Somebody to Love

She didn’t get to James’s room. It felt a little…personal. But the living room and kitchen walls had been washed with bleach and water, and she’d taped all around the windows, cupboards and doors. Tomorrow she’d start painting. Rolly and Ben were coming over to help.

That would be good, having some people there. People other than Thing One.

He’s awfully cute, the female Holy Rollers said.

“Shush, you guys.” But maybe James needed a drink. Parker filled a glass and went outside, where James was coming down from the roof. “How’s it going up there?” she asked, handing him the glass and gazing out at the harbor—not at his shirtless glory, no, of course not.

“Good.” He took a long pull of water, then dumped the rest over his head and ran a hand through his thick, wavy hair. God. She was going to need a pulsating showerhead, and soon.

“Um, I’m gonna take a shower,” she said. That sounds like an offer, the HRs advised. “I’m going out tonight. With the girls.”

“Maggie and Chantal?” he asked.

She kept forgetting he had roots here. “Yeah. Well, Maggie. I don’t know about Chantal.”

“Have fun.”

“Thanks. You all set for, um, everything? Dinner?”

“All set.”

Pretty soon, Parker told herself, she should confront the elephant in the room. James, we slept together once, she’d say. Not gonna happen again. We’re both copacetic with that, yes? So even if you look like a chocolate lava cake and I haven’t had dessert in three years, it’s not gonna happen. I’m almost positive.

An hour later, Parker was clean and sweet-smelling and surveying the dark interior of a shabby little bar decorated with wooden lobster traps and the occasional lobster claw. There were about ten tables, a few booths and a counter.

“Parker! Over here!” There was Maggie, at a table in the back. Or it was the other one, her twin. They waved in unison. A busty redheaded woman was nursing a baby, and four or five men watched unabashedly. Beth, the woman from the animal shelter, was also there.

Parker went over. “Hi,” she said, suddenly feeling shy.

“I’m so glad you could come!” Maggie said. Parker assumed it was Maggie, because she had on a Hello Kitty tiara. “Have you met my sister? This is Christy, and she refuses to get a big C branded onto her forehead so people can tell us apart. Really, Christy, you’re so difficult sometimes. This is Beth, who says you’ve already met her, and Chantal, our sister-in-law, and Luke, our nephew. Isn’t he beautiful?”

“Oh, he is,” Parker said, though admiring the child would mean staring at Chantal’s boob, which apparently was the thing to do.

“Glad you’re nursing, Chantal,” one of the men said. “Best for baby.”

“Oh, ayuh,” the others murmured from their trance.

“How’s Beauty doing?” Beth asked Parker.

“Oh, she’s good. Very shy, but she’s getting there.” Parker smiled. “Couldn’t let the poor thing be put down.”

Christy gave Beth a look. “I thought you never put animals down.”

“Sorry, Parker. I lied,” Beth said with a grin.

“Ah, well. She’s a great dog,” Parker said.

“Okay, girls,” Christy said, “let’s get our new pal here a drink. Dewey!” Parker jumped at the bellow. “Bring our friend a mojito!”

“Coming up!” Dewey was apparently the large man behind the bar. Didn’t look much like James, not that she could tell, anyway.

Christy leaned forward. “While we wait, ladies, let me tell you something. I saw the hottest guy in the world today, outside of my own husband, of course—”

“And Malone,” added Maggie.

“And your brother,” added Chantal.

“Disgusting,” chorused the twins, and all three of them laughed.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” Christy went on, “the hottest guy. Now, Parker, you don’t understand. This town is rather difficult. I had to import my husband from away. But locally, if you like surly alpha males, we had one, and sorry, Maggie got him.”

“It’s true,” Maggie confirmed, sucking up the last of her mojito. “He’s my surly alpha male.”

“And if you like irritating, lazy, annoying but cute guys,” Christy went on, “there was exactly one, and he’s our brother, and for some ungodly reason, Chantal married him. Otherwise, there’s Crazy Dave, named that for a reason, Pete Duchamps, our local alcoholic, and Mickey Tatum, our sixty-year-old fire chief. So a cute guy in town…this is big news.”

“This is incredibly exciting,” Beth said. “I can tell he’s my soul mate already.”

“Yes.” Christy nodded sagely. “Who is he, and how can we get him to marry Beth?”

Parker had a feeling she knew who the hot guy was. How many gorgeous new strangers could be bopping around a town of 1,400 people? “Dark hair? Red pickup truck?” she asked.

“Yes! You know him? Is he yours?”

“He’s mine. My nephew,” said the bartender, who’d arrived with a round of drinks. He looked down at her. “Hello. You must be Parker.”

She stood up. “Hi. Are you Dewey?” He nodded. “It’s really nice to meet you, and thanks for your help with the house. You’ve been great.”

“My pleasure, dear,” he said. “The least I could do for Jamie’s friend.”

“Oh, my gosh! That was Jamie Cahill?” Christy said. “He turned out so nice!”

“He’s a good kid,” Dewey said. “Not married. Drink up, girls, and have fun. Nice meeting you at last,” he added to Parker, then lumbered back to the bar.

“I’ve already seen Jamie Cahill, hugged him and copped a feel,” Chantal said. “Sorry, Christy, old news.” She popped the baby off her breast and covered up. “Show’s over, boys,” she said to her audience. “Who wants to burp him?”

“You take him, Maggie. I have my own little burp machine at home.” Christy smiled at Parker. “I have a two-year-old and a two-month-old, and I couldn’t get out of the house fast enough tonight. Shoved both of them at my husband, got in the car and floored it.”

Maggie practically lunged for the baby and kissed his fat little cheek before assuming the position and patting the baby on the back.

“So how do you know Jamie?” Christy asked.

Parker took a sip of her drink. “He worked for my dad, and he’s helping me flip a house. Over near Douglas Point.”

“The hovel just before the Pines,” Chantal supplied.

Parker gave a painful laugh. “That’s the one.”

“Is he seeing anyone?” Beth asked.

Parker paused. “Um, not that I know of.” Though I almost kissed him the other night and have dirty thoughts of him hourly.

“If I weren’t happily married, et cetera, et cetera,” Chantal said, lifting an eyebrow.

“Sorry I’m late.” Lavinia plunked herself into the chair next to Parker. “I was watching Jim Cantore on The Weather Channel. When Storms Kill or some-such. I would do him in a New York minute. So. Who’re we talking about?”

“Dewey’s hot nephew,” Chantal said. “Jamie Cahill.”

“Little young for me,” Lavinia said.

“So what’s he like, Parker?” Maggie asked.

Yes, said Spike. Do tell. “Well, he’s…he’s very handy.”

This set the women off in gales of laughter. “Speak of the devil,” Chantal said, adjusting a breast. “Jamie! Over here!”

Parker’s ears began tingling as James walked over. Christy gave him a hug; apparently he’d seen Maggie at the diner, knew Lavinia from his summers here and shook hands with Beth, which caused her to blush a fire-engine red.

“Jamie, this is my son,” Chantal said, reclaiming her little bundle. “Admire away.”

James looked at the baby, who gazed back, then spit up. “Very, um…well fed,” he said, smiling at Chantal. Then his gaze shifted to Parker, and Lady Land stirred. Bugger.

“Pull up a chair and charm us, James,” Chantal commanded. “It’s sort of Maggie’s shower.”

“I’ll make your drinks instead,” James said. “I told Dewey I’d help out tonight. But have fun, girls.” He turned and went back to the bar.

“Tell me you don’t want a bite of that,” Chantal said, watching him walk away.

“Preach it, sister,” Beth murmured.

“So, Parker, I have to ask you,” Christy said. “Are you the Parker Welles who writes those books about the angels?”

Parker took another healthy sip of her mojito. “Afraid so.”

“Someone gave me a few Holy Rollers books when Violet was born.”

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to pretend you like them,” Parker said easily. “They’re pretty nauseating.”

Hey! We have feelings! The HRs pouted.

No, you don’t. You’re imaginary, Parker countered.

“Was that the one where the kitten gets crushed by the tractor?” Maggie asked.

“That was my favorite one,” Lavinia said. “Cried like a baby.” Thank you! the angels chorused. At Parker’s questioning look, Vin added, “Hey. You’re my cousin. I did a Google search on you.”

Parker finished her drink. “Anyway. The series is over, thank God.”

“So what are you working on now?” Beth said.

“Um, I’m not really sure yet,” Parker said. “I have a few ideas.” That’s great news! the Holy Rollers cheered. Yay, you!

If only.

“That dear boy is looking at you, Parker,” Chantal said. “You guys doing each other?”

“Ignore her,” Maggie said. “Chantal has sex on the brain.”

“It’s true. Your brother is a happy man,” Chantal answered, raising a perfect eyebrow.

“No more sex talk about our brother!” Christy ordered.

Parker laughed. “No, it’s not like that. He’s my father’s lawyer.”

“So?” Chantal asked. “He’s living with you. Have you seen him na**d yet?”

“No! And even if I was interested—” which you totally are “—he’s got the triple crown of no against him,” Parker said. “Younger, unemployed, um…”

“Impotent?” Christy asked.

“Prison record?” Beth offered.

“Married to the church?” Maggie said.

“Oh, he’s not impotent,” Chantal murmured, raising an eyebrow. “At least—” she paused for effect “—he wasn’t.”

“Oh, Chantal. Are you kidding?” Maggie asked.

“Hey, somebody had to do it. He was seventeen, and so cute.” Chantal grinned, and Parker felt an odd twang of…something. Another sip of mojito fixed that.

“Okay, time for a subject change,” Maggie announced. “Let’s leave poor James alone and talk about something else. I wear the crown of Kitty, so I’m the boss.”

“And such a lightweight,” Christy added.

“True. So, Parker, are you married? You have a little boy, right?”

“Nope, never married,” she said. “My son is five. Nicholas Giacomo Mirabelli.” She fished out her phone so Nicky’s sweet face could be admired.

“Is there a story of forbidden love here? Or did you get knocked up, like me?” Chantal asked, peering at the photo. “He’s beautiful.”

“Nothing wrong with getting knocked up,” said a male voice. “Chantal never would’ve married me if I hadn’t knocked her up, right, babe?”