The sight of Gemma poleaxed Jude.
He'd been thinking about her for so many days now. Not just the last eight since she'd visited him at his house. But for weeks and weeks, since the first time they'd met. Now here she was, lifting a hand to keep her hair from tangling with her eyelashes. That didn't stop the strands from drifting against her pale, graceful neck.Her sweater looked soft and warm, and he wanted to fold her against his chest and nuzzle his nose into the place where her shoulder curved up to her throat.
“Jude,” Jeremiah said, “we've been getting to know your friend Gemma.”
“I see that.” He walked the rest of the way to their group. He hated arriving at things late. Nor was he a fan of feeling like an after-thought at a party comprised of his own family members. “Hello,” he said to Gemma, cursing himself for not having a better opening.
“Hello.”
The recollection of what they'd done the last time they'd seen each other was enormous—the elephant in the room. He was also hugely aware of Jeremiah and Remy, watching them avidly. He shook hands with his brother and greeted Remy.
“We’ll give you two some privacy.” Remy interlaced her fingers with Jeremiah’s.
“Think about my offer, Gemma,” Jeremiah said.
Then Remy tugged him away.
“Should I ask what his offer was?” Jude asked.
“I wouldn't recommend it.”
“Okay. Sorry about them.”
“You're kidding, right? They're fabulous.”
It surprised him, how much it meant to hear her say that.
“This whole clam dig so far has been fabulous,” she continued. “You should be charging me a fee to attend this party.”
He should be paying everyone here to back off and let him have her to himself. “Has your mom raised her suspicions about me again?”
“Yes, one other time.” She took a sip of Coke. “When we were out shopping. Once again, I told her she was mistaken and she looked at me with this dopey, hopeful, knowing smile. So I’m not sure where her head is at on all that. The main thing is that she's kept quiet.”
He needed something else to say. “How . . . are things going with your research into your great-grandmother and grandfather's love story?”
“In order to solve the rest of the mystery, I have to find my great-grandmother's diaries.” She straightened. “In fact, here’s a question for you, Mr. Expert Investigator. If the diaries aren't in the house where Gracie lived, which it seems they are not, where might Gracie have hidden them?”
“Would she have stored them where she lives now? Or placed them in a storage facility?”
“No to the storage facility. I helped her move into Marigold Manor and she definitely didn't unload them there, either.”
“The first clue led to a box. Could the box or its contents hold another clue?”
“We unpacked the box. There wasn’t a slip of paper with a code on it inside.”
“A second clue might be more subtle.”
“I returned the box to Gracie. Next chance I get, I'll go by and take another look at it—”
“Gemma,” Max called as he walked up, butting in without remorse. “Come sit down. Both of you.”
Jude curbed the urge to do what he wanted to do—wrap his hands around Max's throat and squeeze. So far, he and Gemma hadn’t had the chance to exchange any meaningful words.
Gemma took a seat next to Max on lawn chairs forming a half circle around the fire pit facing the Atlantic. Jude went around, hugging his mother, his grandparents, and the others.
Several conversations were happening among the group, and when Jude took his seat on Gemma’s other side, Gemma and Max were busy having the type of conversation Max excelled at with women. A mix of flattery and outrageous boasts.Maxwas flirting withGemma.
How had he become the third wheel in this group?
