15 Shades Of Pink (38 page)

Molly didn’t want to tell Grandma that her theories on romance were old and outdated, so she just nodded and said, “I suppose you’re right.”

“The house looks lovely, thanks for arranging all that.”

“It was no problem.” At least some good will have come out of it.

Grandma patted her knee. “I don’t think this story is over yet. An eighty-two-year-old woman knows love when she sees it. Hang in there, honey.”

Molly walked along the shore as the sun set, wondering when Michael would be leaving. Maybe sooner than planned, with all the movie buzz. She skipped a rock across the water and watched it sink, just like her heart.

Why did he have to nearly drown on her beach?

***

The doorbell woke her the next morning; she’d slept in past nine. Of course, she hadn’t been able to fall asleep until after one, so that wasn’t surprising. When she opened the door, the last person she expected to see was Larry, standing in front of his sports car.

“I have orders to come pick you up. A chauffeur and an agent, who knew? I’m multi-talented.”

“Can I have a minute to get dressed?” She wasn’t going to get all decked out, but she wasn’t going to wear her pajamas, either. She knew Michael was involved, but for all she knew, they were going to be riding bikes along the canal.

Or maybe seeing him off at the airport.

Once Molly got dressed, Larry refused to tell her what was going on. He just shrugged and said, “I really couldn’t say.”

She crossed her arms, rubbing her elbows nervously. “Couldn’t or won’t?”

“Michael wanted me to get you. That’s all I know.”

He parked along the road, and they walked down to the beach, not far from where she’d found Michael washed up a few weeks back. Her stomach rolled at the memory of that day, and all that had happened since. Wishing for a breeze to cool her off, she breathed in the hot, humid air. The temperatures had been stuck in the nineties for days.

A group of photographers surrounded Michael, who was wearing khaki shorts without a shirt. She picked up her pace, curious now to find out what was going on. Perhaps he’d completed the Red Cross lifeguard-training course? Swimming lessons?
What is he up to?

He smiled as she approached, and said to the photographers and reporters, “We can get started now.”

He motioned for her to join him and reached out his hand. “I think you all remember Molly Andrews, the woman who saved me in more ways than one.” Looking down at her, he smiled. “I owe her more than she could ever know. And an apology is at the top of the list, for embarrassing her with photos of Trisha and me on the beach. There is nothing going on between us. But there is between me and Molly, and to prove it, I’ve got a surprise for her.”

Molly blinked, speechless, until the word, “What?” finally came out in a whisper.

“I’m making another
Heartbreak Beach
movie. For you.”

Her hand covered her mouth. She swallowed a few times and managed to say, “But you said you’d never make another one.”

“And you said you wanted nothing more. I’m trying to restore your faith in men. Well, one man at least.” He grinned at her and she hugged him as the cameras snapped away. “I’m no Jack Tyler, but hopefully I can prove there are some good guys out there.”

“You’re even better than Jack Tyler. You’re real.” Then she frowned. “But this means you’ll be leaving to shoot the film.” She’d been right. How could this ever work?

Smiling, he shook his head. “Filming starts right here on the Cape in two weeks.”

Her heart tumbled into her stomach, and she had to catch her breath. She looked up at him, wide-eyed.

“Are you alright? I don’t need to do CPR on you now, do I?” he joked.

She shook her head. Then her picked her up and ran toward the ocean just like in the movie.

“Let’s play it safe and just stay on the shore,” she said.

He laughed, and kissed her in the very same spot this whole thing started.

She looped her arms around his neck. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever found on the beach.”

The beach goddesses are after the hottest guy on the shore…but is he hot for Summer?

“Hot For Summer”

By Lisa Scott

I heard Kim before I could see her. She was outside, talking about her party again; the one that was going to be the event of the season.
The
event! It was going to be a beach party for the ages. “We just have to get Michael Sullivan to come. Can you imagine? An actor and an NBA player coming!” she said.

The worst part about working at Scoopy’s Diner wasn’t the bright green uniform, or the smell of grease that clung to my hair, or even the minimum-wage pay. It was walking to my car past Kim and her gaggle of gal pals lounging in her front yard before they made the big move down to the beach for the day. They needed a few cocktails before attempting that, and Kim had the biggest yard, complete with pool, deck, and hot tub. Their party launch pad, if you will.

I’d been expecting a quiet summer staying at my friend’s beach house while she was in Europe. Instead, I got a daily showdown with the beach bitches who didn’t appreciate “someone like me” in their neighborhood. Although, they didn’t come right out and say so. They were far too classy for that. They just never invited me to join them, questioned where I’d gotten that interesting bathing suit—K-Mart? And repeatedly asked when I’d be going back home.

I didn’t bother informing them that I was recently laid off from the university’s HR department after a downsize. I let them think what they wanted: that I was pulling a Kato Kaelin, without the party lifestyle, of course.

I grinned at them and gave a big wave, ‘cause that’s the kind of girl I am.

Kim looked up from her book. “Don’t work too hard, Summer.” When I’d first arrived a month ago, Kim had proudly informed me she’d never worked a day in her life. Now that she was a divorcee who’d gotten the beach house in the settlement and more money than I’d make in a lifetime—or so she’d told me—she could continue not working.

“Oh, Scoopy’s isn’t like work at all,” I told her. “It’s fun.”

“Fun?” Nia snorted. Her husband came down every other weekend and that gave her plenty of time to flirt and snort. It was the most obnoxious laugh I’d ever heard—and she did it all the time. “Right. That’s how I want to spend my summer. In a hot, dumpy diner.” Snort. “Let me know when a position opens up.”

“Sure thing,” I said, sweet as the cranberry pie we served—which was tart enough to bring tears to your eyes. Just one of our quirky offerings the tourists loved. Or used to love, anyway. Things had been quiet lately.

“We’ll be at the beach when you get back,” Sarah said, in case I hadn’t noticed they did the same thing every day. The beach was prime hunting ground, and the group was determined to find her a suitable boyfriend before the summer was over. The poor thing might have to put her college degree to use if she didn’t find a hubby. Daddy was supporting her bellini-sipping beach days for now.

They had their sights set on basketball player Jason Henry. Apparently, he’d bought a place just down the road two years ago. He was due any day, and they were busy planning the bash of the summer to lure him over. Rumor had it he was hot. Not that I would know. Basketball was about as appealing to me as a dental checkup.

Beth waved at me. I probably could be friends with her if not for the posse. She was taking the summer off to find herself. Her job as public relations director for a non-profit hadn’t been what she’d hoped. Luckily, her folks had a place to crash on the Cape while she sorted things out. It was amazing the information I gleaned from these girls just walking to and from my car each day.

“Have a good day,” Beth called to me.

“I always do.” Or, at least I tried to. I hopped in my car and drove down the narrow street. Like the plot from some direct-to-video movie, I’d lost my job and my guy in the same month back in May. My position at the college went to my ex’s new girlfriend—and old friend of mine from work—and Vince kept our apartment, since I’d moved in with him. My friend, Wendy, insisted I stay at her place on the Cape for a much-needed summer break and to figure out what was next. Shockingly, I hadn’t turned to alcohol. I’d drowned my sorrows in Scoopy’s glazed donuts instead, and my thighs were showing it.

It was only a five-minute drive to Scoopy’s and some days I even walked there, but usually I was running late. I worked ten to four, Monday through Friday, just like I had when I was sixteen and spent the summer down here with Wendy. Her folks had thought it was good for us to work—we were probably driving them crazy—but it turned out to be a blast. I met my first summer fling there, saved $500, and met Dell, the closest person to a Grandmother I’d ever had. That’s why I’d come begging her for a job, even though I didn’t need one. It was her I needed, really. It was a safe, soft landing spot for now.

I pushed open the old wooden door at the front of the diner, and walked in. The place was empty save for Dell clearing off a table and Carl in the back washing dishes.

“Hi, darlin’,” Dell said, scooting over to me. She’d been raised in the South, but lived on the Cape for twenty years and had an accent that combined the two. New England twang, I liked to call it, with her laugh that nearly rattled the windows.

“Hi, Dell. Think I’m going to work on a new batch of ice cream while it’s quiet. Supposed to be hot today, I’m sure we’ll be busy later.”

Dell frowned. “I hope so. I totaled up last month’s receipts. We’re down thirty percent from last year, and now that The Shoreside has opened, I’m worried.”

I sighed. “We’ll think of something.” But what? Dell didn’t have any extra money for renovating the old place, even though it desperately needed it. An entirely new menu would be nice, but forget that. “I’m going to try a few new ice cream flavors.” I shrugged. People did like our ice cream. The rotating cone on top of the building had been there for years. Everyone knew Scoopy’s; they just forgot to keep coming. Some new ice cream varieties might bring back some of the locals who probably figured they had tried everything we had to offer.

In the kitchen, I found a basket of blueberries and one of cranberries. “I’ll make a blueberry-cranberry sweet and tart ice cream.”

“I did something like that twelve years ago,” Dell said.

“Then it’s time to bring it back for a guest appearance.” I got to work, pulling out the tools and ingredients I needed, wishing I could come up with something that would get people talking. Something everyone had to stop by and try. I didn’t think blueberry-cranberry ice cream would do it, but I’d figure something out.

When lunch didn’t bring the rush we were hoping for, Dell told me I could go home early, if I wanted. I figured she was hoping to save on my salary.

I was about to leave when the bells chimed on the door and someone walked in. Well, not someone. A guy. An incredibly gorgeous, tall man, with head-to-toe muscles. I wanted to tell him the model convention must be somewhere else, since I’d never seen someone like him in here, but I sank onto a stool at the counter instead. “Can I help you?” ‘
Cause I can think of a few ways you could help me
…

“I’m just stopping in for an ice cream. I used to come here as a kid. Do you still have Maple Walnut?”

“Yes, we do.” I stood up and smoothed my apron, trying to remember how horrible the green uniform made my complexion look. Since I wasn’t looking my best, I’d have to rely on my oozing charm with this guy. He certainly seemed a few leagues away from me, but he had a friendly smile that put me at ease.

He rubbed his hands together. “Excellent. Every summer when I come down to the Cape I make sure to get two things: Scoopy’s ice cream and clams casino.”

I walked behind the ice cream cooler and laughed. “Not at the same time, I hope.”

“No, but it probably wouldn’t be bad, having my two favorite things at once.”

Wouldn’t it be nice to be one of his favorite things
, I thought. “Just one cone, or is someone out in the car?” I asked, the mistress of subtlety.

“Just me. I’m down here for the next two weeks and I’ll probably be in here a lot.”

I looked up at him. “Good.” That came out a little breathier than I’d meant it to. I scooped the ice cream onto the cone, handed it to him, and dished up a scoop of the cran-blueberry ice cream I’d made earlier. “Here’s a happy vacation gift.” I handed him the dish. “Just made it today.”

“What are you trying to do to my girlish figure?” he asked with a laugh. But that didn’t stop him from trying it. “Hey, that’s really good. I’ll be back for more of that tomorrow…” He looked at my nametag and smiled. “Summer. Save me a few scoops.” He pointed his spoon at me.

“I sure will…” I let the word hang there, hoping he’d give me his name.

“I’m Jay. And if you’ve got any clams casino, I’ll be taking an order of those, too.”

“Sounds like a perfect Tuesday special, Jay. I’ll be sure to whip some up.”
After I look up the recipe and buy the ingredients
… I’d never made the darn things.

He winked at me. “Thanks.” He headed for the door and looked over his shoulder before he left, checking me out.

I plopped back down in my chair and started fanning myself. “Dell, get some ice! I just saw the hottest guy ever and I’m combusting.”

Dell popped out of the kitchen. “Listen to you! It’s like you’re sixteen again.”

“I know. I wish I were. I’d do a lot of things differently.” I sighed. “I’m going to take up your offer to head home early. Mind if I work up a few ideas to make some changes around here?”

Dell set her hand on my shoulder. “I’m willing to try anything. I’m getting mighty concerned, darlin’.”

I drove home, and sure enough, the girls had left Kim’s yard and hit the beach. I kicked off my shoes, grabbed an iced tea and my paperback, and sat on the Adirondack chair that looked out over the ocean. The house was across the street from the beach, but it still was a nice view.