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Bird Dog wasn’t used to confronting a soft-spoken opponent with wispy blond hair and a delicate physique. His eyes dropped to half mast as he turned to her. “A friend of yours?”
“He’s…” She swallowed hard. “This is my brother, Michael An—”
“I’m Michel Savagar.”
Jake studied them both, then stepped back, the corner of his mouth twisting. “You should have told me that right away. I make it a rule never to be in the same place with more than one Savagar at a time. See you around, Fleur.” He strode off down the beach.
Fleur studied the sand, then lifted her head and gazed at her brother. “He could have broken you in two.”
Michel shrugged.
“Why did you do it?” she asked softly.
He looked past her to study the ocean. “You’re my sister,” he said. “It’s my responsibility as a man.” He headed toward the house.
“Wait.” She moved automatically. The sand tugged at her feet like old hurts, but she pulled herself free. Images of the beautiful gowns she’d seen in his shop window flashed through her head. Who was he?
He waited for her to reach his side, but when she got there, she didn’t know what to say. She cleared her throat. “Do you…want to go someplace and talk?”
Several seconds ticked by. “All right.”
They didn’t speak as he drove his ancient MG to a roadhouse in Hampton Bays where Willie Nelson sang on the jukebox and the waitress brought them clams, french fries, and a pitcher of beer. Fleur began, haltingly, to tell him about growing up at the couvent.
He told her about his schooling and his love for his grandmother. She learned that Solange had left him the money that was supporting his business. An hour slipped by and then another. She explained how it felt to be an outcast, and he talked about his terror when he’d realized he was gay. As the neon sign outside the roadhouse window flashed blue across his hair, she leaned against the back of the scarred wooden booth and told him about Flynn and Belinda.
His eyes grew dark and bitter. “It explains so much.”
They spoke of Alexi and understood each other perfectly. The roadhouse began to close up for the night. “I was so jealous of you,” she finally said. “I thought you had everything I’d been denied.”
“And I wanted to be you,” he said. “Away from them both.”
Dishes clattered in the kitchen, and the waitress glared at them. Fleur saw that Michel had something more he wanted to say, but he was having trouble forming the words.
“Tell me.”
He gazed down at the battered tabletop. “I want to design for you,” he said. “I always have.”
The next morning she pulled on a tangerine bikini, fastened her hair into a loose top knot, and slipped into a short white cover-up. The living room was deserted, but through the windows she saw Charlie and Michel lounging on the deck with the Sunday papers. She smiled as she took in Michel’s outfit for the day, a pair of Bermuda shorts and an emerald-green shirt with “One Day Dry Cleaning” emblazoned across the back. After so many years of misdirected hatred, she’d been given the unexpected gift of a brother. She could hardly take it in.
She went into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee. “How about making that two cups?”
She spun around and saw Jake standing in the doorway. His long hair was damp from his shower. He wore a gray T-shirt and a pair of faded swim trunks that looked like the same ones he’d worn six years ago when Belinda had invited him for a backyard barbecue. She’d already figured out that last night’s encounter hadn’t been accidental. He was one of Charlie’s party guests, he’d known she was here, and he’d gone out looking for her.
She turned away. “Get your own damned coffee.”
“I didn’t mean to scare you last night.” His arm brushed hers as he reached for the coffeepot. She smelled Dial soap and mint toothpaste. “I wasn’t completely sober. I’m sorry, Flower.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m sorry, too. That I didn’t split your head open.”
He leaned back against the counter and took a sip of his coffee. “You did okay in Eclipse. Better than I expected.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Go for a walk on the beach with me?”
She started to refuse, only to hear one of Charlie’s houseguests coming downstairs. This was as good an opportunity as any to say what she needed to. “After you.”
They slipped out the side door, avoiding the group on the deck. Fleur pulled off her espadrilles and tossed them aside. The wind tugged at Jake’s Wild West hair. Neither of them spoke until they got near the water. “I talked to your brother for a while this morning,” he said. “Michael’s a nice guy.”
