearrange. It was a tiny little space, jammed with all the detritus of the business. Not that there was a lot of business. Maggie and Malone’s wedding was coming up. Otherwise, there’d been a couple of get-well arrangements, one sheepish-looking husband in for a bouquet, two new babies. So far, if Parker was at the shop, Lavinia let her handle every job. Vin seemed oddly detached from the flower arranging. The only thing she really seemed to care about was the small greenhouse that housed the orchids, where she spent hours each day, misting, watering, checking soil pH. Parker had offered to help and was immediately waved off.

“You like doing the flowers? Run with it,” she’d told Parker. “This back here is my baby.”

And Parker loved doing the flowers. She’d spent a summer down at a finishing school of sorts, where she’d learned helpful things like how to pour tea, make conversation without expressing an actual opinion and yes, walk with a book on her head. The flower arranging had been the only thing she’d really enjoyed. At night, there had been other lessons—how to buy drugs, water down your parents’ alcohol so they wouldn’t realize you were drinking, give a blow job, demonstrated on a banana by Caitlynn Swann, whose father owned most of North Carolina. Obviously, these nighttime lessons weren’t on the curriculum, but the older girls had taken it upon themselves to share. Parker had been fourteen at the time.

At any rate, she’d always liked flowers. Back in her Grayhurst days, she’d cut a bunch every Monday from the vast garden and put together something for the kitchen table, her nightstand, Nicky’s room—though he had a tendency to pick off any red petals and glue them on his Star Wars figurines to represent blood. She’d even put an arrangement in the bathroom. It always felt nice, flowers in the loo. Made brushing your teeth seem much more pleasant.

Four hours later, Parker was dusty, sweaty and more than pleased with her efforts. She’d dragged the card display to be near the cash register and rearranged the shelves with all the little tchotchkes. The shop was now much easier to navigate, the dusty porcelain figurines and candles wiped clean and placed in the corner. She put the houseplants on the wide shelf in the front window—Lavinia had them against the back wall, for some reason—and made a gorgeous arrangement of gerbera daisies, larkspur, irises and ferns for the counter, the colors all in shades of pink and purple. Beautiful.