Rachel awoke to the sound of rain pattering against the window. It took her a few seconds to remember she was in Luke’s bed. She smiled contentedly, turning to look at his sleeping face. She couldn’t believe it; after all that time fantasizing about having sex with Luke Duncan, it had actually happened. Just thinking about the way he’d touched her made her stomach do a little flip.
And then she realized that her alarm had never gone off.
“Shit!” She sat up and searched the nightstand for her phone. It was almost eleven.
“What’s wrong?” Luke said groggily, reaching for her.
“I overslept,” she said. “I meant to get back to the house for breakfast. It’s the Millers’ last morning.”
“Don’t worry. Amelia’s back. I’m sure she has it covered.”
She sank back into her pillow, pressing against him. He kissed the top of her head.
“This is crazy,” she whispered.
His arms tightened around her. She wondered if she should get dressed. He probably wanted to get some work done on the book.
“I should go,” she said.
He sat up, looking across the room at the rain-splattered window. “Not a beach day,” he commented.
“No,” she said.
“We could see a movie.”
“Luke, it’s okay. You don’t have to, you know, entertain me.”
He shook his head. “Silly. I know that. I wasted this whole summer pushing you away. Now I want to make up for lost time.”
She smiled. “Really?”
“I’m starving,” he said. “Let’s see what my dad has in the kitchen. Breakfast is the one meal of the day I can manage to pull together. Do you like eggs?”
“I like eggs,” she said, slipping on the jeans she’d worn the night before; they had been hastily discarded next to Luke’s bed. He pulled a blue University of Rhode Island sweatshirt from his closet and passed it to her. “When it’s cool outside, the kitchen has a draft.”
She felt mildly self-conscious walking down the stairs holding Luke’s hand as they made their way to Thomas and Bart’s kitchen. In weather like that, there was no doubt they were both hunkered down inside the house, and this made Rachel feel she was doing the beach-house version of the walk of shame. Except there was nothing to be ashamed of. And, really, Thomas and Bart would not exactly be scandalized. There had been more than a few wink-winks along the way that summer. If she was surprised about last night’s turn of events, she was probably the only one.
“There you are!” Fran jumped up from the kitchen table. “I went back to the other house looking for you.”
“Well, you found me,” Rachel said, sitting in one of the Arts and Crafts chairs across from her.
“I’m taking off after lunch,” Fran said.
Rachel wondered if Fran was at all upset about their conversation last night, but she seemed to be in her usual chill mood.
“Coffee, Fran?” Luke said, pouring a mug for Rachel.
Fran said no, she was starting a cleanse. Luke made small talk with her about the Cape Cod yoga retreat, and Rachel was content to just revel in the luxury of looking at him. At one point, he caught her eye and winked, and she felt she could die of happiness.
The doorbell rang, and he excused himself to go answer it.
“Well, well,” said Fran. “Good for you. No wonder you stayed here all summer. You should have mailed me a postcard of him. No further explanation needed!”
Rachel shook her head. She wasn’t about to get into it. Fran wouldn’t understand. She would have somehow managed to sleep with him the first day they met.
“I should get going,” Rachel said.
“Why?”
Why? Because this was making her uncomfortable. She didn’t need a post-hookup brunch with her mother. “Come by the house to see me before you leave.”
Rachel glanced at the kitchen door, wondering what was taking Luke so long. She climbed the stairs back to his room and found her handbag. Looking out the window, she decided to keep his hooded sweatshirt for the walk to the house. He wouldn’t mind. She looked at the disheveled bed and smiled. This is really happening.
Back downstairs, heading to the front hall to find him, she heard his voice before she saw him. He wasn’t alone.
She followed the sound of conversation into the living room. Luke’s back was to her, and so she was greeted by a surprised expression from a very lovely Asian woman. She was around Rachel’s age, with prominent cheekbones, a heart-shaped mouth, and shoulder-length hair styled with neat bangs.
Luke, following the woman’s gaze, turned around.
“Hey,” he said, clearly trying to sound casual. But the set of his jaw and the way he squared his shoulders undermined that completely.
“Hey,” she managed in a way that hopefully conveyed Who the hell is that? Even though she knew. Of course she knew: Vanessa.
Luke stumbled through the awkward introductions, and Rachel’s body went cold at the same time her face turned hot. In all their intense talking the past fifteen hours—not to mention intense fucking—how had he failed to mention that his girlfriend was coming to visit? Okay, maybe the timing was a surprise. But surely he knew it was on the table, so to speak. No wonder he’d been pushing her away all summer. He was still involved with Vanessa!
Rachel almost knocked over an end table on her way to the front door. She ignored Luke’s pleas to wait, stop, hold on a sec. Outside, the rain pelted her hard and she welcomed the punishing needles. She deserved to be soaked, drenched, washed out to sea. She was an idiot! When the Beach Rose Inn finally appeared in the distance, she ran the rest of the way.
Chapter Forty-Two
The days passed quickly, melting into one another. Marin felt herself growing lazy. She didn’t know if it was the pace of life in a beach town or her hormones, but the only thing getting her out of bed some mornings was Kelly’s knock on the door to get her ass up to the studio.
Marin was beginning to realize something. Or, rather, Kelly had realized it and pointed it out to her: Marin actually had some artistic ability. While Kelly worked on some of the more intricate parts of the Beach Rose Inn mosaic—the rose design was complicated because the pieces had to be cut in very deliberate angles to form the blossoms and the leaves and stem—Marin started her own small piece. It was a starfish, inspired by the stained-glass mosaic hanging in the living room. But instead of stained glass, Marin was creating hers entirely from smalti and tiles. And she loved it. It felt natural; she had an absolute vision for how she wanted it to look, and cutting and gluing the pieces to match that mental image was incredibly satisfying.