For a few prolonged, agonizing seconds, Jude was pretty sure he was experiencing a brain aneurysm.
Was Gemma trying to kill him? It felt like she was trying to kill him.
And what about Max, the traitor? What in the world was Max doing, inserting himself between Jude and Gemma?
She'd sent this text an hour and twenty minutes ago. That knowledge landed like a rock in his gut. Gemma and Max would already be at the clam dig—his family's clam dig—without him.
It was terrifying to think what his mother might say to Gemma and how Jeremiah would pry. The O'Sullivan relatives on his mom's side of the family were quirky. He should be the one introducing Gemma to them. For one thing, he was the one who formed the connection between his family and Gemma. For another, his presence would have kept his family on their best behavior.
This made no sense.
Gemma and Max had shared a two-minute-long conversation at Jude's house. And now Max had invited her to the clam dig? Max's motives . . . God only knew what his motives might be.
Jude had a pile of work waiting. He’d been planning to eat dinner at his desk. Yet he didn't hesitate before tossing that plan aside, grabbing his keys, and striding toward the exit.
ChapterTwenty-One
Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
That phrase summed up Gemma's feelings toward her current surroundings. She could not explain the events that had landed her in the center of Jude's family's gathering. But she was savoring this unexpected backstage pass.
She and Fiona had been digging for clams and chatting for thirty minutes straight, and it still felt surreal to be in conversation with this glamorous and infamous person that Gemma had read about in multiple articles online.
Fiona had a Jane-Fonda-in-her-fifties vibe. Jude's mother wasthatpolished,thatimpeccable. Her outfit seemed like something chosen by a clothing brand for a clam-dig photoshoot.
Gemma would have expected rich, cultured Fiona to be as close-lipped as Jude. Instead, she was as forthright as her son was private—which had come as a juicy surprise.
If Jude's mom had confided in Gemma in order to deepen Gemma's sympathy and admiration for Jude, then—mission accomplished. Jude had told her the big brushstrokes of his bio, but she'd had no idea that some chapters of his story had been so brutal.
When she'd first met Jude, she'd assumed that he'd lived a charmed life. She'd jumped to that conclusion in part because he didn't show his scars. But also because he honestlyhadreceived big advantages in terms of looks, smarts, wealth, and education. Parts of his life had been charmed. But it hadn't been only that. Was anyone's lifeonlythat? It was easy to think so when you were someone who'd always had to scrape for money looking into the face of someone who'd never had to scrape for money.
She saw now that Jude's life was more complicated than she'd initially made it. Her heart went out to the teenage boy he'd been, a boy who'd carried his mother's well-being on his shoulders. The more she learned about him, the higher protectiveness toward him flamed within her. And the more she understood why he was the man he was. The clean-shaven jaw and wrinkle-free shirts were a symbol of the integrity inside.
Fiona introduced her to a blur of family members as conversation and the tide eddied around Gemma. At least twenty were out on the beach and, apparently, more would be joining them at the house of Jack, Fiona's older brother, where they'd be cooking and eating dinner.
So far, Gemma had not seen hide nor hair of Jeremiah. And she assumed Felix was persona non grata in the eyes of Fiona's family, so if she ever had the chance to meet the family's arch villain, it would have to be another time.
Most importantly, though, where was Jude? Almost here, hopefully. She kept catching herself scanning the distance for him. Jumping every time she saw the figure of a man. Then sighing internally when the figure turned out not to be Jude.
The sun slid halfway behind the hills and the sky began to darken, at which point Fiona's eighty-something father organized the packing of the gear and clams. A female cousin of Jude's gave her bike to Max. Then the cousin and Gemma were loaded onto one of several carts towed behind bikes. Their caravan reached the cars, and everyone dumped the clams into two coolers filled with icy saltwater.
After a short ride in Max's car over the causeway and back to the mainland, they reached Jack's house—a small, rustic cottage on a prime piece of land. She and Max followed others around the side of the structure to a stone patio at the back. A combination of mounted exterior lights and burning tiki torches gave the space a magical feel and revealed a strip of sand dotted with tall grass and, beyond that, rocks descending to ocean.
The group gathered at outdoor tables to inspect the clams. Chipped and open clams, they discarded. The rest, they cleaned. That done, they moved en masse to an indention that had been dug in the sand. Jack had clearly started burning wood some time ago, because it had already reduced down to smoldering remnants. Once a layer of seaweed had been laid, they placed the clams on top, as well as corn still in its husks, tinfoil-wrapped potatoes, and onions. More seaweed followed, then a soaked tarp that would act as a lid to steam the food.
Gemma drew in and teased apart the familiar scents of a clam dig—bracing ocean, salty seaweed, wood fire.
Still no Jude. Max had been certain he would show. But Jude had yet to reply to her text and that likely meant Jude was slammed at work. Jude prioritized his job. If he was slammed at work, it was a stretch to imagine him leaving that in the lurch.
Her earlier elation over being included in this gathering was dissolving into unease. If Jude didn't come tonight . . . Well. That was going to be very telling. And depressing. Plus, Max would see that Jude's feelings for her were not as deep as Max supposed. Which was humiliating to contemplate.
Had she been wrong to come? Sometimes her tendency to say yes to spontaneous adventures came back to bite her.
She retreated to the patio to grab a glass bottle of Coke from a bucket of ice and drinks. Immediately after she popped its top, a couple rounded the side of the house nearby.
Gemma knew the man on sight and found herself instantly starstruck. This was unmistakably Jude's older brother, Jeremiah.
His gait hitched when he spotted her, but almost at once his stunning face broke into a smile. “You must be Gemma.”
