Barefoot by the Sea

“That’s probably him,” Zoe said. “He’s in the walk-in cooler waiting for more.”

Tessa gave her a stink eye. “He better not be. Cold lowers sperm count.”

They all laughed as she slipped the phone out of her pocket and checked the ID.

Maryann Bartlett, North Naples Reproductive Center.

“Speaking of sperm count, it’s the clinic.” Her insides tightened a little. “I bet they had the site visit with the surrogate. That means I can meet her next. I have to take this, guys.” She turned, walking to the door as she answered the phone. “Hey, Maryann.”

“Tessa, I’m so glad I got you.”

Outside, Tessa closed the door and sat on a cushioned seat in the vestibule. “What’s up?”

“I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

She closed her eyes and tensed. “A problem with the site visit?”

“She’s found another couple, Tessa, and they’ve visited, met her, and she’s passed every test with flying colors.”

Disappointment rose like bile. “Another couple?” she asked in a strangled voice. “How can that happen? I put a deposit on her.”

Of course she wasn’t a house you can hold off the market.

“It happened because this couple is ready to pull the trigger tomorrow.” Maryann’s tone was gentle, but that did little to quell the hot cocktail of regret and frustration. “Tessa, you’ve delayed this several times. I understand you haven’t found the right donor, but other couples are as anxious as you are. And we have plenty more candidates.”

“What if I found a donor? Today?” Her voice rose with desperation.

“It’s too late, Tessa. But I have several files for you to review. All very high quality, and I’m certain…”

The rest of her words faded away as hope crumbled into a million pieces, a feeling so familiar Tessa was almost comforted by it. The cracking of her heart, the sinking of her joy, the final pool of bitter disillusionment. She’d felt the same thing every time her body confirmed it wasn’t pregnant, month after month, year after year after year.

“Do you want to set up an appointment, Tessa? I have candidates’ files ready for you to look at.”

She shook her head, the tight fist in her throat making it impossible to speak. “No, thanks,” she rasped.

“Still no luck with a donor?” she asked.

“I need a little more time.” Even though the man she had in mind wanted to rush “everything,” he didn’t seem to want to rush that. “I’m working on it.”

“Well, Tessa, you know we have a great selection of anonymous donors and I promise you I stand behind the quality of that sperm.”

The quality of that sperm. Could it sound any less romantic? Any more brutally clinical? Any riskier?

“Good to know, Maryann. Thanks.”

She hung up and stood to go back into the room, knowing she’d get all the comfort she needed when she told her friends, which she would do right now. But nothing was going to fill the void.

As she reached for the handle, her phone chirped with a text and she almost didn’t look at it because, right that minute, nothing mattered.

But she looked anyway.

John Brown: See you at the meeting this afternoon. I can’t wait.

She couldn’t wait either. Problem was, they were both impatient for different things.

Chapter Seventeen

Tessa cleaned up after a few hours in the greenhouse and headed to the all-staff meeting in the restaurant, still nursing the disappointment of Maryann’s news. Even an hour of composting hadn’t made her feel better, but knowing she’d see John did lift her spirits.

Once again she toyed with his “excuse” for running off and disappearing behind the pantry door. He’d said he had an emergency call from one of the restaurant suppliers but had never really explained the nature of the crisis.

Wasn’t that just like him? A little too evasive to trust. The minute she started to get comfortable with him, a little buzzer went off in her head that said—what was his advice in the bar about trusting him?

Don’t.

So what changed?

She breezed through the business offices, stopping at Lacey’s closed door. Shouldn’t she be in the restaurant setting up for the all-hands meeting? Tapping lightly, she poked her head in to see Lacey with the phone tucked between ear and shoulder, furiously scribbling notes. She barely looked up, waving Tessa off with her pen.

As Tessa backed up, closing the door, she stepped right into Ashley, who was barreling toward the office.

“Don’t bother her now,” Tessa said. “She’s on a call.”

“Of course.” Ashley gave a put-upon sigh. “I really need to ask her a question. Doesn’t she have a meeting starting?”

“Yes, so she won’t be long. Get her when she’s on her way.”

Ashley leaned against the wall and smiled. “Guess I’ll camp.”

“So,” Tessa said. “How are things with Marcus?”

“Actually, things are…” Her gaze slipped down to Tessa’s neck. “Whoa, is that what I think it is?”

Immediately, Tessa whipped her hair over the offending mark.

“WTG, Aunt Tess.” She held up her knuckles for a tap, but Tessa didn’t reciprocate. “So the rumors that you two were making out in the kitchen are true.”

“We were not…” She rolled her eyes instead of lying. “Don’t delay your mom too long, Ash. I’m going to head into the restaurant.”

Ashley made a tiny clap of happy-fun over her grin. “Yay for you.”

This would be all over the resort in no time, Tessa thought as she made her way toward the restaurant. She’d be employee-gossip fodder for a week. But did that stop Tessa from scanning the whole room, looking for one pair of steel-blue eyes and that sexy smile? No.

Except he wasn’t there.

Jocelyn sidled up next to her. “Lacey’s on the phone with Willow Ambrose from the AABC,” she said. “Something big. She told me to start the meeting.”

“Holler if you need backup,” Tessa said, sliding into a corner table in the back of the room, where she could see the main entrance and the kitchen door. Not that she was waiting breathlessly for John or anything.

That breath came out in a whoosh when he walked in, stood perfectly still, and searched every table, finally landing on Tessa. For what seemed like thirty seconds but was probably a nanosecond, they held eye contact. Then he smiled, all slow and sexy and crazy, crazy hot, and headed toward her, so focused on his target she actually felt herself back up at the power of his stare.

When he reached her table, he stopped right there and leaned in close enough that she could smell a hint of shampoo and see that he’d recently gotten out of the shower, as she had.

Shower. Wet. Naked.

Oh, this was going to be a long meeting.

“Can’t we blow off this business and go for a bike ride?” he whispered. “It’s gorgeous out.”

It was gorgeous in, too.

“We’re already in trouble with the boss and the talk of the break room, so no.” She gestured to the other seat at the two-top. “You can sit here if you don’t distract me.” Like that was remotely possible.

He dragged the other chair close to her, sitting so his leg brushed hers under the linen tablecloth. Reaching