Page 10 of Fool Me Twice

“Relax,” Jaxon said, pulling off the road and into the drive. “Mum will have calmed down by now. You know what she’s like.”

“Jaxon?” Peter turned in his seat to face his son. “Why would she need to calm down? You told me you’d spoken to your mother about me going to her party and that she was okay with it.”

“Well... I may have exaggerated slightly there.”

“Did your mum know I was going to be there?”

“If you mean ‘going to be there’ as in, did she know you were coming here to Waverly Bay? Then yes, she did. But, if you mean did she know you were going to be at her birthday party...” He followed the drive and parked at the back of the house. “I may have forgotten to mention that bit.”

Peter let out a low whistle. “No wonder she was so pissed off when she saw me. And it was her birthday? Christ, Jaxon, you might have told me, then I could have bought her something.”

“It’s no big deal. Mum isn’t into all that material shit. Anyway, she doesn’t really celebrate birthdays. She says age is just a number.” He cut the engine and got out.

Peter sat there, unsure of what to do. Sit in the car and pout like a toddler? Leave? Which would make him look equally childish. Or just suck it up and face the music?

“I’m telling you; she’ll have forgotten all about it by now.” Jaxon crossed his arms and waited.

“Fine.” Peter sighed as he unbuckled his seat belt.

Chapter four

Walking out to meet Jaxon, Evie froze. What the hell was he doing here? But catching Jaxon’s eye and seeing the grin splitting his face in two, she put her feelings aside and smiled. Of course, the smile she had for her son was warm and real, but for the twonk next to him, the smile only reached her lips.

“Hey, Mum.” Jaxon kissed his mother on the cheek. “Are the boys here yet?”

“Been here for the last half hour, eating me out of house and home,” she replied with a small laugh. “You’d better be quick, or there’ll be nothing left.”

Jaxon’s mouth turned down at the corners. “If that Gaz has eaten all—“

“In the oven.”

“Thanks, Mum.” He kissed her again. “You’re the best.”

If I’m the best, she asked herself as she narrowed her eyes in Peter’s direction. What’s he doing here? She so wanted to ask the question out loud, but there was no way she was going to show her son’s father she was jealous of him.

Father? That was a laugh. Sperm donor was more accurate. She folded her arms and studied him. Her eyes travelled the length of his body, taking in his deck shoes, navy blue shorts and pale blue polo shirt that emphasised his tanned skin. As much as she hated to admit it, he was still a handsome man, if you liked that kind of thing. But she preferred her men to be a little more hands-on, and she doubted he’d ever done a day’s manual labour in his life.

“Are you going to stand there all day, or are you coming inside?” she asked, forcing her lips into a tight smile.

“Um, yes,” he croaked before clearing his throat. “Thank you, yes,” he said more clearly.

Evie made a sweeping gesture with her arm. “After you,” she said, before adding spitefully, “I’ll send out one of the staff to get your things.”

“What things?” He turned to look at her, his brows pulled down.

“It was a jok— never mind.” Clearly, someone had given him a sense of humour bypass since she’d known him. “If you want breakfast, you’d better hurry. I swear those boys have black holes instead of stomachs.”

She hung back, deliberately walking a few paces behind to discourage any ideas he might have of striking up a conversation. She’d promised Jaxon she’d be nice to Peter, but she had said nothing about making him feel welcome. And even that minor concession really grated on her, being nice to the man who’d abandoned her when she’d been pregnant and broke on the other side of the world.

Wasn’t that every young girl’s dream future?

If it was, it was news to her. Evie’s dream, ever since she could remember, had been to escape the drudgery of farm life. “As soon as I’m sixteen, I’m out of here,” Evie or one of her friends always ranted after another argument with their parents, or in Evie’s case, grandparents.

“If my mum thinks I’m going to skivvy in some shitty caff, running round after bloody tourists, she can think again,” her friend Selina had huffed.

Selina’s parents owned a café that occupied a prime position opposite the beach. Her grandfather had started it when he’d settled there after the war. They often joked that he must have boarded the wrong ship in Genoa all those years ago, and ended up in Cornwall instead of America.

The 1950s American diner theme had probably been pretty spectacular back in the day, compared to the boring cafés with plastic tablecloths and bunting strung across the windows. But by the time Selina’s parents had taken it over, it looked shabby and dated, the faded pleather seating held together with strips of PVC tape.

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