“And time off to teach tourists how to surf,” Megan added.
To her surprise, he blushed. “Actually, I was meant to be helping my cousins with cleaning the rental units, but I hate being stuck inside, especially on a day like today when I could be spending it with such a beautiful lady.”
A little sappy for Megan’s taste, but her mom smiled the smile she got when she and Dad cuddled on the couch watching old black-and-white movies. They walked Mateo to his bicycle and watched him strap his long board to it with practiced movements. He nodded to the mansion beside the hotel, the one they’d walked past earlier.
“I promised Pastor Fleming I’d check in on his garden and orchids today. They’re out of town and he’s very particular—told my uncle I was the only one he’d trust with his plants.” Mateo beamed proudly. “If you’d like, when I’m done, we can go to the surf shop, find you a board and wetsuit to rent for the week.” He turned to her mom. “If that’s all right with you, Mrs. Callahan.”
Megan loved how he called her mom by her traditional married name, despite her telling him to call her Lucy. It was always weird when Mom used her maiden name for anything other than work, made her seem more like other moms when she used Dad’s name.
“Are you sure you have the time?” Lucy asked. “We don’t want to take you away from school or work.”
“Our spring break starts tomorrow, so no school. And my uncle,” Mateo’s grin widened, “he doesn’t mind as long as the work gets done.” He focused on Megan. “So I’ll meet you here at three?”
“I’m looking forward to it. Thanks, Mateo.” He rode off, his muscles flexing effortlessly as he pumped the bicycle pedals.
Best thing of all? Mateo had so charmed her mother that Lucy totally forgot about yelling at Megan for leaving this morning, much less meeting up with an older guy. Maybe this spring break with your mom thing wasn’t going to be so bad after all. It gave Megan a chance to prove to Lucy that she was old enough to make her own choices, that she didn’t need watching over 24/7.
Back home, any guy she might be interested in was the friend or brother of someone she already knew—Pittsburgh was such a small town that way—or worse, the son of someone her mom worked with in law enforcement. Since part of Lucy’s job was to forge connections with all the local police and sheriff departments, that was a lot of someones.
Down here, she could flirt without pressure. If she made a fool of herself, no one back home would ever know. Plus, no way could things get serious, not when she was here only for a week with her mom hovering on the sidelines.
Best of all worlds, Megan thought, satisfied she’d finally found a way to parlay her mother’s overprotectiveness into a positive. Not that she would ever tell Lucy that. Just like she’d never tell her father she knew his work “emergency” was a sham to get her and her mom to spend “quality” time together instead of their usual constant fighting.
Parents. She rolled her eyes. They were so transparent.
Promptly at three, Megan waited outside the gate to the Flemings’ mansion. Thankfully, Lucy was taking a nap, so hadn’t noticed the extra time Megan had spent on her hair—she’d inherited Lucy’s long, dark curls that went frizzy with the slightest whiff of humidity and fought every effort to bring them under control—or the fact that she’d taken time to apply a little eyeliner and lip-gloss, even though she usually didn’t wear makeup, only carried it because all her friends did.
The Flemings’ place was some kind of modern-style architecture, all concrete and steel with angles designed to get the maximum beach exposure. The gate at the end of the drive was constructed of interwoven steel circles, more artistic than an actual barrier to entry. Through it Megan could see the empty driveway, a well-loved garden—Mateo’s handiwork—along the concrete wall at the boundary between their property and the hotel, a kidney-shaped pool, and the path leading over the dunes to the beach. Mateo’s bike was parked outside the open garage door, but there was no sign of him or any cars.
He’d mentioned Pastor Fleming’s collection of orchids; those must be inside the house. Seemed like a pretty fancy place for a pastor. As she waited, Megan wondered what kind of congregation he led—maybe one of those TV ministries where people were always sending money?
Finally at twenty after, she tried texting and calling Mateo’s cell but no answer. Had he forgotten? Then why didn’t he reply to one of her texts?
Bored, impatient, and fearful she’d been made a fool, she bounced her weight against the gate. It swung open. He’d said to meet him there—maybe he’d meant inside the property?