Allie rolled her eyes. “Uh-oh.”
“One, stop trash-talking your family. The only person who comes out looking trashy is you. Two. Think seriously about taking this job you’re not really excited about. Life is too short to piss it away on things that don’t really matter to you.”
Allie clenched her teeth. Easy for Trust Fund Julie to say. “I get that, but—”
“Think about it.” She gave Allie’s arm a shake. “Just think seriously about it.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll think seriously.” She met Julie’s eyes and softened her voice. Her friend was worried about her and trying to help. “I promise.”
“And two...”
“No, you already did two. I’m done.”
“Not done, now there’s three. Three.” She pulled Allie closer. “There is something about the way you react to this guy Jonas that you need to figure out. Because I believe with every fiber of my being that if you do, you will unlock some crap about yourself that you desperately need to be rid of in order to be happy. So my number two is—”
“Number three.”
“Number three, then.” She got right in Allie’s face. “Promise me, promise me, you will go back up to Lake George and see Jonas again this weekend.”
* * *
JONAS TURNED OFF Lake Shore Drive into Morningside’s driveway. His tires spun briefly, throwing up a shower of gravel. He was going too fast, but he was pissed off and more than ready to be back. The drive had been brutal, the MassPike bumper to bumper with Friday summer traffic, slowed further by not one, but two accidents. Any sane person would have waited to drive up early Saturday morning. But he was apparently not sane.
Now, instead of arriving in time for a leisurely afternoon with Allie to start their weekend together, he was here at nearly dinnertime, while Allie had apparently tried to rent a truck—why the hell hadn’t Erik made it clear they’d ship the trunks to her at their expense?—and then waited hours at the office only to find the truck had broken down and wasn’t going to be available. Now she was on a bus and had hit Friday traffic, too.
He pulled in next to Erik’s car, quashing the foolish hope that Allie would miraculously be waiting for him, outfitted in the latest 1920s erotic attire. Or better yet, in nothing.
As if on cue, his phone chimed the arrival of a text from Allie.
Still barely moving. Should arrive around seven maybe?
Seven. Two more hours. He could have gone to his morning client meeting instead of rescheduling. His boss had not been happy with the cancellation, or with Jonas taking more time off while they were at a crucial phase of developing a new client.
Jonas didn’t really care.
As long as he was in the process of making lists of everything pissing him off, he’d add that not caring bothered him, too. Jonas had always cared about doing a good job, even if the work didn’t thrill him. Not just at this job, at all of them, starting with his bakery job as a teenager. Did it matter if flour under the ovens wasn’t swept up since no one would see it? Maybe not. But even though the other employees his age sneered at him, he wanted to be better than just adequate. Do your best work or don’t bother had been his dad’s mantra. Jonas had always done his best. Erik was the one always trying to get away with less.
Out of the car, he paused for the first long breath of clear lake air, feeling a reluctant sense of homecoming. They’d need to put the house on the market soon, maybe before the end of summer while people were still thinking about the season. They’d have to hire a real-estate agent, make sure the house was in good shape, decide about storing the contents, all while communicating overseas with his parents for instructions and signatures.
Giant pain in the ass.
In the cottage, he hauled his suitcase up to the bedroom, running his hand over the freshly made bed—Clarissa would have been there that morning to clean and change sheets. He hoped to be sleeping in that bed with Allie tonight.
The thought brought on a burst of pleasure and a dark burn of irritation. Or was it fear? He didn’t know what the hell was happening to him anymore. After an emotionally charged goodbye on Tuesday, she’d returned to New York and to an emotional arm’s length for the rest of the week. Until yesterday, he hadn’t even been sure she’d be back this weekend.
But he was absolutely sure he wanted to spend tonight with her, feeling her naked body against his all night long.
Unpacked, he headed downstairs and out toward the big house to see what Erik was up to and find out how things had gone with Sandra this week. She’d probably passed Jonas on the highway heading back to Boston for weekend performances—going sixty-five, while he was lucky to go one-quarter that fast.
“Erik?” He pushed open the door.
“Hey, Jonas. In here.”
Jonas strode toward the kitchen, and stopped in the doorway, appalled. Dirty dishes were piled in the sink. The floor was unswept. Blinds drawn. His brother, his face unshaven, was watching some video or movie on his iPad.
“What the hell happened? Why didn’t Clarissa clean?”
“Oh, I told her not to bother. That I’d do it.” Erik blinked around him, mole-like, seeming surprised at the mess. “I didn’t want her to have to deal with it since there’s kind of a lot.”
“Uh, yeah, kind of.” He stood watching his brother, hands on his hips. “Allie was supposed to be here by now.”
“And?”
Jonas gestured to the mess. “And you want her to see this?”
“Uh...” Erik gave him a look as if he was speaking some other language. “I don’t really think it matters one way or the other.”
“Did you wash a single dish all week?”
“Hey.” Erik closed his iPad. “My dishwashing pace is my business.”
“In your own house. Not one we share.”
“Lighten up, dude. No rape, no murder and no kidnapping happened here. I will wash the dishes. The kitchen will be clean.”
“Are you still in your bathrobe?”
Erik chuckled, shaking his head. “Yes, Dad.”
Jonas saw red for a moment. He would really like to punch his brother in the nose. “I wouldn’t have to be like this if you’d taken ten minutes to—”
He locked his jaw shut, appalled that Erik was right. He sounded exactly like their dad.