His thoughts of a strawberry-haired beauty were cut off by the sound of the slider opening and closing again.
“I only had Tylenol,” Vanessa called, her sandals thwacking on the pool deck. “Will that do?”
He leaned up to find her approaching with a red and white bottle in one hand and a glass of ice water in the other.
“You’re an angel of mercy,” he called.
Her eyes, deep blue and wide, softened instantly as she approached, and Erik looked away fast, Hillary’s warning fresh in his head.
“Told you,” his sister muttered under her breath from beside him, watching their interaction over the rims of her sunglasses.
Erik swung his body around and sat up on the edge of the chair as Vanessa sidled over. She gave him the glass and two tablets, which he swallowed quickly.
“Thanks, honey,” he said, blinking up at her.
“Anythin’ for you. You know that,” she answered, her tone heavy with unspoken meaning. Suddenly she smiled sweetly, reaching down beside her lounger for a bottle of sunscreen. “Get my back?”
He looked at the bottle, then up at Van.
“Pete!” he yelled, still holding her eyes so that his meaning was as clear as could be. “Can you give Van a hand with some suntan lotion? I think I’ll go inside and catch some zzz’s.”
Vanessa flinched, her cheeks coloring with embarrassment, but she plastered a smile on her frosty face as Pete leaped eagerly out of the hot tub and rounded the pool deck to be of service.
“Sure thing,” he said, reaching for the bottle with his beefy linebacker fingers as soon as he reached the chairs.
“I’ll catch y’all later, huh?” said Erik, standing up and heading for the house.
“Erik!”
He turned back to face Vanessa, who looked at him longingly.
“We’re all goin’ out together tonight, right?” she asked, sitting primly on the edge of the lounger as Pete squeezed some cream on his palms.
Erik shook his head as a sudden image of Laire Cornish made him feel the same sharp longing he saw in Vanessa’s eyes. Hillary was right. This situation was stickier than he’d noticed before today. Maybe he should stop hanging out with Van so much . . . and tonight was the perfect time to start.
“Sorry, honey,” he said gently. “Y’all are on your own. I’ve got plans.”
Vanessa’s face fell as Pete suggested they go to a movie together, and Hillary, who may or may not have been intentionally included in his invitation, enthusiastically agreed.
Chapter 5
In mid-June, the sun didn’t set over the Pamlico Sound until almost 8:30pm, which meant that Laire had a beautiful, golden ride to Buxton that evening.
There are moments, she mused as the wind swept her hair back and the spray of salt water landed on her skin, when the whole world feels perfect. And right now, right here—zooming north toward Buxton, where she was about to accept a lucrative summer job and meet up with a young man who made her heart quiver like Jell-O—she was determined to savor such a moment.
Not that her conversation with her father had been chocolates and cherries.
When she’d first asked to use his boat, he told her yes, and for a moment, she almost thought she’d get away with borrowing it without accounting for her destination. But then, as he popped open a beer and sat down in his chair, he casually asked where she was planning to go.
She shot a worried look at Kyrstin, who had sat down on the footrest by their father and reminded him of his initial objections to her working on Ocracoke. He listened, nodding his head, before turning his eyes and asking Laire if she wanted to work with her sister over at the Ocracoke Bistro.
“What if I did?” asked Laire.
“Can’t say I’d love it, with all them tourists playing grabass with the local girls, but you’d have your big sister here to look out for you, and Bernard Mathers has been a fair boss to Kyrs. I guess . . .” He rubbed the scruff on his chin. “I don’t love it to pieces, Laire, but if you want to make a little extra money this summer, I won’t stand in your way.”
He took a long sip of beer. “But come think of it, why d’ya need the Stingray? Can’t you get a ride over to Ocracoke with Kyrs and Remy?”
About to tell her father that she had no intention of working on Ocracoke, Kyrstin interrupted her. “The problem is that Bernie needs Laire on the six-to-midnight shift. And my hours is switchin’ to eight to two.”
“Huh. Why’s that?”
“Well, I was sort of offered a promotion,” said Kyrstin, her attention fixed totally on her father.
Laire nudged her sister in the back with her knee. What are you doing? What about Buxton?
Kyrstin leaned forward, ignoring Laire. “I’m goin’ to do some bartendin’, and Laire’s goin’ to take over my shift.”
Their father’s eyes widened, and he set his beer down on the table. “Bartendin’?”
Kyrstin nodded. “Pays better, Daddy. Way more tips.”