Flirting With Forever (10 page)

T
hey pulled into
the driveway around seven. Every light in the huge oceanfront house was on. Marvin Gaye was blaring on the outdoor speaker system. A woman who looked close to Jake’s mom’s age was hanging off her balcony waving an empty wine glass at them.

“Tarrrrra! You’re here. Hurry up, Melissa is too.” An older man appeared, wrapping his arms around the woman and was smiling until he saw Jake.

“Put your things away and come over,” the guy said like it was an order, not an offer.

“I have that spicy pimento cheese dip you like so much. And wine, lots and lots of wine.” Which was surprising because it sounded like the woman had already drunk half the wine in Sonoma.

“Hi, Marsha, Mike,” Tara said. “Give us a minute.” The guy looked like he’d been hit with a bucket of cold water when Tara said the word us.

“This is going to be weird,” Jake said, taking their bags out of the car. They walked up the steps of the beach house. Tara punched in the code to the numeric lock and opened the door and dropped her purse on a table beside the door. She went straight to the great room drapes and opened them. The broad view of the Atlantic was amazing.

She stopped for a minute shook her head and laughed. “The three-million-dollar view I can’t afford.”

After about five minutes, it was obvious whoever had put the music on had put “Sexual Healing” on repeat. Tara mumbled something about strangling someone named Melissa, turned the music off and opened the pantry with a small fridge and a few cabinets that were locked to keep the summer guests out of the owner’s stash. The shelves were well stocked with an overabundance of things Tara said she used often, crab boil, red rice mix, and—oh, great. Grits.

She pulled a couple bottles of wine out of the cooler to take next door and set them on the kitchen counter. “Boy, I’m ready for a drink. It was kind of a shock, seeing the For Sale sign in the front yard; Melissa had said it would be. How about you?”

But it couldn’t be worse for her than seeing pictures scattered around the house of her husband and her and her dog, Lilly. Could it?

He wondered if being here was as weird for her as it was for him. She seemed really happy now, and Jake was glad he was here with her. “The house is rented on and off June through August,” she said. Jake stood there with his briefcase and carryon, unsure of where to go. “There’s a master suite on this floor and five bedrooms and five baths upstairs. Want to see?”

He nodded and followed her up the stairs lined with more pictures of Tara and the husband, but he was focused on the way her hair swayed across her back, those legs that ended at her perfect ass. What happened to keeping things platonic?

He stopped to look at the last photograph at the top of the stairs. It looked like her book launch party. The woman who was hanging over the balcony when they drove up was proposing a toast on Tara’s special day. Everybody was looking at Tara, except for her asshole husband standing beside her. He was looking away from Tara, toward the Exit sign above the door.

“Just pick a room,” she said like she was hoping he’d go back down stairs and pick hers. He wanted to. Yeah, not sleeping in the same bed with her, or not trying out that big ass Jacuzzi tub downstairs that was definitely big enough for both of them? That was going to suck. He dropped his bags in the bedside chair in the first bedroom he came to. This waiting thing was going to be a lot harder than he thought.

I pulled a
yellow halter dress that still had the tags on it out of the closet; I’d bought it at a trunk sale just after the first of the year. I knew if I put my new black heels on, we probably wouldn’t make it next door. The way Mike Lemieux looked down on Jake and me from his balcony, there was no doubt he’d come over and drag us out of the house like a couple of horny teenagers.

Maybe I was in denial, but nothing bothered me about being with Jake in the same house I’d built with my husband. Not pictures of Jim, not mementos from our travels, nothing. It wasn’t a revenge kind of thing. For the first time in a long time, I was happy; Jake had a lot to do with that. But what surprised me most was that I felt less and less anger toward Jim. Maybe our marriage had run its course. Maybe Jim had fallen out of love first, and I’d followed suit.

I had no idea where this thing with Jake was going. Who knows, he might run screaming from me by the end of the tour, and I wouldn’t have to find out what my forty-year-old body looked like next to his. The age difference still crept up in my mind from time to time, especially when some young twenty-something sashayed by. But Jake made it easy for me to believe age really doesn’t matter.

“Really?” I stood there with a bottle of wine in each hand, looking at him dressed in shorts, a vintage t-shirt, and flip-flops.

“What?” He looked down like there was a big catsup stain on his shirt.

God, he was gorgeous and looked way younger than thirty. “Come on, mister,” I said, heading for the front door. “I’m going to need to see some ID before you can have a drink.”

During our car trip to the island, I’d briefed Jake on my history with the Lemieux, which included them being Jim’s and my financial planners as well as neighbors here at the beach and next door neighbors for twenty years in Charlotte. Marsha and I had become instant friends, best friends.

“So, it’s Mike and Marsha, right?” he asked. “And who’s Melissa again?”

“She’s my friend and realtor.” And matchmaker. He nodded and grabbed one of the wine bottles along with my hand. I stopped in my tracks. “You sure about this, Jake?” Hand in hand, meeting my oldest and dearest friends, and Jim’s too?

“It’s okay, Tara. Friends can hold hands.”

To say our reception from the Lemieux was at opposite ends of the spectrum would have been an understatement. Mike barely said anything and Marsha immediately made an excuse to drag me into the kitchen where Melissa was whipping up Firefly martinis.

“Oh. My. God, Melissa, you have to see Jake. He’s gorgeous.” Marsha was nearly hyperventilating. “Tara, go back out on the deck and nonchalantly press your body against him. I’ll bring Melissa out to introduce her to Jake so she can see those sparks for herself.”

“Come on, Marsha,” I said. “Settle down.”

“But you like him. I can see it in your face,” she gushed. “Besides, Melissa’s an expert at these kinds of things.”

“And you have no filter and a very loud voice. Please, don’t drink anymore.” I took the wine she’d just poured herself and set it out of reach. “Please calm down and lower your voice.”

“All right. All right.” Marsha nabbed her glass and took a couple of big gulps. “Melissa was over there not even an hour ago, working her magic. I bet she used one of those Geechee spells her grandma taught her. I bet there are love charms all over your house. You should look under your bed.”

“Hey, those are trade secrets, missy. Besides, I can say without a doubt that Tara doesn’t need any charms.” Melissa toasted me with a wicked grin.

Marsha’s eyes went wide. “Wonder what would happen if you put one of those charms between your-?”

“Well, I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you.” Melissa tested her martini and then poured one for me. “I
was
at the kitchen window when y’all started over here. Very…enlightening. You made a good move bringing Jake here for a little IOP magic.”

“Stop it with the Isle of Palms magic. Between you and Marsha, you’re making me feel like I’m ambushing Jake. This is just a thank-you trip—a business thank-you trip. We’re friends. That’s it.”

The two women tiptoed over and took a peek at Jake, then came running back.

“Damn he’s hot,” Melissa said.

Marsha was fanning herself, in agreement and seemed to be in the throes of a full-blown hot flash.

“And you’re going to be aloooone with him? Girl, if I were you, I’d do him on every flat surface in that house. Serves Jim Jor—” Marsha swatted her hand over her mouth. “That bastard. We are never speaking his name again.”

“Amen, sister.” Melissa threw back her drink in agreement.

“I love y’all, you know I do, and I like Jake. A lot. But I’m not angry with Jim anymore. I just want to sell the houses, finish the tour, and then maybe start over someplace new.”

“I want to wake up in the city that never sleeps.” Marsha was a terrible singer, and Melissa wasn’t much better when she chimed in. They were so bad, they roused Marsha’s ancient lab, Pumpkin, off of the deck, and the dog hobbled into the kitchen and howled the rest of the song with them.

“Sounds like the
girls are having a good time in there.” Mike Lemieux handed Jake a beer out of a cooler on the deck.

Jake nodded, popped the top and took a long draw. All he heard in the house was whispering and giggling and a lot of shushing, maybe from Tara. And then there was the dog, a chocolate lab who had begged him to pet her before the singing started, which he really didn’t mind so much because trying to carry on a conversation with Jim Jordan’s best friend was beyond awkward.

“So you and Tara are—”

“Friends. I’m also her publicist.” Jake wished the dog would come back.

“Jim, Tara’s husband—.”

“I know who Jim is.”

The old guy shrugged. “I’ve known him for over twenty-five years.”

One of the women inside said something he couldn’t make out, and then Tara laughed, so hard, she snorted. He smiled. He knew that snort; she’d only done it a couple of times, but he loved it because it only made her laugh harder.

“It’s just that Jim is my best friend, and seeing you here with his wife—.” Please stop talking. “Well, it feels like a betrayal.”

What about what your friend did to Tara? Wasn’t that betrayal?
Just shut up and drink your beer, man.

“Jim built a good life for her. Supported her before she got lucky at her hobby.” If this clown knew anything about Tara, he’d know her writing wasn’t a fucking hobby. Jake turned his beer up and drained it. “Want another?” the old guy asked.

“Thanks, I’ve had enough.” Jake stood up and headed toward the laughter. “Think I’ll switch to wine.”

The only thing
that shut Marsha and Melissa up was when Jake walked into the kitchen, drawing a collective sigh from our girl parts. Jake charmed the heck out of my friends, telling them funny horror stories about the divas he’d taken out on tour. He didn’t name names, but Melissa and Marsha had fun trying to guess their identity and then begging Jake to spill.

“So, Jake, what do you think about
our
celebrity here?” Marsha giggled. “There’s no comparison.”

“You can stop right there, mister.” All the blood that had gushed south the minute Jake walked into the room was now streaking to my face. “We really should go now.”

“Hush, Tara. You’re not going anywhere.” Marsha refilled Jake’s wine glass. Melissa swirled the last little bit of martini around in her glass. “Jake, you were saying?”

He looked at me and grinned. “She’s great. The fans love her.”

“Did you hear that Melissa, she has fans,” Marsha gushed. “Tell us more, Jake.”

“She’s a good writer. Have you read her romances?”

“Poor Marsha suffered through a lot of really bad first drafts, Jake. Don’t make her relive it,” I said.

“Have
you
read her romances, Jake?” Melissa asked.

“Finished number four last night.”

“
Phenomenon
.” Marsha’s voice was all sing-songy.

“Please, stop, Marsha.” I was standing beside the junk drawer in the kitchen and was reasonably certain there was some duct tape in there. Two six-inch pieces might be my only hope of shutting Marsha and Melissa up.

“Phenomenon? Not sure I’d go that far, but Tara’s good,” he said.

I knew where this was going. “Jake, you haven’t seen the beach. The moon’s full, wanna take a quick walk before the tide gets so high?”

“Sure.” He laughed as I dragged him toward the back porch. “Ladies, it’s been a pleasure.”

“Don’t go,” Marsha whined.

I hugged Melissa and then her. “Thanks for having us, maybe we’ll see you around this weekend,”

Mike was noticeably absent when we left out the double doors and down the steps toward the beach. The ocean was so loud, I was sure there wouldn’t be any beach to walk on, but I knew if I’d stayed another minute, Marsha would embarrass me by explaining that whole Phenomenon thing.

Funny, I never thought of the film as a chick flick, but it was one of Marsha’s favorites during the mandatory annual getaway our group of girlfriends took every year to the beach. Four days of wine and food and nonstop movies. But it was another reminder of Jake’s and my age difference. Jim and I had been married for a year when the movie came out. We’d started trying for babies from the get-go. The movie just got to me, I cried so hard and was such a mess, we left the theater. Meanwhile, Jake was somewhere in Wisconsin and was probably, what? Fifteen? Sixteen at the most? I let go of his hand and walked a little faster on the path that was lined with brush and then opened onto the best beach ever.

“Wow. Thank you.” Jake stopped and pulled me close.

Normally, it’s pitch black on the beach, but the moon made the cloudless night look navy blue; the stars and planets were showing off. Thanks to the full moon, the light shimmered across the waves. The tide was higher than normal. Jake put his arm around me and kissed the top of my head.

“When I was a kid, my parents never went anywhere. I’d never been to the ocean until I was in college.”

“My parents are gone now,” I said. “But when I was growing up, they taught high school. We spent every summer exploring.”

“That must have been fun.”

“It was. Most of the time. We went to every state except Hawaii and my dad would have driven there if it was possible. Even made it up to Alaska the summer I was seventeen. Of course I was sure I was going to die, being away from my friends for so long, but man, Alaska is gorgeous.” I smiled remembering that old Coleman camper, although there were times I wanted to burn it to the ground. “I’ve seen so many beautiful places, but this place? Does it for me every time.”