The Sweetheart Bargain (A Sweetheart Sisters Novel) (15 page)

He didn’t respond. Just stared out the window some more.

Jackson, her only child. Once, Diana had dreamed of having three, four, maybe even five kids. A whole houseful of noise to compensate for the silence of her childhood. Sean hadn’t wanted kids at all, and she’d foolishly hoped when Jackson was born that Sean would fall in love with their incredible son and change his mind. He hadn’t.

Now, ironically, Diana was the one with a sister. A
sister
. The very thing she’d prayed for as a child but wasn’t so sure she wanted or needed at this late stage in life. She hadn’t even realized that Olivia Linscott and Olivia MacDonald were the same person. Her married name, Olivia had told Diana. She was divorced now, and ready to make a new start in Rescue Bay, and hoping to get to know Diana, and through Diana, their mother. Diana sighed. She’d deal with the whole Olivia thing after she figured out a direction for Jackson. Her son came first and always would.

The door opened and an older, trim man in a designer suit strode into the room. He had a shock of white hair and light blue eyes that seemed to zero in on and assess Diana, then soften when his gaze dropped to Jackson. “Hello, hello. Nice to meet you. I’m Ron Miller, principal here.”

Diana rose, shook with the principal. “Nice to meet you.”

Miller turned to Jackson. “And you, young man, you must be Jackson.”

Diana sent her son a warning glare. They’d been over this a hundred times in the car.
Don’t play angry teenager, not today.

Jackson hesitated, then worked a polite smile to his face and put out his hand. “Nice to meet you . . . sir.”

She let out the breath she’d been holding. Miller grinned, then waved Jackson back into the visitor’s chair.

Miller came around his desk and took a seat. He laced his hands on the desk, then met Diana’s gaze. “This is just a preliminary meeting. No pressure, just a general get-to-know-you, and so you can get to know us here at Prince. We want to make sure both sides feel a good fit before we get too far into the process. Okay?”

Diana nodded. Jackson raised one shoulder, then let it drop.

The tolerant smile stayed on Miller’s lips. “Tell me, Miss Tuttle, why do you want your son to attend Prince?”

Diana shifted in her chair. “It offers the perfect education for him. Jackson’s got a real interest in science, and I want to do everything I can to help him pursue that.”

Miller nodded, then turned to Jackson. “And you? Why do you want to go here, young man?”

“My mother said it’ll be good for me.”

Not the answer Diana wanted to hear, but not the worst answer he could have given. She worked up a smile of agreement.

Miller chuckled. “Well, at least you’re honest, Jackson. And you’re smart. Your test scores were”—he paused to flip through a few papers on his desk—“quite good. Surprising, even.”

“So he’s in?” Diana had worked for months to get Jackson into Prince Academy. The school had a wait list as long as her arm, and just to secure this interview, she’d had to ask the owner of one of her patients for a favor. Sending Jackson here would mean a longer commute in the morning, along with the belt-tightening, but Prince Academy offered the kind of education that could ensure Jackson’s future, and that meant more to her than anything.

“Well, let’s cover a few more issues first.” Miller leaned across the desk. “Does Jackson’s father agree with sending him to this school?”

She bristled. Even without mentioning his name, just the thought of her ex sharpened Diana’s spine. “Jackson’s father isn’t involved in any decisions.” She didn’t add that she had kicked Sean out for good a year and a half ago. He’d been no kind of father to their son, and the chaos Sean had brought to their household had lingered, even after she’d gotten Jackson into counseling. Sean had been a sporadic father at best, a horrible influence at worst. One of these days, she’d have to honestly answer Jackson’s questions. Hopefully that day was a long way off.

“We’d like to welcome Jackson to our school,” Miller said, and then the tolerant smile became a pained look, “but . . .”

She heard the word, and the nerves in her stomach turned to a heavy, thick stone. “But?”

“But there’s a problem.” The principal steepled his fingers and looked at Jackson as he spoke. “You have gone to three different schools in two years, which concerns us greatly. Your grades were good, but you had many discipline issues at those previous schools.”

She tried a smile. “Jackson is simply . . . an energetic boy who really needs to be challenged. I think he was bored in the other schools.”

But it was more than that, and both Diana and the principal knew it. Jackson had been through so much in his short life, and losing his grandmother after his father’s sudden disappearance from his life had multiplied those issues. She thought of her son, so angry, so scared, and so worried about the sand shifting under his feet. He was acting out, the psychologist said, trying to get attention, to feed that constant worry that he’d be alone.
Give it time
, the counselor said.
Time and patience. He’ll find his way.

Right now, all Diana wanted to find was a school that would provide stability and a challenge for Jackson. He was attending Rescue Bay Middle School, a good school, for sure, but one that had made it clear Jackson’s days there were numbered. He’d spent more time in the principal’s office than the classroom. At the last parent-teacher meeting, the principal had suggested she “explore other educational options.”

“Mrs. . . . Miss Tuttle.” Miller pressed his lips together, then met her eyes with a kind, work-with-me gaze. “We need to be realistic. Jackson may not find his best home at a school like this. We have quite a long list of expectations for our students.”

Jackson let out a snort. She covered his hand with her own. He shifted away from her.

“I like you, Jackson,” Miller said. “You’re a very bright boy, and a very energetic one. You’re also very astute about scientific principles and had above-average test scores in that area, not to mention an amazing science fair project last year. You won the state competition with that research about asthma and air quality. That was high-school-level work, which normally would make you the perfect fit for us.” Miller turned his attention back to Diana. “But his discipline record gives me pause. Prince Academy takes only the best students, the ones who are most committed to their education.”

Unspoken message: Spending a good part of the week in suspension didn’t show educational commitment.

“Jackson really wants to go here and—”

Miller shook his head. “I’ll reconsider his application in a couple of months, provided his disciplinary issues are resolved.”

Meaning, get her kid straightened out and there might be a slim chance he’d be able to attend the school. It was a message she’d heard before and had expected, even as she’d hoped Jackson’s academics would outshine his discipline record. She nodded, thanked the principal, then got to her feet and headed out the door, with Jackson following behind her.

The defeat hit her hard. When was all this going to get easier? When would she and Jackson find their way again? Diana felt like she’d been living in limbo for the past few weeks, and all she wanted was some forward motion.

Her life was a disaster, her son was a mess, and on top of that, she had a long-lost sister she’d never known about living here in town, in the house that Diana had hoped would be hers one day. Jackson might be the one in counseling, but right now, Diana could use some therapy of her own.

“Let’s go get some ice cream,” she said to her son. “Chocolate chunk. Sound good?”

Jackson sat in the car, a silent angry stone.

A double scoop, Diana decided. With extra whipped cream.

* * *

The sandwich could have been made of glue and cardboard for all Luke noticed and tasted. The second Olivia said, “Sometimes I bite, too,” his libido had roared. She sat a foot away, but still he cursed the expanse of the kitchen table. He wanted to touch her, to taste her.

This close, he could see the outline of her breasts under the dark-blue T-shirt. Could catch the light floral fragrance of her perfume, mingled with the coconut in her shampoo. Thank God for the table, because otherwise his desire would be broadcast, loud and clear.

He shifted in his seat.
Focus on something other than her breasts, Romeo.
“You still channeling Bob Vila next door?”

“More like Murphy’s law, but yeah.” She got to her feet, and when she did, Luke noticed she was wearing dark shorts that emphasized her tight butt, her shapely peach legs. He bit back a groan. Olivia crossed the kitchen, then loaded the plates into the sink.

Luke rose and followed with the empty glasses. Instead of returning to the table, he stood beside her, grabbing a towel to dry as she set about washing the few dishes in the sink. It was such a scene of domesticity, of normalcy, that for five seconds, Luke could believe he was an ordinary man in an ordinary kitchen leading an ordinary life with two-point-five kids and a dog in the yard.

It was . . . nice.

Olivia rinsed a plate and handed it to him. “Have you lived in Rescue Bay long?”

“I grew up here, just a few streets away. Spent most of my childhood with Greta, which was”—he chuckled—“an adventure.”

“I bet.” She slid the plate under the running rinse water, then handed it to him. “What about your parents? Brothers? Sisters?”

“My mother died when I was three. My dad wasn’t good at being a single parent, so Greta stepped in.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.” He didn’t remember much about his mother, only that she had seemed like the polar opposite to his uptight, distant father. His mother had been the one to color pictures with him, to bake cookies in the middle of the day. When he thought of her, he heard her soprano voice singing, everything from pop tunes to lullabies. “As for siblings, I’m the only one.”

“I grew up an only child, too.”

He grinned. “Look at that. Something we have in common.”

“According to your grandmother, that’d be enough to call the preacher.”

The thought of that both terrified and warmed him. So he laughed it off as a joke. “My grandmother is a hopeless romantic, but don’t tell her I told you so. She’d never admit that out loud.”

“That’s not such a bad thing to be. I think the world needs more hopeless romantics,” Olivia said quietly, circling the next plate with a sponge.

“Are you saying you’re a hopeless romantic, too?” he asked.

She snorted. “No. I’ve seen the reality of how that turns out. So no more getting wrapped up in hearts and flowers and love poems.”

“Then I guess we could never be after all, because I’m one hell of a poet.”

She laughed, then splashed a handful of soap bubbles at him. “Sure you are.”

“I am.” He took the glass, dried it, and held it to his mouth like a microphone. “Roses are red, violets are blue, I’m a terrible poet and you are too.”

Merry laughter burst out of her. “Oh yeah, you’re going to woo the ladies with that one.”

“That’s my diabolical plan.” If not for the dim shadows crowding his line of sight, Luke could almost pretend he was his old self again. The joking and laughter felt odd, yet right at the same time, like slipping into a pair of shoes that had spent too long in the closet.

“So what about this house?” Olivia asked. “How long have you lived here? I was just wondering, because I moved into the place next door without knowing much about it or the shelter.”

“I’m not much help there, sorry. I’ve only lived in this house for a few weeks. I bought it after I enlisted. I was making pretty decent money and wanted an investment. I rented it out while I was away, which paid the mortgage and left me a decent chunk of profit. Grandma was the one who talked me into real estate, but I think she did it because she secretly wanted me to move back here.”

“And you did exactly that.”

“Yeah, I did.” He didn’t want to think about the why. If the accident hadn’t happened, Luke would still be climbing into the cockpit, still be plucking people out of the frigid waters of Alaska. Still be doing his job, living his dreams.

“Isn’t that tough, though? Living on your own when you’re . . .”

“Go ahead.” He scowled. The reminder, always there, even as he tried to pretend it wasn’t. “You can say it. Half blind.”

“Can I ask you what happened?” she said.

“No, you can’t.” He shook his head and cursed himself for barking at her. “Sorry. I just don’t like to talk about certain things.”

She let out a gust. “You and me both.”

“Then let’s call a moratorium on talking about all the crappy things in our lives.”

“Deal.” She handed him a damp glass. “I still can’t believe Greta pulled the wool over our eyes like that. Your grandma made it sound like feeding you today was a dire emergency. Maybe it was, considering you are a bachelor who will, I quote, die of malnourishment if left to your own devices.”

He patted his belly. “I’m a long way from malnourishment.”

“I agree.”

“Hey!” he said, flicking the towel at her hip. “Aren’t you supposed to stroke my fragile male ego?”