No Ordinary Love: Sweetbriar Cove: Book Six Read online

  Cal shook his head and gave his friend a good-natured shove. “They’re too young for you. What are you going to talk about, the new Justin Bieber record?”

  “Who said anything about talking?” Declan gave a wink, and then sauntered off to catch up with them.

  “He’ll learn,” Jake said, sipping his beer.

  “Don’t be so sure,” Cal replied. “He’ll be eighty, still the biggest player at the retirement home.”

  Jake chuckled. “You’d be surprised. I wasn’t exactly Mr. Monogamy until I got together with Mackenzie. Sometimes you’re just waiting for the right woman, even if you don’t realize it yet.”

  Cal couldn’t stop himself from searching out Eliza again. The dancefloor had cleared between songs, but he caught that flash of red over at one of the big communal picnic tables. She was sitting with a paper bib around her neck, hair pulled back, digging into her food with total gusto.

  She was a study in contrasts. He couldn’t think of anyone who broadcast their emotions so clearly. When she was relaxed like this, happiness seemed to radiate, but the minute the tide turned . . . God help whoever was on the end of that clear, determined stare. It was no wonder she’d been causing waves at the newspaper, long before the Prescott Group had taken the reins. “She’s a trouble-maker,” the editor had said, almost helplessly, when that scathing article of hers went live. Eliza clearly didn’t care that every newsroom was like a royal court—where favors and allegiances sometimes mattered more than pure talent. And in the end, it had been her undoing. It wasn’t lost on Cal that nobody had come to her defense, or even put up a fight to keep her job at all.

  She looked up suddenly, and saw him watching, so he raised his hand in a wave and made his way over. He shouldn’t feel so off balance around her, he told himself sternly. After all, they’d reached a détente, of sorts. The sooner he got used to seeing her around—without the wayward jolt of tension—the sooner he could have that stress-free trip he’d planned.

  Civil, that’s what she’d said. And he was a Prescott, raised with impeccable manners. He could manage some small talk without either of them pushing the other off the pier.

  Right?

  * * *

  Eliza was in a great mood. Maybe it was the party, or Aunt June’s killer punch, or the bowl of melted butter sitting in front of her, but she wasn’t about to let Cal Prescott throw her off her game. Even if the worn cotton of his shirt hugged every inch of his torso, the sky-blue shade bringing out the ocean in his eyes . . . “Is that, gasp, a T-shirt?” she teased, when he reached her. “What happened, the butler forgot to press your dress shirt?”

  Cal smiled. “I was told this thing gets messy.”

  “Well then,” Eliza said, shifting to free up space on the bench beside her. “How about you sit down and get your hands dirty?” Somehow, it sounded suggestive out loud, so she thrust a paper bib at him quickly. “You’re going to want one of these.”

  Cal tied it around his neck, and she was almost relieved to see him cover up those distracting muscles.

  Almost.

  “You’re really going for that lobster, huh?” Cal asked, surveying her with a smidge of amusement.

  “Is there any other way?” Eliza cracked open a claw and happily scooped out the tender lobster meat inside. She sucked butter from her fingertips and gave him a grin. “I mean, you’re welcome to try it with a knife and fork . . .”

  Cal gave a chuckle. “I think I can remember how.” He reached for a claw and expertly levered it open, leaving a perfect nugget of meat within. “My dad would take us out on the boat when I was a kid. Sometimes we’d pull them straight out of the water whole, and have the chef do a big broil for dinner.”

  Boat. Chef. Eliza bit back a smart retort. So, his childhood had been very different to hers, but that wasn’t his fault. She’d been more than lucky herself, running around the beaches of the Cape every summer, her feet wet in the tide pools. “That sounds nice,” she said instead, and almost laughed at the surprise on Cal’s face.

  “It was.” He frowned, shooting her an uneasy look. She grinned wider and dunked another piece of lobster meat in butter. Maybe being nice had its benefits, after all. Kill them with kindness, and all that jazz.

  “I had to fight Hank for the last brownies,” Brooke announced, arriving with a plate and a triumphant smile.

  “His special brownies?” Eliza asked, eying the gooey treats. Brooke paused.

  “What do you mean?”

  Cal took a corner and tasted it. “Yeah, you’re going to want to keep from operating heavy machinery,” he said, breaking into a grin.

  Brooke hooted with laughter. “No wonder the college kids are all hanging around him like flies.”

  “You’ll learn.” Eliza patted her shoulder. “Once, my mom ate some at the Halloween Hayride by mistake. I found her listening to James Brown at two in the morning, eating Cheetos straight from the bag.”

  Brooke grinned. “Who knew your mom was such a rebel?”

  “That’s just the start of it.” Eliza took a sip of beer. “I found a whole bunch of photos of her and my dad, dressed up like hippies at some music festival when they were in college. They knew how to party.”

  Not that her mom would ever admit it now, of course. Eliza’s dad was the only one who could tease her into giggling fits, or suddenly whirl her around the kitchen in a spontaneous slow dance. Without him around, Eliza hadn’t seen Linda laugh in weeks. Maybe even longer.

  She shook off the sad thought. Mom needed time, like they all did. Tonight, she’d gone to Franny’s for tea and bridge, so at least she wasn’t sitting home alone.

  When she looked up, Eliza found Cal watching her, his blue eyes thoughtful. For a moment, it felt like he was looking right through her, and could see all the emotion she’d been struggling to keep pressed down, hidden out of sight.

  Eliza shivered.

  “I love this song!” she declared suddenly, bouncing to her feet. “Come on, Brooke, let’s dance.”

  She took off back to the dance floor without waiting to see if her friend followed. The band was playing something loud and fast, and she lost herself in the throng of friendly bodies, dancing from one familiar face to the next. She didn’t want to think tonight, she just wanted to have a good time, and so the next hours spun by in a whirl of dancing, and local gossip, and several more cups of that deliciously lethal punch, until by midnight, she was thoroughly worn out.

  “Time to call it a night!” Poppy said, as the last song faded away. She yawned and smiled at Eliza. “I can’t believe I stayed out so late.”

  “You’re a trooper.” Cooper kissed her forehead. “Can you make it to the car, or do you want me to bring it around?”

  Poppy paused. “Is it terrible if I want the ride?”

  Eliza laughed as Cooper went to fetch his truck. “Perks of the pregnancy, huh?” she teased.

  Poppy snorted. “You mean, along with my swollen ankles and insatiable need to pee?”

  “Good point,” Eliza agreed. She waited with Poppy until they headed out, and then was smothered in a hug from Brooke.

  “See you tomorrow?” Brooke asked. “Come over for dinner, we can have a real girls’ night.”

  “I have a shift at the restaurant until ten,” Eliza said. “But I can swing by after, with dessert?”

  “Done.” Brooke beamed. “There’s lots to discuss.” She gave a meaningful look at where Cal was chatting with the guys, and then winked, waltzing away before Eliza could say a word.

  Eliza collected her jacket—and some cookies for the road—and headed for the steps down to the beach, but the pier was slick with spilled drinks, and she lost her footing.

  “Whoa.” Cal caught her arm just as she almost took a tumble. “That punch should have come with a warning.”

  “It does,” Eliza replied. “Didn’t you see the designated driver signs up by the lot?”

  Cal gave her a mock-stern look. “Do I need to take your keys?”

>   “I’m walking.” It was still warm out, so Eliza stuffed her sweater into her shoulder bag. The party was shutting down now, with people packing up vans and dismantling the booths.

  Cal looked around. “Which way? I’ll walk with you.”

  “It’s OK,” Eliza said. “It’s only a mile back across the beach. I’ve walked it a hundred times.”

  “It’s dark,” Cal said stubbornly. “You don’t know what’s out there.”

  “Sure, I do,” Eliza laughed. “Debra will be walking her dogs, and Randall will probably be out, checking the tide pools for his ecological studies.”

  “I insist.”

  Eliza paused. It was perfectly safe for her to walk home alone. The dangerous part was standing right in front of her: looking too tempting for her own good. But what was she supposed to say, No, thanks, I might lose all self-control and jump your delicious bones? She could only imagine Cal’s response to that, so she just gave a nod. “Sure, why not?”

  Cal fell into step beside her, and she led the way, following the winding path back from the harbor down through the reedy marshes and onto the pale sand that curled around the bay.

  “Tonight was fun,” Cal remarked, strolling with his hands in his pockets. “There’s a real sense of community here.”

  “For better or worse,” Eliza cracked. She caught his quizzical look. “Small-town life can be . . . interesting,” she explained. “I love being a part of something here, knowing and caring about my neighbors, but the flip side of that is when people know a little too much.”

  “Right, the gossip mill,” Cal agreed. “I had three different people quiz me on my plans and romantic status tonight. I think they were disappointed the rumors about me aren’t true. Sadly, I’m not eloping with the movie star Lila Moore.”

  Eliza laughed. She peeled off her sneakers and wriggled her bare toes in the sand. “Is that what it feels like for you all the time?” she asked, curious, swinging her shoes by their laces. “Having gossip columns track who you’re dating, or what event you attend?”

  Cal gave an awkward-looking shrug. “I guess. I try not to pay attention to any of it, which is easier said than done. It’s easier now—I try not to give them anything to talk about, but after my parents died . . . the press was everywhere.”

  His words hit her like a thunderbolt. Eliza stopped walking. “I’m sorry,” she exclaimed, feeling terrible. “I didn’t know. I mean, I must have heard it,” she added. “But I didn’t remember.”

  “That’s OK.” Cal gave her a rueful smile. “Sometimes I forget, too. And then . . . Well, it was a long time ago. Coming up on ten years.”

  There was silence, just the lulling crash of the waves, steady on the shore. “Does it get easier?” Eliza asked quietly.

  Cal paused.

  “My dad passed last year,” Eliza confided. “And in some ways, it feels like forever. But then I forget, and think, ‘Oh, I need to tell him this,’ or start sending him an article, and it hits me all over again—” She stopped, the telltale sting already choking her throat.

  Cal touched her arm gently. “I’m sorry,” he said. “And no, it doesn’t get easier. But it hurts less, if that makes any sense. You get used to the space they left behind.”

  Their eyes met in the moonlight, and suddenly, Eliza could see it there: the same pang of emptiness, hidden just beneath the surface. A brief mirror of her own hidden grief.

  It was just a moment, but Eliza was shaken. It felt like the first time she’d really seen him. Cal. Not just the guy on the other side of a corporate memo, in the immaculate preppy slacks, needling her with smart—and infuriating—comments. No, there was a man behind that charming, handsome surface she’d never glimpsed before. Somebody with private heartache and struggles, just like her.

  Cal started walking again, down towards the tide line, and she followed, the sand turning damp beneath her bare feet. He pulled off his dock shoes, too, and waded in the shallows. He looked deep in thought, and Eliza scolded herself for ruining the easy mood. “I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I didn’t mean to bring anything up . . .”

  “It’s OK.” Cal gave her a smile, a real one, something quieter than the charming grin he flashed around so easily. “Like I said, you get used to it.”

  “It was a car accident, wasn’t it?” she ventured. He nodded.

  “You?”

  “Cancer.”

  Their words were light, but Eliza knew now that they were members of the same club.

  “You don’t understand, until it happens to you,” Cal said, echoing her thoughts. “I had a roommate back at boarding school, his mom had just passed. I thought I understood what he was going through, but I didn’t have a clue.”

  “I guess we all learn it, in the end,” Eliza said with a sigh.

  Cal nodded, then he gave a wry chuckle. “Wow. Look at us. Talk about a buzzkill.” He splashed her suddenly, kicking up the shallow water and raining a shower of cold water down on Eliza.

  She shrieked, and splashed back, until the two of them were half-drenched. “Mercy!” she finally called.

  “OK, OK.” Cal stopped, just as a wave crashed around him, the water spraying up to his shoulders. Eliza was in the shallows and jumped back just in time. She looked at him and laughed.

  “Karma!”

  Cal was soaked through, the fabric of his shirt drenched and clinging to his torso.

  His taut, muscular torso.

  For a moment, their eyes caught again, and Eliza could swear her heart was pounding loud enough to hear. They were completely alone in the moonlight, nothing but ocean and sand.

  And the connection that seemed to pulse, bright and wild between them.

  Eliza’s breath stilled. It was only a couple of steps to him. She could close the distance so easily: slip her hands around his taut waist, breathe in the scent of him, salty in the water, tilt her face up to meet his lips. She could picture it now. She could feel him already—

  Then Cal gave a rueful grin. “That’ll teach me,” he said, shaking out his hair like a wet dog.

  The moment was broken. Eliza quickly skipped back to dry sand, her skin flushed and her pulse racing. “I’m just up here,” she said, relieved to recognize the outline of her family beach house, shadowed in the dark. Cal walked with her up to the dunes, and through the rickety old gate that divided the beach from their grassy backyard. The lights were off, and her mom was probably asleep by now.

  “Thanks,” she said, pausing by the back porch. “For walking me.”

  “And the bracing shower?” Cal asked, his lips quirking in a grin.

  “You can talk.” Eliza giggled. “You look half-drowned.”

  His hair was wet, sticking out at wild angles, and before she could stop herself, she reached up and smoothed it down.

  Cal tensed.

  Eliza snatched her hand back as if she’d been burned, but she was still standing close to him. Too close. Their eyes met in the dark, and she felt it all over again: that inexplicable pull, drawing her closer.

  Cal’s gaze dropped to her lips, and Eliza caught her breath, lightheaded and—

  The lights went on.

  “Lizzie?” her mom’s voice yelled. “Is that you?”

  Eliza barely had time to take a half-step away from Cal before the back door swung open, and then Linda was standing there in her floral dressing gown, with rollers in her hair. “Would you stop— Oh!” she exclaimed, seeing Cal there. Her face changed. “I didn’t know you had company.”

  She shot a look at Eliza, but luckily, Cal’s perfect manners kicked into action.

  “I’m so sorry if we woke you,” he said smoothly, stepping forward. He offered his hand, and one of those perfect smiles. “Cal Prescott, a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Charmed.” Linda’s frown melted into a girlish grin. She paused. “Did you say Prescott . . . ?”

  “Cal was just walking me home,” Eliza interrupted, ducking around him to the door. “Thanks!” she said brightly. “I�
��ll see you around.”

  “Save yourself,” she mouthed to him over her mom’s shoulder. Cal’s eyes widened.

  “Oh, but don’t let me interrupt,” her mom chirped. “Come in, have some coffee!”

  Cal cleared his throat. “I better get back,” he said. “Again, it was lovely to meet you, Mrs. Bennett.”

  “Bye!” Eliza dragged her mom back inside and practically slammed the door in his face.

  “What’s gotten into you?” Linda complained. “I just wanted to meet your friend.”

  “He’s not my friend,” Eliza corrected her automatically. But was that even true anymore, after tonight?

  Either way, she didn’t want to face her mom’s inquisition, so she faked a yawn and headed for the stairs. “I’m beat.”

  “But look at you, you’re wet through.”

  “Good night!” She bolted up to her room and closed the door behind her. Thankfully, Linda didn’t follow.

  Eliza flopped onto the bed.

  What was she doing?

  Somehow, “civil” had blurred to “friendly,” which had teetered precariously close to “tearing off all his clothes and frolicking like nymphs in the surf.” This was Cal Prescott she was getting worked up over! The man behind her unceremonious firing, poster boy for Old Money, whose self-satisfied retorts burrowed under her skin and left her smarting for days . . .

  Whose kiss was still branded on her memory, hot as the moment he’d pulled her into his arms.

  Eliza groaned and rolled over, burying her face in the pillows.

  It was going to be another long, restless night.

  7

  When Eliza rolled out of bed the next morning and wandered downstairs, she was greeted with a worrying sight: her mom, dressed and bustling, with a bright smile on her face.

  “You’re up!” Linda greeted her cheerfully. “Coffee? The pancakes are almost ready. I thought I’d make strawberry, I know they’re your favorite. I got the berries at the market first thing. Ooh, and I picked up the newspaper for you, too.”

  “Thanks . . .” Eliza yawned, still sleepy, and her mom patted her head.