Worth the Wait (7 page)

C
HAPTER
S
IX

Present Day

V
ivi put her camera away and searched for Cat, who she found lounging on the blue striped sofa, flipping through a gossip rag. When Vivi cleared her throat, Cat slammed the magazine on the coffee table and bolted upright.

“Hey, V, let’s ride the bikes to town and have lunch.” Cat radiated energy and an overly bright smile.

“So you’re not mad at me about the Facebook post?”

“No. You didn’t do anything wrong. Once again, Justin jumped to conclusions and reacted like a maniac.” Cat glowered. “Then he wond
ers why I don’t tell him the time and location of local photo shoots. Can you imagine what damage he could do to my career with one of those outbursts on set?”

“Good decision.” Vivi decided to drop the subject rather than get Cat worked up again. “So, are the cruisers in the shed?”

Cat’s scowl faded. “Yes. I think I may indulge in some wine at lunch.”

“Are there laws against biking drunk?” Vivi teased as they walked outside to retrieve the bikes.

Within minutes, they were pedaling toward town.

The nearly cloudless sky beckoned vacationers to explore the island. Weaving through pedestrian traffic, Vivi noticed young families everywhere. Unbidden envy nipped at her heart for the family she’d lost on that snowy January day twenty years ago. Despite the sunshine, a chill zipped through her veins.

Murky recollections leaped to Vivi’s mind: hearing her father’s muffled crying behind closed doors, finding him asleep on the floor clutching a photograph of her mother, sobbing while he later packed up and banished all photographs of her mother and brother.

As time passed, he’d simply drowned his grief in Jack Daniel’s one day at a time. He’d slowly withdrawn from the world and from her. By the time she’d turned eighteen, she’d become much too familiar with the sights and sounds of a drunk.

As a young girl, she’d sympathized with him, and had even romanticized his despair. Whenever self-pity had surfaced, she’d belittled her feelings as self-indulgent. After all, she’d survived when her mother and brother hadn’t. Bad as it was, life with her father was better than death.

In her teens, she’d often escaped by keeping busy with her art and her job at a local kennel, where she absorbed all the love she could from the dogs. The St. James family had helped by welcoming her into their lives, for which she’d be forever grateful. Mrs. St. James, in particular, had provided a motherly affection she’d long forgotten existed.

Now Vivi wanted a home of her own to fill with love and laughter. Too bad she always derailed that goal by comparing all men to David, nitpicking for flaws to justify pushing them away. Perhaps meeting Laney, a woman who literally moved around the world with David, was the kick in the pants she needed to finally let go.

“Let’s eat here.” Cat swerved into the Belgian block driveway area of Beachhead Tavern. A wraparound covered porch spanned the front of the two-story clapboard building.

Opting to eat outside, they picked a two-top table along the far railing of the porch. A gentle breeze provided some relief from the hot afternoon. Vivi sipped her iced tea. Perky chatter and the tinkling sound of silverware brightened her mood. She listened inattentively to Cat’s recitation of celebrity gossip, and soaked up the alfresco dining experience.

An animated group of five men seated at a large table beside them caught her attention. Colorful, overlapping ink designs of swords, vines, and unfamiliar symbols covered the biceps and forearms of two. A third wore a short ponytail and reeked of patchouli. The other two men were clean-cut. Vivi’s eyes lingered on the smile of the striking, dark-haired man dressed in khaki shorts and a collarless black shirt.

Cat followed Vivi’s gaze, then a knowing smile crept across her face as she lifted a single, perfect brow.

“Tall, dark, and handsome. You do have a type, my friend.” Cat chuckled. “Oh, excepting Alex and Hank, of course.”

“Well, it
is
a vacation.” Vivi blushed. “I deserve a little beach romance.”

Cat’s veiled expression interested Vivi. “I guess poor Hank will be left behind for Mr. TDH?”

“Well, maybe poor Hank will need some cheering up.” Vivi rested her chin in her hands. “Although, I sense some kind of tension between you two. Care to share why?”

Cat sharply withdrew, turned her face, and waved off the question. The waitress foiled Vivi’s prying by delivering lunch, and Vivi never allowed much to stand between her and her food.

She eyed her giant lobster roll, then scowled at Cat’s boring, undressed salad.
Ick
. Compulsive dieting had to be one of the biggest downsides to modeling, in Vivi’s opinion, anyway. Lifting her gigantic sandwich off her plate, she forced the crusty end into her mouth. An appreciative moan rumbled in her throat while she chewed. “Better than sex, I swear!” She smacked her lips together after swiping off a stray clump of mayonnaise.

Cat snickered.
Good
, thought Vivi. She could always make Cat laugh.

Mr. TDH bumped into Vivi’s chair when he stood to take a photograph of his friends. Her eyes were drawn to him as he adjusted the lens of his camera—an amazing Nikon D3X.

Oh my
. She lusted after his professional-grade equipment. Impulsively, she jumped up.

“Excuse me. Hi.” Her gaze fixated on his Nikon. “Would you like me to take the picture so you can join your friends?”

He turned to her, smiling like a fox.

“
Grazie mille
. That would be very nice.”

His Italian accent sent a shiver through her body, but she willed her clammy hands to grip his six-thousand-dollar camera. Handling the apparatus gingerly, she couldn’t imagine ever affording something so extravagant.

The improbable gang of friends huddled together while she fired off several shots.

“This is a great camera. The resolution must be phenomenal.” When she returned it to him, his fingers grazed the length of hers. Tingles shot up her arm. “I’m Vivi, by the way.”

He raised her hand to his lips. “Vivi?” His eyes twinkled when he repeated her name aloud. Despite the flush of warmth traveling to her toes, she managed to speak.

“Short for Vivienne.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “I’m Franco Moretti.” When he released her hand, the impression of his fingers remained on her own. “Do you know cameras?”

“Yes. I’m sort of an amateur photographer. And you?”

“I freelance for various travel magazines.”

“Oh, wow.” Franco’s appeal grew tenfold. Vivi envied his dream job. What could be better than being paid to travel the world shooting pictures of its most beautiful and interesting locations?

Cat cleared her throat.

“Oh, this is my friend Cat.” Vivi stepped aside, assuming Franco and his friends would prefer to focus their attention on her gorgeous friend. “Cat, meet Franco.”

Cat issued a two-finger salute from her seat. Franco nodded before placing his hand on the small of Vivi’s back and snapping his fingers to gain his friends’ attention. His touch sent another jolt of awareness along her spine. She couldn’t believe he hadn’t shifted his interest to Cat.

“Vivi, Cat, these are my friends Billy, Joe, Mike, and Ross.”

Vivi observed the other men eagerly greet Cat before eventually retaking their seats and resuming their own conversation. The ragtag group intrigued Vivi.

“What brings you all to Block Island?” she asked Franco. “Are you working?”

“No, not working. We’re all here celebrating a mutual friend’s thirty-fifth birthday.”

“Oh.” Vivi considered whether she could overlook the nine-year age difference in favor of his sexy accent and handsome face. “A guys’ weekend?”

“A big party.”

“Sounds fun.”

“A reunion of sorts. We all went to college together.” He glanced at his friends. “In fact, some of these guys played in a rock band back then and are planning to perform to really stir up old memories.”

“Very cool!” Vivi glanced at them and tried to picture them fifteen years younger, rocking it out on stage.

“Yes, although they’re not as excited now that Sarah, the singer, had a last-minute family emergency. These guys aren’t singers so much as musicians.”

“Vivi can sing!” Cat interjected.

“Oh, no.” Vivi’s cheeks ignited. “I’m not a rock singer.”

“She’s being modest. She takes voice lessons and sings at a local bar in Astoria on the weekends.” Cat’s victorious smile shocked Vivi.

That remark caught the band’s attention and thrust Vivi into the spotlight.

“Really?” Franco asked. “
Il destino
!
”

His deep brown eyes coaxed Vivi to admit the truth. Darn her soft heart.

Joe skeptically asked, “What kind of stuff do you sing?”

Franco’s intense gaze interfered with Vivi’s ability to concentrate, causing her to stammer a response. “Um, songs by Sheryl Crow, Sara Bareilles, Ingrid Michaelson, Patty Griffin. Sometimes I’ll arrange acoustic versions of random pop songs.”

“What about Avril Lavigne, or Pink, or anything like that?” Joe asked. He looked her over with an appraising eye.
Oh, crap.
She doubted she had the chops to pull off those throaty rock vocals.

Anxiety crept up Vivi’s neck. She had two options: get in over her head, or disappoint others. She hated disappointing anyone. “Well, I know some of their songs, but I’ve never performed them.”

Everyone ignored the timidity in her voice.

“Wanna try? We can muddle through on our own, but if you could jump in on vocals, it would be way better.” Joe’s friendly eyes conveyed his sincerity. “You could bring your friend, or friends, to the party. The DJ starts at nine, so we’re just planning a short set.”

“I don’t know.” Vivi glanced at the men, silently questioning herself for considering this folly. “I’ve never sung with a full band. I usually perform alone.”

“Let’s go back to the house and test a song or two. Worst-case scenario, it’s a no-go, in which case we just break out the beer.”

Franco stroked her arm with the back of his fingers, sending goose bumps scattering across her skin. “Why don’t you look at the songs and try.” He flashed an encouraging smile. “No obligation.”

“Fun! Let’s go, Vivi.” Cat clapped her hands. “Come on. Please! This will be so much more interesting than anything else we might do today.”

Vivi regarded her friend’s enthusiasm and the band’s laid-back attitude. Spending a little more time with Franco also held more appeal than watching Laney with David.

The adventure might be fun. In fact, it was beginning to feel like an irresistible challenge, which was how she often ended up knee-deep in trouble. Shrugging, she heard herself saying, “Okay. I’ll give it a whirl.”

Thirty minutes later, she and Cat parked their bikes in the circular driveway of a stunning blue home off Beacon Hill. The tabletop property offered gorgeous views of the island and the ocean. Pounding hammers shattered the otherwise peaceful setting as workers swarmed the yard, constructing temporary outdoor flooring and flowing white tents in the rear of the home. “Big party” was a serious understatement, Vivi thought just as a German shepherd came bounding around the side of the house.

Cat froze. “Oh, God!”

Vivi looked at the dog’s high, wagging tail. “It’s okay, Cat.”

She put her bike’s kickstand in place and made a soft clucking sound with her tongue, then stopped about ten feet in front of the dog and crouched a bit. She held out the back of her hand as the dog approached her and sniffed. Glancing over her shoulder, Vivi noticed Cat hadn’t moved, her eyes wide with caution. “Really, he’s fine.” Then she turned back to the dog. “You are a handsome devil, aren’t you?”

Franco came through the front door. “I see you’ve met John’s dog, Panzer. He likes you.”

“Vivi’s great with dogs.” Cat said, finally finding the courage to get off her bike.

If only people were as easy to manage as dogs, Vivi’s life would be much easier, she thought.

“Everyone’s inside.” Franco waved his hand toward the door and followed them into the entry.

Plate glass windows brought the outdoors inside. The airy, bright home smelled of lemons and sunshine. An absence of drapes and carpeting sharpened the sound of each footstep, cough, or chair scraping along the floor. Vivi admired the juxtaposition of contemporary artwork with the otherwise traditional beach house decor.

After a brief introduction to the resident birthday boy, John, she sat at the glass dining table to scan the set list. Someone set a cold beer in front of her. Although she typically didn’t drink much, a little liquid courage couldn’t hurt, so she chugged a third of the bottle while reading.

Joe leaned over her shoulder, flicking his thumb and fingernail together repeatedly. Her hand grasped her stomach while she tried to ignore his hovering and refocus. She knew three-quarters of the songs pretty well because they were very popular.

“Do you modify the arrangements, or do you play songs as originally recorded?” she asked.

“We keep our covers pretty true to the originals.”