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I peer over. “The beach has togrowon you?”
He jogs one shoulder. “The ocean’s great and all, but the sand’s a bit of a pain.”
I splutter. “You’re weird.”
Marco’s cheek, covered with a marginally darker hue than yesterday, twitches. “I repeat, tell me something I don’t know.”
Laughing, and quite without thought, I elbow him. It’s what I’d do to Tripp. It’s the same thing I might do with one of my many guy friends. When I’m not in a funk as I’ve been lately, I’m just a friendly, fun-loving person. I rarely mean it as a flirt, but at this moment…well, it’s clear I should think before I act.
Marco drops me a look, which I conveniently pretend not to see. I think the contact surprises him more than anything else, but I’ll be extra careful going forward.
We pass a young family with two red-headed toddlers. The woman appears around my age, and I suddenly feel empty. The whole family thing is so far away I wonder if it will ever happen for me. I know I’m still young…but it’s how I feel. I can get a date in five seconds flat—but a real relationship? That prize seems to forever elude me. I’m tired of being alone.
Marco’s gaze is on them as well, but I can’t begin to guess what he’s thinking.
“Can I ask you something, Lise?”
My stomach lurches. “Umm…”
He grins, those pearly whites gleaming in the sun. “Nothing hard, I promise.”
I barely nod.
“So, when Tripp said his parents had a place on the beach, I expected something decent but not…” He waves his hand toward my family home, now at our backs. “I think he tried to prepare me, but my mind was so muddled…” He shakes his head.
I’m caught wondering what had his mind in a muddle when I realize he’s still talking.
“…so I admit I might have been a little nosy, but I saw all the old menus and photos and framed Daddy Jimbo’s stuff in your dad’s study?” Marco stops walking and turns. “Is your dad—Jim Walker—Daddy Jimbo?”
“You’re quite a sleuth, Agent Gonzalez.”
Head shaking, he throws a look over his shoulder, presumably at the house. “Wow.”
It’s my life, so I generally don’t think of it in terms ofwow.But, yes, before either Tripp or Vance or I were a twinkle in anybody’s eyes, Mom and Dad opened the first Daddy Jimbo’s Pizza restaurant. They’re now franchised into a dozen states, likely more since I last bothered to ask.
“Wow,” he repeats, as we continue dragging our toes through the wet sand. A sandpiper cuts across our path. “Growing up here…I can’t imagine. I mean, you could fit my mom’s mobile home into that place ten times.” He thumbs over his shoulder yet again.
I sort of snort. “Mine too.”
His eyes, seafoam green in the sunlight, narrow, causing me to realize what I’ve said. “That’s right. You and Tripp are both adopted, aren’t you?”
I fire off a look. “That’s kind of personal, don’t you think?”
“Hey, after last night, I kinda figure, no secrets, right?”
I pick up my pace.
“So you’ve met your biological mom?”
I grind to a halt, but my heart rate picks up. “Why do you say that?”
Confusion washes his face. “You just mentioned her mobile home…”
Yes, I did, but I can’t believe I did, and I’d rather I hadn’t. I’ve told no one about our phone call. It’s my secret, one I’ve not come to terms with.
I feel warm fingers on my elbow. “I’m sorry, Lise. You’re right, it’s personal.”
He resumes walking, and I follow suit, kicking at a swirl of seaweed as I go. “So, where is your mother’s mobile home, Marco?” I’d prefer not to be the bug on the slide here.
