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Synopsis
Summertime in a small seaside town brings one woman an unexpected second chance with the first man to melt her heart . . .
After spending the last few years beating cancer, author Darla Manning is ready for a fresh start—she’s already got a new teaching position in California for the fall. But first, she has some loose ends to tie up over the summer, like finishing her latest novel and selling her oceanfront home. Darla doesn’t expect her ex-husband, contractor Nick Cammareri, to top her list of unfinished business. He was only supposed to do a few quick renovation jobs around the house, not temporarily move in and stir up feelings she thought were long gone.
While Darla tries to focus on making the most of her last Seashell Harbor summer, she can’t help noticing how much Nick has changed. Her immature-but-seriously-cute high school sweetheart is now a motivated-and-seriously-sexy man who’s earning his MBA and running the family business. Plus, he seems determined to make her remember how—and why—they first fell in love. Darla believed moving on meant moving away, but could her hometown hold the key to a new beginning for her . . . with Nick?
Release date: June 11, 2023
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Print pages: 368
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The Summer of Second Chances
Miranda Liasson
Chapter 1
The reason Darla Manning had bought the most sprawling, contemporary beachfront house in Seashell Harbor, New Jersey, had nothing to do with proving her success. Nope, she’d bought it because she knew beyond a doubt that Nick Cammareri, six feet two with eyes of blue, would never set foot inside any structure that wasn’t—well, vintage. No quirky curves, outlandish gingerbread trim, or a turret…no Nick.
Ha.
Nick was the construction manager of the Cammareri Vintage Remodeling Company. And her ex-husband—her youthful mistake and the man she’d divorced almost a decade ago. Keeping him out of her home and her life sounded so good in theory. But in practice, it was another story.
Darla ascended the twenty-two steps up to the aqua-painted double doors of her home with her bulging suitcase and the backpack containing her precious laptop in tow. She couldn’t even see the ocean yet, but its salty tang awakened all kinds of feelings. Love of her town. Of her friends and her family. A sense of finally being home, and also a bone-deep sadness that she wasn’t going to stay.
What ifs were as plentiful as dandelion seeds. It was best to blow them away to the wind and be done with them for good.
She’d bought her house a few years ago, but she’d spent the past year in California taking advantage of a wonderful position to teach at a college creative-writing program. It had been hard being a continent away, trying to purge her mind of Nick, but it had been good for her, and she’d done it. All she had to do these next few weeks was make certain the feeling of being over him stuck around long enough for her to put her house on the market so that she could return to accept the permanent position she’d been offered.
She’d already gotten the wheels in motion, calling the premier real estate agent in town to list the house.
At the top of the steps, she glanced over the railing just as the mid-June sun was taking its final plunge over the water. In the waning light, the row of beachfront houses was a pastel ribbon of salmon, aqua, and pale yellow.
It took her breath away. The familiar coastline, the cheery colors, the ocean as her backyard, with its endless white-capped waves playfully rolling in as if nothing sad in the world could ever happen. She had so many wonderful memories growing up along this sunny shore.
The other memories—of her failed marriage, of her hard road to overcoming cancer—she tried hard to forget.
She was very, very grateful to be a Hodgkin’s disease survivor. But sometimes, even three years after she was declared cancer free, she felt that she was still in survival mode, not living mode.
She punched a code—which was, ironically, HERE2STAY—into her door lock and pushed. The doors opened with a surprisingly loud squeak, probably from not being used much in the past year. She took that as a reassuring sign that Nick had definitely stayed away—because the fixer in him would never tolerate a squeak like that.
A gust of sea breeze blew through the great room, fresh and clean. Definitely not the dust-laden stillness of a house that had been shut up for a year. There was something else in the air—the scent of rich, bold coffee. It instantly brought Nick to mind because he loved craft coffee. Did home invaders make coffee?
More surprises awaited. Her new kitchen backsplash was a stunner—a blue iridescent tile with a pattern that reminded her of waves sparkling in the sun. She touched the tiny tiles, admiring the intricate and artistic design, and a glance at the enormous wall of windows showed one of the glass sliders fronting the beach to be open.
It occurred to her that maybe she should drop everything and run before she ended up like the poor hapless victims in the bestselling thrillers she penned. But just as she stood there contemplating her next move, a head popped up from the couch.
A big, massively furry head, with a long pink tongue and a very bad haircut.
“Woof!” the interloper said, placing his massive paws on the back of her very expensive couch, done in a color her designer called “aqua heaven,” a blue that perfectly matched the color of the ocean outside.
“You’re not a scary home invader,” she said. The dog made a move as if to scramble over the sofa but appeared to suddenly remember his manners.
Unlike her best friend Hadley, who owned an animal shelter, Darla was not enamored of pets. And she had no idea what kind of dog she was looking at. A sheepdog, maybe? White face, gray ears and back. Hair seriously in need of a stylist (probably even more than hers was after nearly twenty-four hours of air travel). With one lethal shake of his head, dog hair flew. All. Over. Her. Couch.
Yikes.
She did not almost laugh out loud at the expression of insta-love on the dog’s dopey, drooly face as he cocked his head to the side, assessing her. Despite herself, she took a cautious step closer.
“Well, hello to you too,” she said. She was wary of animals and wasn’t sure if she should reach out a hand.
There was a bit of a standoff as the dog assessed her. Apparently deciding that she would do just fine as a petter, he struggled for purchase on the plush cushions and then galumphed over the couch to get to her quicker.
“Ouch,” came a groggy voice from the couch. “Watch it, Boss Man.”
Darla froze, her hand midpet, as the tones of that voice vibrated through her in a startling, unwelcome way. It was low and deep and gravelly from sleep, and so heart-stoppingly familiar that she was hit with a truckload of unwanted emotions.
Shock. Surprise. And yes, anger that speak-of-the-devil Nick was, indeed, in her home. Calm down, emotions, she warned herself. You’ve worked hard to be in control. Don’t screw up now.
She was ambitious. Driven. Fiercely independent. She’d conquered her rogue feelings about Nick. This was only a test, one that she would pass with flying colors.
The dog jumped up and licked her, this time on the face, probably because, in her distracted state, she’d slacked off on the petting.
“Down, Boss!” her male visitor reprimanded, but not very harshly. Nick was easygoing, slow to anger, and typically didn’t demand much of people. Or pets, apparently.
Or himself, as their five years together had taught her. The ginormous Boss lived up to his name by ignoring Nick’s command and bounding over. Darla shook his massive paws, trying not to get thrown off balance by a dog who was nearly as tall as her own five feet two, gently placed them on the floor, and patted him on his shaggy head.
Naming a dog Boss was asking for trouble from the beginning. That dog should be named Fireball or Tornado or Chaos. That was how she succeeded in her job as a top-ten thriller writer. She had careful control of words, sentences, and of course, her characters.
That was how she kept cancer out of her mind.
And that was how she planned to keep Nick out of it too.
“Sorry about that,” Nick said, flying off the couch and attempting to finger comb his dark, wavy hair, which was completely the opposite of her fine, curly, blond hair. And which made him hot in the way that attractive guys are who don’t give a fig about their appearance.
Which threw her off balance in a completely different way.
“The backsplash is beautiful. Thanks. The floor looks great too.” Darla kept her gaze everywhere but on Nick, trying not to focus on the fact that her ex-husband happened to be shirtless. With fine, broad shoulders and a tapered-down waist. And, she noticed with chagrin, he was barefoot in a faded, worn pair of jeans. Feelings tumbled around her head willy-nilly—he had beautiful long-fingered working hands, beautiful feet. Okay, fine, he was gorgeous everywhere. And his laid-backness clearly didn’t extend to his workout routine. Because the ripples of muscle on his chest were prettier than sunshine on the bay.
“Hey, Darla.” After all this time, she still felt the burn of Nick’s gaze as it flicked quietly over her in assessment. And the rumbly cadence of his voice vibrating through her, reminding her of a casual, careless cowboy who’d just slugged a shot of tequila.
“What is it?” she asked. He was staring at her.
He pointed to her head, rotating his finger in a circle in the air. “Your hair. It’s…”
Her hand flew upward. “A mess. I took the red-eye, but we had a rain delay in Denver. Long night.”
He reached over like he was going to gently finger a curl. Then he seemed to realize that wasn’t appropriate and dropped his hand. “It’s…long.”
It had finally reached her shoulders, a real feat with curly hair that just kept…curling up. At last, it was the length it had been BC, Before Chemo. Before she’d found a little, seemingly insignificant lump in her neck that had changed her life forever.
On the outside, she now looked just as she had before all of that. But she doubted she’d ever feel like her old happy, carefree self again. The battle for her life had banished that woman forever. But she’d always attacked all her problems with a vengeance. She prided herself on that. To the world, Darla Manning appeared to have her shit together. She’d made certain.
She shrugged. “It’s been three years.” And if she made it through her upcoming barrage of blood and other screening tests without a sign of the cancer returning, the prize was relative relief from worry…until next year. The fear and overwhelming sense of dread that was now at its height would temporarily abate. She’d have a ticket to ride the bus of life through another year to continue her plans and dreams.
“Three years,” he mused. “It’s a milestone.”
“One I’d like to forget,” she quipped. Then immediately bit her lip. Nick tended to make things come out of her mouth—honest things—that she later regretted.
“No,” he said, his gaze bearing down on her with a solemn, intense expression. “It should be marked. Celebrated.”
She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “I’m not sentimental like you.”
“Yes, you are,” he said. “You just don’t show it.”
“You don’t get to analyze me anymore,” she said quietly.
“You’re right,” he said, his tone dry. “Because we don’t have a relationship, do we?”
“What does that mean?” She threw her hands up in the air. “Of course, we have a relationship. We’re exes.”
He gave a lazy shrug, but the intensity was back in his gaze. “We were best friends for years.”
She snorted. “A lot’s happened since then.”
“Just to clarify,” he said, “I’m not looking to be best friends. Just friends would be nice.”
She held up her hands in surrender. “I have nothing against being friends.” If only she could squish Nick Cammareri firmly in the friend box and shut the lid. Trouble was, he kept spilling out.
Oddly, he grinned. “Good.” He petted Boss, who was now sitting patiently at his feet. “So why did you come back a day early?”
Shouldn’t she be asking him why on earth he was here? While she tried to figure out a calmer way to ask that, she said, “I’m on a deadline, and I have a million things to do.” She thought about telling him that she was headed right back to the West Coast as soon as she could, but she didn’t quite know how to bring that up. Or, more truthfully, she was avoiding the subject.
She noted the subtle disapproving lift of his brow. “Writing and teaching. Still working yourself to the bone, I see.”
She waved her hand in a whatever gesture. “The price of success.” Add your marriage into that calculation too, a little voice inside of her whispered. That had been a victim of her success too.
“Yeah, well, as far as your health is concerned, maybe that’s too high.”
“My health was fine until I walked in and you made my blood pressure skyrocket,” she snapped.
“I’ve always been good at that,” he said with a pointed expression that told her he wasn’t talking about anger. Why did he look at her like that, with a gaze that reminded her of things he was capable of doing that she had no business remembering?
That caught her off guard and made her blush—again. Before she could think of a clever retort, he said, “All I’m saying is that your friends are worried about you, but they don’t want to say anything. Maybe I’m just concerned too.”
“Thanks for that. But I think we’d better just stick to the facts. Like, what are you doing here?” Darla switched to her no-nonsense voice. The one that made her twin five-year-old nieces stop fooling around and listen up immediately.
“Oh. That’s…a long story. Can I get you a drink?”
He was asking her if she wanted a drink? In her own home?
The familiar irritation welled up, fortunately tamping the sex appeal down. “No drink, Nick. Just answer the question.” Her house was just twenty years old, not one hundred–plus like nearly all the homes in their charming beach town. She’d caved and given him a key to redo her kitchen backsplash, at his insistence. And okay, he’d also offered to sand and refinish the wood flooring while she was away. But those projects had been done months ago.
Also, she knew him well enough to know that he was stalling.
He sighed heavily. “My roommate just found out he’s leaving for air force training on Monday. His fiancée had to switch her shifts at the hospital to get the weekend off and—”
Why did a thirty-seven-year-old man have a roommate? She bit back the question. Their old friends had all settled down with jobs, relationships, and houses. His lack of doing so was even more evidence of his continued lack of maturity. Too bad she still found herself trying to avoid looking into his soulful eyes that, come to think if it, sort of matched the dog’s.
As if Boss read her mind, he rolled over on his back and gave her that you-know-you-love-me-already look.
“And you came here?” She practiced calming breathing, like her therapist said.
The goal was to get him to leave, not engage him. Yet, after five minutes, here she was, irritated as all get-out.
He gave a lazy shrug. “Far be it from me to stand in the way of young love.”
She rolled her eyes.
“The truth is, they’re really noisy. The bed squeaks, the headboard knocks against the wall, and…”
She held up a hand. “Okay, spare me the details.” He was messing with her, being Nick. She could tell by the mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he embellished the facts. Or at least, she hoped he was embellishing. Unfortunately, her brain had taken that info and twisted it into things she didn’t want to recollect. She shook off the old memories, peeled his gray T-shirt off the back of her couch, and handed it to him, trying not to notice that it was soft and warm and smelled like his soap. The same familiar scent from so long ago, her nose remembered perfectly.
He didn’t take it.
Please take it, she wanted to say, and cover up those pecs already!
“Maybe you can go to your dad’s.” There. She had no problem being assertive with anyone else in her life.
“Except Dad has Mayellen over, and I feel awkward going there.” Mayellen was his dad’s longtime love, and Darla was so happy for him. He deserved happiness after raising all three of his kids alone. With a pang, she remembered how much she missed Angelo. Divorce did bad things to a lot of your other relationships too.
That was just like Nick. Assuming he could stay here. Using his charm to get what he wanted.
He hadn’t changed one bit.
With big, broad shoulders, the callused hands and rugged tan of a working man, and thick, wavy hair that was never completely in place but looked perfect anyway, Nick still had every single trait that pushed all of her attraction buttons. And all the traits that irritated her to death too.
Nick placed his hands on his hips. “I texted you, but when I didn’t hear back, I assumed it was okay. Hadley told me you were flying in tomorrow.”
“Wait, you—” she scrolled through her phone and found the text. Hey, Dar, something’s come up. Okay if I stay over at your place this weekend? Call me back and I’ll explain.
He did sometimes text her. About tile colors. The flooring. All the little details of her remodel. If they stuck to basic conversation like that, they were fine. Because bad things happened when they started to veer off the road into emotional territory. More evidence that it was time to end it. For both their sakes.
“How about going to Tony’s?” His brother was dating her best friend Hadley, and the quaint, old cottage they’d bought was in the middle of a huge renovation.
Nick let out a heavy sigh and leveled a practical gaze at her. “Dar, please let me stay for tonight. Tomorrow I’ll figure something else out, all right?”
Dar. No one else called her that. She used to love how he said her name. But now he said it like she was the one being unreasonable, not him.
Was she unreasonable? She threw up a mental flag, too exhausted to argue. Besides, her house was huge. If he stayed in one of the extra bedrooms, she probably wouldn’t even see him. “Fine.”
“Great.” He flashed a smile that threatened to make her knees go weak. “You won’t even know we’re here.”
Right. “Okey dokey,” she said.
Nick wheeled her suitcase past the kitchen toward her bedroom. “Hey, I made some pasta. With broccoli. You hungry?”
Broccoli? she almost said. She couldn’t recall Nick ever eating anything green.
Her stomach gave a loud rumble, but she ignored its complaint. “Thanks, but I ate at the airport.” She stifled a yawn. “And I need to get to work early, so I’d better go to bed.” She gathered her purse and her computer. There was a time when she would’ve sat down with him and shared food and asked about his family. His dad was surely getting close to retirement age. And his sister, Lucy, who was just finishing her first year at the Culinary Institute of America in upstate New York; how was she taking the move with her almost four-year-old daughter? But chitchat wasn’t going to do anything but muck up her feelings even more.
“Of course you do.” He said it like nothing had changed. She would always be Darla the workaholic, and he’d always be laid-back Nick.
“Well, good night.” As soon as she started down the hall, he stopped her.
“You sure you want to go to bed?” He turned red. “I mean, are you sure you want to go to sleep?”
It was her turn to blush. “What?” Did she hear that right? “You aren’t propositioning me, are you?” Because that would be…embarrassing. And of course, nothing she would ever want.
“No! Of course not.” He sounded adamant.
Oh, okay. Good. She should have felt relief, but she was too confused. “I really have to go to the bathroom.”
He hesitated. “I—um—maybe that’s not such a good idea.”
She raised a questioning brow. “It is if I don’t want to pee on the floor.”
He hiked a thumb behind his shoulder, pointing to the wing of the house opposite her bedroom. “Maybe you could use that bathroom.”
“Good night, Nick,” she said in a firm voice. Enough was enough. She finally broke away, wheeling her bag down the hall.
Now she just had to break away mentally too.
Chapter 2
Nick sat down on the couch, the dog glued to his side, glancing at the second hand on his watch. Five, four, three, two…he braced himself for impact just as Darla came running back into the living room.
She appeared in front of him, her hands balled into fists, lips pursed as she clearly struggled for calm.
Even now, Darla could enter a room and leave him not knowing what hit him. Mowing down his common sense. Filling his senses with her beautiful face, her curly blond hair, and her warm brown eyes. Looks that were deceiving because she often presented a tough don’t-mess-with-me demeanor. But underneath lay a warm heart and a wicked sense of humor that made her unlike anyone he’d ever met. Tangling up his emotions and filling him with wanting. Still.
He cursed silently. “I started on your bathroom a little late, and the tile was delayed. Sorry it’s a mess in there.” He’d meant to tell her, but she’d thrown him by showing up a day early. And just being in the same room with her again had made all his thoughts scatter.
“Did we actually talk about redoing my master bathroom?” Now she was waving her arms. Not good.
“No, but you told me you hated it. And you did pick out that tile.” She probably thought he’d procrastinated, but he hadn’t. Nor could he blame it on the fact that he’d had papers and projects for his MBA program, on top of working full time with his dad. She didn’t know this, but the tile she’d fallen in love with had been out of stock for months. Finally, he’d managed to order it—from Italy. But it had gotten stuck on a cargo ship somewhere out at sea. He’d meant to surprise her with the whole project being done, but now she was coming home to a mess.
“I hate a lot of things. Crowds. War. Brussels sprouts…” She counted on her fingers.
Somehow, he was relieved he didn’t make the list. On the other hand, if she kept going, he was certain she’d call out his name.
The Nick she used to know would’ve been quick to make excuses. But he didn’t have to make them now.
He was great at irritating her, sometimes on purpose. That hid the attraction that still flared between them. Yes, it was much better to have her think he was a deadbeat because he felt too much in her presence. Wanted too much.
And he’d hurt her enough.
Oh, he hadn’t cheated on her. But he’d been jealous of the time she’d spent building her career at a time when his was languishing.
She’d filed for divorce. And in his anger and hurt, he’d said fine.
He hadn’t fought for her. Like his own mother when he was young, who’d left him, Tony, and Lucy silently in the middle of the night, never to return.
No stick-to-it-iveness. His dad had made it a point not to criticize their absent mother, but that was what was implied.
“The tile just arrived to the shop,” he continued, shaking off the memories. “It’ll take me a week tops to put your bathroom back together. And now that you’re home, you can give me your approval on the fixtures that I thought would look nice.”
Something in her eyes softened. “Well, it was nice of you to tackle my bathroom. So…thank you.”
He nodded the you’re welcome. Seemed like he was always trying to show her that he’d changed. He’d fixed her rotting porch roof with the slow, undiagnosed leak. Redid her plain, boring backsplash. Her kitchen floor. And now her master bath.
He’d fixed everything he could get his hands on but their broken relationship. Done everything but tell her how sorry he was that he’d screwed things up between them.
Maybe it was time for him to move on and let the past lie, like she clearly wanted to do. But that was the thing about living in this town. You saw your whole past every single day—every person, every mistake. It was actually one of the things he loved about it—there was no running.
He did his best every day to show that he’d turned into a capable, hardworking person, even if he couldn’t quite shake the image of the immature young adult he’d been.
“Nick, I—I just wanted to tell you something,” she said. Her eyes were the kind of gentle brown that reminded him of a doe, a comparison she used to hate. He remembered being eighteen and thinking he’d never seen anyone with eyes like that, with gold flecks that could look cool or fiery, depending on her mood. And he still hadn’t.
“Sure. What is it?” A thought occurred to him. What if she was about to tell him that the cancer was back? That sent a shudder through him. “Are you—are you okay?”
“Of course, I’m okay.” Her irritation was barely disguised. “It’s not always about my health.”
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.” It was just so hard when he was the last to know anything. But he couldn’t tell her that.
Her face crumpled. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped.” She rubbed her temples. “It’s been a really long day.”
Always with the apologies. Both of them were quick to smooth things over without ever going deeper. “I’ve got a crew coming here first thing in the morning so we can get that bathroom done.” She looked super unhappy at that, so he added, “I’ll tell them to come at ten. That way you can sleep in a little.”
“Okay, thanks,” she said. “I appreciate it.”
“What was it you wanted to tell me?” He vowed not to jump to conclusions, whatever she said.
She gave him a wave as she headed toward the hallway. “Not important. I’m going to crash. See ya.”
“Oh, I almost forgot.” He got up and fished around in his pocket. “My guys were back there drilling out the floor, and I found this on your bureau.”
As he held out the antique ring, she recoiled. Which threw him, because he knew it was important to her. “I trust my crew,” he said, “but sometimes we have delivery people coming in and out, and I didn’t want it to lie around and take a chance that some dishonest person—”
“Thanks. It belonged to my great-great-grandmother.” Together they examined the large, sparkly gem with an old-fashioned filigree band. There was no mistaking it for a unique piece. It wasn’t a precious gemstone, but Nick knew it was precious. . .
The reason Darla Manning had bought the most sprawling, contemporary beachfront house in Seashell Harbor, New Jersey, had nothing to do with proving her success. Nope, she’d bought it because she knew beyond a doubt that Nick Cammareri, six feet two with eyes of blue, would never set foot inside any structure that wasn’t—well, vintage. No quirky curves, outlandish gingerbread trim, or a turret…no Nick.
Ha.
Nick was the construction manager of the Cammareri Vintage Remodeling Company. And her ex-husband—her youthful mistake and the man she’d divorced almost a decade ago. Keeping him out of her home and her life sounded so good in theory. But in practice, it was another story.
Darla ascended the twenty-two steps up to the aqua-painted double doors of her home with her bulging suitcase and the backpack containing her precious laptop in tow. She couldn’t even see the ocean yet, but its salty tang awakened all kinds of feelings. Love of her town. Of her friends and her family. A sense of finally being home, and also a bone-deep sadness that she wasn’t going to stay.
What ifs were as plentiful as dandelion seeds. It was best to blow them away to the wind and be done with them for good.
She’d bought her house a few years ago, but she’d spent the past year in California taking advantage of a wonderful position to teach at a college creative-writing program. It had been hard being a continent away, trying to purge her mind of Nick, but it had been good for her, and she’d done it. All she had to do these next few weeks was make certain the feeling of being over him stuck around long enough for her to put her house on the market so that she could return to accept the permanent position she’d been offered.
She’d already gotten the wheels in motion, calling the premier real estate agent in town to list the house.
At the top of the steps, she glanced over the railing just as the mid-June sun was taking its final plunge over the water. In the waning light, the row of beachfront houses was a pastel ribbon of salmon, aqua, and pale yellow.
It took her breath away. The familiar coastline, the cheery colors, the ocean as her backyard, with its endless white-capped waves playfully rolling in as if nothing sad in the world could ever happen. She had so many wonderful memories growing up along this sunny shore.
The other memories—of her failed marriage, of her hard road to overcoming cancer—she tried hard to forget.
She was very, very grateful to be a Hodgkin’s disease survivor. But sometimes, even three years after she was declared cancer free, she felt that she was still in survival mode, not living mode.
She punched a code—which was, ironically, HERE2STAY—into her door lock and pushed. The doors opened with a surprisingly loud squeak, probably from not being used much in the past year. She took that as a reassuring sign that Nick had definitely stayed away—because the fixer in him would never tolerate a squeak like that.
A gust of sea breeze blew through the great room, fresh and clean. Definitely not the dust-laden stillness of a house that had been shut up for a year. There was something else in the air—the scent of rich, bold coffee. It instantly brought Nick to mind because he loved craft coffee. Did home invaders make coffee?
More surprises awaited. Her new kitchen backsplash was a stunner—a blue iridescent tile with a pattern that reminded her of waves sparkling in the sun. She touched the tiny tiles, admiring the intricate and artistic design, and a glance at the enormous wall of windows showed one of the glass sliders fronting the beach to be open.
It occurred to her that maybe she should drop everything and run before she ended up like the poor hapless victims in the bestselling thrillers she penned. But just as she stood there contemplating her next move, a head popped up from the couch.
A big, massively furry head, with a long pink tongue and a very bad haircut.
“Woof!” the interloper said, placing his massive paws on the back of her very expensive couch, done in a color her designer called “aqua heaven,” a blue that perfectly matched the color of the ocean outside.
“You’re not a scary home invader,” she said. The dog made a move as if to scramble over the sofa but appeared to suddenly remember his manners.
Unlike her best friend Hadley, who owned an animal shelter, Darla was not enamored of pets. And she had no idea what kind of dog she was looking at. A sheepdog, maybe? White face, gray ears and back. Hair seriously in need of a stylist (probably even more than hers was after nearly twenty-four hours of air travel). With one lethal shake of his head, dog hair flew. All. Over. Her. Couch.
Yikes.
She did not almost laugh out loud at the expression of insta-love on the dog’s dopey, drooly face as he cocked his head to the side, assessing her. Despite herself, she took a cautious step closer.
“Well, hello to you too,” she said. She was wary of animals and wasn’t sure if she should reach out a hand.
There was a bit of a standoff as the dog assessed her. Apparently deciding that she would do just fine as a petter, he struggled for purchase on the plush cushions and then galumphed over the couch to get to her quicker.
“Ouch,” came a groggy voice from the couch. “Watch it, Boss Man.”
Darla froze, her hand midpet, as the tones of that voice vibrated through her in a startling, unwelcome way. It was low and deep and gravelly from sleep, and so heart-stoppingly familiar that she was hit with a truckload of unwanted emotions.
Shock. Surprise. And yes, anger that speak-of-the-devil Nick was, indeed, in her home. Calm down, emotions, she warned herself. You’ve worked hard to be in control. Don’t screw up now.
She was ambitious. Driven. Fiercely independent. She’d conquered her rogue feelings about Nick. This was only a test, one that she would pass with flying colors.
The dog jumped up and licked her, this time on the face, probably because, in her distracted state, she’d slacked off on the petting.
“Down, Boss!” her male visitor reprimanded, but not very harshly. Nick was easygoing, slow to anger, and typically didn’t demand much of people. Or pets, apparently.
Or himself, as their five years together had taught her. The ginormous Boss lived up to his name by ignoring Nick’s command and bounding over. Darla shook his massive paws, trying not to get thrown off balance by a dog who was nearly as tall as her own five feet two, gently placed them on the floor, and patted him on his shaggy head.
Naming a dog Boss was asking for trouble from the beginning. That dog should be named Fireball or Tornado or Chaos. That was how she succeeded in her job as a top-ten thriller writer. She had careful control of words, sentences, and of course, her characters.
That was how she kept cancer out of her mind.
And that was how she planned to keep Nick out of it too.
“Sorry about that,” Nick said, flying off the couch and attempting to finger comb his dark, wavy hair, which was completely the opposite of her fine, curly, blond hair. And which made him hot in the way that attractive guys are who don’t give a fig about their appearance.
Which threw her off balance in a completely different way.
“The backsplash is beautiful. Thanks. The floor looks great too.” Darla kept her gaze everywhere but on Nick, trying not to focus on the fact that her ex-husband happened to be shirtless. With fine, broad shoulders and a tapered-down waist. And, she noticed with chagrin, he was barefoot in a faded, worn pair of jeans. Feelings tumbled around her head willy-nilly—he had beautiful long-fingered working hands, beautiful feet. Okay, fine, he was gorgeous everywhere. And his laid-backness clearly didn’t extend to his workout routine. Because the ripples of muscle on his chest were prettier than sunshine on the bay.
“Hey, Darla.” After all this time, she still felt the burn of Nick’s gaze as it flicked quietly over her in assessment. And the rumbly cadence of his voice vibrating through her, reminding her of a casual, careless cowboy who’d just slugged a shot of tequila.
“What is it?” she asked. He was staring at her.
He pointed to her head, rotating his finger in a circle in the air. “Your hair. It’s…”
Her hand flew upward. “A mess. I took the red-eye, but we had a rain delay in Denver. Long night.”
He reached over like he was going to gently finger a curl. Then he seemed to realize that wasn’t appropriate and dropped his hand. “It’s…long.”
It had finally reached her shoulders, a real feat with curly hair that just kept…curling up. At last, it was the length it had been BC, Before Chemo. Before she’d found a little, seemingly insignificant lump in her neck that had changed her life forever.
On the outside, she now looked just as she had before all of that. But she doubted she’d ever feel like her old happy, carefree self again. The battle for her life had banished that woman forever. But she’d always attacked all her problems with a vengeance. She prided herself on that. To the world, Darla Manning appeared to have her shit together. She’d made certain.
She shrugged. “It’s been three years.” And if she made it through her upcoming barrage of blood and other screening tests without a sign of the cancer returning, the prize was relative relief from worry…until next year. The fear and overwhelming sense of dread that was now at its height would temporarily abate. She’d have a ticket to ride the bus of life through another year to continue her plans and dreams.
“Three years,” he mused. “It’s a milestone.”
“One I’d like to forget,” she quipped. Then immediately bit her lip. Nick tended to make things come out of her mouth—honest things—that she later regretted.
“No,” he said, his gaze bearing down on her with a solemn, intense expression. “It should be marked. Celebrated.”
She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “I’m not sentimental like you.”
“Yes, you are,” he said. “You just don’t show it.”
“You don’t get to analyze me anymore,” she said quietly.
“You’re right,” he said, his tone dry. “Because we don’t have a relationship, do we?”
“What does that mean?” She threw her hands up in the air. “Of course, we have a relationship. We’re exes.”
He gave a lazy shrug, but the intensity was back in his gaze. “We were best friends for years.”
She snorted. “A lot’s happened since then.”
“Just to clarify,” he said, “I’m not looking to be best friends. Just friends would be nice.”
She held up her hands in surrender. “I have nothing against being friends.” If only she could squish Nick Cammareri firmly in the friend box and shut the lid. Trouble was, he kept spilling out.
Oddly, he grinned. “Good.” He petted Boss, who was now sitting patiently at his feet. “So why did you come back a day early?”
Shouldn’t she be asking him why on earth he was here? While she tried to figure out a calmer way to ask that, she said, “I’m on a deadline, and I have a million things to do.” She thought about telling him that she was headed right back to the West Coast as soon as she could, but she didn’t quite know how to bring that up. Or, more truthfully, she was avoiding the subject.
She noted the subtle disapproving lift of his brow. “Writing and teaching. Still working yourself to the bone, I see.”
She waved her hand in a whatever gesture. “The price of success.” Add your marriage into that calculation too, a little voice inside of her whispered. That had been a victim of her success too.
“Yeah, well, as far as your health is concerned, maybe that’s too high.”
“My health was fine until I walked in and you made my blood pressure skyrocket,” she snapped.
“I’ve always been good at that,” he said with a pointed expression that told her he wasn’t talking about anger. Why did he look at her like that, with a gaze that reminded her of things he was capable of doing that she had no business remembering?
That caught her off guard and made her blush—again. Before she could think of a clever retort, he said, “All I’m saying is that your friends are worried about you, but they don’t want to say anything. Maybe I’m just concerned too.”
“Thanks for that. But I think we’d better just stick to the facts. Like, what are you doing here?” Darla switched to her no-nonsense voice. The one that made her twin five-year-old nieces stop fooling around and listen up immediately.
“Oh. That’s…a long story. Can I get you a drink?”
He was asking her if she wanted a drink? In her own home?
The familiar irritation welled up, fortunately tamping the sex appeal down. “No drink, Nick. Just answer the question.” Her house was just twenty years old, not one hundred–plus like nearly all the homes in their charming beach town. She’d caved and given him a key to redo her kitchen backsplash, at his insistence. And okay, he’d also offered to sand and refinish the wood flooring while she was away. But those projects had been done months ago.
Also, she knew him well enough to know that he was stalling.
He sighed heavily. “My roommate just found out he’s leaving for air force training on Monday. His fiancée had to switch her shifts at the hospital to get the weekend off and—”
Why did a thirty-seven-year-old man have a roommate? She bit back the question. Their old friends had all settled down with jobs, relationships, and houses. His lack of doing so was even more evidence of his continued lack of maturity. Too bad she still found herself trying to avoid looking into his soulful eyes that, come to think if it, sort of matched the dog’s.
As if Boss read her mind, he rolled over on his back and gave her that you-know-you-love-me-already look.
“And you came here?” She practiced calming breathing, like her therapist said.
The goal was to get him to leave, not engage him. Yet, after five minutes, here she was, irritated as all get-out.
He gave a lazy shrug. “Far be it from me to stand in the way of young love.”
She rolled her eyes.
“The truth is, they’re really noisy. The bed squeaks, the headboard knocks against the wall, and…”
She held up a hand. “Okay, spare me the details.” He was messing with her, being Nick. She could tell by the mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he embellished the facts. Or at least, she hoped he was embellishing. Unfortunately, her brain had taken that info and twisted it into things she didn’t want to recollect. She shook off the old memories, peeled his gray T-shirt off the back of her couch, and handed it to him, trying not to notice that it was soft and warm and smelled like his soap. The same familiar scent from so long ago, her nose remembered perfectly.
He didn’t take it.
Please take it, she wanted to say, and cover up those pecs already!
“Maybe you can go to your dad’s.” There. She had no problem being assertive with anyone else in her life.
“Except Dad has Mayellen over, and I feel awkward going there.” Mayellen was his dad’s longtime love, and Darla was so happy for him. He deserved happiness after raising all three of his kids alone. With a pang, she remembered how much she missed Angelo. Divorce did bad things to a lot of your other relationships too.
That was just like Nick. Assuming he could stay here. Using his charm to get what he wanted.
He hadn’t changed one bit.
With big, broad shoulders, the callused hands and rugged tan of a working man, and thick, wavy hair that was never completely in place but looked perfect anyway, Nick still had every single trait that pushed all of her attraction buttons. And all the traits that irritated her to death too.
Nick placed his hands on his hips. “I texted you, but when I didn’t hear back, I assumed it was okay. Hadley told me you were flying in tomorrow.”
“Wait, you—” she scrolled through her phone and found the text. Hey, Dar, something’s come up. Okay if I stay over at your place this weekend? Call me back and I’ll explain.
He did sometimes text her. About tile colors. The flooring. All the little details of her remodel. If they stuck to basic conversation like that, they were fine. Because bad things happened when they started to veer off the road into emotional territory. More evidence that it was time to end it. For both their sakes.
“How about going to Tony’s?” His brother was dating her best friend Hadley, and the quaint, old cottage they’d bought was in the middle of a huge renovation.
Nick let out a heavy sigh and leveled a practical gaze at her. “Dar, please let me stay for tonight. Tomorrow I’ll figure something else out, all right?”
Dar. No one else called her that. She used to love how he said her name. But now he said it like she was the one being unreasonable, not him.
Was she unreasonable? She threw up a mental flag, too exhausted to argue. Besides, her house was huge. If he stayed in one of the extra bedrooms, she probably wouldn’t even see him. “Fine.”
“Great.” He flashed a smile that threatened to make her knees go weak. “You won’t even know we’re here.”
Right. “Okey dokey,” she said.
Nick wheeled her suitcase past the kitchen toward her bedroom. “Hey, I made some pasta. With broccoli. You hungry?”
Broccoli? she almost said. She couldn’t recall Nick ever eating anything green.
Her stomach gave a loud rumble, but she ignored its complaint. “Thanks, but I ate at the airport.” She stifled a yawn. “And I need to get to work early, so I’d better go to bed.” She gathered her purse and her computer. There was a time when she would’ve sat down with him and shared food and asked about his family. His dad was surely getting close to retirement age. And his sister, Lucy, who was just finishing her first year at the Culinary Institute of America in upstate New York; how was she taking the move with her almost four-year-old daughter? But chitchat wasn’t going to do anything but muck up her feelings even more.
“Of course you do.” He said it like nothing had changed. She would always be Darla the workaholic, and he’d always be laid-back Nick.
“Well, good night.” As soon as she started down the hall, he stopped her.
“You sure you want to go to bed?” He turned red. “I mean, are you sure you want to go to sleep?”
It was her turn to blush. “What?” Did she hear that right? “You aren’t propositioning me, are you?” Because that would be…embarrassing. And of course, nothing she would ever want.
“No! Of course not.” He sounded adamant.
Oh, okay. Good. She should have felt relief, but she was too confused. “I really have to go to the bathroom.”
He hesitated. “I—um—maybe that’s not such a good idea.”
She raised a questioning brow. “It is if I don’t want to pee on the floor.”
He hiked a thumb behind his shoulder, pointing to the wing of the house opposite her bedroom. “Maybe you could use that bathroom.”
“Good night, Nick,” she said in a firm voice. Enough was enough. She finally broke away, wheeling her bag down the hall.
Now she just had to break away mentally too.
Chapter 2
Nick sat down on the couch, the dog glued to his side, glancing at the second hand on his watch. Five, four, three, two…he braced himself for impact just as Darla came running back into the living room.
She appeared in front of him, her hands balled into fists, lips pursed as she clearly struggled for calm.
Even now, Darla could enter a room and leave him not knowing what hit him. Mowing down his common sense. Filling his senses with her beautiful face, her curly blond hair, and her warm brown eyes. Looks that were deceiving because she often presented a tough don’t-mess-with-me demeanor. But underneath lay a warm heart and a wicked sense of humor that made her unlike anyone he’d ever met. Tangling up his emotions and filling him with wanting. Still.
He cursed silently. “I started on your bathroom a little late, and the tile was delayed. Sorry it’s a mess in there.” He’d meant to tell her, but she’d thrown him by showing up a day early. And just being in the same room with her again had made all his thoughts scatter.
“Did we actually talk about redoing my master bathroom?” Now she was waving her arms. Not good.
“No, but you told me you hated it. And you did pick out that tile.” She probably thought he’d procrastinated, but he hadn’t. Nor could he blame it on the fact that he’d had papers and projects for his MBA program, on top of working full time with his dad. She didn’t know this, but the tile she’d fallen in love with had been out of stock for months. Finally, he’d managed to order it—from Italy. But it had gotten stuck on a cargo ship somewhere out at sea. He’d meant to surprise her with the whole project being done, but now she was coming home to a mess.
“I hate a lot of things. Crowds. War. Brussels sprouts…” She counted on her fingers.
Somehow, he was relieved he didn’t make the list. On the other hand, if she kept going, he was certain she’d call out his name.
The Nick she used to know would’ve been quick to make excuses. But he didn’t have to make them now.
He was great at irritating her, sometimes on purpose. That hid the attraction that still flared between them. Yes, it was much better to have her think he was a deadbeat because he felt too much in her presence. Wanted too much.
And he’d hurt her enough.
Oh, he hadn’t cheated on her. But he’d been jealous of the time she’d spent building her career at a time when his was languishing.
She’d filed for divorce. And in his anger and hurt, he’d said fine.
He hadn’t fought for her. Like his own mother when he was young, who’d left him, Tony, and Lucy silently in the middle of the night, never to return.
No stick-to-it-iveness. His dad had made it a point not to criticize their absent mother, but that was what was implied.
“The tile just arrived to the shop,” he continued, shaking off the memories. “It’ll take me a week tops to put your bathroom back together. And now that you’re home, you can give me your approval on the fixtures that I thought would look nice.”
Something in her eyes softened. “Well, it was nice of you to tackle my bathroom. So…thank you.”
He nodded the you’re welcome. Seemed like he was always trying to show her that he’d changed. He’d fixed her rotting porch roof with the slow, undiagnosed leak. Redid her plain, boring backsplash. Her kitchen floor. And now her master bath.
He’d fixed everything he could get his hands on but their broken relationship. Done everything but tell her how sorry he was that he’d screwed things up between them.
Maybe it was time for him to move on and let the past lie, like she clearly wanted to do. But that was the thing about living in this town. You saw your whole past every single day—every person, every mistake. It was actually one of the things he loved about it—there was no running.
He did his best every day to show that he’d turned into a capable, hardworking person, even if he couldn’t quite shake the image of the immature young adult he’d been.
“Nick, I—I just wanted to tell you something,” she said. Her eyes were the kind of gentle brown that reminded him of a doe, a comparison she used to hate. He remembered being eighteen and thinking he’d never seen anyone with eyes like that, with gold flecks that could look cool or fiery, depending on her mood. And he still hadn’t.
“Sure. What is it?” A thought occurred to him. What if she was about to tell him that the cancer was back? That sent a shudder through him. “Are you—are you okay?”
“Of course, I’m okay.” Her irritation was barely disguised. “It’s not always about my health.”
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.” It was just so hard when he was the last to know anything. But he couldn’t tell her that.
Her face crumpled. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped.” She rubbed her temples. “It’s been a really long day.”
Always with the apologies. Both of them were quick to smooth things over without ever going deeper. “I’ve got a crew coming here first thing in the morning so we can get that bathroom done.” She looked super unhappy at that, so he added, “I’ll tell them to come at ten. That way you can sleep in a little.”
“Okay, thanks,” she said. “I appreciate it.”
“What was it you wanted to tell me?” He vowed not to jump to conclusions, whatever she said.
She gave him a wave as she headed toward the hallway. “Not important. I’m going to crash. See ya.”
“Oh, I almost forgot.” He got up and fished around in his pocket. “My guys were back there drilling out the floor, and I found this on your bureau.”
As he held out the antique ring, she recoiled. Which threw him, because he knew it was important to her. “I trust my crew,” he said, “but sometimes we have delivery people coming in and out, and I didn’t want it to lie around and take a chance that some dishonest person—”
“Thanks. It belonged to my great-great-grandmother.” Together they examined the large, sparkly gem with an old-fashioned filigree band. There was no mistaking it for a unique piece. It wasn’t a precious gemstone, but Nick knew it was precious. . .
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The Summer of Second Chances
Miranda Liasson
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