“You did not.” Bella smacked the table, threw her head back, and laughed.
“Leanna, really?” Amy shook her head.
She looked between them. “What?”
“Leanna, that bathing suit makes you look like a Victoria’s Secret model,” Jenna explained.
“Oh, it does not.” Leanna shook her head. She wasn’t a woman who looked good in a one-piece bathing suit. Her waist wasn’t exactly small, but it was small enough to make her hips look quite round, and her full breasts needed the lift and support of a good bra. A bikini definitely suited her curves, but she felt very far from anything remotely similar to a Victoria’s Secret model.
“It’s so small,” Jenna continued. “And let’s face it; you’re not Amy’s size. None of us are.”
“Hey!” Amy crossed her arms.
“Sorry, honey, but Leanna has boobs and hips. You have itsy-bitsy anthills, but you’re gorgeous and you know it.” Jenna winked at her. “You probably stole the breath right from his lungs.”
“And shot it right between his legs.” Bella did a little shimmy with her shoulders.
“Ha!” Jenna laughed.
“Uh, yeah. Maybe.” Definitely. “But even so, he’s a guy who knows just what he wants in life and he has it. I’m…me.”
Amy came around behind Leanna and hugged her. “Aw, Lea. We love you, and any man would be crazy not to feel the same way.”
“I need to try to figure out my life before I can jump into anyone else’s. I mean, I love the jam business and the flea market, but let’s face it; I’ve gone through more careers than underwear in the last four years.”
“You’re just finding your niche,” Jenna said.
Leanna crinkled her nose. “What if I have no niche?”
“Everyone has a niche,” Bella said. “What’s happening with your jams?”
She shrugged. “Nothing really. They’re selling pretty well. I sent out proposals to a few grocery chains, and I’ve been talking with a few mail order and online businesses who want to carry my stuff.”
“But?” Bella asked.
Leanna shrugged.
“Oh no. Do not tell me you’re bored.” Bella leaned forward and touched Leanna’s hand. “Leanna, listen to me. Once you get rolling and you’re in more places, you’ll have more orders than you could ever imagine.”
Leanna had yet to find a job that held her interest for longer than a few months. “It’s not that. I like doing a few shows and not being locked down fulfilling orders. And I really love coming up with new flavors and dealing with the customers. It’s all fun for me. I mean, I really love it, and I have the added benefit of knowing I’m following in Al’s footsteps.”
“Aw. I miss Al.” Amy’s lips turned down in a frown. By becoming friends with Leanna, Al had also become friends with her Seaside friends. They’d spent time at his flea market booth each summer, listening to stories about his family and the jam-making business, but it was Leanna who’d kept in touch with him over the winters.
“I know. I do, too.” Leanna petted Pepper. “I just feel like something is always missing, and I have no idea what it is. Like there should be…more.”
“You haven’t been with a man all summer. Maybe that’s it.” Bella laughed, then finished her wine in one gulp.
“Neither has Amy, and she’s not feeling like something’s missing.”
Amy picked up the empty plates and carried them inside. “She’s right. I love my job at Moby Dick’s, and I love my cottage and seeing you guys. I just love my summers.” Amy had been a waitress at Moby Dick’s restaurant for the past six summers. She had a sweet deal worked out with her real job in Connecticut, where she worked as a bookkeeper. She worked remotely during the summers, and she worked at Moby Dick’s to pick up extra income—and meet men. But Amy was picky when it came to men, and this summer she seemed especially picky, though she claimed nothing had changed.
“I love what I’m doing. I don’t have a clue what’s missing.” Leanna went inside and brought out a loaf of the bread she’d baked the night before and the apricot-raspberry jam she’d made. Maybe she could fill her emptiness with food.
Chapter Five
IT WAS NO use. Kurt couldn’t run on the beach without thinking of Leanna. Yesterday morning he thought about her in his arms as he carried her to the beach, and this morning all he could think about was her delicious curves in that obscenely small bathing suit. She’d forgotten her clothes when she left yesterday evening and he’d washed them last night, then spent two hours debating taking them over to her. Every minute he spent thinking about her was a minute he wasn’t thinking about his writing. And that, it turned out, was a major problem. He’d stayed up until two o’clock in the morning writing what he should have written while she’d been there in that itsy-bitsy bikini—and in the hours afterward when he couldn’t concentrate.
He jogged up the beach access road and ran the rest of the way home on the hot pavement to try to refocus on Dark Times instead of Leanna. By the time he returned home, he was drenched in sweat and only moderately more focused. He showered, ate breakfast, skimmed the newspaper, and checked his email. While refilling his coffee cup, he eyed Leanna’s shirt and shorts, folded neatly on the counter. He doubted she’d even miss them. She didn’t seem like the type of woman who worried about where she’d left her things, given that she’d left his house without shoes the first night. Neither of them had remembered to put her bike into her van, either.
He fought the urge to drive them over to her now. He couldn’t afford any more distractions. He had to focus on his writing. On his way out to the deck, he glanced at the basket she’d given him and smiled.
You really are sweet.
He opened the apricot-lime jam and tore off a hunk of bread. Inside the basket he found a plastic knife, which, given Leanna’s propensity for forgetting, struck him as quite thoughtful. He layered the thick jam on the bread and sank his teeth into it.
“Mm.” He closed his eyes and savored the sweet, tangy flavor. He finished that helping and made himself another. He’d never tasted anything like it. The bread was fresh and also a little sweet. He took the basket inside before he devoured the whole loaf.
A few hours later, with the afternoon sun high in the sky and his fictional victim safely tucked away in the cellar of the villain’s secret hideaway, Kurt closed his laptop and stretched his legs. He’d written a fair amount and chewed on the idea of bringing Leanna her clothes at the flea market. He should write more. Another four or five hours and he would be comfortably ahead of schedule.
A few days ago this would not have been debatable. He’d stretch, freshen his ice water, and return to the keyboard inspired and ready to write for hours.
A few days ago he hadn’t known Leanna.
Now he couldn’t stop thinking about her.