“Good.” She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and blinked up at him. Like her mother, her hair was making a crown of tangles around her face.
“Great. Do me a favor today?” he asked.
“Okay.”
“Be good to your mom. And if she interviews any more people, be nice. No more ordering people to buzz off.”
Sabrina started giggling. Giggles evolved into a fit of laughter as he tickled her belly. Then he kissed her temple.
“Gotta go.” He headed out the door and took a breath. His family needed him here in Seaside. If he couldn’t fly, he’d be re-stationed to Camp Neally. Commander Oakes had all but guaranteed that. And there was no way in hell Lawson was going to let that happen.
—
Julie groaned as the sun slanted in through her window. A new day, which meant more job hunting. Getting up, she padded down the hall to make herself a smoothie and do her mini morning yoga routine. After that she showered, dressed, and opened her laptop to search the local job sites.
WAITRESS NEEDED
Maybe.
ANIMAL GROOMER
No, thanks.
PERSONAL MASSAGE THERAPIST
She hummed on that idea for a moment. She wasn’t specifically trained in massage therapy, but she did know the muscle groups and could give a decent massage. Plus the pay listed was more than most of the other jobs being advertised. The bills on the counter’s corner caught her eye. Right. She was never depending on someone else again, she told herself.
She kept reading.
PERSONAL MASSAGE THERAPIST WANTED TO HELP ELDERLY MAN WITH BACK PAIN. CALL FOR MORE INFORMATION/INTERVIEW.
She pulled her cellphone out and dialed the number listed. A few minutes later she had a job. The man on the phone had only asked her a few questions and then asked her to come by for his first session.
He’d sounded elderly and nice. Nonthreatening.
Grabbing her purse and keys, she prepared to trek down the road to retrieve her car, praying that it would start for her. She froze as she opened the front door. Her old Honda Civic was somehow in her driveway. Had she dreamt breaking down on the road and needing a ride from Lawson? Had she dreamt him following her out of his truck and grabbing her elbow?
I’m not like him, Julie.
She swallowed at the memory, wishing she wasn’t so see-through. Last night had definitely happened. She could still feel Lawson’s hand on her skin, the electricity snapping from his gaze. He must have towed her car here himself. She looked around as she stepped off the porch and headed to her car, as if Lawson might be outside, waiting for her. He wasn’t, which both relieved and disappointed her. He was a jerk, she reminded herself. A gorgeous jerk who’d given her a lift last night and towed her car back to her house. She opened her car and got in, preparing to put her key in the ignition when she realized it was already there. Glancing down at her keyring, she shook her head. How had he gotten her key? He must’ve done that while she’d ignored him on the way home last night.
Guilt poked at her conscience. She cranked the engine on a prayer and exhaled as it revved to life. The usual clicking noise was gone. TheCHECK ENGINElight that had been displaying on her dash for months was off, too. The one she was waiting to get checked out until she had a long-term, paying job. Lawson must have fixed it. Not the actions of a certified jerk.
Just dandy.This meant she was going to have to be nice to him the next time she saw him. She preferred guarding her heart with irritation, anger, and every other negative emotion she could manage.
She groaned and headed toward Seaside’s Assisted Living Homes. Fifteen minutes later she pulled in and parked. On the phone Mr. Adams had told her he was eighty-two. She wouldn’t normally feel comfortable going into someone’s home, but an old man with back pain was harmless. She located apartment 14C and knocked.
It only took a minute for Mr. Adams to answer the door.
“Hey, there, sweetheart,” he said, smiling at her in the doorway. “Come in. Come in.”
Julie stepped inside, closing the door behind her. The small living quarters smelled stale, and also like buttered popcorn, which made her stomach turn a little. Following behind him she noticed that Mr. Adams got around the small apartment just fine for his age. And for someone who claimed to be in so much pain.
“I set up a place for you to work your magic over here in my bedroom, sweetheart.”
“Okay.” He was old, she reminded himself. Fifty years her senior. There was no reason she couldn’t go into his bedroom. She followed him and looked around. There wasn’t much. Just a bed, a small dresser, and several pictures of an older woman on the wall.
“That’s Dorothy. My late wife.” Mr. Adams’s eyes slanted in sadness.
