Love Overboard

Chapter 16

LACEY STEPPED ONTO THE LIDO deck with a small pile of mail. The first thing to catch her eye was a bubble mailer with a new shirt she’d ordered online. A flyer from her alumni association came next, probably asking for money. At the bottom of the stack was a pink envelope. She studied the return address.

Home.

Lacey slipped a finger under the flap, tore the envelope open, and withdrew a birthday card with a teddy bear on it. Only one person would send her such a childish thing. She opened it and read.

Dear Lacey-bell,

No matter how big you get, you’ll always be my little girl. Happy birthday. I hope it’s full of many surprises.

Love,

Dad

A bitter lump rose in her throat. It tasted all too familiar. She’d experienced it countless times throughout her life, whenever her father consistently proved how little he knew her. She hated being called Lacey-bell. She hated pink. And most of all, she hated surprises. Thanks to her dad’s impulsive, immature decisions, she’d experienced way too many of them.

Routine, stability, safety. Those were the things that gave her comfort.

The floodgates threatened to crumble. She drew in a deep breath and wiped the moisture from her lashes. That’s when she saw them. Five feet away, Gerry and Emily stretched out on deck chairs overlooking the ocean. Lacey walked to a nearby trash can, pitched everything but the new shirt in, and advanced toward the women.

Emily spotted her and hopped up. She darted between the chairs and scuttled in the opposite direction. Gerry sat with a novel in one hand and a red pen in the other, so she didn’t see Lacey’s approach.

Lacey stopped in front of the chair and crossed her arms as Emily disappeared through the double glass doors in the distance. “Your fearless leader is avoiding me.” She stared down her nose at the remaining older woman.

Gerry’s shoulders jumped, but her voice remained calm. “Wouldn’t you run, if it were you?”

“So you admit it?” Lacey crowded closer. “You admit it was a setup.”

“I admit nothing.” Gerry raised her slender chin and turned a page.

“Whose idea was it to lock us in the closet?”

“Someone locked you in a closet?” A guileless expression shone through her reading glasses. “You poor thing.”

Lacey eyed her, but Gerry’s attention reverted to her book. The CIA could use a tough cookie like her for covert ops. An undeniable fondness surged for the quirky ladies.

She leaned over and saw red markings on the pages. “Are you highlighting the steamy parts?”

“I’m editing.” Gerry clicked the top of her ballpoint pen and tossed the book in the bag at her side. “Four misspellings. What kind of proofreaders are they hiring?”

“Do you do this for fun?” Lacey sank onto the chair beside her and reclined. “Or do you actually send your edits to the company?”

“I send them. When they reprint it, they can fix the mistakes. Making me a laughingstock to all my former coworkers. What kind of librarian can’t utilize proper spelling in her own book?”

“Wait.” Lacey sat straight. “Her own book?” She reached into the bag, grabbed the novel, and checked the author’s name. “This says it was written by Dina La Rue.”

“Otherwise known as Geraldine Paroo.”

Lacey flipped to the back cover and saw quotes from reviewers praising the story. “Is this your first one?”

“Sixth.”

“What? Were the others published?”

“Yep. Last three hit the New York Times Best Sellers list.”

“Wow.” Lacey returned the novel to her. “All this time, I thought you were working on the same book.”

Gerry laughed as she stuffed it in the bag. “Everyone does. Althea teases me daily about my unfinished masterpiece.”

“Why write under a pen name? If I published a book, I’d brag to anyone who’d listen.”

“That’s a little complicated.” Gerry squirmed on her lounge chair and pulled off her spectacles. “Can you guess what the first advice they give in writing class is?”

Lacey shook her head.

“Write what you know.” Gerry blew her lips out with a noisy puff of air. “How can I explain to my readers that their favorite romance author is a dried-up old spinster who’s never been in love and only ever kissed a man once?”

The mere mention of a kiss transported Lacey to the dark storage room. Her pulse quickened as her body relived the touch of Jon’s gentle lips on her own. She’d wanted to stay there forever, but that nagging voice in the back of her mind had whispered the same word over and over.

Run.

Lacey inhaled and forced her mind back to the conversation. “One time? How was it?”

“I have no idea.” Gerry snorted. “I squeezed the juice out of that kiss for five novels until there was nothing left. No flavor. No pulp. Just a crumpled rind of a memory.” She pounded a fist against the arm of her deck chair. “What else can you do when that’s the sole experience you have? It’s a mercy I don’t write the books with the racy covers. I’d be stumped.” She chuckled. “I could always ask Althea.”

Lacey laughed with her, but Gerry’s smile faded away as she raised her face to the clouds stretching overhead and sighed.

“Don’t be like me, Lacey. Make more memories.”

Lacey was supposed to be mad at the Shippers, but the plaintive note in Gerry’s voice tugged at her heartstrings. “Hey.” She swung her legs between the two chairs and grasped the woman’s arm. “You’ve still got plenty of time to make some of your own.”

“I suppose so.” Gerry continued to stare at the afternoon sky. “But it’s not as much fun making memories alone.”

“You’re not alone. You have your friends.”

“That’s true.”

“And me.”

“Do I?” Gerry glanced her way. “Thank you, Lacey. Friends make the loneliness bearable.”

“If you’re lonely”—Lacey nudged her—“I recall a certain redheaded magician who’d be happy to help.”

“Oh … button it.” Gerry clicked her pen and yanked another book from her bag.

Lacey considered the romance novelist in front of her who’d admitted she knew nothing about real love, and the unwelcome thought occurred that she was looking at her future. If she continued on her current trajectory, she’d end up independent but alone. Would answering to no one but herself be too high a price to pay? There’d never be anyone to share the good moments or the bad.

Could Gerry be right? Was it time to throw caution away and make new memories?