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  “Eric, I can’t tell you how much I’ve looked forward to this day. Our little family is growing and we—”

  “Jesus Ma, he’s not pregnant,” Zane scoffed before turning to me with a faux-serious expression. “Are you, babe?”

  I smacked his arm and followed them inside then gave my full attention to my future mother-in-law. It was easy to tell my fiancé came by his good looks naturally. Zane’s mom was stunning. She was my height with shoulder length golden-blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a slender physique. If I didn’t know for a fact she was in her early fifties, I would have guessed she was ten years younger. She exuded a stereotypical California beach-girl vibe that brought to mind every Beach Boys classic in both appearance and her laid-back joie de vivre.

  Zane shared once that his mom was a former Olympic-caliber swimmer who’d given up her dream to compete for a medal when she found out she was pregnant with him. She’d gone from being a young woman with big dreams to motherhood as gracefully as possible. An impressive string of nowhere relationships and a job she could probably do in her sleep hadn’t diminished her vitality or her positive outlook. Zane credited his top-tier education and his success to his mother. Although his accomplishments far outshone hers, he always insisted she was his hero and his inspiration.

  I’d already thought they were pretty cool, but my new status as “insider” heightened my appreciation and admiration for mother and son. I felt lucky to be marrying into their small family.

  “Hi, Wendy. It’s great to see you again and…thank you. I’m excited too,” I assured her.

  I should have seen it coming but I was too caught up in gooey feelings. When she threw herself into my arms, I stumbled backward and would have flipped over the sofa and crashed onto the floor with her hanging from my neck if Zane hadn’t held me still. She sensed his presence behind me and deftly pulled him into a three-way hug. As the moment stretched, I wanted to laugh at the greeting-that-wouldn’t-end but I quickly recognized its significance. Standing between the man I loved more than anyone in the world and the woman who felt the same way was the ultimate expression of welcome and acceptance.

  Zane brought us back to earth. He squeezed us both then pressed sloppy kisses on our cheeks.

  “Ew!” When I elbowed his arm, he doubled over like I’d punched him in the gut and let out a melodramatic yelp. And suddenly, we were back on even ground, no uncomfortable transition required. Defusing potential awkwardness was one of Zane’s many gifts. He knew better than most that taking life too seriously killed all the fun.

  Wendy twirled out of his reach then pointed toward the patio. “Outside, boys. It’s a gorgeous summer night. Let’s enjoy it. I just set a pitcher of sangria on the table. There’s wine, beer, and water in the cooler too. I’ll grab the cheese and crackers. And Zane, my love, you’re in charge of the grill.”

  Dinner was simple but delicious. Grilled chicken, corn, quinoa salad, and homemade jalapeño cheese bread. Conversation flowed easily about everything from mutual acquaintances to the cooking classes Wendy started taking recently. She waited until night descended, our plates had been cleared away, and I was three sangrias in to ask a few nosy “mom” questions.

  “When did it happen?”

  I shot a panicky glance at Zane, who didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. He lifted his water glass and took a healthy sip. It may have been a diversionary tactic but she didn’t care about his reply; she was waiting for mine. I studied the buttons on the white cardigan she’d put on over her sundress before meeting her gaze with a shy smile.

  “Last October. We went to Nick’s engagement party together and something just clicked,” I said.

  “Hmm. You’ve known each other more than half your lives. Why didn’t you know sooner that you wanted to be together?” she asked persistently.

  “Uh…well…” I looked over at Zane for assistance, but his encouraging grin only told me he was fine with whatever I chose to share. I belatedly realized this inquiry was all mine. He’d surely been through this a few times with his mother.

  “Zane honey, I’d love a cup of coffee. Would you mind making some?” Wendy’s overly eager smile usually would have cracked me up but now, it made me nervous as hell.

  Zane rolled his eyes then leaned in to kiss me before standing. He shook an admonishing finger at his mother. “Don’t scare him away, Ma. I love this guy.”

  We chuckled lightly as he disappeared into the house. I knew her impromptu interrogation would be relatively painless. Wendy liked me and Zane wouldn’t leave me with her if he thought otherwise. Nonetheless, I sucked down half of my sangria and then set the glass aside with more force than necessary as if to say, “Bring it on.”

  “He does love you,” she said softly.

  “I love him too.”

  “I can tell.” She sat back in her chair and curled her feet under her before giving me a conspiratorial wink. “It’s been an interesting journey from a mother’s perspective. I always wondered who his special person might be, and you want to know something funny? I had this crazy feeling it would be one of his friends. Someone who’d been there all along.”

  “That probably didn’t narrow the field much. Zane has a lot of friends,” I quipped.

  “He does and he makes an effort to spend time with them as often as possible. Maybe it’s because he was an only child. I worked so much when he was younger, so I didn’t mind him having kids over. I figured he needed the company even though I worried constantly about him getting in trouble while I was away. He was a handful as a teenager. He did his best to clean up after his impromptu parties but I’d find bikini bits and panties in the cushions. I used to wonder if one of those girls was the one. But then one day,”—she paused and gave me a crooked grin—“I found a jockstrap. Water polo players don’t wear jocks so I knew it wasn’t his. I didn’t think much of it until I started finding them regularly…under his bed, under the sofa or balled up with towels in the laundry. Places your straight friends wouldn’t leave their personal effects. I kept a more careful watch but the only guy who was here regularly was Dean Gorman, and I was sure he was straight so I put it out of my mind. So well that I was surprised when he finally told me he was bi.”

  I hated that Dean and jockstraps were the details that flashed at me like a neon sign. I shook my head to dislodge my misplaced jealousy, hoping it would help me refocus until Zane returned. How long did it take to make a freaking cup of coffee?

  “He was in his twenties, right?” I asked, running my fingers through the condensation on the glass.

  “Yes. I thought maybe it was a two-part story and that he’d bring someone special home for me to meet. And secretly, I hoped it was you.”

  “You did?”

  Wendy reached for my hand and nodded. “You get him. You know where he’s from and how hard he’s worked for a chance to prove himself. You’re nothing alike but you appreciate each other’s differences. And I can tell you adore him. It makes me incredibly happy to welcome you to our tiny family.”

  I swallowed around the tears in my throat. “Thank you.”

  “So…do you think you’ll have kids some day? You’d both be terrific dads and—”

  “Jesus, Ma!” Zane yelped. He set three cups and the carafe of coffee on the table before moving behind her chair to hug her tightly then tickle her sides. She jumped and batted him away, howling with laughter.

  I chuckled at their hijinks and braced myself, knowing from experience I was next. When he nuzzled my neck, I was prepared for him to squeeze me a little too hard or put me in a faux headlock and give me a noogie. What I didn’t expect was the tender kiss next to my ear and the softly whispered, “I love you.”

  My heart flipped in my chest and expanded, leaving me breathless and drunk on love. I had no idea how I got so lucky, but I knew I’d do anything to always have this in my life.

  Chapter 3

  The sangrias must have been stronger than I realized. There was no other plausible explanati
on for me agreeing to get out of bed, throw on a pair of board shorts, and follow my peppy partner to the Jeep at the ass crack of dawn. At least he remembered the coffee. I nestled the thermos between my thighs, grateful it was humongous. I needed the caffeine to keep me warm and awake. It was a chilly morning; the sky was gray and the temperature was twenty degrees cooler than it would be later in the day.

  “This weather reminds me of San Francisco,” I commented around a yawn. “I should have brought my sweats.”

  “They’d just get wet. Besides, you’ll warm up in the water.”

  “Zane, I can’t do it. Surfing isn’t in the cards this morning. When you get your board from your mom’s garage, grab a blanket for me. I’ll read while you hang ten. I’m at a great point in my book, so I won’t bug you. You can take your time communing with nature and I—”

  “You promised.”

  I scowled at the unspoken “only a real schmuck backs out of a promise” in his tone. “I don’t think I did.”

  “Last night you said…and I quote, ‘I love you so much, Zane. I’ll do anything you want. I’ll even go surfing with you.’ ’Member that? It may have been post-blowjob, but it still counts,” he assured me.

  I busted up laughing. “I don’t think so.”

  “Fine. We’ll compromise. I’ll bring an extra wet suit and my old longboard and if you change your mind—”

  “I won’t.”

  Zane shot an irritated sideways glance at me before continuing. “If you change your mind, you’ll be prepared. The swell is two to three feet. Perfect for learning.”

  “What’s the water temp?” I asked.

  “Sixty-one degrees.” I wasn’t surprised by his swift response. Zane’s business required him to always be aware of tides and wind conditions and surf swell.

  “That’s cold.”

  “Thus the wet suit.” He held up his hand before I could begin a new round of arguments. “I can’t force you and I won’t ask you again. I’ll just bring everything we need and if you decide to suit up and dive in, you’ll be ready. Sound good?”

  I tilted my head in vague acquiescence though of course, I had no intention of doing anything besides finding out who done it in my murder mystery.

  * * *

  After a brief stop at his mom’s house to gather his boards and some extra supplies, we headed to 56th Street. It was six a.m. but in late June, it was full daylight so we weren’t the first ones on the beach. Zane changed into his wet suit at the Jeep then hooked the two boards under his arms and motioned for me to follow him with the blanket, thermos, and my backpack filled with sundry items like sunscreen, Chap Stick, and Cliff bars. Oh yeah…and a beach chair.

  I laid the blanket in the sand and sent Zane off with a wave before settling in to read. Any random passerby might have mistaken me for someone twice my age. I had a floppy hat on my head, a towel over my legs, and my feet propped on my backpack. I’d left my long-sleeved tee on so the only body parts exposed were my toes. Comfort was key if we were going to be here for a while, I mused as I sipped coffee and turned the page on my Kindle.

  Zane was in his element. I spotted him in action a few times. It must have been pretty mellow on the water though because he seemed to spend more time straddling the board, waiting for decent waves than riding any to shore. I set my book aside and uncapped the thermos then scanned the ocean again. My gut lurched when I didn’t immediately spot him. I stood to get a better look and found Zane was chatting with another surfer on the sand. They must have just ridden in together. Maybe they were dissecting the integrity of a barrel or talking about previous excursions when the conditions were up to their level of expertise. The stranger laughed at something Zane said. He clutched at his shoulder and threw his head back and—oh.

  It was Dean.

  I squinted at them, hating the instant rush of jealousy. My inclination was to intercept them, waving my hands over my head and blowing a whistle…David Hasselhoff-style. Thankfully I knew my limitations. I wasn’t The Hoff. Pride demanded I act sensibly. I had nothing to worry about. Zane wasn’t interested in rekindling an ancient affair with a former flame who couldn’t seem to keep his fucking hands to himself.

  I gritted my teeth and pasted a smile on my face then dropped my towel and made my way toward them.

  “Good morning,” I said cheerfully as I took my rightful place beside my man. “You’re up early.”

  “I’m out here most days around this time,” Dean replied, cocking his head.

  He gave me a quirky look I couldn’t read. It was more curious than insulting, but I read a subtle “I don’t get what Zane sees in you” there that made me feel ridiculously territorial. I didn’t want to piss on his leg or anything gross but damn, I had to do something.

  I snaked my arm around Zane’s waist and rested it on his hip. I did my best to ignore the slimy feel of his wetsuit and his bewildered expression. He had every right to be suspicious. Neither of us was big on overt public displays of affection. I loved it when Zane put his hand on my lower back or slipped his fingers through mine under a table. Clandestine touches sent a thrill through me while obvious gestures, like holding hands walking down the street, made me uneasy unless we were among people we trusted. So yeah…I was being weird.

  Zane let it slide and addressed Dean instead. “For some reason, I thought you lived in Huntington Beach.”

  “I did, but not anymore. I moved back a couple of years ago. I run into your mom at the market every so often. She invited me over to see her kitchen remodel recently when I mentioned I’m thinking of redoing mine. Nice job, man. It looks great. I love the cabinetry.”

  “Thanks, but I didn’t personally do anything. I hired a contractor. Mickey Chandler…remember him? He was on the water polo team with me.”

  “No way! I had no idea Mickey was a contractor. Give me his number when you get a chance. I need to get a few things done and…”

  I tuned them out for the sake of self-preservation. I felt smaller and smaller by the second as though any moment now I’d become invisible. Jealousy was a powerful opponent to master. No doubt I looked like a swallowed a lemon as I listened to Dean praise Wendy’s remodeling efforts and chat about an old high school friend I personally recalled being a real dick.

  Zane and I may have been from the same town, but we’d had very different upbringings and experiences. He was a latchkey kid with a single mom who struggled to make ends meet. He spent most mornings as a teenager at the beach just like this. This was a déjà vu moment for Zane and Dean, and I simply couldn’t relate.

  My parents were big on scholastic achievement. They would have had a fit if I’d wasted precious time studying a surf report let alone hung out with derelicts that did. They were both prominent lawyers who’d instilled the merits of a vigorous work ethic on my brother and me at a young age. They insisted that we join politically and socially conscious clubs when we were in high school and college. They belonged to various country clubs for networking purposes only. They weren’t into surfing or sailing and on the rare occasions I went to the beach, they encouraged me to bring my homework or a good book to pass the time.

  I thought I’d accepted that Zane and I came from separate worlds and moved on in college but evidently, I was wrong because I felt conspicuously the way I had fifteen years ago. Like an uncool outsider standing with the popular kids hoping their shine might miraculously rub off on me.

  “Hey um, what’s the surf like, guys?” I asked, sounding like the nerd I was.

  They halted their conversation and turned to answer me.

  “It’s a great day to learn,” Zane said with a smile at the same time Dean huffed derisively, “It’s totally lame.”

  And why was it that the only thing I heard was, “You’re totally lame”? Well, fuck that. The only thing that was lame was not trying.

  I gave Dean a tight smile then turned to Zane. “I’m gonna grab something from the Jeep. I’ll be back.”

  I trudged through what felt
like a mile of uneven sand and hurried to unlock the trunk of our rental. Zane had parked behind a Chevy Suburban on a narrow residential street that ended abruptly at the sand. The truck and the two-storied homes on either side provided an element of privacy. Not as much as I would have liked, but it would do, I mused before opening the hatch.

  I studied the black rubbery suit for a moment before picking it up with a sigh. The things you do for love. I darted my gaze from side to side and undressed as quickly as possible. I fastened a towel around my waist before removing my swim trunks then sat on the edge off the open hatch and pulled the super-tight fabric up one leg and then the other. There was no time to enjoy my hard-won success. I had to get this thing over my bare ass before a neighbor called the cops on me for indecent exposure.

  Rolling the suit up my torso was much more difficult. I was sweating bullets, hopping around like a demented kangaroo hoping gravity would help distribute the fabric properly. It helped to a degree but I couldn’t stand up straight. Not comfortably anyway. Maybe it would work itself out once I was zipped up. I’d worry about that later. It was time to hang ten.

  I made my way back to the blanket, dropped the keys to the Jeep in my backpack and then stared at the longboard lying behind the beach chair for a long moment. The giant surfboard was aptly named. It was a nine-foot battered yellow board with a white stripe up the middle that Zane had affectionately named “The Big Banana.” He rarely rode this one now but he loved it for sentimental reasons. It was a Christmas gift from the guy who’d taught him to surf, who, if I remembered correctly, was his mom’s ex. Zane wanted to keep it for posterity and maybe even his future kids. He claimed longboards were the best for learning because they had a lot of real estate to help a beginner find his or her balance. I hoped that was true because I didn’t really want to spend my morning repeatedly falling into the ocean.

  I hefted the board under my arm and headed toward the shoreline, stopping a few times to adjust my burden and catch my breath. Zane and Dean weren’t where I’d left them which I assumed meant they’d returned to the water. Of course, I had no idea what to do now. I’d accompanied Zane on his surf excursions a few times but I’d paid more attention to his hot bod in that wet suit than to his enthusiastic explanation about the joys of wave riding.