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“Is that going to be a private class? Or can I tell the other parents to bring their kids on Monday?”
Ginger turned to find Audra leaning against the doorframe of her office, a smug smile on her face.
“On one condition,” she’d said.
Yeah, technically not blackmail. More like bartering.
Diesel’s cell phone beeped. “Speaking of Lover Boy, he’s headed up to the mansion to lay down the voice-over on the stained glass window segment. I should probably go up and give Mike a hand with the audio. Wanna tag along and drool?”
“You’re not funny.” Ginger stood, slowly stretching in the warm afternoon sun.
Diesel tossed his bag into the trash can. “I’m having dinner with Yasmine tonight. Why don’t you come along? I really want you to meet her.”
“I’ve sworn off drunk karaoke for life, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she said. “You don’t need to babysit me tonight and I certainly don’t want to be a third wheel on your date.”
“You’d rather hole up in the inn sneaking some good-for-you-but-utterly-tasteless-meal to your room than be a third wheel eating great seafood?” Diesel teased.
Ginger sighed. A night at the inn alone didn’t really appeal to her.
“I thought you were embracing your rebel self, Ging? Live a little. Don’t let them see that they got to you. Besides, I really want you to meet Yasmine. You’ll like her. I promise she won’t judge you.”
Diesel’s eyes had a pleading look to them. He obviously cared about the stained glass artist for more than what she brought to the show. Ginger’s curiosity got the better of her.
“Okay,” she said. Besides, dinner out with Diesel and his new friend certainly beat the alternative.
He draped an arm over her shoulders. “Shall I drop you off at the inn on my way to the mansion? It’ll be teatime and I’m sure the guests would love it if you sang to them.”
She elbowed him again. “Do you want me to come tonight or not?”
“Yes,” he said, giving her shoulders a squeeze. “I’m just having a little fun with you.”
“Actually, I’m steering clear of teatime this afternoon.” And every afternoon, for that matter. “I think I’ll head over to the ballet studio and get a workout in.” The voice-over work would likely take two hours, so she was sure not to run into Gavin if she hurried.
“You know there’s a gym right around the corner.”
Ginger scoffed at that. “I’ve told you before, dancing is a far better workout than anything you’ll get at a gym.”
“Whatever.” Diesel pulled the keys out of his pocket before bussing Ginger on the head. “Try to be a good girl and stay out of trouble. We leave for dinner at six thirty.”
* * *
Patricia rolled her shoulders in an effort to try to relieve the tension gripping her neck. Laughter from the guests enjoying tea on the veranda pricked her nerves even more.
“He’s quite the politician,” Lori said from where she stood at the island in the inn’s kitchen, carefully refilling the tray of strawberries meant for the tea. Detecting a hint of bitterness in Lori’s tone, Patricia eyed her employee shrewdly. There weren’t too many people who didn’t fall under Miles’ spell—especially not women. Miles was, and always had been, a natural leader. Kate, Patricia’s oldest child, now a pediatrician, was the studious one. Gavin was the charming peacekeeper of the brood, while Ryan served as the family athlete. Her baby, Elinor, a writer, was the dreamer. But Miles, her second child and the oldest of her three sons, had been born to be a politician. Listening to him debate the minimum wage with her guests and a few of Chances Inlet’s leaders who’d wandered in for Miles’ impromptu campaign stop should have made Patricia proud. But today she was feeling a little of the same bitterness she sensed in Lori. Bitterness and embarrassment.
“He’ll do well, I’m sure.” Patricia gave the expected answer before dipping her head so Lori couldn’t see the flush stain her face as she recalled her son’s reaction to finding Lamar at the carriage house this morning. The ambivalent veneer Miles had perfected these past few years had shattered and he’d suddenly been transformed into the fiery-tempered boy she’d once known, demanding Lamar leave immediately. Patricia wasn’t sure what mortified her more: having her thirty-two-year-old son catch her in bed with a man, or the way Miles had practically accused her of being promiscuous. He had no right to throw Lamar out. It was her house. Of course, she’d been too stunned to even stand up for either herself or Lamar. And that hurt worse.
“Why don’t I take this tray out,” Lori said, seeming to sense Patricia’s dismay. If only her son could be as perceptive and sensitive. Keeping her back to Lori, she nodded, wiping away a tear. Her children meant everything to her. But they needed to understand that she was more than just their mother. And she needed more than just the inn to fulfill her. Lamar had shown her that. The trouble was she couldn’t find a way to have the one relationship she wanted without straining the other relationships that meant so much to her. Ironically, it was Miles—the man who should be the most adept at compromise—who seemed the least able to accept her budding relationship with Lamar.
“Tricia.”
Lamar’s deep voice behind her startled Patricia, causing her to nearly drop the teakettle she was refilling.
“Hey,” he said gently as his hand traveled down her spine, resting at the small of her back. Its presence both steadied her and unnerved her at the same time. “Take a deep breath. Why are you so jumpy?”
“Miles is still here.” She wrung her hands in a dish towel. She’d been so distracted that she hadn’t heard Lamar enter the kitchen. “Maybe you should come back later.” Patricia hated how conflicted she felt but she prayed Lamar would understand.
“No,” he said, quiet determination in his voice. “I’m not afraid of your son. And neither should you be. Miles doesn’t dictate our behavior. We’re all adults here with every right to behave as we wish. You and I have done nothing wrong.”
“I know that,” she whispered. “It’s just . . . It’s just that I don’t want there to be so much tension. I don’t ever want to have to choose.” There, she’d said it. She wrapped her arms around her middle to keep from trembling.
“I won’t ever make you choose, Tricia.” The fierce resolve in Lamar’s voice was like a balm to her soul. The problem was, she was already fairly certain of his loyalty. It was her son’s she wasn’t so sure of, and that still scared the hell out of her.
“I think we’re good with the tea—oh.” Lori stopped suddenly at the kitchen threshold, her eyes darting behind her.
“I’m looking for Cassidy,” Lamar said smoothly. “Is she here?”
“She’s out back,” Lori said.
“Why do you need Cassidy?” Patricia asked, more guilt squeezing her neck. She’d been so worried about her own problems all day that she hadn’t spared the poor girl a thought.
“Mona needs a few things before she goes. I thought Cassidy could gather them up for me and then I could take her to Wilmington to see her mother before she’s admitted.”
“Oh,” Patricia said. “Of course she’ll want to see her mother.” She looked around the kitchen. The dishes from the tea still needed to be cleaned up and breakfast organized for the morning, but she didn’t want Cassidy to go to the jail in Wilmington alone.
“I’ll take care of everything,” Lori said, again reading her mind.
“Thank you,” she said, tossing the hand towel onto the counter before turning to Lamar. “Just let me grab my purse.”
When she turned to leave the kitchen, Miles’ tall frame filled the doorway, his face stony. “Going out?” he said, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared past her toward Lamar. “I was hoping to catch up over dinner.”
“I’ll be out in my cruiser.” With a curt nod to Lori, Lamar placed his hat back on his head and left the kitchen.
“Thank you for all your help today, Miles. Mona is being transported to r
ehab and, naturally, she wants some of her things,” she explained to her son, still angry that she had to clarify anything to him at all. “We’re going to take Cassidy to see her before she leaves.”
“I’m sure the sheriff can handle that alone.”
Patricia stiffened at his tone and Lori puffed out a breath.
“I’ll go get Cassidy,” Lori said. She and Miles exchanged a hard look before her son finally found his manners and stepped out of the doorway.
“I don’t like her,” he said, his eyes trailing after Lori as she went in search of Cassidy.
Patricia released an exasperated sigh. “I’m pretty sure she doesn’t like you, either, Miles, and right now, I’d have to agree with her.”
He raised an eyebrow at her, still trying to look intimidating in his designer suit and tie. “Mom, I’m just trying to make sure you don’t get hurt here,” he said, his tone more tender now. His words smacked of familiarity. Hadn’t she said the same thing about Gavin to Lamar? Some of the tension left her shoulders. Love could make people do strange things. She walked over and, stretching up on her toes, kissed him on the cheek.
“Thank you for that, Miles,” she said. “But we all get hurt at some point in life. Maybe it’s better if we’re just there to support one another if and when that does happen. If you tear at this relationship, you just might destroy one that is more important to you,” she whispered. “I know I’m going to follow my own advice even if it kills me.”
His mouth was hard as he stared out at the ocean through the big box window.
“Cassidy needs someone to go with her. Someone who can comfort her if she wants it.” She patted Miles on the chest. “I have an open room tonight. Why don’t you stay and we can have breakfast tomorrow morning? Lori will give you a key.”
Miles hesitated a moment, bristling briefly at the mention of her assistant’s name. “No. I need to get back to Raleigh. I have a busy week. But I’ll be back next weekend.”
“Have a good week, Miles,” she said with one last pat to his chest. She breathed another sigh as she left the kitchen in search of Cassidy.
TWELVE
A crowd of pedestrians trailed behind the giant hydraulic camera crane as it made its way by truck through the streets of Chances Inlet on its path up to Dresden House late Monday morning. The weather was a perfect sixty-five degrees with clear blue skies. The curious onlookers hovered about, chatting and drinking coffee as they watched the production crew set the camera up on the bluff.
“This couldn’t be more perfect,” Diesel said. “Did you see the news crew from Wilmington? They’re interviewing half the town. Our premiere is barely two weeks away, but this is the ideal human-interest story to generate nice ratings right out of the box. They’re putting a whole ‘small-town boy makes good’ spin on the story. That reporter is eating it up.”
Ginger watched as the perky redhead from the local station chatted with Gavin. The woman looked like she wouldn’t mind eating him up. Not that Ginger blamed her. He looked sexy as ever dressed in well-fitting khaki pants and his black McAlister golf shirt stretched over his muscled chest, the breeze tousling his hair. Whatever words were coming out of that amazing mouth of his obviously had the woman spellbound; her pink lips gaped slightly and her overdrawn eyebrows arched as she swallowed his charm hook, line and sinker.
She told herself that achy feeling in her stomach was not jealousy. Leaving his loft the other morning had been the right thing to do. Despite a potent sexual attraction humming between the two of them, it was best for everyone if Ginger kept her distance. She was pretty sure she’d never be able to win over the locals, but she liked Gavin. A lot. In seventy-six days, she’d be gone for good, though, and he’d still be here. Judging by her attraction to him, it would be difficult to walk away if they got further involved. She needed to stay the course.
“Do you know who I have to thank for all this media attention?” Diesel asked, bumping his shoulder against hers in order to get her attention. “Cassidy, the evil genius. She’s got nearly ten thousand followers on Gavin’s Twitter account. Next time you have him in the makeup chair, make him take his shirt off so she can Tweet it out. That should bump it up another ten K.”
Ginger stared at her friend, incredulous. “That’s disgusting!”
Diesel arched an eyebrow at her. “Is it? Well, I guess you’ve seen his body up close and personal so you would know,” he teased. “Seriously, though, that girl’s got some social media moxie. She suggested a fan page on Facebook for the show and I think we should run with it. Why don’t you get with her and set something up later? It’s okay for her to post once in a while, but our target audience is a little older, so you’ll be handling the day-to-day management of the page.”
“Are you kidding?”
“No,” he said, his demeanor becoming more businesslike. “It’s important that this show is successful, Ginger. I don’t have to tell you why. You can take your couple of hours a week to build goodwill in this town by teaching ballet, but the rest of the time your priority—our priority—is to pull this show off. It’s the ticket back, Ginger. For both of us.”
Ginger contemplated Diesel, remembering what Gavin had told her, that the restoration of Dresden House was his ticket out, too. His way back to his career as an architect. Chewing on her bottom lip, she gave Diesel a solemn nod. She’d do whatever it took not to let either man down.
They made their way into the mansion and Diesel was immediately diverted to the basement where the plumbers were putting the finishing touches on the work they’d done last week. Now that there was water and electricity, the butler’s pantry had been converted into a makeshift dressing room and the makeup had been brought up from the ballet studio. Ginger settled her messenger bag on one of the tall director’s chairs.
“Hi.”
She started as Gavin came up behind her, his warm breath fanning her ear.
“Gavin!” she breathed, spinning away from his body. A body that with one word was making hers warm all over.
He gave her one of his full-dimple smiles. “At least you remember my name.”
Exasperated, she shook her head while taking another step back. “Why wouldn’t I?”
He prowled closer. “You practically vanished into thin air after leaving my place Saturday. I thought maybe you’d skipped town.”
She made a face at him. “I went to dinner with Diesel Saturday night and then we went boating yesterday.” It turned out Yasmine was as lovely as Diesel said she’d be. When she’d invited her boating on the Intercoastal Waterway, Ginger had jumped at the chance. She would have done anything to avoid spending the day alone at the inn where the temptation to wander back to Gavin’s loft would have been too great.
“The sun looks good on you,” he said, reverently tracing a finger along her jawline.
“Gavin,” she whispered. “We can’t do this. I meant what I said.”
“So did I.”
Her eyelids fluttered closed and she cursed herself for wanting him to kiss her even as she was telling him there would never be anything between them. But his mouth never met hers.
“This is flippin’ ridiculous, Gavin,” the crotchety plumber was saying as he stomped into the room. “Why does every little conversation we have need to be in front of the flippin’ television camera?”
Ginger’s eyes snapped open just as Gavin slid into one of the director’s chairs. “It’s the whole purpose of the show, Morgan,” he was saying calmly, as if he hadn’t been about to kiss her seconds before. “Diesel wants everything to be spontaneous.”
The plumber mumbled something about tattoos and whippersnappers before pulling a trio of daffodils wrapped in a wet paper towel out of his toolbox. “These are for you, missy,” he said, holding them out to Ginger. Stunned, she stood frozen in place staring at the flowers in the curmudgeon’s outstretched hand.
“I don’t understand,” she said. She looked over the plumber’s shoulder at Gavin, who was smiling smug
ly behind him. Silently, he gestured for her to take the offering.
“What’s to understand?” the plumber was saying. “My Dora picked ’em from our garden for ya this mornin’. I brung ’em to brighten your day.”
Ginger took the flowers, a warm glow spreading over her cheeks. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Well, you say thank you,” Morgan practically yelled. “Jeesh, you young folk don’t know nothin’ about manners no more.” He turned to leave the butler’s pantry.
“Hey, you old coot, don’t forget you need makeup, too,” Gavin called after him, laughter in his tone.
“I know. I’m off to my truck to get a bottle to put those things in,” he called over his shoulder. “I’m being spontaneous!”
“I still don’t understand,” she said after he’d left.
Gavin chuckled. “If I had to guess, I’d say he’s sweet on you. But don’t go getting your hopes up. He’s been married to Dora for forty-five years. I doubt he’d leave her for you. So I guess you’re stuck with me.”
Ginger rolled her eyes at his wolfish grin, carefully placing the flowers on the counter just as Cassidy entered, breathing heavy, her phone poised to take a picture.
“Does he have his shirt off yet?” she asked.
Gavin’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”
“No one’s taking their shirt off, Cassidy,” Ginger said before she hurriedly tucked a towel beneath the collar of Gavin’s shirt, careful to not let her fingers graze his skin. Not that she didn’t want to catch a glimpse of muscled chest again, but she’d rather every other woman in the Twittersphere didn’t get treated to the same visual.
“Dang!” Cassidy said.
“Why can’t you sound that disappointed?” he mumbled so only Ginger could hear.
If he only knew. “Close your eyes, Gavin,” she commanded as she began to apply the face pancake to his cheek. She took great pride that her hands didn’t betray her and shake like her insides were.
* * *
By the time Ginger wandered back into town later that afternoon to teach the ballet class, she was relieved to finally be leaving the mansion. The spectacle of the giant boom camera continued to attract tourists and townspeople alike, and the sheriff’s deputy had to be called in for crowd control. Ginger was embarrassed to come face-to-face with the handsome deputy again, but his only acknowledgment had been a quick wink and a tip of his hat before heading off to wrangle the crowd, keeping them out of the high overhead shots.