“Ah.”
“It was a great party.”
“What you remember of it.”
“What I remember of it. Actually I amazed myself over there with an undiscovered talent for partying.”
“No parties in Kansas City?”
She laughed again, but there was faint humor in thesound. “No. No parties.”
“Obviously because it had no good beaches.”
“Obviously. I’ve never been without a beach since.”
“Which ones?”
“You name it, I’ve lived there. West Coast, East Coast,south coast. I don’t necessarily have to live on the water, butI have to be pretty damn close to it.”
“Is Atlanta too far?”
Claire turned her head to see that his eyes were closed, hisbreathing easy underneath that old Rolling Stones T-shirt hewas wearing over his gym shorts. As if the question weren’timportant.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, and wished he’d turn toher. Prayed he wouldn’t. It occurred to her suddenly thathe’d been kind enough all those nights to offer himselfwithout hope of reciprocation. She knew he’d always livedin Atlanta. Always would, since otherwise it would be toohard to get to all those holidays his family demanded attendance to. Holidays no other human felt responsible toward, St. Patrick and St. Anthony and at least a hundredpersonal birthdays.
Claire couldn’t imagine it. She hadn’t shared a birthdaywith her parents since she’d gone to war. She’d never oncefelt compelled to go into the family business simply because it was expected of her.
“Is the inn what you’ve been working toward all these years?” he asked.
“Nope.” She took another drink, settled her attention back to the children as if she, too, were unconcerned. “Inever had a real plan. I do love the place, though.”
“You should. You’ve done a hell of a job with it.”
Johnny was holding Gina’s hand. Gina was letting him.Claire didn’t know how to feel. Maybe if Johnny concentrated on how pretty and bright Tony’s daughter was, he’dforget how much he wanted to fly. But then, maybe thatwould only incite another complete set of problems Claire didn’t want to deal with, either.
“Thank you,” she said anyway, her mind already past thecompliment. “How far would you consider moving from Atlanta?”
As if they were still playing a game. As inconsequential asthe breeze, as meaningful as a picnic on the beach.
But Tony didn’t answer right away. He tipped the bottleto his lips and took a long drink. Claire wanted to feel the pulse at his throat. She wanted it to match the quick cadence of her own.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Depends on how easy itwas to get home. How important it was. Want to celebrateFourth of July in Atlanta?”
Another slow roll of her heart. Another easy questionwith terrible possibilities.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, turning her attention deliberately to where her daughter was harassing the two olderteens.
Easy enough. He didn’t push it. Didn’t demand or question or investigate. He simply lay in the sun and balanced abrown bottle on his chest as if all of life were that basic.
Out in the water, Jess splashed Johnny and Gina. Shrieksrose on the wind, and with them the very real growl of protection.
“I am going to have to beat up your son,” Tony admitted with a slow drawl as the two of them watched Johnnywrap Gina in his arms and pull her into the waves that tumbled at the edge of the sandbars.
Claire nodded, somnolent and amused. “Right after Ibeat up your daughter. Are her intentions honorable?”
“No more honorable than your son’s.”
Another nod. “Then I think we may be in trouble.”
