Hearts at Seaside (Sweet with Heat: Seaside Summers Book 3) Page 3

  “Jamie’s started some new project, so he’s not sure when, maybe in a week or two, but Tony is booked solid with speaking engagements. He texted last night and said that between his surfing competitions and the motivational speaking schedule, he’s not sure he’ll come at all this summer.” Amy’s eyes filled with sadness. She’d had a crush on Tony for years, and like Jenna with Pete, every summer she hoped for more.

  “Oh no, Amy. I’m so sorry. I can stay home with you tonight,” Jenna offered. Part of her hoped Amy would ask her to stay.

  “Go. Have fun. I’m fine. I have a juicy romance novel to read.” Amy tucked her hair behind her ear.

  “Aww, Ames. We both need to get a life, don’t we? You can’t hang on to the hope that Tony will finally come to his senses and realize you’re the best woman on the planet any more than I can wait around for Pete to notice how magnificent I am.” Jenna smiled and pointed to her head. “Men are thick. I’m telling you, thick.”

  Amy glanced at Tony’s cottage, then brought her attention back to Jenna. “Yeah. I know. Let’s see how your summer goes before I throw my hope into the wind.”

  Jenna blew her a kiss and then headed for the Beachcomber with her heart beating so hard she was sure she’d pop the few buttons she’d secured. What was she doing? She didn’t pick up men on the street, not even fine-looking, hard-bodied men. She thought about what Amy had said about Pete and she wondered if he really had looked like he was going to kill Charlie. The thought made her smile, and then it made her angry. He had no right to get upset, especially since he never seemed to think she was worth asking out.

  As she pulled into a parking spot at the Beachcomber, her cell phone rang. Mom. She might as well get it over with now, or her mother would call her a hundred more times before the night was over.

  “Hi, Mom. I’m sorry, but I’ve only got a minute. I’m on my way to meet someone.”

  “Oh, really?” Her mother was using the new and improved, overly dramatic and far too interested tone that grated on Jenna’s nerves.

  “Don’t get your hopes up. We’re just having a drink, maybe going dancing.” Jenna loved to dance, but she hadn’t been since she and the girls went dancing two summers ago. She only wished she were meeting—and going dancing with—Pete instead of Charlie. I’m definitely losing my mind.

  “Dancing, now, that sounds like fun. I was thinking, maybe since you aren’t going to be coming home over the next few weeks, I’ll just pop down to the Cape for a few days. I can sleep on your couch.” The cottage had belonged to Jenna’s parents before they stopped going to the Cape and gifted it to Jenna. Jenna had spent summers sleeping on her parents’ pullout couch, but hearing her mother say she’d sleep on it grated on Jenna’s nerves.

  Jenna clenched her eyes shut. She loved her mother, but she also loved her summers at Seaside. They were hers, and she’d really like to keep it that way, but Jenna was also softhearted, and Amy was right; her mother was going through a hard time. Her father had decided to marry Cara, a woman just a few years older than Jenna, and Jenna was stuck in the middle of her father’s happiness and her mother’s crisis. She loved her father, but at the same time, she hated seeing her mother so upset. Even though her father hadn’t left her mother for Cara—they’d divorced because they’d grown apart—it was definitely not a fun place to be, sandwiched between two people she loved.

  It was too much to think about right now. She had a hunky man waiting for her inside the Beachcomber, and she was ready to be adored.

  “Maybe, Mom. Let’s talk about it in a few days, okay? Are you okay otherwise?” Her mother was always okay. That was, until the news of her father’s impending wedding crushed her sense of self. She’d been so strong during the divorce that Jenna was confused at her reaction to the news of her father marrying Cara two years later.

  “Oh, yes.” She sighed. “I’m okay. Just miss you, I guess. Nights are long when I’m alone, but go ahead, honey. Enjoy your date. And who knows? Maybe when I come down we can go on a double date.”

  Don’t even go there. Jenna didn’t grace her with a response to that unpleasant idea. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Mom. Love you.”

  “Love you, too. Have fun, and be safe. Remember to use—”

  “Mom! Stop. We talked about boundaries, remember?” Ever since her mother’s new endeavor to reverse time and become half her age, she wanted to talk about sex and all the things that went along with it. It was enough to turn Jenna’s stomach, and right now, she wanted to be turned on by a hot construction worker, not turned off before she even entered the restaurant.

  PETE WIPED HIS hands on his jeans, feeling the gritty particles of recently sanded wood against his palms. He had been working on the schooner all evening, in an effort to keep from dwelling on the fact that Jenna was out on a date with that stinkin’ construction worker. The scent of sawdust and damp earth filled his lungs inside the boat barn he and his father had built five years earlier. The barn was large enough to hold boats up to forty-eight feet, giving Pete room to work freely around the perimeter with ladders and other accoutrements. He stepped back and assessed the schooner. It rested on six jack stands and was an easy twelve feet tall and equally as wide. To a land lover, the schooner would feel massive. To Pete, it felt just right. Comfortable. But in truth, the schooner did more than fill his love of refitting boats. Schooners were his father’s passion. If his father were his old self, he’d be by Pete’s side, working late into the night, rejuvenated by the feel of his hard work vibrating through his chest as he scraped and sanded the wood until it was smooth as silk. He’d be with Pete when he finished refitting the boat and finally took it out on the water.

  Pete was holding on to a shred of hope that one day his father would get the help he needed and regain control of the life he once enjoyed, thereby giving Pete back the freedom to live his life the way he used to.

  Pete ran his hand through his hair, conjuring up the image of his father as a younger man, his two front teeth overlapping just a hair, adding to his youthful appearance. Neil Lacroux had eyes as dark as night and hair the color of wet sand—perpetually mussed as if he’d just toweled off. Even pushing sixty, Neil held the attention of women and half of the men wherever he went. Pete heard his father’s playful taunts as if he were right there beside him. He’d lift his chin and pretend to see some nonexistent flaw on the boat that Pete had left behind. Hey, jackass. What’s with the ridge along the bow?

  Jackass. Pete laughed under his breath, but as always, it didn’t mask the ache of missing the father that he’d spent his life looking up to. Neil had always been a drinker, but after Pete’s mother died, Neil spiraled into the bottle. It had been a slow realization for Pete, as his father owned the local hardware store and he’d been able to mask his drinking during the day, but once the sun fell, Neil followed its downward path straight to the bottom of the bottle. Pete had no idea how his father managed to make it through each day, but then again, the Lacrouxes were experts at pushing emotions aside until they were forced to face them head-on. He supposed that coming home to the empty house his father once shared with his mother might do that to a man.

  Pete swallowed the ache that swelled in his throat and filled his veins with a slow burn that never quite fully diminished. He patted his thigh to distract himself. Joey bounded to his side, tail wagging, nose in the air as she vied for attention. Pete knelt beside her and scratched behind her ears.

  “Ready to go inside, girl?” He kissed the pup on the snout, then pulled the doors of the oversized barn closed behind them.

  The wind chimes sang a gentle melody against the breeze sweeping up the rocky bluff surrounding Pete’s bay-side cottage in Eastham. He inhaled the damp sea air. The fishy, salty smell brought back fond memories. Joey trotted beside him down the sandy path that snaked through the grass toward his cottage, and Pete smiled as he remembered the fun he and his siblings had growing up at the Cape. It seemed like just yesterday when he and his younger brothers, Hunter
, Matt, and Grayson, were running around like wild banshees on the beaches, their baby sister, Sky, toddling along behind them. Their hair was always too long, their clothing sandy and wet around their bare, calloused feet. Looking back, he wondered if they drove their mother crazy, but Bea Lacroux would never admit to any such thing. She adored her children, and her husband, until she took her very last breath.

  Pete pulled open the screen door and waited for Joey to go inside before shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it on the kitchen table. He washed his hands, then grabbed a can of soup from the cabinet, pulled the tab, and emptied it into a bowl. He set it on the floor for Joey.

  “Beef stew. Enjoy, girl.” He opened another can, poured it into a bowl, and heated it in the microwave. He ate standing up, his hip leaning against the counter. Pete had learned to cook from his mother, and he was a good cook, but he rarely took the time to cook a real meal for himself, much less enjoy one. When his siblings visited, which hadn’t been often over the past two years, he’d cook for them, but when it was just him, a can of soup was fine. He thought about Jenna at the Beachcomber with that jerk construction worker and pictured the guy eyeing her across a dimly lit table. Jerk. He tossed the can in the trash and threw his bowl and spoon in the empty sink.

  Thinking of Jenna brought his mind back to his sister, which always brought his thoughts back to his father. He snagged the business card for Tatum Rehabilitation Center from beneath a magnet on the refrigerator and ran his thumb over it. He flipped it over and eyed the handwritten emergency number on the back and remembered asking the counselor if there was ever a time that getting someone into rehab wasn’t an emergency. He placed the card back beneath the magnet on the refrigerator and pulled out his phone to call Sky.

  Sky was twenty-four years old, and she’d been the closest to their mother. After their mother died, Sky fell apart. She was only twenty-two at the time and on the cusp of a promising career with an art museum in New York. Sky had stopped calling Pete and their brothers, and after not hearing from her for almost a week, Pete had put his life on hold and gone to New York.

  “Hey, big brother. What’s up?” Sky always answered the phone the same way, and it made Pete smile. When he’d gone to New York, she was so depressed that he’d had to drag her out of bed each day. He’d stayed by her side as she cried, yelled, screamed, laughed, and worked through every emotion known to man—and finally, after ten days or so, she came out on the other side of the grief that had consumed her. She later quit the job at the museum. Too confining. Pete was still waiting for her to find a career she loved.

  “Hi, sis. How’s life?”

  “Life’s good. I’ve been drawing a lot, painting, and oh, I almost forgot to tell you, my band started playing these impromptu concerts at the park. Total fun.”

  Pete laughed. “Sounds like you’re having a good time. How about work?”

  Sky sighed. Pete pictured her tossing her long brown hair over her shoulder and rolling her eyes. “Fine. I’m still working at the co-op.”

  The co-op. Not exactly the career he hoped she’d find. She was a bright and talented artist. “Enjoying it?”

  “Come on, Pete, lighten up. Yes, I’m enjoying it. I know you want me to find my niche, and I will. Someday.”

  “I know you will. Do you need anything? Are you okay financially?”

  “Yes, Pete. I’m fine. More importantly, how are you and Dad? I’m trying to clear my schedule so I can visit soon. I’ve tried to call Dad the last few nights, but he never answers his phone.”

  Pete grimaced. He’d spent two years protecting Sky from finding out about their father’s drinking—convincing her to stay with him when she visited instead of with their father and intervening when she was planning a surprise visit.

  “We’re both fine, but Dad’s pretty busy these days with the store. He’s been going to bed early.” He hated lying to her, but he worried that his father’s drinking might send her spiraling back into the dark place she’d found after their mother died. “Maybe you should wait a few more weeks to come visit.” The need to get his father help took a leap on his priority list.

  Sky sighed. “Okay. I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too, Sky. If you need anything, call me.”

  “I always do.” She called him when she was missing their mother, or when a guy she was dating pissed her off—and it was all Pete could do not to drive to New York and kick the tar out of the guy.

  A few minutes after they ended the call, the clock chimed, drawing his attention to where it hung on the wall beside the refrigerator. He’d managed to avoid thinking of Jenna and Jerko’s date while he was talking to Sky. Or at least to admit to myself that I was thinking of them. Now, as the seconds ticked by with annoyingly loud precision and Joey rested her chin between her paws with a loud sigh, adrenaline flooded Pete’s veins. How would Jenna protect herself if he tried something? What if he got her drunk and she was too out of it to defend herself? She had no idea what she was getting into with that guy. How could she? He was a stranger. Didn’t she learn anything in kindergarten?

  He dug his keys from the pocket of his jeans and stared down at Joey. “I’ll just make sure she’s okay, girl. That’s it. I’ll be back in less than an hour. Promise.”

  By the time he pulled into the parking lot of the Beachcomber, Pete had thought up all sorts of unsavory situations in his mind. No matter how they began, each ended with Jenna wrapping her arms around Pete’s neck, gushing with appreciation.

  The Beachcomber was built at the top of a dune overlooking the ocean. Pete listened to the music coming from the deck at the back of the restaurant, which he knew was lit up with colorful plastic lights. Bands played nightly during the summer, and tonight the music was loud and the tune was surprisingly less beachy and more reminiscent of the seventies, soulful and deep.

  Pete drew his shoulders back as he headed around to the other side of the restaurant. A gusty, cool breeze swept across the dunes, rustling the tall grass. He heard Jenna’s laugh before he caught sight of the wide smile that lit up her whole face. Jenna had a loud laugh that some might say sounded like a cackle. They’d be right. It did, and he could single it out anywhere—in a crowded bar, over a band, on a crowded beach—it was a laugh that always drew a smile from Pete, except tonight. His insides churned at the idea of her laughing with that construction worker instead of him. He ran his hand through his hair and looked away, realizing that he hadn’t even bothered to clean up after working on the boat for hours.

  “Hey, babe. You coming in? I’d love a dance.” A stacked brunette ran her finger down his chest.

  Summer chicks. Summer on the Cape brought horny women and loose men. Although even in the desolate winter months, there was never a shortage of women interested in Pete. He raked his eyes down the brunette’s body. He should have gotten aroused just thinking about that body against his, but the only body he wanted against him was Jenna’s. Jenna’s laugh pulled his attention across the deck.

  “No, sorry. I’ll have to pass.” He circled the deck, moving toward the sound of Jenna’s voice.

  “Jerk,” the woman mumbled as he walked away.

  He lost track of Jenna as he rounded the dance floor, where half-naked twentysomethings clad in short shorts and bikini tops, or tank tops and board shorts, twerked and grinded against one another. He looked down at his black T-shirt, speckled with sawdust, and his dirty jeans, streaked with varnish and caulk. It was dark out, and the tiki lights weren’t that bright. He hoped no one would notice. He moved in closer just as Jenna pushed through the crowd, her hand trailing behind her, attached to Doophus.

  Pete’s hands fisted and his eyes narrowed. Jenna turned and placed one hand on Doophus’s chest, the other still holding on to his hand. It took all of Pete’s focus to refrain from storming onto the dance floor, swooping her fine little body into his arms, and whisking her away. Forget this. I’m only here to make sure she’s okay, and she’s fine. She’s all-too fine.


  Jenna turned, and their eyes caught. Her smile faded, and that befuddled look he knew too well fell into place like a mask—eyes wide, mouth agape. Her hand dropped from Doophus’s chest and she fidgeted with the edge of her skirt—and Pete found her reaction adorable.

  Too stinkin’ adorable.

  Chapter Three

  THE NEXT MORNING Jenna crouched beside the basket of flip-flops on the front deck of her cottage. Crows cawed from their perches atop pitch pine trees surrounding the small community. The stupid things had been cawing since dawn, grating on Jenna’s nerves, which were already fried. She’d been up all night organizing and reorganizing in an effort to figure out what Pete was doing at the Beachcomber last night. She turned at the sound of tires on her crushed-shell driveway.

  Leanna jumped out of her 1968 Volkswagen Bus, or as she called it, her happy mobile, because of the hand-painted beach scene that ran from front to back and the gigantic blue dragonfly covering the driver’s door. Her father had restored the van as a college graduation gift. Never one for subtlety, Leanna adored the bikini-clad women that covered the center of the van and the half-moon with a face painted on the rear panel.

  “Did I miss coffee?” Leanna set a plate of scones on the table.

  Jenna shaded her eyes from the morning sun and smiled up at her friend. Leanna’s tank top was already streaked with jam. Her cutoffs had red finger marks along the hip.

  “No. In fact, we need to get Bella and Amy because I’m going to burst if I don’t get out of my own head.” Jenna set the flip-flops that she was stacking in neat color-coordinated piles into the basket by the door. “Come on.” She pulled Leanna by the hand, and as they rounded Jenna’s cottage, they ran into Bella and Amy, coffee mugs in hand.

  “We were just coming over.” Bella was still in her nightie, while Amy had on flannel pajama pants and a T-shirt that read, Purrdy, above a picture of an animated kitten wearing lingerie and lying in a provocative pose.