So no, not Leah. But surely there was someone else out there. Someone who was not Parker. For crying out loud. One time, three years ago, and he was still hung up on her, even though she’d made it very clear that he was a drunken mistake.

Stupid. Men were stupid, and he was no exception.

The storm was moving down the coast, the bulk of the thunder south of them now. He wondered if Mary Elizabeth was getting any of this weather, even though they were inland a bit. She hated storms. He fished out his phone and hit her number. “Hi, honey,” he said when she answered. “How you doing? Getting any thunder down there? Well, you have Spike with you, right? All right, then, you’re all set. He won’t let anything bad happen to you, you know that… .Because he’s an angel, that’s why.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“GOOD. YOU’RE HERE. And oh, you brought your dog.” Lavinia knelt down to pet Beauty, who ducked her head and hid behind Parker’s legs.

“She’s shy,” Parker explained. “She’ll warm up to you eventually.” She set down the coffee she’d brought for her cousin and took a sip of her own.

Vin twisted around, cracking her vertebrae. “Heard you got Dewey’s nephew working over there with you. That your family friend?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Less said the better on that subject.

“You two doing the nasty?”

Parker choked on her coffee. “Um, no. He…he works for my father. He’s just helping.”

“All right, if you say so. Seems like a waste, though, not doing that cute boy. Anyway. You know anything about flower arranging?”

“Well, I took a class once. At camp.”

Lavinia surveyed her through squinted eyes. “Did you? Well, the first rule is, you’re going to get dirty. That shirt of yours…silk?”

“Oh.” Parker glanced down. “Yes.”

“Well, it’ll get ruined. You need to dress more like me.”

Please, God, never that. Lavinia was dressed in aqua-blue stirrup pants and a green-and-red flannel shirt. “Come on, then,” her cousin said. “Let me give you the tour. This here’s the cooler. We get a delivery maybe once a week, less in the winter, when business slows down.”

With Beauty practically attached to her leg, Parker looked into the case, where there was a small variety of flowers: carnations, roses, lilies, baby’s breath. “Over here,” Vin continued, “we’ve got the containers, vases, angels, a few boxes of chocolate. I wouldn’t eat those if I were you—can’t tell how old they are—but if someone wants them, buyer beware, right?” Lavinia coughed and lit up another cigarette.

“Think the smoke is bad for the flowers?” Parker asked, waving her hand.

“Probably. At any rate, cards are over here. Rolls of tissue paper, cellophane, all the tools you might need, and be careful with those scissors, ’cause those’ll cut you faster than a cat can lick its ass.”

The kitty cat licked its cute little bum. Oh, those worms were so itchy! “If only someone would adopt me, I could get these pesky intestinal parasites taken care of!” Another winner.

“You listening to me?” Lavinia pointed to a heavy oak door with a large pane of frosted glass. “This here’s the greenhouse. Don’t go in there, got it? It’s temperature controlled. That’s why there’s the lock on the door.”

“What do you grow back there?” Parker asked. She could see a blur of green, a few splotches of pink. Beauty was sufficiently interested to sniff at the door.

“Rare orchids, shit like that. Wicked particular about hot and cold. Okay? I’m the only one what takes care of those.”

“Got it.” Parker turned back to the older woman. “Lavinia, I really appreciate you letting me work here.”

“Oh, hell. That’s what family’s for.” She smiled, her face crackling into an array of wrinkles that Parker found quite attractive. Althea, who was roughly the same age as Vin, didn’t sport any wrinkles, having had her face paralyzed by Botox far too many times to count.

“So you and my mom played together as kids?” Parker asked.

“Ayuh. Back when we were really little. Couple, three times is all. Then we moved to town, over by the fisheries plant.”

Lavinia was quiet for a moment, and Parker wondered what her silence meant. Once, Lavinia had lived in a mansion; now, she chain-smoked and wore stirrup pants.

“Vin, why do you think Julia left the house to me? Instead of you or my mom? You were her nieces. I’m just a grand-niece.”

“Ah, Julia was always mad at someone or another,” Vin answered, lighting another cigarette. “She was furious when my brother sold the Pines, even though he gave her that little cottage. Pissed that he got himself into financial trouble and whatnot. As for your mother, Julia didn’t approve of divorce, so I guess that’s why she picked you. Not many of us to choose from.”

“And you never got married? No kids?”

“Nope. Always wanted a kid. Never a husband, though. I’m too fickle. You, too, from the look of it.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.”

“What are you? Forty?”

Parker winced. “No. Thirty-five.”

“Nothing wrong with being fickle when it comes to men. Keep those options open, I always say. Anyway, most of our orders are pretty basic. Got your bible right there.” She picked up a huge and faded book and swiped it against her butt, a shower of gray flakes falling to the floor. Between the dust and the smoke, Parker could practically feel her lungs shriveling. “Oftentimes, we don’t have the right stuff in stock, but we do our best. Folks understand. Well, hello there, Maggie.”

Beauty crouched behind Parker’s legs as Maggie came in. “Hi, Lavinia! Hi, Parker!” she said. “How are you? Oh, you have a dog! Hi, puppy! Can I pet her?”

Ah, love. The woman’s happiness was palpable, and heck, it was awfully romantic, the way her guy had popped the question in front of everyone.

“She’s pretty shy,” Parker said, but Maggie knelt down, and to Parker’s amazement, Beauty’s tail wiggled a little bit.

“Shy is fine,” Maggie said. “Nothing wrong with shy.” Beauty sniffed Maggie’s hand, then offered a lick.

“She likes you,” Parker said.

“I’m a dog person. You should bring her over sometime. She can play with Peaches. That’s my dog. Malone gave her to me.” At the name of her honey, Maggie blushed. “And speaking of Malone, I’m here to talk about the wedding. It’s a quicky job. Not in that sense of the word—I’m not pregnant, at least not to my knowledge. It’s just, you know, Malone, he’d rather get it done, plus his daughter’s only here for a month… Crikey, listen to me.” She smiled sheepishly. “Anyway, we’re getting married a week from Saturday. Sorry it’s such short notice.”

“Well, it’s not like people are lined up around the block. And for you, Maggie, no problem, sweetheart.” Lavinia’s face melted again into wrinkles as she flashed some browning teeth. “What kind of bouquet were you thinking?”

“Oh, heck, I don’t care. Whatever you think is pretty. My dad said he’ll pay for the wedding, but I don’t want to drain him dry, either. Hydrangeas are in season, right? Those are nice. Whatever’s easy.”

“What’s your budget?” Vin asked.

“Three hundred dollars sound okay?” Parker tried not to wince. Three hundred was nothing.

“Oh, ayuh,” said Vin. “We can do real nice for three hundred.”

Wow. Parker could honestly say that she’d never met a bride like Maggie. Lucy had been pretty easygoing, but they’d had a girls’ night with Corinne, Lucy’s sister, and pored over Martha Stewart Weddings magazines, drank wine, and it had been a blast. As far as Esme, please. There’d been more tantrums during that engagement than at a day-care center during a full moon. Bloodlust and fury over things like flowers and seating arrangements and limos. Even her own mother, who had weddings down to a science, got religious with details; Althea’s last bouquet had cost three thousand dollars—just the bouquet, which was made of rare lavender roses and vivid pink orchids flown in from South America, all wrapped in satin ribbons embroidered with Althea and Maury and studded with Swarovski crystals.

Maggie smiled at Parker. “You helping Vin out this summer, I heard?”

“That’s right,” Parker said.

“Cool. I bet you have great taste. I love your clothes. You always look so nice.”

“Thanks,” Parker said, feeling a blush.

“Hey,” Maggie blurted, “you should come to Dewey’s tonight! We’re having a girls’ night out. I think it’s sort of my bridal shower, too. Just bring something for the food pantry. No gifts. Want to? Vinnie’s coming. You can meet everyone.”

Parker opened her mouth to pass—she barely knew Maggie—then realized her standard excuses were not going to work. No kid to go home to. No manuscript to work on.

And if she didn’t go out, she’d be home with Thing One of the eyes and the hands and the smile. “Thanks. I’d love to.”

* * *

WHEN PARKER PULLED INTO the short driveway of her place, Thing One was up on the roof.

Shirtless. Again.

At the sight of him, every egg in her ovaries leaped to attention and started banging their tiny fists against the wall. Let us out, Parker! Now!

He wore carpenter-style shorts and a tool belt and work boots and nothing else but sweat, and Parker suddenly realized her mouth was dry.

Thing One. Was. Beautiful.

“I’m back,” she croaked, and he turned, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

“Hey.” He started toward the ladder.

“Don’t come down! I brought sandwiches from the diner.”

“Great.” He disobeyed her order, jumping the last few rungs. And now he was getting closer, and she could smell that nice, clean sweatiness of him.

“Did you put on sunscreen?” she heard herself ask.

He smiled. Her knees tingled dangerously. “Thanks for bringing lunch.”

Parker swallowed. “Oh, you’re welcome. You know. The least I can do is feed you.”

His arms were most…unlawyerly, curving with muscle, glistening. No shirt. Had she mentioned that? And he was standing approximately four inches in front of her. Should she choose to lean in and taste him just for the hell of it, it wouldn’t be hard at all.

“What?” she asked, realizing abruptly that he was talking. “Sorry. Um, Beauty, stop, honey.”

That’s right. Use the dog as an excuse. Good play. Not that the dog was doing anything other than cowering behind her legs.

“I said I’ll be up on the roof most of the day. There’s a part of the floor in the kitchen that’s rotted out, thanks to a leak, so I figured the roof was a priority.”

“Good call.” As if she knew anything. “Okay. I’ll get going, then. Cleaning. And I might get started doing the, um, prep stuff. For painting. Cleaning and taping. I need to sponge down the walls in your room.” Did that sound dirty? It sounded dirty to her. Sponge down. Sponge bath. Your room. Your bed. “Um, is Apollo locked up?”

“Yep.” He was smiling at her, that knowing, faint smile. The I’ve seen you na**d smile.

Without another word, she went into the house.

Parker managed to avoid Thing One for much of the rest of the day. He went to the hardware store; she talked to Nicky twice, once after lunch, once after he’d seen a deer and wanted to tell her about it. Mostly, though, she cleaned.

Parker found that she liked hard physical labor. The last time she’d worked this hard, she’d been pushing out a baby; her housework at home didn’t usually entail more than making Nicky’s bunk bed—which was awkward, let’s give credit where it was due. But this stuff, this schlepping and bending and wiping and sweeping…forget Zumba or Pilates. Body by Hoarding.