Page 12 of Summer Affair
“It means a woman with big kahunas—”
“Eddie.”
“A beautiful woman, but maybe you should call her a dame.”
It wasn’t the exact word she wanted her son to use, but it was better than sexpot.
Plating the food and setting it on a tray, Jillian put a little hustle in her bustle, hoping to arrive before Clay awoke. The first week he’d been blessedly absent, but yesterday he’d surprised her. Today, she couldn’t afford any more surprises. And she really didn’t want to face him down in nothing but sweats and yesterday’s mascara.
Sammy gave up his post and raced over. “Can I carry the tray?”
“How about you get out some silverware and wrap it in a napkin?”
“’Kay.” He pulled out each utensil, then carefully rolled them up in a cloth napkin. It looked more like a kid’s art project than rolled silverware, but the way his tongue peeked out the side of his mouth as he concentrated on the task at hand was adorable.
“Where’s my tray?” Eddie asked.
“Under the counter. And don’t eat all the bacon, you know what the doctor said about your cholesterol.”
“The doctor’s a moron. Still wet behind the ears. I’ve had turds older than him.”
“More than one piece and I’m canceling poker night for a scrapbooking party.”
Eddie paled but didn’t say a word.
“I’m weady,” Sammy said. When his dad left, Sammy started softening his Rs and replacingThwithDaagain like he’d reverted from seven to five. It wasn’t the only behavioral change. He was scared at night, often sneaking into Jillian’s bed, and was needier than usual for a child his age. His therapist said it was normal for kids to change in times of great stress.
Jillian rolled with the punches, doing her best to give him the time he needed to grieve the loss of his family unit. It had taken Jillian nearly three years and she was still a little off-balance.
“Here we go.” She picked up the tray and walked to the door. Catching her reflection in the mirror, she sighed. She looked like that old lady with the saggy boobs on those humorous greeting cards. If she weren’t so tired, she’d see the humor.
Sammy opened the door and they walked across the bridge, the soothing sound of water rushing beneath their feet, easing some of the stress of the morning. The stream that ran through the middle of the property connected her to some of her best childhood memories.
Jillian lived in Forest Park, a picturesque neighborhood that was home to over five thousand acres of city parks. On the north side of Portland, it was the kind of well-connected community where people knew their neighbors and could keep a key under the doormat.
Built by her grandparents over seventy years ago, Forest Cottage was constructed from excavated stone, with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked Jackson Creek. From the outside, it appeared to be a simple A-frame with exposed stone, a brick chimney, and a giant porch, surrounded by Douglas firs and a handful of tributaries, which separated the main house from Jillian’s much smaller dwelling. Inside was warm and welcoming, the only place Jillian had felt at home since her mom’s death.
The property boasted stunning views of the city, sat ten minutes from downtown Portland, and was within walking distance to the zoo. Forest Park was the perfect combination of wooded streets and urban living and the perfect place to raise a family. And the quaint Main Street was the perfect place to open her Cake Goddess tasting room, where couples could sample cakes while sipping champagne and discussing their ever afters. If she stayed on track, added just two more events per week and tightened her belt strap, her grand opening could be as early as fall.
Then her dream would become a reality. She’d be her own boss, in control of her own destiny, and in a position to hire part-time help so she could spend more quality time with Sammy. It was a sacrifice now for the kind of future endeavors she’d studied in grad school.
If all went accordingly, she’d finally be able to put her education to work. And wouldn’t that make her grandma proud?
It was just after six, and Jillian’s favorite time of the morning. Nature was coming awake, the sun was rising over the city, peeking through the canopy of pine trees, reflecting off the trickling stream, the water gliding over and through the moss-covered stones.
A pair of mourning doves cooed their beautiful love song and Jillian watched a maple leaf float to the ground as she made her way toward the back door, which she used to deliver Clay’s breakfast each day without having to access the main part of the residence.
The closer she got to the main house, the more her nerves returned, until she was packing a double punch of anxiety and anticipation. Her palms were a bit sweaty, and her heart was picking up speed. Which was absolutely, positively ridiculous.
“Now, remember Mr.Easton might be sleeping,” she said to Sammy. That’s what she was counting on. “So we need to be quiet.”
“Mr.Easton is not sleeping.”
Jillian looked up to find Clay leaning against the frame, looking absolutely, positively sexy, with his arms and feet crossed, appearing deceptively casual. She froze and immediately regretted not taking the time to put on something other than sweats. He was in a black compression shirt that hugged his chest to perfection, basketball shorts that hung low enough that she could see a sliver of toned abs, and no shoes. Then there was his bedhead and sleepy eyes that brought on those flutters.
“I can get used to this.” He pushed away from the doorway and padded toward her. She fought the instinct to move back, holding her ground. “You put a little good in my morning.”
She was too busy gawking to respond until he reached for the tray. She pulled it back. “Kitchen to table is what I advertise.”
