The Parent Trap

“Hi,” she said. “I’m Sarah Stewart. My daughter, Casey, and I live next door and we wanted to welcome you and your daughter to the neighborhood, to Serenity Bay.”

Jon’s heart sank, and not in an entirely good way. The real estate agent had mentioned that a widow lived next door. This was the widow? This expensively dressed and stunningly beautiful woman whose poise and self-control reminded him of Georgette.

“These are for you.” Sarah held out the plate.

“Thanks. I’m Jonathan Marshall. Jon.”

“We baked them,” the girl said. She looked to be about Kate’s age, but the similarity ended there. This girl’s blond hair was pulled back in a casual ponytail, and Kate wouldn’t be caught dead in faded jeans, high-top runners, and a red-and-white T-shirt with the letters L-O-V-E across the front. The O was a soccer ball.

He accepted the offering, backed away from the door, and called upstairs. “Kate? Come down and say hi to our neighbors.”

“Be there in a minute.”

He gave them what probably looked like an awkward smile. It sure felt awkward. “My daughter’s minutes tend to be a little on the long side. Would you like to come in?”

“Oh, well, okay.” Sarah cautiously stepped inside and glanced around. “I have to work this afternoon and you have your hands full here so we won’t stay, but we would like to meet your daughter.”

“Of course.” There was an awkward pause. She had beautiful gray-green eyes, and he wished he hadn’t noticed. “So...where do you work?”

“I own a clothing boutique downtown.”

He’d checked out the town before putting an offer on this house. Serenity Bay’s shopping district on Shoreline Boulevard consisted of three or four blocks of high-end shops, art galleries, bistros and coffeehouses, which hardly qualified as “downtown.” Her occupation explained the elegant outfit, though, and justified his wariness. Over the years his ex-wife had become more and more fixated on appearances, until finally his appearance in her life was no longer important.

Sarah’s daughter was a different matter. “You’re a soccer fan?” he asked, referring to her T-shirt.

The girl and her mother shared a knowing look and a quick grin, which was both puzzling and just a bit odd.

“I love soccer! I play on the girls’ team at school.”

“You do? Then I’ll be your coach.”

“Cool,” Casey said. “Me and the other girls on the team were wondering—”

Kate’s descent down the staircase ended the conversation. “Princess is hiding under my bed. I’ve been trying to get her to come out.”

She’d swapped the pink sneakers for black sandals that had three straps buckled around her ankles and open toes that showed off the black-and-white-striped pedicure she’d insisted she needed before being dragged away from civilization.

“Princess is our cat,” he said for no particular reason. “Kate, this is Sarah and her daughter, Casey. They live next door.”

“Hi.”

The two teens eyed each other self-consciously.

“Kate’s going into ninth grade,” he said to break the ice.

“Me, too.” Casey sounded a lot more eager than Kate looked. “I can show you around if you’d like, introduce you to some of my friends. I’ve lived here forever so I know everybody.”

Jon held his breath.

“Oh. Sure, that’d be great.”

To his relief, his daughter’s tone was considerably sweeter than it had been earlier. Was it genuine? Only time would tell, but at least for now she was being polite.

“It’s lovely to meet you both, but I’m afraid we have to go.” Sarah stepped out onto the porch and her daughter followed. “You’re welcome to drop by my store sometime,” she said, turning back to speak to Kate. “It’s called To the Nines. A shipment of jeans and tees came in yesterday, perfect for back to school. If you’re interested, that is.”

“Really? Thanks. I’ll check it out for sure.” Kate’s voice held more enthusiasm than he’d heard in weeks.

Jon indulged in an inward sigh as his daughter retreated upstairs and he watched his new neighbors cross their adjoining driveways. Sarah Stewart’s makeup and blond hair were flawless. Her beige linen jacket and skirt were the kind of classic that came with a hefty price tag. He hadn’t counted on having another woman in their lives who put way too much emphasis on appearances. Not that the woman next door was in their lives, and to be fair, he reminded himself, there were subtle differences. Georgette had never baked cookies, not even the kind sliced from a roll of store-bought cookie dough. His ex-wife’s stilettos had been her personal trademark, but Sarah Stewart’s simple off-white leather flats looked as though they might actually be comfortable.

And he had to admit that a fashion plate of a woman who was raising a soccer-playing tomboy daughter kind of intrigued him on some level. Yes, her appearance and her occupation represented things he didn’t much care for, but were those sensible shoes an indication that she had more substance than he gave her credit for? Time would tell.

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_90bda8a3-93fe-5bb1-b644-66c6e4fcd61c)

SARAH’S PHONE LIT UP as she was writing up her final sale of the day. A discreet glance showed a text from her daughter, which she would read after she locked up. She’d had a productive afternoon, and that was a good thing since she’d frittered away most of the morning. She was ready for some mother-daughter time, but her customer didn’t need to know that.

“Thank you, Mrs. Bentley.” Sarah folded a brightly patterned silk scarf in pale pink tissue paper, admiring as she always did the delicate fabric as it slid between her fingers. She sealed the paper with a To the Nines label and slipped it into the shopping bag with the blouse and jacket her customer had purchased. “I’ll have our seamstress shorten the skirt as soon as she comes in next week and call you when it’s ready.”

“Thank you, dear. I want to wear this to my grandson’s christening in Vancouver next Sunday.”

“You’ll be the most elegant grandmother in town.” Eleanor Bentley had a husband with deep pockets, a hairdresser who kept the gray away and a wardrobe most women would die for. “How is the new baby?” she asked.

“Oh, he’s the cutest little fellow. I know everyone says that about their grandchildren, but he really is,” the woman said, beaming as she opened her black patent Louis Vuitton clutch and produced a photograph.

“He’s adorable.” He really was. Sarah made a point of getting to know her customers on a personal level, and Eleanor Bentley was one of her most devoted. Sarah would agree to pretty much anything to make sure she was also a satisfied customer. “He looks like his grandfather.”

The woman’s smile widened. “He does, doesn’t he? The Bentley men are a handsome bunch.”

Sarah had learned that Eleanor, while tiny in stature, had raised four sons who all had their father’s height and good looks. The youngest had recently passed the bar and was now practicing law with his three older brothers, as their father had before retiring with his wife to Serenity Bay.

In some ways, the elder Bentleys’ marriage reminded her of her parents’, minus the bank account, of course. Her mom and dad still lived in Ucluelet, where Sarah had grown up, in a house full of books and cats where her mother gardened and cooked organic food and her father tinkered with various inventions and engineering projects. No designer duds for them and no sign of retirement, either. They were good people and she loved them dearly—so did Casey—but there had been times growing up that she would have given anything to have a conventional family.

“Speaking of handsome...” Eleanor said. “I understand the new high school teacher moved in next door to you. Have you met him yet?”

Sarah’s face went warm as she stepped around the counter and handed the shopping bag to the Bentley family’s matriarch. “Just briefly.”

Handsome hardly did the man justice, but that was no reason for her to be blushing like a schoolgirl.

“I’ll see you next week, Mrs. Bentley. If you bring the jacket back with you, and shoes you’ll be wearing with this outfit, you can try everything on while the seamstress is here and she can make any little last-minute adjustments.”

“What a good idea. Thank you, dear.”

After Eleanor left the store, Sarah flipped the dead bolt in place and returned to the sales counter as her assistant Juliet came out of the back stockroom that doubled as Sarah’s office.

“The back door’s locked and I shut down the computer,” Juliet said. “And I unpacked the dresses that came in this afternoon. They’re on hangers and I’ve gone over them with the steamer, but they may still need a little touch-up on Monday morning.”

“Thank you so much. Before you leave, could you put this skirt in the alterations cupboard while I close up?” Sarah checked her watch, then remembered Casey’s text message. She read it while she tidied up the sales counter and slid some paperwork into her briefcase.

Got the last Twilight movie. Luv ya! PS: 1 ham n pineapple, 1 pepperoni!