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Jamie
You make it sound so tawdry. We’re looking for a nice girl.
Coco
One man’s naughty is another one’s nice. It’s all in the perspective.
Would Rachel call herself nice? Or was there some naughtiness underneath that lovely exterior?
He wanted to find out. Badly. He wondered if he’d get to see her tonight.
He wondered what his parents would say about her. He’d told them about Torino’s offer, but he hadn’t mentioned that he’d met someone he was interested in. There was no telling how they’d react. He smiled ruefully. This was a new situation for all of them.
But his parents never responded the way you’d think. They’d never had. Reporters assumed his dad had pushed him into football, but Ian had always stepped aside and allowed him to carve his own path. His dad was the first one to say football wasn’t the be-all, end-all of life.
Jamie had had an equal chance becoming a photographer like his mum, but photography was private to him. He’d kept that to himself. Only the people closest to him knew he took pictures.
Knowing his parents would be home at this time of day, he called instead of texting. Talking to his parents always helped ground him.
His mum answered, laughing, the image on the screen topsy-turvy for a moment before it righted. “Stop it,” she said, speaking to someone he couldn’t see. “Are you going to come say hello to your son?”
Jamie grinned. Some things never changed. “Did I catch you two at a bad time?”
“Yes,” he heard his father call as his mum said, “No.”
“That’s decisive,” he said, amused.
She flashed her quirky grin. “Your father is incorrigible.”
Titania Summerhill was a world-renowned photographer, with a couple Pulitzers under her belt. She was always behind the lens instead of in front of it, so there were few photos of her.
But there was one, taken by her mother when she and his dad were dating, of her getting ready for a date. She wore a slip of a dress, her body slim. Her hair was in a messy ponytail, and she held up a flask, toasting one of her sisters who was off-screen. The look on her face was soft and full of love.
In the thirty years or so since that was taken, his mum hadn’t changed. She had a couple more lines around her eyes, but she was still lanky and her blue eyes, which he’d inherited, were still that bright.
The image on the screen moved, and suddenly his dad was in the frame alongside his mum. Except for the silver threaded in his reddish-brown hair, his dad looked the same as well: lean and tanned with his green eyes still as all-seeing as they ever were.
Every time Jamie called, the fact that they hadn’t changed reassured him.
Now, his dad’s sharp gaze focused on him. “How is Chicago?”
“Unexpected,” he said, thinking of Rachel. He’d told his parents the reason behind the trip. His mum had thought the idea was brilliant. His dad had simply shaken his head and said the crazy ideas came from his mum’s genes. “The place I rented looks like a museum on the outside.”
His mum looked intrigued. “Did you send me a picture of it?”
“Not yet, but I will.”
“Are the girls as you thought?” his dad asked.
Again, Rachel’s face popped into his mind. “Yes and no. I’m having to coach Erik a little more than I expected, but we’ll get there.”
“I didn’t have to go anywhere to find a nice girl,” his dad said. “She showed up on my doorstep and then wouldn’t leave.”
His mum looked at him inquisitively. “You think I’m nice?”
“Some of the time,” he replied with a wicked twinkle in his eyes. Then his dad turned his attention back to him. “Any further thought about Torino’s offer?”
“I’ve had a lot of thoughts, but no decision yet,” he replied honestly.
