life,” he bit out the words.
A smile formed on Jill’s mouth from behind her cup. “There’s a story there.”
He drank down his coffee, which was growing cold. “Not anymore there isn’t.”
“I get it. You don’t know me. I don’t know you. Why share your secrets with the woman standing in your kitchen having coffee, who will hear every time you flush the toilet.”
He laughed immediately. She sure had a way of making him feel at ease.
“She was my best friend growing up. We finally committed to seeing each other and got engaged.”
Her eyes opened wide. “She left you for France,” she simply stated and he saluted with his mug in response. “Oh, Pete, I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
“You’re still together?”
He gave it a moment of thought and then shook his head. “I don’t think the forever was meant to be. I dearly miss my friend though.”
Jill drank down her coffee—or mug of cream, he considered. She then rinsed it out and placed it in the sink.
“It’s a good thing I’m moving in. I’m a great friend. Not huge into the dating thing. Not gay,” she added. “My mom keeps asking since she thinks I should be dating—men. Then she follows it up with, you have a pretty face , as if that will rid twenty pounds off of me.”
“For the record you do have a pretty face and an infectious personality.”
She studied him. “Infectious as in you’re sick now?”
“As in I could do with a little more of you. I haven’t laughed in a month. I’ve known you twenty minutes and I’ve laughed a few times now.”
“Then that’s good, right?”
“Very.”
“Thanks for thinking my face is pretty.”
He could feel the heat rise in his cheeks. “I noticed your eyes right away too. I don’t see a thing wrong with you, but I have sisters. Girls always think there is something wrong with them.”
“My jean size.”
“See what I mean? I happen to think your jeans look exceptionally nice on you.”
Jill narrowed her eyes on him. “You’re not a creeper?”
“Not even close.”
“Genuine through and through?”
“To a fault.”
She nodded. “Are you still going to help me move?”
He laughed again and it was freeing. “I am also a man of my word.”
“Hmmm.” She pushed back from the counter. “I think I could fall in love with you. I won’t,” she assured him. “I’ll think about it, but you’re still in love with the French girl. But we can see what time brings.”
She gave him a wink, opened the back door, and walked out of the kitchen.
There was a little wiggle in her step and he wondered if he’d given her the pick-me-up she’d needed because she’d sure given him one.
Chapter Thirteen
Champagne was chilling in a silver bucket. The bubbles from the crystal flute she held to her lips tickled her nose.
Sea air blew through her hair and the late afternoon sun on her skin warmed her.
Laughter from people on the deck filled her ears. The thought that her mother had taken a yacht out into the French Rivera, or the Côte d'Azur, as she’d been corrected, humored her. It was unbelievable to her that her mother could drive a yacht, or a boat of any kind, and that she’d left Avery’s father there to get home on his own.
Knowing the love they had her mother must have seriously doubted what was to be.
Was she afraid of losing everything? Did she second-guess their affair?
Avery sipped from her glass. Her mother had been very open about that time. She’d wanted the affair to be true love, but she was sure it was only sex. Though, she was sure it was sex for her and a relationship for him.
Avery wasn’t sure, sometimes, if it was good to know all her parents’ secrets. Perhaps that came with being an only child.
She let the sun soak her face with warmth as she thought about her mother living like this every day—shopping, lunching, yachting, and spa-ing. Hadn’t Avery dreamed of this her whole life? Her grandfather was making it a reality.
A smile formed on Jill’s mouth from behind her cup. “There’s a story there.”
He drank down his coffee, which was growing cold. “Not anymore there isn’t.”
“I get it. You don’t know me. I don’t know you. Why share your secrets with the woman standing in your kitchen having coffee, who will hear every time you flush the toilet.”
He laughed immediately. She sure had a way of making him feel at ease.
“She was my best friend growing up. We finally committed to seeing each other and got engaged.”
Her eyes opened wide. “She left you for France,” she simply stated and he saluted with his mug in response. “Oh, Pete, I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
“You’re still together?”
He gave it a moment of thought and then shook his head. “I don’t think the forever was meant to be. I dearly miss my friend though.”
Jill drank down her coffee—or mug of cream, he considered. She then rinsed it out and placed it in the sink.
“It’s a good thing I’m moving in. I’m a great friend. Not huge into the dating thing. Not gay,” she added. “My mom keeps asking since she thinks I should be dating—men. Then she follows it up with, you have a pretty face , as if that will rid twenty pounds off of me.”
“For the record you do have a pretty face and an infectious personality.”
She studied him. “Infectious as in you’re sick now?”
“As in I could do with a little more of you. I haven’t laughed in a month. I’ve known you twenty minutes and I’ve laughed a few times now.”
“Then that’s good, right?”
“Very.”
“Thanks for thinking my face is pretty.”
He could feel the heat rise in his cheeks. “I noticed your eyes right away too. I don’t see a thing wrong with you, but I have sisters. Girls always think there is something wrong with them.”
“My jean size.”
“See what I mean? I happen to think your jeans look exceptionally nice on you.”
Jill narrowed her eyes on him. “You’re not a creeper?”
“Not even close.”
“Genuine through and through?”
“To a fault.”
She nodded. “Are you still going to help me move?”
He laughed again and it was freeing. “I am also a man of my word.”
“Hmmm.” She pushed back from the counter. “I think I could fall in love with you. I won’t,” she assured him. “I’ll think about it, but you’re still in love with the French girl. But we can see what time brings.”
She gave him a wink, opened the back door, and walked out of the kitchen.
There was a little wiggle in her step and he wondered if he’d given her the pick-me-up she’d needed because she’d sure given him one.
Chapter Thirteen
Champagne was chilling in a silver bucket. The bubbles from the crystal flute she held to her lips tickled her nose.
Sea air blew through her hair and the late afternoon sun on her skin warmed her.
Laughter from people on the deck filled her ears. The thought that her mother had taken a yacht out into the French Rivera, or the Côte d'Azur, as she’d been corrected, humored her. It was unbelievable to her that her mother could drive a yacht, or a boat of any kind, and that she’d left Avery’s father there to get home on his own.
Knowing the love they had her mother must have seriously doubted what was to be.
Was she afraid of losing everything? Did she second-guess their affair?
Avery sipped from her glass. Her mother had been very open about that time. She’d wanted the affair to be true love, but she was sure it was only sex. Though, she was sure it was sex for her and a relationship for him.
Avery wasn’t sure, sometimes, if it was good to know all her parents’ secrets. Perhaps that came with being an only child.
She let the sun soak her face with warmth as she thought about her mother living like this every day—shopping, lunching, yachting, and spa-ing. Hadn’t Avery dreamed of this her whole life? Her grandfather was making it a reality.
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