Second Chance on the Chesapeake Read online

  “I just grew up, I guess. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. My life is full.” She refilled Gemma’s glass and then her own. “But my life’s also boring, whereas you... Man, girl, sounds like you’ve had some excitement. How’d you get the guts to dump el jerko?”

  “My friend, the high-powered lawyer.” Gemma rubbed a finger around the rim of her wineglass. “She told me exactly how to get my money and paperwork together and then file when he was off on a so-called fishing trip. He didn’t want to end the marriage because of how it would look, but he also didn’t want to be any kind of a husband to me. Not when I’m so boring compared to his special friends at the club.”

  Bisky snorted. “I assume the special friends were in their twenties and blonde?”

  “And busty,” Gemma said. “Turns out he likes busty.” Which Gemma wasn’t.

  “Told ya so,” Bisky said, but lightly. It was true; on the night before Gemma’s wedding, Bisky had taken her out for drinks and had a talk with her.

  “Why are you marrying him?” she’d asked bluntly. She’d come up for Gemma’s wedding, had only just met Jeff, but she’d disliked him on sight.

  “No one else is going to ask me,” Gemma had said. She was echoing what her mother and brother had told her, but she knew it was true. She was shy and backward and not that pretty. “I want kids.”

  “You can have kids other ways.” Bisky had sounded completely exasperated. “You have a college degree. Use it! Move somewhere away from your family and get a job. Come to Pleasant Shores and stay with me! Just don’t marry a man you don’t love.”

  In some part of herself, Gemma had known she should take Bisky’s advice. But the relationship and the wedding had built up a momentum of its own. She hadn’t had the courage, back then, to put a stop to it.

  “You were right,” Gemma said now, rubbing Fang’s ears.

  “Men.” Bisky reached out for Fang, and Gemma passed him over. “You’re the best little man, aren’t you, buddy?” She held him like a baby, which he tolerated for only a moment before struggling to right himself. Bisky handed him back to Gemma. “You know, I’m generally not that big of a dog person, but I like your little guy. He has attitude.”

  “He’s been great. My best friend through all this.”

  “I’m glad you have him, then.” Bisky gave a great yawn. “Sorry. I can’t wait to spend more time hanging out, but for now, I have to go to bed. Four in the morning comes early. Let me show you where you’re sleeping.”

  They cleaned up their glasses and then headed to the second floor, Bisky leading the way, Gemma carrying her suitcase. On the threshold of the guest room, Gemma’s throat tightened.

  All along one side of the room was baby stuff: a crib, a changing table, a rocker.

  “Sorry it’s got so much junk,” Bisky said. “I cleared out the attic and didn’t have anywhere to put this stuff... Oh, hon, what’s wrong?”

  Gemma shook her head and cleared her throat. “It’s nothing. It’s just...we were going to adopt, and I had the nursery all ready, and then it fell through.” She swallowed hard. “Twice.”

  “Oh no!” Bisky folded her into a hug. “I’ll sleep here, and you take my room.”

  “No, it’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

  “I can’t believe you went through that without telling me.”

  “I actually couldn’t talk about it. Still can’t. You need to go to bed.” She turned her back on the baby furniture, put her suitcase on the bed and opened it.

  “Are you okay?” Bisky still had a hand on her shoulder. “To stay in here and to do the attic?”

  “Of course! I’m fine. I’ll make the attic great for Sunny,” Gemma promised.

  She’d just have to figure out a way to do that without going crazy working in tight quarters with the man she’d never forgotten.

  * * *

  A WEEK WORKING closely with Gemma McWharter was going to be even tougher than Isaac had thought.

  He’d kept busy finishing the bathroom update as soon as she’d started work on the bedroom, but he couldn’t caulk all night. He was supposed to get the bedroom’s window seat fitted and planed out today, but she was out there painting walls, cute and sexy in a skimpy tank top and jeans. He wasn’t going to be able to pretend she wasn’t there.

  “Do you need help painting?” he asked finally.

  She looked down from the sheet-covered chair she was standing on. “I wouldn’t turn it down,” she said. “But don’t you have things to do yourself?”

  “Can’t put in the window seat until the walls are done,” he said. “May as well help you get there.”

  “Then sure,” she said promptly. “Trim or roller?”

  “Roller,” he said, and so she continued painting along the edges while he poured paint into a pan and started rolling it onto the wall she’d already edged.

  “I’m glad Bisky didn’t choose bright purple or pink,” Gemma said. “I thought girls usually liked those kinds of colors, but apparently, Sunny prefers neutrals. The gray is going to be gorgeous.”

  “Sunny’s a great kid,” Isaac said. “Works hard and helps her mom. And funny.”

  They painted in silence for a little while, and then she spoke. “If you don’t mind my asking... How come you didn’t get married and have kids?”

  He glanced back over his shoulder at her. He rarely got this question anymore, since everyone in Pleasant Shores knew him and his situation. “I don’t even have time to date, what with taking care of Mom and running the store.”

  “What’s going on with your mother?” she asked as she carefully ran her brush along the woodwork that framed the window. “You don’t live with her, do you?”

  “I do.” He stood back to examine the wall he’d just finished painting, looking for bare spots. “Not many women want to date a thirty-seven-year-old man who still lives with his mother. She has Parkinson’s,” he clarified, “and she can’t stay alone anymore. Works for both of us.”

  He glanced over to see that she’d stopped painting to look at him, her lips turning down. “I’m so sorry. How is she doing?”

  “Her spirits are good. She does as much of the housework as she can. Still cooks a mean lasagna.”

  She clapped her hands lightly. “I remember! Hers was the best.”

  “Still is,” he said, although the truth was, Mom struggled to remember the ingredients these days. It wasn’t to the level of cognitive impairment, but she had trouble focusing. “Tell me about you. What’s been going on?”

  She smiled a little. “Uh-uh, you don’t get to change the subject yet,” she said. “You don’t have kids, and you don’t date much, okay. What do you do?”

  He moved to the next wall and started rolling on paint. “I work,” he said.

  “At the store?”

  He nodded. “Plus I do side jobs like this one.”

  “So you’re putting in, what, twelve hours a day?” Her tone was joking.

  He nodded. “At least.”

  “Is that necessary?” She sounded shocked. “Wow.” After a moment’s silence, she added, “I’m sorry. I’ve never been in need, and I don’t know what it would be like to work two jobs.”

  He looked back over his shoulder at her. “We’re not in need, exactly. It’s important to me to build up enough savings that Mom would be taken care of, if anything happened to me,” he said. “Plus, the store has been in the family for decades. It’s an important part of the town, but it barely scrapes by.”

  “Why? Are people hitting the big box stores instead of staying in town?”

  He nodded. “Some support us, but it’s always a gamble as to whether we’ll be in the black any given month. So we don’t want to hire outside managers. Me and my aunt, between us, we cover the shifts.”

  “Isn’t she getting kind of old?”

  He grinned. “Don’t let her hear you say that. She feels and acts young. She’s been climbing ladders and lifting boxes her whole life, plus spending most of every day talking to customers. Seems to be a recipe for good health.”

  “Good for her.”

  They painted a little while longer, and when he’d done all he could, he put down his roller. Standing beside the sheet-covered dresser in the middle of the room, he took a long draw from his water bottle. “This place is looking good.”

  She came to the center of the room and turned slowly around, scanning it. Then she smiled up at him. “Thanks for helping me get the painting done. I’ll help you with your part however I can.”

  Their gazes met and held. He could see the gold circles around her pupils, the pink flush across her cheeks. His heart thumped, then settled into a rapid pounding.

  He remembered the first time he’d kissed her, how hard it had been for him to work up the courage, how surprised he’d been that they both seemed to know what to do and that it felt so good.

  He should be smoother now, but he wasn’t. “You have paint on your chin” was what came out of his mouth. He pulled a bandanna from his back pocket and wiped at it.

  He was so close now that he could smell her lemony perfume.

  His eyes flickered down to her lips and then back to those gorgeous eyes. He remembered more than the first kiss now; he remembered how quickly things had intensified between them as the summer had gone on, and how hard it had been to pull back.

  Her eyes darkened, and he could tell she was remembering it, too.

  Mom and Aunt Jean had warned him against getting so close to her, and in the end, they’d been right. Which was why he shouldn’t kiss her now.

  She made the decision for him. “Well, h
ey, thanks again!” She stepped away, her cheeks going pinker.

  Thanks for what? For almost kissing her? For not kissing her? And then he realized she was talking about the painting. “You’re welcome. Think I’ll go home and check on Mom.” His voice sounded a little funny.

  As he walked home, he wondered about it. He knew what had made him hesitate, but what had made her back away?

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE NEXT DAY, Isaac walked into the hardware store two minutes late, knowing he’d hear about it, rubbing his eyes. Trying to rub away the image of Gemma and her full, pretty lips, but that was futile.

  “A little help here?” His aunt—great-aunt, really, his mom’s aunt—was struggling with a large box.

  He hurried over to take it from her. “You should have waited for me.”

  “I might’ve,” she said, “but Goody is out back waiting for us to load this into her car, and you know how impatient she can get.”

  He did. He carried the box through the store to the back entrance and loaded it into Goody’s ancient, wood-paneled station wagon, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn.

  “Glad you saw fit to finally wait on me,” Goody snapped as she drove off. Goody ran the local ice cream shop and was known for being cranky.

  Aunt Jean glared after Goody’s car, then sighed. “We can’t afford to alienate her.”

  “Sorry I was late.” Isaac knew that all too well. If they couldn’t offer better service than the big box stores, that was where people would go, and they’d be out of business.

  As they walked back inside, she put an arm around him. “You’ve been working extra, haven’t you?”

  He nodded. “Things are tight.”

  He didn’t need to say more; Aunt Jean understood. As small business owners, they bought their own insurance, and even the minimal plan was hard to afford. When his mom needed extra treatments, each one was an expense.

  “What are you working on?” she asked.

  “Bisky’s converting her attic into a new bedroom for Sunny. I’m doing some of the woodwork and plumbing.”

  “I hear her cousin Gemma is there.” Aunt Jean frowned.

  Isaac nodded. “She’s starting a redecorating business. Kind of practicing on Bisky’s project.”

  They’d reached the middle of the store now. A few customers had come in and were strolling the aisles, shopping, but no one was ready to check out yet.

  They both walked around then, checking on people, making sure they could find what they needed. Then Aunt Jean came to straighten paint cans beside Isaac. “So you’re working with Gemma, spending time with her?”

  “A little, looks like. We have to get the remodel and the decorating done this week.”

  “Bad idea.” Aunt Jean shook her head. “I don’t like it.”

  “She’s changed. She’s nice.”

  “You stay away from her,” Aunt Jean said darkly. “She’s not our kind.”

  “Are we really still doing that?” He pulled out a rag to dust the bottom shelf paint cans. “Separating people out into categories, our kind and the rest?” Gemma had seemed nothing but sweet last night. Sweet, and beautiful.

  “Our type and the rich snobs,” Aunt Jean snapped. “Like Gemma McWharter and her family. She treated you like dirt before, and she’ll do it again. You don’t deserve it.” She patted his shoulder. It was her version of a hug and he smiled at her.

  A movement down the aisle caught his eye as he looked over at his aunt. Gemma stood there, her little dog in her arms, her face stricken. Clearly, she’d overheard.

  * * *

  GEMMA STARED AT ISAAC and his aunt. Our type and the rich snobs. Like Gemma McWharter and her family.

  Was her family viewed that way still? Was she?

  It wasn’t that far from the mark with her family, she had to admit. Money and status were everything to them. But she was different. Wasn’t she?

  Reflexively, she hugged Fang closer. She’d thought Isaac liked her, thought he was going to kiss her, but if this was the way he felt...

  “Gemma.” Isaac stood and approached her, his face compassionate. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She nodded. Best to pretend she hadn’t overheard. She didn’t want him to pity her.

  “Aunt Jean, she’s...” He gestured behind him, where his aunt had disappeared. “She’s got some outdated views.”

  He was trying to make her feel better. But that was because he was nice, not because he cared.

  He reached out and rubbed the top of Fang’s head, the movement of his hand mesmerizing. “Can I help you find something?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Why was she here again? She fumbled in her pocket. “I need three more screws like this, and a couple of boards sawed to size, if you do that.”

  “We do that. Screws first.” He led her to the area filled with drawers of nails and screws. He held out his hand for her sample, and within seconds, had supplied the size she needed. “Three, you said?”

  She nodded, feeling shy as a memory came back to her: shopping for a little project she’d done back home, she’d encountered a hardware store employee who couldn’t stop making jokes about screws, loudly, nudging her and making another male employee laugh.

  Isaac wouldn’t do that, though.

  He slid three screws into a tiny plastic bag, then beckoned her to the back of the store, where boards and two-by-fours sat near an old sawhorse. “What length do you need?”

  She pulled out her phone, where she’d noted the measurements. “I’m making a hook row and teenagers always have a ton of clothes, so... I think six feet.”

  He lined up the board she chose and sawed it, and she had the pleasure of watching his very nice muscles play underneath his olive green T-shirt. Fang struggled, and she put him down. “Now be good,” she ordered him. “Stay close to Mama.”

  “That dog is a hazard.” Isaac’s aunt bustled over, not meeting Gemma’s eyes. “No dogs in the store.”

  Fang looked directly at her as he lifted his leg.

  “No, Fang, no!” Gemma swooped him up just in time. “I took you potty right before we came in. You know better.”

  Fang looked at Aunt Jean and growled.

  “I’ll ring you up while Isaac finishes cutting those. I suppose you’ll want them delivered, since your little sports car isn’t meant for hauling?”

  Gemma lifted her chin. “Yes, please.” If Mrs. Decker thought she was a snob, she might as well play the part.

  As she followed Isaac’s aunt to the front of the store, though, her shoulders slumped. Yes, she had to make this redo work. And she would.

  But no, Pleasant Shores wasn’t going to be an uncomplicated safe haven for her. There was too much backstory, too much history. She didn’t fit.

  No one but Bisky would love her here.

  Her shoulders slumped as her thoughts spiraled. Would anywhere else be any different?

  Mrs. Decker rang up her purchase, and Gemma paid with her card. Then, Mrs. Decker looked past her and out the front window of the shop. “Here it comes,” she said, her voice disgusted. “Roll out the red carpet. Summer people are starting to show up at all times of the year, more’s the pity.”

  “Nice car,” Isaac commented from behind her. “And we need the summer people’s business, Aunt Jean. Paste on that smile.” He patted the older woman’s shoulder.

  Gemma sighed. She herself was one of the summer people that Mrs. Decker was complaining about.

  As she walked out the front door, Fang trotting beside her, the door of the expensive dark sedan opened.

  When her brother emerged, Gemma’s stomach lurched. “Ron! What are you doing here?”

  “I saw your note on Bisky’s door,” he said. “I’ve come to take you home.”

  “Come to take me... No. Forget it.”

  He nodded implacably and gestured toward the car. “Come on, now. Jeff is very upset. So’s Mom.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Are they, now? And why’s that?”

  “You’ve never known where you fit in. We care about you. No one here does.” He put an arm around her—something Ron never did—and she had a flash of thinking that maybe he was sincere and wanted what was best for her. That maybe she did fit in better with her family than with the people in this town. People like Mrs. Decker, now glaring through the front window of the hardware store.