her condo afterward for a nap—and maybe a snack and some binge TV—before mapping out which bars or clubs to hit after eleven.
But tonight was Dash’s dinner party, she reminded herself. He and Julian were always tons of fun—well, Dash was, anyway—and Juliette-Margot was the greatest kid ever. They’d have a good time, even with his mom there. Maybe, since ol’ GH-aka-Georgiana Hamel was such a famous mystery writer, she could even give her and Dorothy a few detective tips to help them with their new case.
Summer had never met Dash’s mom, but she’d already figured out that she was older, and that he’d been adopted. From the way her son talked about her, Georgiana sounded a little intimidating. But interesting, at least.
Not like all her most recent stepmoms. How many of those mindless, gold-digging bimbos had her dad married lately, anyway? She’d have to ask Joy, because she’d lost count. And their own mom, Harmony Moon Smythe-Sloan—well, she was more like a sister, really. A kind of spacy one, who traveled around and dropped in and out of other people’s lives whenever she felt like it.
Luckily, Syd was on marital hiatus right now. He must have gotten some sense knocked into him when he hit the Big 7-0.
Something—or someone—was blocking her sun. Summer’s eyes flew open, and she gazed up at the tall, tanned figure of Detective Donovan.
Did he ever take off those Ray-Bans? He should, because he had really nice blue eyes. Sort of the same shade as hers, come to think of it.
“Jeez, you could have said something.” Summer sat up, being careful not to let her tiny, lime polka-dot bikini top slip. It had gotten a little loose after that last dive.
“Sorry.” He held out a rolled navy-and-gold-striped Hibiscus Pointe towel from the unmanned cabana. “I brought you this.”
“Thanks,” Summer said, wrapping it quickly around her waist. “So, what are you doing here?” He wasn’t exactly dressed for a dip, in the same khakis and polo shirt he’d been wearing earlier. Even behind the shades, she could tell he was tired.
“Looking for you,” he said. “I couldn’t seem to reach you on your cell, so I figured the pool was my best bet.”
Summer glanced back at her phone, lying on the wet concrete next to her straw pool bag. Whoops.
“Let’s sit down over there, okay?” The detective pointed toward two lounge chairs at the opposite corner of the pool. “I got us some lemon waters from that fancy dispenser.”
Well, that was nice of him. Was he just going to ask her stuff about finding Lorella this morning, or could this turn into something a tiny bit more social? He sounded all business right now, but she could be wrong.
She usually was, around this guy. All the others she could pretty much read like...well, a book. Usually, guys came right up and hung all over her. They never stopped talking about themselves, and a lot of times they treated her as if she were stupid.
That was where they were wrong.
Detective Donovan, on the other hand, never said anything about himself, so she had to stay alert for clues. It was kind of fun trying to guess things about his personal life. So far, the actual solid facts were: he wasn’t married, his grandma lived at Hibiscus Pointe, he liked to fish on his boat, and he ate as much junk food as she did.
In other words, she had pretty much nada.
He averted his eyes as she readjusted her towel and plopped herself down on one of the lounge chairs. How could he be so uptight? Or maybe he was just shy. But he was a cop, for cripes sake.
Maybe he’d been burned by some girlfriend or fiancée in the past. That had to be it. He was vulnerable and emotionally wounded.
Were those attractive qualities in a guy? Maybe. Or maybe not. She’d never had any boyfriends like that.
Just total jerks. Including the one who’d almost gotten her sent to jail back in New Jersey. And Donovan knew all about that, thanks to her background check when she was sort
But tonight was Dash’s dinner party, she reminded herself. He and Julian were always tons of fun—well, Dash was, anyway—and Juliette-Margot was the greatest kid ever. They’d have a good time, even with his mom there. Maybe, since ol’ GH-aka-Georgiana Hamel was such a famous mystery writer, she could even give her and Dorothy a few detective tips to help them with their new case.
Summer had never met Dash’s mom, but she’d already figured out that she was older, and that he’d been adopted. From the way her son talked about her, Georgiana sounded a little intimidating. But interesting, at least.
Not like all her most recent stepmoms. How many of those mindless, gold-digging bimbos had her dad married lately, anyway? She’d have to ask Joy, because she’d lost count. And their own mom, Harmony Moon Smythe-Sloan—well, she was more like a sister, really. A kind of spacy one, who traveled around and dropped in and out of other people’s lives whenever she felt like it.
Luckily, Syd was on marital hiatus right now. He must have gotten some sense knocked into him when he hit the Big 7-0.
Something—or someone—was blocking her sun. Summer’s eyes flew open, and she gazed up at the tall, tanned figure of Detective Donovan.
Did he ever take off those Ray-Bans? He should, because he had really nice blue eyes. Sort of the same shade as hers, come to think of it.
“Jeez, you could have said something.” Summer sat up, being careful not to let her tiny, lime polka-dot bikini top slip. It had gotten a little loose after that last dive.
“Sorry.” He held out a rolled navy-and-gold-striped Hibiscus Pointe towel from the unmanned cabana. “I brought you this.”
“Thanks,” Summer said, wrapping it quickly around her waist. “So, what are you doing here?” He wasn’t exactly dressed for a dip, in the same khakis and polo shirt he’d been wearing earlier. Even behind the shades, she could tell he was tired.
“Looking for you,” he said. “I couldn’t seem to reach you on your cell, so I figured the pool was my best bet.”
Summer glanced back at her phone, lying on the wet concrete next to her straw pool bag. Whoops.
“Let’s sit down over there, okay?” The detective pointed toward two lounge chairs at the opposite corner of the pool. “I got us some lemon waters from that fancy dispenser.”
Well, that was nice of him. Was he just going to ask her stuff about finding Lorella this morning, or could this turn into something a tiny bit more social? He sounded all business right now, but she could be wrong.
She usually was, around this guy. All the others she could pretty much read like...well, a book. Usually, guys came right up and hung all over her. They never stopped talking about themselves, and a lot of times they treated her as if she were stupid.
That was where they were wrong.
Detective Donovan, on the other hand, never said anything about himself, so she had to stay alert for clues. It was kind of fun trying to guess things about his personal life. So far, the actual solid facts were: he wasn’t married, his grandma lived at Hibiscus Pointe, he liked to fish on his boat, and he ate as much junk food as she did.
In other words, she had pretty much nada.
He averted his eyes as she readjusted her towel and plopped herself down on one of the lounge chairs. How could he be so uptight? Or maybe he was just shy. But he was a cop, for cripes sake.
Maybe he’d been burned by some girlfriend or fiancée in the past. That had to be it. He was vulnerable and emotionally wounded.
Were those attractive qualities in a guy? Maybe. Or maybe not. She’d never had any boyfriends like that.
Just total jerks. Including the one who’d almost gotten her sent to jail back in New Jersey. And Donovan knew all about that, thanks to her background check when she was sort
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