Page 25 of Summer Affair
“That Makowski is trying to steal my fare.” Eddie didn’t even bother to cover the mouthpiece. “I was at the curb first, you fink, and you know it.”
“I’ll show you a fink,” someone she assumed was Makowski shouted back. “And it’s not stealing when it’s rightfully mine. You might have been at the curb, but I pushed my button first. Check the app.”
“Only pussies use the app. I’m a real, door-to-door escort service. Full of class and dignity, so I don’t go around stealing other guys’ ladies.”
And there was the heart of the problem. Two men with a rideshare of beautiful silver-haired sirens. Jillian didn’t need this today. “Be the bigger man and give Makowski the ride or, so help me god, I will show the guys at the senior center your card up the sleeve trick.”
Eddie went dead silent. “I showed you that because we’re family.”
“You showed me that because when I was six, I saw you pull a card out of your sleeve. Now, give him the fare and wait for the next one.”
“My niece feels sorry for your lumpy ass and asked me to take the gentleman’s way out. The fare is yours. This time. Next time I won’t be so forgiving.”
“You ain’t giving me anything that isn’t already mine to take. Or did you forget that me and Mrs.Margo went out on my boat?”
“It’s a dinghy. Everyone knows you have a tiny dinghy.”
And there went more rustling. Jillian covered the mouthpiece and walked into the family room. “Sweetie, how would you feel about going to football camp?”
Sammy, whose eyes had been glued to his video game, glanced up, so much pure excitement there her chest cranked tightly. His precious face—eyes wide as Frisbees, lips in a perfect circle of surprise—was priceless.
“Really?” he asked.
“Really.”
Sammy hopped up and raced toward her, wrapping his little arms around her waist and clinging on like a chimpanzee. She breathed in the moment, then kissed the top of his head. “Go get ready and grab your cleats from last year.”
“They’re too small.”
That was her fear, but she didn’t let her smile slip. She refused to ruin this moment for him.
“Well, bring them anyway. Maybe we can trade with someone who has an older brother.” Or with luck, there would be a pair in the lost and found. She hated that she relied heavily on hand-me-downs when it came to expensive items, but he didn’t seem to care. To him, cleats were cleats.
“You crotchety old fart,” Eddie shouted.
“I’m hanging up,” she explained. “If you and Makowski land in jail again, you’re on your own. I don’t have time to bail you out. Love you, bye.”
She hung up before he could go on about the loyalty of family, then rushed into her bedroom, pulled on a pair of denim shorts, a yellow tank, and flip-flops. She ran a brush through her hair, took a quick swipe of lip gloss, and looked at herself in the mirror.
Even though it was as good as she was going to get on short notice, the heaviness that usually lingered right around the periphery of her life was gone. In fact, for a woman who’d been in leggings two seconds ago, she looked pretty damn decent.
“The train’s about to leave the station.” She paused. “But it can wait until you brush your teeth.” A grumble sounded from the back bedroom. “And your hair.”
Jillian checked each batch of cakes, placing a damp paper towel over the mixing bowl, grabbed a clean towel from the drawer to keep the ones cooling from drying out, and glanced at the clock. “Get a move on it.”
“What kind of moves we talking?”
At the sound of Clay’s voice, Jillian spun around, and her heart leaped into her throat. Clay stood at her kitchen door.
Dressed in a pair of cargo shorts, a blue Y-back muscle tank that had the Seahawks mascot on the pec, and a well-worn ball cap, along with a blast of easy confidence, he was a sight to behold.
For a woman who’d shown him a little shimmy moments ago, she was suddenly frozen in place. Tongue-tied and,whoops,staring at his lips. Then his other parts, parts that made a zing shoot right through her.
“I hear your cupcakes are in need of some attention.”
She ripped her gaze up. “What?”
With a barely-there smile he jerked his chin to the counter covered in her day’s work. “They’re minis,” she said, then closed her eyes. “The cakes. They’re mini cakes. For the Steinberg’s anniversary party tomorrow. Sixty years, can you imagine?”
