Carolina Dreaming: A Dare Island Novel (24 page)

“He didn’t say.”

It was too early to say. Wasn’t it?

“Honestly, men. All they have to do is put on a clean button-down and jeans, and they think they look fine. They think they’re doing you a favor by not telling you what to wear, and don’t realize they’re setting you up for wardrobe disaster.” Another rumble. “Of course I didn’t mean you, babe,” Cynthie said to Max. “You are the exception among men.”

“I thought I’d wear jeans and a nice top,” Jane said.

“If that’s what makes you comfortable,” Cynthie said kindly. Warmhearted Cynthie, whose nickname in high school was Body of Cyn, who never seemed to care what anybody thought and looked fabulous in everything.

Jane was competent in her own sphere. But just once, she would like to have her friend’s brand of confidence. “What would you wear?”

“Sundress,” Cynthie said. “With flats and a little wrap in case the restaurant’s cold. You don’t want to look like you’re trying too hard.”

Jane thought about her wardrobe, jeans and knit shirts and black-and-white catering outfits. “I have that dress I wore to Luke Fletcher’s wedding.”

“The blue one? You look great in that. Very boobalicious.”

Jane laughed. “Um, thanks?”

She was twenty-nine years old, way past the age when she should be obsessing over her clothes or her boobs or dressing for a man’s approval.

But Cynthie had the experience to know what she was talking about. Jane did not. Married at nineteen, pregnant three years later, changing diapers and living with her father the year after that. She couldn’t remember the last time she got dressed up for a date.

Aidan sprawled sideways across her bed, his sneakers sticking out over the carpet. He’d never seen her getting ready for a date, either.

Jane was both relieved and dismayed that he seemed to be taking the change in routine in stride. He seemed more taken aback by the change in her appearance.

“You look weird, Mom.”

She yanked at a drawer, hunting for a sweater to wear over the blue dress. “I’m wearing makeup.”

“I mean, you look pretty and everything. But different. And your hair’s down.”

“Because I’m not going into the bakery.” She shut the drawer and turned to look at him. “Are you sure you’re okay going to Hannah’s house tonight?”

Saturday nights had always been “their” time, the one night when Jane didn’t have to open the bakery until nine the next day and Aidan didn’t have to rush to school in the morning.

He nodded. “Mrs. Lodge is going to let us stay up really late. And she lets us drink soda,” he added.

“Well, that will certainly help you stay awake,” Jane said dryly. “But we won’t be out that late, Aidan. I’m just going to dinner.”

“That’s okay. You and Gabe need time to be alone.”

Jane turned from her closet. “Who told you that?”

“Grandpa.”

“Oh.”
Oh.

“Because Gabe is like your boyfriend now,” Aidan continued conversationally. “Like Marta is Grandpa’s girlfriend.”

“Well, I . . . Well, um . . . Grandpa and Marta . . . I think you should call her Mrs. Lopez.”

“She said I could call her Marta. When she came over the other day.”

Jane’s mouth opened. Closed. “Okay. Well. Obviously, when two people like each other, they want to spend time together. That doesn’t always mean that you’re boyfriend and girlfriend.”

Aidan gave her a patient look. “But you like Gabe, right? Like,
like
like him.”

“Ye-es,” Jane agreed cautiously.

She had always tried to be honest with Aidan. She didn’t expect to shield her little boy from the facts of life forever. But he was only seven. Too young for the discussion she was afraid they were about to have.

“Right,” Aidan said. “And I figure he likes you because he brought you flowers. And you’re always kissing and stuff. Like Hannah’s mom and Mr. Lewis.”

“Not exactly. Mrs. Lodge and Mr. Lewis are engaged.”

“I know. Hannah says they have sleepovers. And Mr. Lewis takes Hannah and them out for ice cream. Probably he’ll take me out for ice cream, too.”

Ice cream and soda both in one night.

Well, one night’s indulgence wouldn’t hurt him, she reflected. Wouldn’t hurt either of them. They could eat extra vegetables tomorrow.

“Good times,” Jane said, opening her jewelry box.

Not much there. Some pretty dangly earrings that she wore at the bakery—no rings, no bracelets when you were working with dough, when your hands were in and out of hot water all day—and the pearl studs Dad had given her when she turned sixteen.

“If I had a dad, I would go out for ice cream all the time,” Aidan said.

Her hand froze on the earrings.

He did have a dad.

A dad who had tried to abduct him. A dad with a restraining order. A dad she hoped fervently he never saw again.

“You don’t need a dad for that. We can go out for ice cream tomorrow. You and me.”

“Cool,” Aidan said in a satisfied voice. “Maybe Gabe could come with us.”

Oh.
His words pierced her heart. To buy herself time, she inserted the hooks carefully in her ears with trembling hands.

She had worked hard her entire adult life to make certain that her son was healthy, happy, cared for, loved. To ensure that he never felt the lack of a father.

But she knew—she should know better than anyone—how the absence of a parent could sneak up and catch you.

The signs were there in Aidan, if she had wanted to see them. His readiness to get in the car with Travis last summer. His desire to write to his father in prison.

Her little boy was vulnerable.

She met her troubled gaze in the mirror, her heart pounding painfully with guilt and fear and hope. She had a right to risk her own heart again. But she had the responsibility to protect Aidan’s.

Gabe said he wasn’t going anywhere. But that alone was no guarantee for the future.

She tousled her son’s fine, straight hair, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. “Let’s not count our chickens before they’re hatched, okay, Boo?”

He rolled his head to look at her. “What does that mean?”

“It means I don’t want you to be disappointed.”
Either of us to be disappointed.

“Maybe we can have a sleepover, too,” Aidan suggested. “You and me and Gabe.”

Jane caught her breath. “Let’s take things one step at a time.”

H
E
WORE
JEANS
with a button-down shirt and his dress shoes. Gabe figured as long as he didn’t wear a feed cap inside the restaurant, he was good to go. But when Jane came to the door, he wished he’d borrowed a tie from Luke or something.

His tongue tangled. “You look beautiful.”

Her eyes lifted to his, pleased but doubtful. Her hands smoothed her skirt. “You like the dress?”

“The dress. You. Everything.”

The blue fabric flowed over her curves like water. He wanted to back her through the door and up the stairs and into that bedroom with the lacy white curtains.

Where her father could walk in on them at any moment.

Bad idea.

She stepped back, and he realized too late that he should have kissed her hello, a hi-honey-how-was-your-day kind of kiss, like a boyfriend. Or a husband. He cleared his throat. “Where’s your dad?”

“He has a date with Marta tonight.”

Right. So . . . they were alone? The possibility sent a jolt straight to his groin.

Their dinner reservation was for seven o’clock.

But he could be quick. Or he could go slow. Whatever she wanted.

“Marta is Grandpa’s girlfriend,” Aidan said.

Hello. Not alone.
Gabe looked down, regrouping. “Hey, sport. How’s your jump shot coming?”

“Okay.” A small smile. “I beat Hannah in Horse today.”

“Good for you.”

“Aidan is spending the evening at Hannah’s house. I thought we could drop him off on our way to dinner,” Jane said.

“Sure. No problem.”

“We need to take my car. Because of the booster seat.”

He’d never had to think about car seats before. Something else to add to his list, Gabe thought.

“Where’s Lucky?” Aidan asked after he was buckled in.

Gabe turned, resting his elbow on the back of Jane’s seat. His fingertips brushed her hair, loose on her shoulders, and another tingle traveled up his arm. “Lucky’s spending time at a friend’s house, too. I dropped him off at my buddy Luke’s so he can run around in their yard with their dog.”

Because if the evening went the way Gabe was hoping, he wouldn’t be sharing his motel room with the dog.

*   *   *

A
IDA
N
’
S
PAL
H
ANNAH
lived in Paradise Shoals. Jane walked Aidan up the rickety steps of the trailer, exchanging hugs and instructions with the very hot brunette standing on the porch.

When Jane returned, Gabe slid out of the car to open her door.

Maybe she was impressed by his officer-and-a-gentleman routine, because she stopped before getting into the driver’s seat. “I don’t know where we’re going. Why don’t you drive?”

“You trust me?”

Her eyes examined his face as if searching for some hidden meaning. His heart pounded. Because, yeah, that was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? The one she’d never answered directly.

Do you trust me? With your car. With your son. With your life. With your heart.

He grinned.

She made a sound between laughter and exasperation and got into the car. Giving up her keys. Giving up control, at least long enough for him to drive them to the restaurant.

The parking lot was full of Beemers and Mercedes. Gabe pulled Jane’s Accord into an empty spot between a Lexus and a Land Rover. The aging sedan looked almost as out of place among the luxury cars as Gabe felt.

Jane blinked. “You brought me to the Brunswick.”

The fanciest dinner spot on the island. Where she used to be a line cook. Where she still had a dessert contract.

“Too much like work?” he asked.

“No.” Her smile warmed him all the way through. “No, this is perfect.”

“It’s not like you haven’t eaten here before.”

“Never for dinner.” Her eyes sparkled. “And I’ve always used the service entrance.”

He grinned, relieved. “Let’s see if they’ll let us in the front door.”

They were barely inside when Jane excused herself and disappeared in the direction of the ladies’ room.

Gabe approached the host station. “Hi. Murphy. Seven o’clock reservation.”

The guy in charge—sleek blond hair, black shirt, black tie—sized him up and signaled an underling.

“Yes, Mr. Murphy,” the underling said smoothly. “I’ll see if your table is ready.”

The dining room was quiet. Elegant. White tablecloths, exposed brick, and lots of shine. Candlelight flickered on clustered glasses and silverware. Wide windows showcased
views of the harbor and garden. Gabe shoved his hands in his pockets and prepared to wait.

Another couple came in and was seated. Regulars, he guessed, when the Man in Black greeted them by name.

“Everything is so pretty,” Jane murmured behind him. “Look at that sunset.”

The sunset was nice. Very orange. The water was silver and gold. And Jane . . . Her eyes were the color of the sea and almost as bright.

“Sweet Jane!” The Man in Black swooped in and hugged her. “I didn’t know you were joining us tonight.”

Jane emerged, blushing and smiling, from the Man in Black’s embrace. “I didn’t know myself.”

The guy drew back to arm’s length, directing another glance at Gabe. His eyebrows lifted. “And this is . . . ?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Gabe, this is Shawn Prescott, the manager of the Brunswick. Shawn, this is—”

“Gabe Murphy. Her date,” Gabe added, in case there was any doubt.

The underling returned. “Hey, Jane.”

“Hi, Greg.”

“Right this way, Mr. Murphy. Table—”

“Four,” the manager said.

The underling hesitated. “I put them in Jesse’s section.”

“Table Four.” Prescott smiled at Jane. “Enjoy.”

Table Four was in the center of a long bank of windows, with an uninterrupted view of the changing waters of the Sound. A formation of pelicans skimmed the water, black against the brilliant sky.

“Thank you so much,” Jane said after they were seated and the waiter draped her napkin across her lap and left. “This is such a nice surprise.”

She was so pretty, her face pink in the golden light. She liked it here. She was happy, being here with him.

Gabe relaxed. “You got us the table,” he pointed out.

“You made the reservation.”

He asked Jane to choose the wine, ordered an Aviator IPA for himself. “I know the dessert will be good. But you’re going to have to talk me through the rest of this menu.”

She did. She was so enthusiastic, so into the whole food scene, that he found himself ordering things he’d never heard of before just to make her happy, to see her eyes shine and listen to her explanations. Duck confit with some kind of bitter lettuce and an egg. Braised short ribs with cheese grits. After talking with their server, Jane ordered mussels in a red curry and ginger sauce and the day’s special, shrimp from the Sound and thyme risotto.

“You learned all that working here and reading cookbooks?”

Jane smiled. “Well, I took some classes. Business courses and cake decorating mostly. But you don’t need a culinary school degree to get a job in a kitchen.”

“It must help, though,” Gabe said. “Having that piece of paper.”

The busboy came around with bread and water. “Hey, Mr. Murphy. Jane.”

The face—dark eyes, gold skin, solid jaw—was familiar.

“Hi, Miguel,” Jane said.

Right. Tomás’s younger brother. “How’s it going?” Gabe asked.

“I’m good. We’re all good.” The kid used silver tongs to put a little hard roll on Gabe’s plate. “Ma really appreciates what you did for Tomás.”

“Glad I could help,” Gabe said.

Jane looked at him after Miguel left, not saying anything. But her eyes spoke volumes.

It could have been annoying, that stubborn faith of hers, the expectation that he could make something of himself. But he wasn’t annoyed. At all.

A corner of his mouth kicked up. “Five months.”

“Five months, what?”

“To get my basic EMT certification. Classes start in August.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re going to take classes to become a paramedic.”

“Paramedic’s two pay grades up and another eighteen months of training after that,” Gabe said. “But, yeah. The GI Bill covers tuition and fees. Even books.”

Her beautiful smile lit her face, her gray eyes shining and soft, and his heart turned to mush. “Gabe, that’s wonderful.”

He nodded, trying to act like it was no big deal. Except that after three years of not believing in himself, her faith in him felt big and solid. Real. Right.

“The hours won’t be great,” he said. “Especially in the beginning, while I’m training and working for Sam. I’ll be gone two nights a week from six to ten. And that’s not counting the commute.”

“But you’d be helping people. Like Tomás. Doing something that matters to you and to the community.”

“It won’t all be life-and-death stuff. But, yeah. Should be fun.”

She smiled wryly. “You mean you’ll get your adrenaline rush.”

He reached across the tablecloth and took her hand. “I’ve pretty much got all the rush I need right here.”

That flustered her. She looked down.

“There’s a housing stipend, too,” he added.

She looked up at that. “But wouldn’t you have to live on campus?”

“No.” He took a deep breath, stroking his thumb across her knuckles. “Actually, I’ve had my eye on—”

The server arrived with the smallest appetizers Gabe had ever seen. “Amuse-bouche. Chef’s compliments,” he said, setting the plate between them.

Gabe released Jane’s hand.

She smiled up at the waiter. “Please tell Adam thank you.”

“What is this?” Gabe asked when the waiter had gone.

“Amuse-bouche? It means ‘to amuse the mouth.’ A taste to tease your appetite.” She sent him a shy look through her lashes. “It can also mean morning sex.”

Gabe grinned. “Yeah? Then I’m really eager to try it. I meant . . . what
is
it?”

“Oh.” She laughed. “I think this one is seared scallop with local pea puree and . . .” She dipped the tip of her finger into one of the green dots decorating the plate.

And . . . Hell, yeah. Watching her suck her finger into her mouth definitely teased his appetite.

“Cilantro gremolata,” she proclaimed. She pressed her lips together. “Maybe a little lemon zest.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

He wasn’t a big fan of green stuff generally, but he ate it out of respect for her.

Sweet Jane, who had turned around the lack of nurturing in her own life by making a career of feeding everybody else. He admired her more than he could say.

The pea puree tasted like fancy baby food, but the scallop was good. All the food was good.

As they ate, he told her about his phone call with the lawyer. “Turns out he’s also the executor of my uncle’s estate.”

Jane lowered her fork. “But your uncle died years ago, you said. When you were seventeen.”

“Yeah. Funny thing.” Gabe stared into the amber lights cast by his beer, flickering like tiny candle flames on the white tablecloth. “Uncle Chuck, he never could convince Mom to leave my old man. He tried. I was just a kid, but I remember him talking to her when I wasn’t supposed to hear. But he never gave up on her, either. When he died, he left all his money, from his house, his business, his life insurance, everything, in this trust. A discretionary trust, the lawyer called it. That way, my pop couldn’t get his hands on the principal, and, if Ma ever did leave his ass, she would have a little income to get by.”

“But she never did,” Jane murmured.

“Nope. My . . .” His throat closed on the word
father
. “The old man died three years ago, and she kept living in
that same rat-hole apartment. Like she was still trapped, even after he was gone.”

Jane reached across the table, her touch, her voice, gentle. “At least your uncle gave her the choice.”

“Not that she ever did anything with it, but . . . yeah.” Gabe shook his head, dispelling the memories. The regrets. “The thing is, the lawyer said that when she died, that ended the trust. All the money goes to the residual beneficiary.”

Jane didn’t say anything, her eyes steady. Waiting.

“Me.” He cleared his aching throat. “Uncle Chuck left everything to me.”

“Because he loved you. Obviously, he wanted to take care of you. You must have still been a child when he wrote his will. Any money he left to you would have gone to your mother anyway. He loved you both. But he must have known that by the time you were an adult, you could take care of yourself.”

Of course she would see Uncle Chuck’s legacy that way, in terms of family ties and affection rather than money.