“Sorry. What are you working on?” He reached for her hand and pulled her to her feet.
“I’m trying to track down the person who won that baseball.” Her hands were drawn to his chest like magnet to metal. She didn’t bother trying to fight the urge to touch him. She knew she’d lose. She’d lain in bed half the night thinking about all those muscles she’d been lucky enough to touch last night. And the kiss. Oh God, she couldn’t think about it without wanting to kiss him again.
“I’ll help you do that when we get back, if you’d like.”
Before she could say anything, he pressed his clean-shaven jaw to her cheek and hugged her. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach again, and her lips were jealous of her cheek.
“I really want to kiss you hello,” he said. “But if you have second thoughts about last night, just—”
She clung to the straps on his tank top and pulled him down close enough to press her lips to his. He wrapped an arm around her waist and deepened the kiss with slow, sensual strokes of his tongue until she had no brain cells left.
“I guess you don’t have second thoughts,” he said against her lips.
“Mm-mm.” She circled his neck with her arms and pressed her lips to his again. This was bad, bad, bad. She really shouldn’t be so aggressive, and she wasn’t even sure how to channel her urges. It had to be him, something about him, or something he was doing…
Jamie Reed, kisser extraordinaire.
She forced herself to flatten her palms against his chest and push away from him. Her breath rushed from her lungs.
“I’m sorry.” She covered her heart with her hand, as if she could stop it from racing. “I’m pawing at you and attaching myself to your incredible lips, and…” She looked up. He had the sweetest look in his eyes. She nearly kissed him again.
“My incredible lips?” The side of his mouth quirked up.
“Oh…” She felt her cheeks flush again. She hadn’t blushed so much since she first began playing the cello—when she was six. But the words gushed from her still-numb lips. “You’re irresistible. How did you make it this long without some woman snatching you up?”
He pressed his hand to the back of her neck and kissed her forehead. “I could ask the same of you.”
He glanced at her cello case. “I heard you playing earlier. It was magnificent.”
“You heard me? I hope I didn’t bother anyone.” She hadn’t even considered the noise. She hoped Theresa didn’t mind. She’d have to be more aware the next time.
“I’d love to watch you play sometime.”
“You would? Maybe sometime.” She tried to sound casual even though her mind was raging a silent battle. Normal. I want normal. My life has never been normal.
When they arrived at his cottage, Vera was waiting on the front deck with her purse on her lap and an open paperback in her hands. Her hair was nicely done, and she wore a pair of cotton pants and a white, button-down, short-sleeved blouse. Her shoes were stable and efficient, and she wore a wide-brimmed straw hat. She set the book on the table and smiled at them.
“Good morning, dear.”
“Good morning,” Jessica said. “Thank you for allowing me to tag along with you today. I haven’t been to the flea market yet.”
Vera glanced at Jamie. “I had nothing to do with it, but I’m pleased you’re joining us. Was that you I heard playing the ‘Sarabande’?”
“Yes. I didn’t realize the sound would carry so far. I hope I didn’t disturb you.”
“Goodness, no. It was beautiful, one of my favorites. We should play together sometime.”
“I would like that very much.” This was the problem with trying to be a regular person. Such a big part of her craved playing the cello that she’d jump at the chance to have her hands on it. Jessica could already hear the beauty of the music in her head, feel it in her body—and every time it hit her, it came at the expense of everything else in her life.
“The most beautiful duo around. Ready, Gram?” Jamie took Vera’s arm and walked with her to the car, then opened the back door for Jessica. He ran his hand down her forearm and smiled as she got in. It was a gentle touch, an I’m-glad-you’re-here moment that brought a sense of comfort for Jessica and eased her nerves.
Jamie paid the entrance fee at a kiosk as they drove into the parking lot of the Wellfleet Drive-in Theater, where the flea market took place. It was only a little after ten in the morning, and there must have been a hundred cars in the lot already. Just beyond the parking lot was a snack bar and a playground, already full of children laughing and playing, and row after row of colorful awnings shaded vendor booths for as far as she could see.
Jamie took Vera’s arm as they entered the first row of vendors. He smiled at Jessica and lowered his hand to her hip.
“If we go too slow, feel free to look around without us. We’ll catch up eventually.”
She was touched by his thoughtfulness. “Don’t worry about me. I’m a meanderer. I could spend all day at a place like this, and I so rarely get to do anything like that, that it’s probably me who will be moving too slowly.”
“Never.” With a casual smile, he turned his attention to the table of beaded necklaces and earrings before them.
Vera was picking up necklaces and running them through her fingers. “Come here, dear.”
Jessica went to her side, and Vera held a pretty jade necklace up to her shoulder. She lifted her chin and assessed her selection.
“That’s your color.” Vera looked up at Jamie.
“It brings out your eyes, Jess.”
“Thank you.” Jessica wasn’t used to people fawning over her in that way. As uncomfortable as it made her, it also made her feel welcome and closer to them.
Vera looked at a few more items and then they moved to the next booth. Colorful beach bags and purses hung from hooks around the perimeter of the awning. They spent the morning going from one vendor to the next. Each booth offered something different, from clothing and jewelry to hair products, knives, and leather goods.
When they came to Leanna’s booth, she came around and hugged all three of them. “I’m so glad you made it.”
Jars of jam with bright green and red labels covered the tabletop. There were homemade breads and muffins, and in the center of the table was a tasting area with several open jars of jam.
Leanna handed Jessica a plastic knife and a hunk of homemade bread.
“You have to taste Strawberry Spice.” She pointed to an open jar, then handed a piece of bread each to Jamie and Vera, too. “I’m swamped today, but help yourselves.”
Jessica handed the knife to Vera to use first. “I can’t believe she makes these. Look at all these wonderful flavors. Apricot and Lime, Frangelico Peach, Watermelon. I could eat them every morning I love jam so much.”
“When I was your age I ate pound cake for breakfast, made with real butter.” Vera smiled and touched Jamie’s arm. “And even when Jamie was a little boy, I still ate about half a loaf each morning, didn’t I, Jamie?”
“Yes, and if I tried to sneak a piece she’d say, One slice, and then you need to eat your eggs.” Jamie laughed. “I think she just wanted the loaf all to herself. I don’t even remember my grandfather eating any.”
Vera rolled her eyes. “Your grandfather abhorred sweets. Do you remember that time he came home early from work and found us eating ice cream right before dinner? I was sure he was going to have a conniption fit.” She waved her hand in the air. “I’m sure you don’t remember. You were barely seven at the time.” Her smile faded, and Jamie shifted his eyes away.
The air around them thickened with a heaviness Jessica couldn’t read. Jessica tried to lighten the mood. “My mother never would have allowed ice cream before dinner.”
Jamie smiled, but it was a slightly tethered smile. They ate their bread and jam, and by the time Leanna came back, the tension had eased.
Leanna handed Jamie a tote bag full of jam. “There’s jam for all of you in here. Sorry I can’t really chat, but…” She glanced at the group of people hovering behind them, waiting for their turn to taste the jam.
“Thank you, Leanna. That was delicious.” Jessica stepped to the side to allow others near the table.
A few rows over they came to a booth that had a plethora of miscellaneous items, from old McDonald’s Happy Meal toys to books, antiques, and much to Jessica’s surprise, baseball cards, bobbleheads, and other sports paraphernalia. She knew her father’s baseball wouldn’t be there. Not after she was sure it had been sold just the day before, but her heartbeat quickened at the sight.
She felt a hand on her hip.
“Hoping to find your father’s baseball?” Jamie asked.
She loved the way he moved closer to her and spoke softly, as if every word were meant only for her ears, no matter how generic the topic.
“Not really. The person just won it yesterday, but seeing sports memorabilia makes me think of my dad, and that always makes me happy.”
“So you’re a daddy’s girl?” He moved to her side, keeping his hand on her hip.
She blinked up at him. She was a daddy’s girl. Was it okay to be a daddy’s girl, or would that make her seem immature? Did she care if it did? Hadn’t she come on this vacation to figure out who she was—aside from a cellist? Aside from her mother’s expectations? She was done pretending to be someone else. For any reason.