Page 44 of Love Overboard
He reached out to her. “It was a joke. A bad one, obviously. You’re a lovable sweetheart.”
She stuck her hands in the pockets of her windbreaker and faced the dock. “I admit I’m surprised to hear you say that—after our extended lighthouse excursion and … other activities. Aren’t you a little put out with me?”
Jon turned the same direction. “I heard some hard truths, which weren’t fun to listen to, at the lighthouse. And your closet scheme didn’t do Lacey and me any good.” He held up his hands when she looked like she’d argue. “You haven’t admitted you’re behind the lost-and-found thing yet. Butifyou were, I don’t think it produced the result any of us wanted. She’s dating Ricardo.” Jon ruffled the hair at the nape of his neck. “But I’m actually grateful to you. Lacey and I hashed out our differences. Now we can both move on.”
Emily slumped. “My husband scolded me for what he called my ‘confounded meddling.’ Said it did more harm than good. He must’ve been right.”
“What did you say his name was?”
“Bill.” Emily’s voice dipped. She lowered her gaze and coughed. “I’m afraid he’s partially to blame for my meddling. He complained, but he was quite the enabler—always did anything and everything I asked, no matter how far-fetched. He was my perfect partner in crime.” She laughed. “I could tell you stories.”
“I hope you’ll share them sometime.” Jon noted her downturned lips. “You must miss him.”
“Like I’m walking around with half of me gone.” She took her hands out of her pockets and slapped them on the railing twice. “But I’ve found a group of friends who are almost as good, if not nearly as handsome, as Bill. They keep me in plenty of trouble.”
“Are you sure it isn’t the other way around?” Jon bumped her shoulder with his arm.
“You’re calling me out.” Emily bumped him back. “Since you realize what an old troublemaker I am, I’ll speak what’s on my mind. What are you going to do about Lacey and Ricardo?”
Jon clenched his molars. “Nothing. Lacey and I are just friends. She’s free to date whomever she pleases.”
“I’ve known that girl a while now. One thing I’ve noticed—she rarely does what she pleases. She’s too busy taking care of other people, me included. Lacey needs someone who will take care of her for a change.” Emily pulled on his sleeve until he looked her in the eye. “I believe that someone is you. If you agree with me, then you shouldn’t accept her rejection. Do something about it.”
“Like what?”
“Lord, help this boy.” Emily closed her eyes. “He got all the looks and none of the smarts.” She squinted at him. “You said you talk to God on a regular basis. Ask him for some wisdom. I can’t come up with the answers for you. You probably know Lacey better than I do. What are her favorites? What drives her crazy? Put that hard-earned knowledge to good use.”
Jon studied his hands as he rubbed them together. “And if she still says no?”
“Then you lose a little pride. Trust me on this one, dear. I regret the times I didn’t do something more than the times I did. Don’t let that be you.”
“You’re pretty good at pep talks. Are you going to charge me for this coaching session?”
Emily pinched his arm.
“Ow.” He rubbed the tender spot and grimaced.
“Fewer jokes. More action. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jon automatically agreed to the order, but his spirit wasn’t convinced. Lacey rebuffed every attempt he made to draw closer. Besides, his investigation left no time for romance. Better to focus on the job and save them both some pain.
CHAPTER 20
LACEY GRABBED HER DIRTY-CLOTHESbasket and carried it next door. When you had an hour lunch break and no clean underwear, living by the laundry room came in handy. She placed the load on a long counter in the middle of the room, opened two of the washers, and threw the colors in one and the whites in the other at hyperspeed. After dumping the soap in and slamming the lids, she chose the quickest setting. Maybe she could get a meal before they finished.
“Hermosa!” Ricardo loped into the room, dragging an overflowing netted bag. “You are also doing laundry?”
“It’s now or never. I have to be at the jazz concert in”—she checked her watch—“fifty-seven minutes.”
Ricardo hauled his load onto the counter beside her basket. “It is so hard to make space for all the work.” He drew a soiled apron from the bag. “Chef wants extra pastries for the evening buffet. I have no time.” His mournful eyes turned to Lacey.
Water whooshed in the machine beside them. A click sounded as the lid locked in place.
“If you need to leave”—Lacey motioned to her own things—“I’ll be here awhile. I can switch your wet laundry to the dryer.”
“You would do that?” Ricardo clasped his hands. “You are an angel. I promise to make it up to you.” He advanced, but she scooted to the side and sneaked her basket between them.
“Don’t mention it.”
