Free Hideaway Cove (A Windfall Island Novel) by Anna Sullivan

’Course, you should never underestimate the value of a good argument, humbly delivered.”
    “Huh?”
    “Here’s your pizza, son.” Hold offered the box, but Benji just stood there, watching him suspiciously.
    “You can have this, too.” He took the two dollar bills from Jessi and handed them over.
    Benji snatched the money, shouted “woo-hoo!”, and darted inside.
    Jessi crossed her arms, gave him a look.
    “Consider it a tip,” Hold said.
    “It’s not the money, it’s the bribery.”
    “Money talks,” Hold said, “even to kids.”
    “Mom, I’m starving,” Benji said.
    Hold smiled hopefully, waggling the pizza box.
    “You’re going to behave yourself. No loopholes.”
    Hold crossed his heart.
    Not looking entirely convinced, Jessi stepped back, pointing to a small table off to one side of the main living area. “Sorry. It’s just Benji and me most of the time, and we don’t need much.”
    “I’d call it cozy.” Hold stepped close and lowered his voice. “And if there isn’t another chair, you’re welcome to sit on my lap.”
    “Get the stool, Benji,” Jessi said, shooting Hold a speaking look as she followed her son into the kitchen.
    Benji reappeared almost immediately with a tall kitchen stool.
    Jessi’s voice floated out after him. “We usually just use paper plates and napkins.”
    “That’s fine,” Hold said.
    “I don’t keep beer or soda pop in the house, so you get your choice of milk or water.”
    This time Hold followed Benji back into the kitchen. “Stop apologizing. Whatever you do is fine.”
    She grinned. “I’m sorry.”
    “You’re forgiven if you tell me why you feel the need.”
    “I don’t know. Maybe because you’re all dressed up.”
    Hold looked down at his casual slacks, sweater and shirt, all in deep brown. And okay, the slacks were Hugo Boss, but she didn’t know that. “I’m not wearing a tie.”
    “Alert the media.” But she laughed. “Do you even own a pair of jeans?”
    “Of course.” But in his life, jeans were for, well, practically never.
    “Mom, can I have chocolate milk?”
    “Make that two,” Hold said. “Does it matter? The way I dress.”
    “Of course. Doesn’t it matter how I dress?”
    And there was an invitation he couldn’t have resisted, he thought, even if he hadn’t already appreciated the way her snug jeans and the v-necked t-shirt she wore beneath an unzipped hoodie hugged the curves of her body.
    She was a little bit of a thing, as his mama would have said, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder. But what there was of her was well put together. And surely, the way she was dressed mattered, seeing as those jeans were tucked into heeled boots and made her legs seem a mile long. Even though the whole outfit was conservative enough to make it clear she was in Mom mode, all he wanted was to get her alone and peel her out of it—
    “It’s not polite to stare.”
    “No, son, it’s not, but sometimes it can’t be helped. You’ll understand in a few years.”
    “Mom tells me that all the time,” Benji said glumly. “Who are you, anyway? How come you talk funny?”
    “My name is Holden Abbot,” he said, absorbing another small sting that Jessi hadn’t even mentioned his name to her son. “But you can call me Hold.”
    “Mr. Abbot,” Jessi corrected from the kitchen, where she’d gone off on yet another errand.
    She returned with a gallon of milk, chocolate syrup, and an expectant expression. Maybe she didn’t want to ask questions herself, but she was paying close attention to the answers. He’d just have to watch his words, and be grateful he was being cross-examined by a seven-year-old.
    He’d decided, after much consideration, to keep his own counsel where his origins were concerned. He’d been burned, and burned badly, by a woman who’d strung him along, accepted his engagement ring, pretended to love him, all so she could buy herself a lap full of luxury. Even the life she had to sell for it