A Sweet Possibility (Archer Cove Series Book 2) (2 page)

"He's your cousin," Wren whispered. "And he's married. With a baby on the way."

"Whatever. Third cousin, anyway." She took another gulp of her drink.

"It's weird all the same."

Jessie tapped her glass with her fingernail. "Wren? I'm empty."

Wren patiently moved the glass out of reach. "I think you've had enough. You're not driving, by the way."

"I'll sober up in time," Jessie said, but didn't object when Wren lifted her keys from her clutch. "The valet has my car key. You're just locking me out of my house. Oh, fine. You want me to get a ride?" She sighed and took out her cell phone to text Quinn. "There. All set."

"Good," Wren said.

"Oh look. It's time for presents." Aunt Doris groaned and sat back in her chair.

"Does this make you regret not having children?" Sadie asked. Doris had never married, though rumor had it she'd received several proposals.

She sputtered her lips. "That's like asking someone if they regret not being whipped."

"Some people like being whipped," Jessie said matter-of-factly and reached for Wren's mimosa, figuring what was the harm? She wasn't driving. Wren slapped her hand away. "It's a big thing. Spankings."

"For children?" Auntie Lil asked.

"No, Mom," Wren said. "She means kink. You know, handcuffs and chains."

Auntie Lil's cheeks turned pink and she sat rigidly in her chair, her eyes fixed on Maggie and Greg, who were pulling baby shampoo out of a small bag and gasping, "Thank you."

"I've seen that brand before," Auntie Lil said. "Is that organic?"

"They're overselling the gratitude," Jessie muttered.

"Don't change the subject, you two," Doris said. "This shower was just getting interesting."

They sat in virtual silence — aside from the obligatory oohs and ahhs — as Maggie opened her gifts. A handmade baby quilt. Too many yellow and green onesies to count. A baby monitor with a built-in video camera. Knickknacks that Jessie didn't see the point of. The sun was blaring by then, and she was sweltering in the shade of the umbrella. Even if her other dresses didn't fit, Jessie regretted not wearing something more breathable.

After they'd opened a veritable mountain of baby gifts, Maggie rose and gave a polite and nearly heartwarming speech thanking everyone for their generosity. Then Louise announced that Maggie and Greg should go cut their shower cake, and Jessie mumbled, "At least there's dessert. That quiche didn't sit well with me."

They cut the cake together, their hands overlapping on the knife, and the crowd sighed in approval. Then Greg ran his finger along the side of the knife to gather a clump of frosting, which he then dotted on Maggie's nose.

That's about the time all hell broke loose.

Maggie's face turned a deep red. "Do you think that's funny? To put frosting on my face at my baby shower?"

A bewildered Greg looked at his wife, terror creeping across his handsome features. "I don't — it was a joke. I didn't mean —"

"Like hell you didn't!" Maggie grabbed a fistful of cake and mashed it into his face. "How do you like it?"

Louise hurled herself between them, but Maggie simply leaned back and gave her a solid punch to the jaw. Pandemonium ensued, as a herd of women in pastel brunch attire swarmed the situation.

"Leave me alone! Back off!" Maggie was taking clumps of cake and hurling them, baseball-style, at anyone who came near.

"Oh." Jessie sat back in her chair, suddenly feeling more awake. "Oh, this is good."

"We should intervene or something," Auntie Lil said, taking a sip of her iced tea. "I mean, someone should stop this."

"And how do you think we should do that?" Sadie said as a lump of cake splattered only inches from her seat.

"Turn a garden hose on her," Grandma replied. "They must have a garden hose."

"Please don't." Jessie sighed. "This is amazing. I wish I'd brought popcorn."

It turned out that the garden hose was not necessary after all, and once the staff intervened, Maggie calmed herself enough to stop throwing cake. A moment or two passed. Then, all at once, she glanced around at her guests, who were covered in cake and frosting, and burst into tears. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Silence followed. A long, awkward silence. Louise stumbled to the center of the patio, a glass of iced tea pressed against the left side of her jaw. "I think that's all, everyone. Thank you for coming."

Then she started sobbing, too, and Greg froze, looking like he didn't know who to comfort first. This only made Maggie cry harder, and she stood alone with her frosting-covered hands over her face, her pink dress smeared with cake innards and — strawberries? Yes, strawberries. It was a fruit cake. Just as well it was ruined.

Later on, Jessie told herself that she hadn't had a choice. Everyone was just sitting and staring at Maggie and Greg and Louise, and people were crying, and the guests were coated in frosting and who knew what else. The waitstaff was rushing to clean up broken ceramics and glass on the patio. Maggie had punched her mother-in-law on the jaw, for God's sake. Someone had to do something, and Jessie fortunately had champagne and orange juice running through her veins, which dulled any inclination for second thoughts.

"Ahem." She clinked the side of her water glass with her fork and rose. "Could I have everyone's attention, please?"

"Saint Michael on a pony. What are you doing, Jessica?" Sadie hid her face behind a napkin.

"Attention, please." Slowly eyes turned, and that's when Jessie realized she had no idea what to say. "Right. I, uh...let's end this thing on a good note, okay? Because aside from a little blip in the last ten minutes, this was a lovely baby shower. To the extent these things can be enjoyable at all."

She felt every pair of eyes on her as she spoke — more like, as she fumbled to grasp the thoughts randomly firing through her mind. And every set of eyes was looking at her like she was the troublemaker. Except for Wren, who was nodding at every word with rapt attention. "Hear, hear," Wren said. "This was a great shower. Historic."

"Memorable," Jessie agreed. "And that's because Maggie and Greg are special people. Mags, you're this ridiculously talented photographer. You've traveled all over the world, and your work has been displayed in magazines and museums, right? Museums, people. Galleries. She's passionate, and she's an artist, and I know she's so excited about this baby. I for one am looking forward to seeing how she photographs the little...person." She took a sip of her water and continued. "I'm not going to talk about the cake incident, because you know what? People handle pregnancy differently, and she —" She pointed to Maggie. "She's an angry preggo, and I'm afraid she'll break my face if I do that. Am I right, Mags? You don't need to answer, I already know it's true. It's not your fault. It's like your cankles. You can blame it all on the little parasite in your uterus."

"Tread lightly," Sadie said through a frozen smile, but Jessie continued, undeterred.

"Anyway, you're great, Mags. I love you. We all love you, even when you're pregnant. And we love that little bun in your oven, whatever it is. Greg, you're great, too, but maybe next time don't put frosting on your pregnant wife's face. And Louise, this was a beautiful shower that no one is going to forget. The best part is that most of us get to wear our dessert home." She raised her water glass. "Cheers."

Silence. At first Jessie thought that she'd really gone and done it now, and she was watching Maggie's face to see whether she was going to hurl that platter of cookies in her direction, but Maggie broke into a big smile. Then she grabbed her impressive stomach and started laughing. Greg's shoulders relaxed and he started laughing, too, and pretty soon the tension on the patio dissolved as they all caught on. Jessie chuckled too, even though she wasn't sure what the joke was.

Still, the party was clearly over, and the guests pushed in their chairs, helped clean up the cake, and made their way out of the garden. Maggie gave Jessie a real kiss on the cheek this time — a greasy one that made her wipe her face. "Jess," she giggled. "How much did you drink?"

She glanced around. "Is it that obvious?"

"A little bit. I hope you're not driving."

"No way. I promise. You take care of yourself."

"I will."

She headed inside and took a quick glance around the lobby. There, on the far end by the entry doors, was Quinn. He was consumed by something on his cell phone, and he stared down at the screen, not noticing that she was approaching. Jessie smiled to herself. He really was so handsome. She had dreamed of dating him in high school, when he was captain of the varsity football team. Sometimes she had to pinch herself. This was her life. "Hey, stranger," she cooed. "You got my text."

He looked up then and smiled. "Hey, Jess." He ran his gaze over her figure. "Why are you dressed like that?"

She stopped and looked down. "It's a baby shower."

Quinn tucked his phone into his back pocket and sighed. "You got drunk at a baby shower."

"I had a few mimosas. It's my first day off in weeks, and I think I'm feeling it more because I'm slightly dehydrated, and —"

"It's okay. No harm done. Look, I have to get to work," he said. "It's an emergency."

"An emergency? I thought we were going to spend some time together today." She crossed her arms, feeling pouty. "You're a lawyer. You don't work triage."

"I don't make fun of your pastries, Jess." He leaned over and kissed her chastely on the forehead. "I'm sorry, hon. We have that dinner party later, remember? You should go home and...sober up."

"Funny. I'm not that bad off." Not so bad that she didn't know a blow-off when she heard it. "So, fine. Let's get going."

He avoided her gaze and turned back to his cell phone. "Actually, Nate's bringing you home. I came with him. Someone had to drive your car." Quinn glanced over his shoulder. "Here he is."

On cue, Nate Lancaster walked through the doorway, his sandy brown hair looking just slightly messy. He was broad-shouldered and lean, with a strong jawline and deep-set green eyes. He walked in like he owned the place, trailing confidence. Jessie tried not to make a face. If Quinn saw that, he'd be upset, because he and Nate were best buds. Jessie liked Nate, too. They'd always been close, and he was the one who'd introduced her to Quinn. Nate was easy to like — except when he saw an opportunity to tease her. Then he was merciless.

She braced herself.

Nate looked Jessie up and down, making no effort to hide his appraisal. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Ugh." She turned back to Quinn and prepared one last plea. "What if Nate drives my car and I get a ride with you?"

"That doesn't make sense, babe. I promise I'll see you later, all right? The dinner is very important."

Of course it was, she thought. Because it was related to work, and work was very important to Quinn. She pressed her lips together but didn't say anything more. "I'll be ready at six."

"Wren gave me your keys," Nate said brightly, spinning her keyring on his finger. "Looks like I get to drive Old Cobalt."

Jessie shot him her best drop-dead stare. "My car isn't that old. And you don't get to make fun of it."

"I'm not making fun. I like antiques."

"All right, kids," Quinn said. "You run along. The adults have to get to work." He leaned over and gave Jessie a kiss on the cheek. "Be nice to my friend."

"Me?" She gasped and pointed to Nate. "He's the one who called my car an antique!"

"I'm leaving. I'll pick you up at six."

Quinn's black BMW convertible was double-parked at the entrance, so he gave a quick wave before climbing inside and speeding away. Jessie watched the dust rising behind his car for several moments before she heard Nate clear his throat beside her. She started. "What?"

He gestured to the man in the vest waiting expectantly. "Do you have a valet ticket?"

"Oh," she blinked. "Sorry."

She opened her clutch to search for it, and Nate chuckled. "Did you pack that vodka for the baby shower? Or is that left over from church?"

Jessie's cheeks grew warm, but she lifted her ticket and handed it to the valet, all business. "Not your concern."

"Uh huh." He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and rolled back on his heels, clearly delighted with his discovery. "That's what I thought. Tell me the truth: that's a novice habit you're wearing, isn't it? I can tell by the sequined belt. Does Quinn know you're taking a vow of chastity?"

It was fair punishment, she supposed. Get drunk at a baby shower, suffer a ride home with Nate at his finest. But just then she was starting to feel dizzy, and between his comments and the glare off the Civic as the valet pulled it up...She closed her eyes. "Just...can I have some quiet? Just for a few minutes?"

"You're the boss," Nate said as he opened the passenger-side door and slipped a few bills into the valet's hand. "Your chariot awaits, madame."

"Gosh, Nate. And to think you had nothing better to do this morning."

"Lucky for you, sunshine."

As she took a seat, he shut the door, narrowly missing her ankle. Jessie leaned her head back against the headrest and stared out the window. She swore she would never touch a mimosa again.

T
he valets had blasted
the air conditioner before returning the Civic, but the air inside the car was still stale and hot. Nate felt like he was breathing through a wet towel. Jessie always drove with the windows down, which Nate took as evidence that the air conditioner didn't work at all. Ever since she'd found that mouse nest in her engine, she'd claimed that "the works" in the old car hadn't been the same. He speculated that the failing "works" had less to do with a mouse nest and more to do with the fact that the car had been kicking around since the Paleolithic era.

He attempted to squeeze himself into the driver's seat. Failed. "Have you been transporting elephants in the backseat? Why do you drive so close to the steering wheel?"

"Just move the seat back," she said, staring straight ahead. "The lever's in front."

"Still. It's not safe. You could get killed by an airbag."

"I'll take that under advisement, thank you. Oh, and don't turn on the radio while the car is going or the engine will stall. And you can't run the air conditioner and the windshield wipers at the same time."

He paused. "You sure this car is safe?"

"Totally safe. You just can't do those things."

He adjusted his seat back, eyeing his companion sidelong. Jessie had a cloud following her. Nate could tell by her sullen expression as she fastened her seatbelt. He'd always imagined baby showers to be torturous events, but weren't women supposed to like them? Damned if he'd ever understand any of it. "Are you going to throw up?" he asked as he fastened his own seatbelt. "I can roll down your window and you can just stick your head out, real classy-like. Unless you keep bags in here for these occasions."

Jessie waved a hand at him. "I only had three mimosas. Maybe five."

"Whatever. It's not my upholstery." Nate tilted the rearview mirror. "You don't look well."

"Wow, thanks a lot." She turned to stare at him with wide eyes. "You know, that's a rude thing to say to someone."

"I meant, you look upset."

"Oh." She deflated, then leaned back, resting her hands over her stomach as she seemed to puzzle over the statement. "I guess I'm just thinking about things." She paused. "I have cake on my shoes." She didn't bother to wipe it off.

"Like I said, it's not my upholstery."

He pulled out of the parking lot and followed a gravel drive back to the main road. He hadn't been to Breaker House in ages. For some reason, he'd thought it was closed. It was a stuffy place that seemed to have been built with proms and pretenses in mind, and people had given him funny looks when he'd entered wearing jeans. He glanced over at Jessie and smiled. He had no idea why she had cake all over her, or why she was wearing that clubbing dress, but he sort of loved that she'd passed through Breaker House like she'd just wandered in from spring break. But to be honest, he sort of loved everything about her. He had for as long as he could remember.

She shifted in her seat, and Nate's attention was brought back to the road. "At least you had fun."

Jessie snorted. "Fun? No, I don't think I had fun. It was all a little bit horrible. Although the cake fight was great." She sighed and stared straight ahead. "But I was looking at Maggie — that's my cousin. Third cousin's wife, actually. Third-cousin-in-law? Anyway, she's having this baby, and that's amazing. And she also has this glamorous job and a solid marriage. Well, aside from the fruit cake," she added, but Nate didn't know what that meant. "And then Wren's career has completely taken off and she's writing and traveling the world with Jax, who adores her." She stopped. "I'm talking too much. I do that sometimes when I drink."

"That's okay, I'm only half-listening." He counted it as a victory when she forced a small laugh. Encouraged, he added, "You sound discontented."

"That's a good word for it, yes. Discontented. I'm discontented. First, because what about my dreams? I've always wanted to own my own chocolate shop, and here I am, still working at Hedda's."

Jessie's uncle owned Hedda's Bakery, and Jessie had worked there for years. When Nate first met her in high school, she was living with her uncle and her cousin Wren in the apartment above the bakery. She didn't talk much about her own parents, but he'd gathered they had moved to Europe for a few years and wanted Jessie to stay behind. She'd always seemed fine with it, and didn't mention it much. It wasn't like it had scarred her for life.

If anything, living with her uncle seemed to give Jessie direction. She was a brilliant baker, and in recent years she'd been experimenting with her own line of chocolates, which she'd set out in a brand-new display case in the bakery. "I always thought your chocolates were selling well," he said.

She gave a halfhearted shrug and made a noise that sounded like, "Meh."

"It takes a lot to build a business. Sometimes it's painful."

He knew that all too well. Nate was a personal trainer who'd built his client list over a number of years, taking on odd jobs when business was slow. He'd finally broken past that point, and business was booming. He was almost having trouble fitting in all his client appointments, and he'd started to consider what the next move would be. "It will happen," he concluded. He liked to put an end to problems, wrap things up and tie a bow on them — figuratively speaking, of course.

"Not as long as I'm in Hedda's," she said. "I need my own space. Somewhere to grow and expand. I want to feel proud of where I am."

He watched her out of the corner of his eye as he pulled to a stop at an intersection. "You got all of that from a baby shower? What, did they have a motivational speaker there?"

"I took away two things," she said. "One, I'm not where I want to be professionally. Second, I'm not where I want to be personally." She tugged at the ends of her blonde hair. "All of these people close to me are getting married and having babies. It never bothered me before. I'd think, well, I'm a feminist. Fish on bicycles and whatnot. I had my career, and I didn't need to get married. Except I sort of want that. The whole thing."

He studied her as they waited for the light to change. "What whole thing, Jess?"

Part of him didn't want to know, because she was dating Quinn. The other part of him held onto hope that today would be the day she'd come to her senses and give him a chance. Maybe they wanted the same whole thing.

"You know, the white picket fence. The pillow fights. The boring Saturday nights on the couch. Stability and ugly flannel sheets. Children and a dog and Christmas morning." She counted the items on her fingers. "I don't need them, but I want them. The American dream." She leaned her head against the window. "I don't know why I'm telling you this. Like you even care. I'm going to have to talk to Quinn tonight."

Nate's stomach dropped. What did he expect, anyway? If she wanted a picket fence and a husband, Quinn was the logical choice. He was almost partner at his firm, so he'd have the financial means to make it happen. Nate may have taught the uber-wealthy how to do squat thrusts and dead lifts and compete in marathons, but that was a far cry from being one of them. Quinn, on the other hand, was approaching their ranks.

But Quinn didn’t want a commitment, and he'd said that more than once. To him, Jessie was a friend with benefits — just someone to pass the time with. But try telling her that, when her feelings so obviously went deeper.

He took a deep breath. "You know that a new space just opened up in Archer Cove, right? It's only a few blocks from Hedda's. The Dinardo Deli space."

"What?" Her jaw dropped. "Wait. Shut the front door! When did that happen?"

The store had been vacant for months, and lots of people in town had been speculating about what would fill it. Nate played apologetic. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be useful to you. Did you still want that quiet you asked for?"

"Nate, come on. Tell me about it."

He suppressed a grin. It was kind of hot when she begged for things. "I just saw a "For Rent" sign this morning." He hesitated. "Do you want to stop by, or do you need to sleep it off first?"

"Stop by, for sure! I told you, I only had three mimosas." She reached over and pinched his arm. "Jeez, aren't you supposed to have a layer of fat here? What am I supposed to pinch?"

"I'm in training. I have a marathon in the fall."

"Ugh. Running." She rolled her eyes. "Miserable."

They had known each other since high school, and in all that time, Nate had been running long distances and Jessie had been wrinkling her nose at it. He went to
college on a track scholarship, and he couldn't imagine giving up running now, after all these years. It was his time alone with his thoughts. When he met with new clients, they often asked him how they were supposed to fit exercise into their busy daily schedules, and he'd explain that if they stuck with it long enough, their lives would simply make room.

"It's not that bad," he said. "You should try it. You might like it."

"What, running? The horrors. Not unless a tiger is chasing me."

"I can roar, you know. Mrs. Burgess demands it."

Jessie groaned. "I'll bet she does. Oh my gosh, you should date Mrs. Burgess. Wouldn't that be funny?"

Nate cursed silently. Sometimes he wondered if he and Jessie actually spoke the same language. If they did, he must be using it wrong, because she so clearly missed everything he thought he was saying to her.

Date Claire Burgess? In a word, no. Was she attractive? Sure. But she was also a headache and a diva, and attractive wore off quickly. And oh, by the way, he happened to be in love with the girl sitting right beside him. You know, the one he rearranged his entire schedule for because she got wasted at a Sunday morning baby shower. The one who happened to be sort-of dating his best friend, which made things just a little awkward. Okay, a lot awkward. Terrible, really. His best friend on the planet was dating the girl of Nate's dreams, and he couldn't bring himself to even think about what that actually entailed. Better not to think about them dating at all.

"Why would I date Mrs. Burgess?" He didn't mean to sound weary, but he sure felt it just then.

"You would date Mrs. Burgess," Jessie explained in her overly patient tone, "because then we could throw amazing parties. Think about it. We could do a party for every season, and in the summer we'd have an intimate gathering on her yacht. What's she call it?"

"The Magpie."

Jessie's mouth dropped. "No, she doesn't! Well, that would have to be renamed. I'm not throwing a summer solstice party on a boat called The Magpie."

"You want to talk about horrors," he deadpanned.

They were only a block from Maple Street, where Dinardo's Deli used to be. Jessie was considering her fingernails, which she'd painted a bright pink. "You know about structural things, right? I mean, you can tell me if this space is good to rent?"

"I can give you the basics."

She nodded and returned her hands to her lap, apparently satisfied with that answer. Nate liked to think he was good for something other than collecting her rent checks. Which he hated to do. It was weird to be a landlord to the girl of his dreams. He'd been all set to let Jessie live in that cottage for nothing until she'd insisted on paying him rent. It barely covered the property taxes. But he knew Jessie. Really knew her, because her life was one giant open book. He knew that she could barely rub two pennies together, between working at a little bakery and investing just about everything she made into her chocolate business. If he hadn't offered her the cottage, she never would've been able to afford to move out of the apartment above the bakery. She deserved a nicer space than that.

"And here we are!"

They came to a stop in front of the brick facade and empty storefront where Dinardo's Deli used to be. The place had been in business for decades. It was a convenient stop before tourists hit the beaches, or a quick place to grab a bite if you worked in town. He remembered standing in line here with his mom when he was a kid to buy cold cuts, or saving his allowance to buy a novelty ice cream bar from the freezer. When George Dinardo retired, he took the energy of the place with him. Now it was only an empty space with some countertops.

"I'm nervous," she whispered, clutching his forearm.

Early on, he'd learned that Jessie was the affectionate, touchy type. At first he'd allowed himself to believe it was personal and that she was attracted to him. But no, she was like that with all of her friends, and sometimes with virtual strangers. The challenge for him was figuring out where he could touch her back in a way that was friendly, considering that left to his own instincts, he'd pull her into his arms every time she brushed his shoulder or playfully wrapped an arm around his waist in a half-hug. The gentle contact that would have once thrilled him felt increasingly like a turn of the screw.

He stiffly patted her shoulder. "Buck up, buttercup. If it's not this space, another one will come along."

But they both knew that Archer Cove was pretty much built-out and that commercial space was in short supply. He'd thought of opening his own place from time to time: a gym that would allow clients to visit him rather than making so many house calls. He could get better equipment and grow his client list, maybe even hire some staff. Try finding a space that made sense and was ready to go for that purpose, though. Nate didn't exactly relish the idea of a rehab, and the spots he'd seen in Great Barrington were...yeesh. Pricey.

Locals referred to this area of Archer Cove as the "downtown," which was flat-out wishful thinking. The area was quaint, with one- and two-story buildings occupied by small-town shops. The florist. The used bookstore. The art gallery. The specialty coffee roaster, the small general store and souvenir shop. In the summer, a constant stream of beachgoers kept the shops busy, but from what he'd heard from the proprietors, business was steady year-round. Dinardo's Deli sat on the corner of Yardley Avenue like a gatekeeper to the entire area. When real estate was all about location, location, location, this was a desirable spot.

As they peered through the dust-covered windows, Jessie bounced in place on her toes and said, "There's someone in there. I wonder if it's the real estate agent. Could be someone interested in renting."