Chapter 4

 

“Toby, if you’re not going to finish your breakfast, I’ll do it for you, and I promise you’ll be hungry in an hour,” Seth chided and patted his belly for emphasis.

Toby stilled, ceasing his bouncing from one corner of the table to the next, and stood between his own place setting and Seth’s. He looked at his half-eaten waffle, then up at Seth—who cocked a warning eyebrow up at him—then his plate again.

Finally, Toby sat and picked up his fork.

Stephen, on the other end of the table they shared with Curt and Erica, laughed and shook his head. “I’ve never seen him eat anything beyond that wretched Bran-O cereal my sister buys. Surprised he ate that egg.”

“I like eggs,” Toby said, and he sank his teeth into his second hard-boiled egg.

“Since when?” Stephen asked. “You didn’t like them at Easter when Nanna Maura put one on your plate.”

Toby didn’t respond, just chewed.

Toby had a lot of Meg in him, as far as Seth could see. Not only did he have the bossy gene, but he evidently possessed a similar ability to command all the attention in a room. The waitstaff, even the ones not assigned to their table, milled around, interacting with him. Laughing at his little jokes. For the most part, Toby seemed to like the attention, except for one particular instance when a tactless guest seated nearby asked him what he thought of his new daddy and if he missed Spike.

Then, he’d hidden at Seth’s side and didn’t come out again until that guest had paid her check and left.

Even if he didn’t know what was going on with Seth and his mother, he seemed to have an innate understanding that some things were private and not nice to ask about.

“Toby?” Erica called from her seat adjacent to him.

She refilled his ice water as he mumbled, “Hmm?” around his egg.

“Are you excited about trying preschool again in the fall?”

Toby closed his eyes and gave his head an emphatic shake.

“I remember feeling the same way,” Curt said with a sigh. He pulled off his glasses and rubbed his red eyes with one hand while swirling the contents of his Bloody Mary with the other.

Erica rolled her eyes. “Right, Dr. Ryan. You sure stayed in school a really long time for someone who hated it so much.”

“Not quite right, Missus Ryan.” His lips quirked up into a defiant grin. “It wasn’t the schooling I hated so much, but the teachers.”

“Misanthrope.”

“And you love me for it, darlin’.” He made a kissy face and put his glasses back on.

Seth chuckled and speared his remaining bit of sausage with his fork. He loved watching the interplay between those two. Theirs was a relationship of two people who needed a special person to bring out something that made them more human. Until Erica came on the scene, Seth hadn’t thought Curt had a match. Curt had been a chronic womanizer, and rarely dated the same girl twice. He’d found something at fault with all of them. Erica had entered the relationship with a whole heap of baggage, but she gave him everything he needed: a person he could call his home.

“Seth, where’d you disappear to last night? Thought you were going to meet us after my nap.” Stephen stretched his arms over his head, yawning as if were mentally reliving the rambunctious evening right there in his breakfast chair.

“Uh…” Seth cut his gaze toward Toby, who was paying them no mind. He’d somehow gotten his hands on Erica’s phone and played some video game featuring little bouncing candy pieces. “Was in the cabana for a while, you know, relaxing. Then I…”

What was he supposed to say? My wife asked me to screw her, and I said yes?

“I turned in early.”

Stephen quirked one dark red eyebrow up. He got it. They were sharing a room, and unless Seth was sleeping out in that cabana, there weren’t many other places he could be, especially considering it was Seth who’d gotten Toby dressed that morning. Meg had been dead to the world, facedown in the bed and looking like one tired mess of an angel. He hadn’t wanted to disturb her when Carla delivered Toby to the bungalow early. All she’d said when noticing his rumpled hair and his hastily donned attire was, “Be careful, Red,” before hurrying away to catch her flight.

It took the implication a bit longer too settle in with Curt. He made an O shape with his mouth and leaned back in his seat. He’d thought this farce was a miserable idea from the get-go, but had conceded it was Seth’s life to ruin as he saw fit.

Erica didn’t seem to care one way or the other about the discussion. She leaned toward Toby and clucked her tongue. “No, no, no. You have to make the little pink lizard lick the candy, or it won’t stick,” she said.

Toby responded with an, “Oh!”

“Tobias Scott Coffman, have you been on the beach already this morning?” asked Meg in a somewhat high, though well-modulated, voice originating a few feet from Seth’s back.

Toby’s eyes widened. He set down the phone, and his shoulders slumped. “Yes, ma’am,” he said in a nearly inaudible volume.

Meg’s scent reached Seth’s nose long before she was at his side, at the corner between his chair and Toby’s. She stood with her back to him, hands on hips, and said nothing for a moment.

Seth leaned forward to see Toby hesitantly casting his gaze up to his mother’s face.

Meg’s shoulders relaxed, and her weight shifted so her left hip jutted out.

It wasn’t Toby’s fault. It’d been early and the morning was cool, so Seth had taken him down to the beach before breakfast. He’d been careful, but there was no way Meg would have known that.

He rested his palm on the small of her back and she jumped, and turned, lips tight and eyes narrowed.

Shit.

“Megan, I took him. It’s not his fault. You were asleep, and he had some energy to burn off.”

That was an understatement.

“He was never more than five feet from me.”

The hard set of her jaw relaxed somewhat. “You should have woken me.”

“Why?” Stephen asked. He leaned back for the waitress who’d arrived and let her top off his coffee.

“Megan, would you like some coffee?” Seth asked, already clearing Toby’s space at the table for her. Toby used that distraction to hop off the cushioned chair and squeeze himself between Curt and Erica.

Erica sighed and handed him the phone back.

Meg took Toby’s seat and nodded at the waitress. “To answer your question, Stephen, it’s because that’s what parenting is about. You don’t pawn your kids off on other people and expect them to watch them all day while you sleep off the previous day’s mistakes.”

Seth’s gut roiled.

Mistakes?

“Get a grip, sis. There are four other adults remaining here besides yourself. Yesterday, there were eight. Never at any time have we felt outnumbered by that guy.” He crooked his thumb toward his nephew, who was now locked in an intense conversation with the waitress about the best strategy for beating his current round of Sticky Candy Safari. “I’m flying back to Massachusetts tomorrow. Let me teach the kid a few bad habits before I go, huh?”

Seth wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard the squeak of teeth being ground together.

Meg gave her brother a stare that could have probably bored holes in cement.

Stephen just pushed his sunglasses up his nose and grinned.

Disarm her.

Slowly, Seth reached his hand toward her right wrist and drew her attention toward him. There was a bit of a flinch in her eyes, but then her face smoothed to a blank.

What was going through that mysterious head of hers?

“Before the waitress goes, do you want something to eat?”

She stared at him a moment as if the question was somehow offensive, or else foreign, then scanned the table, likely assessing the remnants of their food. She shook her head. “No. I’ll just have the coffee, and I’ll probably take Toby back to the room to shower the sand off.” She squinted at the boy. “Toby, is that zinc oxide on your nose?” With her thumb, she rubbed off an errant white smudge.

“I dunno.” Toby shrugged and hopped on Erica’s lap, eliciting a grimace from her at the impact. “Seth put it there so I wouldn’t burn, so that means I can go back out after breakfast and play some more.”

“No, that’s not what it means, but thank you, Seth.” She said that last bit so quietly that he was pretty sure it was meant for his ears only.

She looked down at his hand, still on her wrist, and he drew it away. As soon as the connection was broken, he missed it. Such a casual little touch. He’d never known a small interaction could be so fulfilling.

The waitress paused at their corner, and he said, “Could she have a pot of coffee to take back to her—our bungalow? And perhaps some cheese and fruit?”

Meg’s forehead furrowed. “I don’t—”

“Shut it,” Stephen said, tipping his head over the chair back. “Friggin’ eat something, for crying out loud, or you’re going to be a rampaging battle-ax all day. Come on, don’t kill my island mojo, little sister.”

She cocked her head to the side and squinted down to the other end of the table. “Why are you even here? Certainly I didn’t invite you. I’ve done some really insane things the past few weeks, but I don’t have any memory of that particular one.”

Insane?

Erica caught Seth’s gaze over Toby’s shoulder and shook her head at him. The warning was clear: Don’t say anything. The best response is no response.

He nodded and locked his stare onto a cantaloupe wedge.

“Please bring what my sister’s husband ordered,” Stephen said to the still-lingering waitress. “Oh, and, uh, is the concierge around? Can you send her over? Thanks.”

Finally, the waitress shuffled away, and Stephen continued, “Hell, I don’t know who invited me. Carla? Sharon, maybe? It was smart of them, don’t you think? For you to have me be in the know so I know all the right lies to tell Mom and Dad?”

“Oh, shit.” Seth closed his eyes and ground them with his fists. Her parents didn’t know. Of course they wouldn’t. Well, they would soon enough, depending on how fast the gossip mill churned.

“Hey, big guy, it’ll be fine,” Stephen said. “I think this time she actually married up.”

When Seth opened his eyes, he found Meg staring at her empty plate and chewing on her bottom lip.

Toby chose that exact moment to bounce from Erica’s lap to Meg’s, giving his mother a loud raspberry on her jaw before resuming his game play.

She grinned, and maybe only Seth saw it, but her eyes were a bit too wet and cheeks too red. Unlike Toby, she hadn’t had any sun that morning. Her coloring had come about from other things.

A brown-skinned woman with braided hair pulled back in a stylish bun, wearing the pleated white skirt and navy jacket uniform of the resort, appeared at the table clutching a leather portfolio to her chest. She nodded at them all. “I didn’t get to congratulate you yesterday, Mr. and Mrs. Raj-cough,” she said with an obsequious bow. “I heard the ceremony was lovely.”

“It was, thank you,” Seth said, feeling somewhat duplicitous for expressing pride about such a thing. “However, the name is pronounced roash-cof.”

Her pretty face scrunched and she closed one eye as if she were trying to picture the spelling. “Roash-cof?”

“There you go. That sounds so much sweeter.”

“Roash-cof,” Meg whispered against Toby’s back.

Had she not known how to pronounce it, either?

“If I had a do-over, I would have picked a different spelling for my US documents,” he explained to the concierge. “Or…a different surname.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Rozhkov. Or Sergei, for that matter,” Meg said, but she didn’t look at him. Her attention was on Erica’s phone and Toby’s manipulation of it.

“Are you enjoying your honeymoon so far?” the concierge asked.

Seth paused, allowing Meg the platform to use as she saw fit, but she said nothing. He responded in her stead, “I couldn’t have imagined a more memorable honeymoon.”

“Fantastic. Sorry it’s such a short one. You’re all flying out tomorrow, is that right?”

“Yes, I know, it’s awful,” Stephen said. He’d pushed his sunglasses up like a headband to hold his hair out of his eyes, and gave the woman a grin that could have given Curt a run for his money.

Curt must have noticed it, too, because he pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and his cheeks twitched as he stifled a laugh.

“Dr. Roash-cof down there has rocket parts or something to put together first thing Monday morning, and I, well, you know. I’ve got some legal stuff I need to consult on in time for trials next week. I just made partner.” He sighed and shook his head. “Busy, busy.”

“Lame ass,” Meg muttered.

Seth couldn’t help his grin, but he damn sure had it wiped off his face by the time Meg looked up.

The concierge did that little bow again. “Of course, Mr. Scott. I do hope you’ll visit us again.”

“Here we go,” Meg mumbled.

“Oh yeah, definitely,” Stephen said, still grinning. “Hey, you got a card with your direct extension? Maybe I can give you ring when I get home and have my secretary pull my schedule. Maybe you can let me know which dates are best, what events are happening. When’s the best time. That kinda thing.” He tipped his chair onto its back legs, awaiting her response.

She didn’t miss a beat. “Of course, I’ll have that sent to your bungalow along with some festival brochures. Many of our American visitors do enjoy fishing so.” With a nod, she turned on the heel of her smart, navy-blue pump, and strode toward the interior.

When she was out of earshot, Meg asked, “Could you be more obvious?”

Stephen guffawed. “What do I have to lose? If she tells me to go eff myself, it’s not like I’m ever going to see her again. Carpe diem and stuff.”

Toby turned in his mother’s lap and tilted his face toward hers. “What does that mean, eff?”

Meg didn’t respond. She stared at Stephen.

Stephen beamed at her.

Seth chuckled.

Meg glowered at him.

Yikes. Scary wifey.

And was it perverse that he found that kind of hot?

Erica giggled. “Listen, this is far more entertaining than you guys know, but we’ve got a livery van out there waiting to take us on a historical-site tour. Might even get this guy into a pair of Bermuda shorts and loafers before the weekend’s over.” She tipped her head toward Curt.

He pushed his chair back and stood, mumbling, “Don’t hold your breath, darlin’.”

“Hey, Meg?” Erica prompted. When Curt pulled her chair back, she stood and accepted the phone Toby thrust at her. “You want us to take Toby with us? If there’s any paparazzi milling around, they probably won’t follow us. They’re looking for adults with red hair, and we can put a hat on Toby.”

Meg opened her mouth to refuse, probably, but Curt put his hands up, palms out, and said, “Hey, we don’t mind, and you know after what I went through with my mum that I have no particular love for the press.”

She’d already forgotten about the debacle Curt’s family endured last year, and that gave her a pinprick of hope regarding her own notoriety. His mother had become a person of interest in the Irish press after serving time in prison for a crime his father pinned on her. Curt had been the one to unravel the mess.

“I know you want to lie low, but there’s no good reason for Toby to stay cooped up here all day,” Curt said. He wrapped his right arm around his wife’s waist and made a come-on gesture with his left hand.

“Children like him for some reason,” Seth said with a shrug when Meg looked at him. “I don’t try to understand it.”

“Hey, can I invite myself?” Stephen tossed his napkin onto the table and pushed his chair back. “Maybe I can find someplace for later. I have plans to dance the night away and inebriate my lonely heart.”

Erica laughed and clasped her hand around Toby’s when he offered it. “Come on. I’d offer to hook you up with my sister, but I like you too much.”

The four loped toward the main resort building, Toby chattering a mile a minute in their midst.

Quiet stretched between Seth and Meg for a few moments, with Meg staring at the ocean over the patio’s half wall, and Seth alternating his gaze between her and the wrinkled napkin on his lap.

When they spoke again, they spoke at once.

Seth said, “I imagine they’ll deliver your breakfast to the bungalow.”

Meg said, “So, I guess I’ll see you later?”

Seth grunted in agreement.

Meg nodded, gathered up the beach gear Toby had left behind, and made a brisk escape toward the path.

Blowing out a ragged breath, Seth drew his tepid coffee closer and rotated the cup between his hands.

Now he was pretty certain it’d happened again.

He’d always been that guy women liked to keep in their speed dial—the one women were so sweet to, but only on a friendly level—just in case they needed something from him later. A ride home after a late night at the bar. A rescue if they blew out a tire on the highway. A last-minute date for a wedding reception at which they promptly ditched him as soon as their friends filed in.

The only difference between all those times and this one was that he and Meg had a little certificate proclaiming that they were legally bound…and there were the vows.

Maybe those words hadn’t meant anything to Meg, but when he’d said them, he’d meant them and wished that for-as-long-as-we-both-shall-live bit would come true.

Now, he wasn’t feeling particularly hopeful. From where he stood, he seemed to have been boxed into the friend zone yet again. This time by his own wife.