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“Are you sure, sweetie?”
“Positive!” Sarah said trying for her most upbeat voice. “How’s work?”
“Quiet.”
Sarah automatically laughed. It was Mom’s standard librarian’s joke. She’d worked at the Cocoa Beach Library for over thirty-five years now.
“When is this job in Whispering Bay over? Maybe I can drive up for a weekend and check out this house you keep bragging about.”
Crap. Why had she told her mother all about the beach house?
“I’d love for you to come up for a visit, but I’m working so much… I’m not sure we’d be able to spend any real time together.”
“How’s the food truck fund? Surely you must have what you need by now? Maybe I can cash in some of my 401(k) money and—”
“That’s a big fat no.”
“But—”
“But nothing. That’s your retirement. Besides, I’m pretty close. If I keep saving at this rate, I’ll have what I need by the end of the year.” Maybe even by the end of summer, although that was probably being just a tad too optimistic if she had to find another place to stay.
“Maybe your father could help. He certainly has the money and he’s always been generous.”
That was true, but there was a difference between child support and giving his adult daughter the money to buy a food truck.
As if her mom could feel her hesitation, she added, “You know, sweetie, money is the only way your father has ever been able to show you how he feels about you.”
“No need to involve Dad. I want to do this on my own.” The way you taught me. She left the last part unsaid between them.
“That’s my girl!” Mom said cheerfully. “I didn’t raise you to take the easy way out. You know, hon, I was thinking maybe we could take one of those three-day cruises to the Bahamas from Port Canaveral. Just you and me for Labor Day weekend. It’ll be my treat to celebrate your big birthday coming up.”
“I’d love that.”
“Great! Can I go ahead and make the reservation? We’ll be cutting it close as it is.”
“Book away,” Sarah said and her mother laughed, immediately getting her joke. Yeah. The two of them were corny that way. Her mom was her best friend. Despite a few bumpy teenage years, it had always been the two of them against the world, and Sarah couldn’t think of a better way to spend her birthday weekend than lying on a chaise lounge next to her mom with a frozen margarita in her hand.
After the call, she went to see two more apartments that made the cockroach place look like the Ritz. There was a fourth apartment that had been affordable and semi-decent, but they wanted her to sign a one-year lease. It appeared she had no choice. Unless she wanted to spend a small fortune on rent for the remainder of the summer, she was going to have to insist that Luke honor her lease.
* * *
Luke scoured the pantry for any signs of caffeine but came up empty. There was a box of sugary cereal, some cookies, and, of course, the leftover Chinese and that half-eaten pizza in the refrigerator. All that was missing was an empty keg and his kitchen could belong in a frat house.
He should go to the Piggly Wiggly to stock up on groceries, but there was absolutely no way he’d get out of there without running into someone he knew. His mother would be waiting for him in the parking lot before he could even hit the cash register.
He sat on the couch contemplating his next move when the front door opened. Blondie (what was her name again?) came waltzing into his living room like she owned the place, holding a paper bag and a large cardboard cup of—
“If that coffee’s for me, I might have to kiss you.”
The look on her face told him that the idea either disgusted her or startled the hell out of her. He couldn’t tell which. Then she took in his appearance—boxers and a T-shirt, messed up hair. Her eyes narrowed, and it was definitely disgust. “It’s four in the afternoon. Did you just wake up? And yes, this coffee’s for you.” She handed him the cup as well as the paper bag.
“Not that my sleeping habits are any of your business, but yep, I just woke up.” He pulled the lid off the coffee. God bless her poaching heart, it was still hot. He took a long sip of the brew and opened the bag. The smell of bacon hit him like a tidal wave. “Who are you again?” he asked before taking a huge bite of a bagel sandwich.
“Sarah Jamison. Your sister, Mimi—”
“Got it.” Last night’s conversation came flooding back to him now. “She gave you permission to use my house.” He munched on the sandwich, thinking about the fastest way to get her out of here, but he didn’t want to be a dick. “Are you the one who made the mac and cheese I found in the fridge last night?”
“Why?” she asked suspiciously. “Did you like it?”
