Author: Kristan Higgins

“Just not what you’re looking for.” A tear dropped onto the table, and she smeared it with one fingertip. “You’re a really good guy, James. That’s not easy to find.”

He looked at her a long minute, then took her hand. “I’m sorry.”

She swallowed and shrugged, trying to smile. “So you and Parker finally hooked up, huh?”

He nodded. “Hooked up and broke up.”

“You in love with her?”

Another nod.

“Figures. I’d probably be, too, if I was a guy. Or a lesbian.”

He had to smile at that. “Leah, I meant what I said. You’re great, and you’re gorgeous, and someday, you’ll—”

“Meet the right guy someday and have babies and a dog.”

“Exactly. But I’m not the right guy.”

She surreptitiously wiped away a tear. “At least you never led me on. Never pretended it was more than it was.”

No. He’d used her and let her use him, and somewhere along the line, she’d fallen for him, and he hadn’t noticed.

“Stay here tonight. You can have the bed. It’s a long drive.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

He sighed, squeezed her hand and stood up. “You hungry?” he asked. “I make some killer pancakes.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

TWENTY-TWO.

Maybe that wasn’t what should’ve stuck with Parker, but hell. Twenty-two. Thing One’s girlfriend was thirteen years younger than she was. Thirteen years! No stretch marks there. No droopage. No crow’s feet when you’re twenty-two.

“Here you go, Parker,” Maggie said, setting down a plate of French toast and bacon. “Mind if I join you?”

“No, not at all.” Her son was washing the floor with Georgie, apparently the greatest activity on God’s green earth.

“So how are you today?” Maggie asked gently.

“Well, I’m pretty embarrassed. I don’t usually go to bars and screech at people.”

“No? A pity.” Maggie smiled. “Once, I got drunk at a church supper and told our priest I was in love with him.”

“I feel better,” Parker said. She squeezed Maggie’s hand. “Everyone has been so nice to me in this town.”

“We like you,” Maggie said simply. “So tell me about home.”

Parker did, describing Mackerly and its many charms, the Mirabellis, Lucy’s little café, the beautiful library where she and Nicky had spent so many hours, the bridge over the tidal river.

It would be so good to get back. Back and safe from the vagaries of love and lust and whatever else was mucking up her life.

“Maybe we’ll come visit sometime,” Maggie said. “I haven’t been to Rhode Island in ages.”

“I would love that! Malone was the first person I met here. I’m very…fond of him. Is that okay to say?”

“He’s hot, what can I tell you? Women love him. And he has no idea, which only makes him hotter. Oh, hey, speak of the devil. Matthew Malone, come sit with your bride. Our friend’s leaving tomorrow.”

Malone sat next to Maggie, who immediately popped up. “Oops. Tavy’s giving me the evil eye. Better get back to the kitchen. You two talk. If I don’t see you before you go…well, I have your email.” She reached down and hugged Parker, and Parker hugged her back.

“You married well,” she said to Malone as Maggie went back into the kitchen.

“Ayuh.” Malone watched his wife, a smile playing around his eyes, then looked at Parker. “You okay?”

“Ayuh.” She grinned. “I’ve been wanting to say that for two months now.”

He smiled in full. Damn. The guy was hot, all right. Good for Maggie.

From the corner, Nicky laughed at the wonder of the mop bucket. “Mommy! I want to be a bubble boy when I grow up! Like Georgie!”

“Sounds like a plan,” she said, smiling over her shoulder. “Thanks for watching him, Georgie.”

“You bet, Parker.”

“He’s not watching me, Mom! I’m his helper.”

Parker winked at Georgie, who was clearly enjoying having a protégé. “My bad.” She turned back to her breakfast companion, who seemed utterly content never to say another word. Made him seem wise. “So. Fun doings last night, huh?”

He gave a half nod. “I’ve seen worse.”

Twenty-two.

She believed James. Well, she believed that he thought, kindasorta, that he’d broken up with the Playboy bunny in his bed. But men were often vague, weren’t they? They might not be real clear, in case things with someone else didn’t work out. They might make promises they didn’t really mean—I’ll call you when I get back from Maine, he might’ve said to the bunny. Or, I’m in when asked if he might want to settle down and be part of a family.

Yes, men had their little escape hatches. If life got boring, they could always screw the babysitter, for example. Weren’t entire chapters of The World According to Garp devoted to screwing babysitters? Men always had ways of keeping their distance. Jobs, another example. They had to work hard in big cities and spend their free time with twenty-two-year-olds while their wives raised their kids and hoped they’d come home.

You never knew.

Malone was looking at her. She took a sip of coffee. After last night, she felt she’d spilled more than enough.

“Hey, good morning. How are you? I was really concerned.” Malone sighed as Collier Rhodes sat next to her in the booth.

“Hey, Collier. Thanks again for the ride,” she said.

“Oh, my pleasure, of course. Damsel in distress, right? I’m so sorry that you were victimized.”

Parker suppressed her own sigh. Her own fault for stomping into Dewey’s and making a scene—though it had been somewhat satisfying. “I wouldn’t call it victimized, but I appreciated the ride.”

“Of course. Hey, Judy,” he said, calling to the heavyset waitress, who appeared engrossed in a crossword puzzle. “I’d love the house special today! Except, maybe instead of eggs, it could be egg whites? With a little fresh cilantro, if you have it? And no bacon…maybe some turkey bacon if you have that. Some OJ, no pulp, and a flaxseed muffin, if Maggie made any of those?”

“I don’t even know what flaxseed is,” Judy said, not looking up from her paper. “Why don’t you ask Maggie yourself?”

“Okay! Will do, Judy! Gosh, this is the best place, isn’t it? I love it here. I come in every day.”

Malone raised an eyebrow at Parker, and she stifled a smile.

“Say, Parker, I saw the for-sale sign in front of your house,” Collier said, turning to look at her. “Why is that?”

She glanced at Malone, who rolled his eyes. “Because it’s for sale?” she suggested.

“Excellent! I was thinking it’d be a great house for a caretaker. Because, like, my travel schedule is a little crazy. Did I tell you I’m booked on a speaking tour? It’s called ‘Living the Life Fantastic.’ Now, I didn’t pick the name, trust me, my agent did, but I thought, yeah, I need a caretaker. Back before I retired, I’d close up the house for the winter, but since I plan to pop back and forth between gigs, I’d like to have someone keeping an eye on it, turn on the heat, stock the fridge. Is your place winterized?”

“Uh, it needs a little work.” A furnace, for example. A cellar.

“It’s a jewel,” Malone said gruffly.

Parker blinked.

“Malone, my man, you’re so right!” Collier exclaimed. Parker suspected he had a man-crush. “It really is a jewel.”

“Historic, too,” Malone said, taking a sip of coffee. “Built as a companion house to your own.”

Historic companion house, her ass. It was a fortified shed. She felt the wriggle of laughter trying to force its way up her throat. The creases around Malone’s eyes deepened.

“It’s really not winterized, Collier,” she said, unable to lie.

“That’s okay! Have you had any offers?”

“Actually, I’m, uh, considering a couple right now.”

“Shoot,” Collier said. “Well, what would I have to offer to beat it?”

Parker paused. “Well, Chantal is handling—”

“Double it,” Malone suggested. “You want the house, go for it.”

Holy halos. Malone was pimping her house. Even so, doubling it was crazy, and Collier had been nothing but nice, if somewhat vacuous. “Well, Collier, doubling it would be a bit—”

“You know what?” he interrupted. “Malone’s right. I want the house. I’ll double the higher bid. I’m sure I can swing it.”

“I’m sure you can, too,” Malone said. “A man of action.” He toasted Collier with his mug and smiled at Parker.

“Fantastic! This is so great! Thank you, Parker! I’ll call Chantal and get you a cashier’s check right away.” Collier beamed, then got up to harass Maggie about his omelet.

Parker sat there for a minute. “Malone,” she said, “don’t take this the wrong way, but I love you.”

He winked. “Take care, Parker.”

“You, too, hottie.” Then she got up, tousled his hair and fetched her son from the wonders of the storage room.

* * *

SHE PACKED UP NICKY and left at dawn the next day, not wanting to see anyone on the way out. It was hard enough. Beauty was curled up next to Nicky’s booster seat, and her son was chattering away.

She’d deposited half of Collier’s check into her bank account yesterday afternoon. It would be a pretty good nest egg, enough to carry her and Nicky until she settled into a job, enough to put a little into savings. She planned to make a donation to the lobstermen’s society in honor of Malone, and another one to the Gideon’s Cove Animal Shelter.

The other half would go to James. Parker had given Chantal instructions to give him a cashier’s check. He’d certainly earned it. And aside from that, she wasn’t going to think about James Francis Xavier Cahill.

There was a lump in her throat as she turned past Joe’s. You’re Leaving Gideon’s Cove, a sign announced. We Hope You’ll Come Again!

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

“IT’S THOSE IDIOT parents of hers,” Lavinia said at Dewey’s on Sunday night. “They screwed her up and good. And the father of her kid, he’s no help. Mr. Perfect.”

“Thank you,” James muttered.

“So what are you gonna do, sweetheart? I got the impression she was pretty fond of you.”

He sighed. “Not so much anymore.”

“Love sucks.”

“I’d have to agree.” He looked at Lavinia’s face. “I thought you were pretty happy, though. You and the judge?”

“Ah, that ran its course. Just physical. We broke up last night. Think he coulda told me before we played two rounds of ‘Spank Me, Nanny,’ but no.”

James choked. “Men,” he managed.

“Exactly.” She gave him a long look. “So what are you gonna do, hon?”

“I’m gonna go home, get a job, keep on keeping on.”

“Well, Jamie Cahill, you come visit me when you’re in town. You’re a good egg.”

James smiled. “Thanks, Vin.”

He said the rest of his goodbyes the next morning; his uncle hugged him and messed up his hair, Maggie and Christy and Chantal all kissed him and fussed over him, so it was apparent that no one really held the Leah issue against him.

No one but Parker, of course.

The cashier’s check for his half had been like a kick in the groin. And while he could’ve used it for Mary Elizabeth’s fees, he didn’t want to. “Tell you what,” he’d said to Chantal. “Make it out to Save the Children.”