Page 11 of Summer Affair
“He’s still Sammy’s dad.”
“Just because he put his poker in a honeypot doesn’t make him a father.”
“Keep your voice down. I don’t want Sammy to hear us talking bad about Dirk.”
“Hard to do when there ain’t nothing good to say.”
“Then how about the fact that I don’t want him asking me what a honeypot is.” She whispered the last two words.
“Better than asking why his daddy’s a putz.”
“Then keep your mouth zipped tight because I can hear him coming down the stairs.”
“Is he here?” Sammy asked, racing into the kitchen wearing a too-big ball cap Dirk had bought him right before the divorce, when he’d taken Sammy to a University of Oregon football game. Sammy rarely took it off, even sleeping in it.
“He should be here any moment,” she assured him, only she had a feeling it was she who needed the reassurance. Dirk was a half hour late, and that wasn’t like him. He might be a liar and a cheat, but he never ran late.
Jillian was always running late it seemed. Take this morning, for example. She’d been awake for two hours and was still wearing sweats and hera party without cake is just a meetingT-shirt. She’d managed to brush her teeth and put her hair in a ponytail before Sammy had awoken, then it was all about double-checking that she’d packed everything and keeping him entertained until Dirk arrived.
An ache formed as her son pressed his face to the window, getting little handprints on the glass, watching every car that passed with growing excitement.
“Why don’t you finish up your breakfast before your dad gets here.”
It had taken her an entire year to stop referring to him as “Dad” with a capital D, downgrading him to “your dad,” zero capitals and zero shits.
Downgrading after a divorce had been harder than Jillian expected. Even after she’d learned of his affair with Nikki, she’d mourned the loss of their marriage—the loss of what she’d thought their future would hold. She never imagined that the man who’d loved her enough to propose would one day turn on her, their divorce proceedings holding her hostage. Either she agreed to the terms, which benefitted Dirk and Dirk alone, or he’d go after her grandmother’s property.
So she’d settled. Something she refused ever to do again.
“I’m full.” He was excited. He’d barely touched his breakfast and hadn’t talked about anything but this trip. He even learned the difference between port and starboard. “Like a big kid,” he’d said.
“Then why don’t you help me get Mr.Easton’s breakfast ready,” she said, and her belly gave a little flutter.
Stupid flutters.
“You don’t need to be sweating it up in the kitchen forMr.Easton,” Eddie said.
“It’s part of the service.”
“As long as that’s the only service he thinks comes with his stay.”
Jillian rolled her eyes. “Trust me, I’m not his type.” Except, the other night he was looking at her as if she were exactly his type. “And I’m not looking to waste my time on a playboy. Been there, bought the shirt, and burned it with the rest of his belongings.”
Watching Dirk’s Italian suits and silk tie collection go up in flames was better than three years of therapy. Darcy and Jillian had one drink too many—or too right depending on how she looked at it—and pulled down all of Dirk’s things from the attic. She had a realWaiting to Exhalemoment on her front lawn, stoking the fire with his Calloway Forged Star graphite golf clubs.
It had taken eight months for the grass to grow back, but the memory would last a lifetime.
“What do you know about this guy?”
“That’s he’s our tenant and will be given the privacy he paid for.” She looked Eddie square in the eyes. “No conning, cursing, or card counting of any kind with the tenant.”
“Does that mean I can’t invite him to our poker night?”
“Do so and I will put you in a nursing home.”
“Catching tail in that place is as easy as a fox in a henhouse. If Makowski can bag a sexpot like Greta, then I’d have them falling over themselves for a piece of Eddie the Magical Wonder.”
“What’s a sexpot?” Sammy asked, looking up at his uncle with curious eyes.
