Vince had always looked at procuring sex as a game. A fun game, to be sure, where he’d either win or lose the prize. It all depended on how thick he could spread his bullshit. And he’d found that the more he laid on the humor, the easier it was to triumph.
With Lace, Vince wasn’t trying to use his clowning skills. At least not purposely. Anything amusing he sent her way, was for her enjoyment, pure and simple. He wanted her to laugh. He wanted her to relax. He wanted her toactuallylike him and think he was funny.
There was just something about her that made him feel like he’d found his little slice of Maine heaven.
Huh.Maybe that was it.
He hadn’t been local for twenty years and had always admitted missing New England. What hehadn’trealized, was that the people here embodied certain characteristics—those of down-to-earth comfort and inclusiveness—that epitomized home.
Not that everyone in town was a saint. Far from it. But those who weren’t just seemed to add a special kind of local quirkiness that Vince felt couldn’t be replicated anywhere else in the world.
Did everyone feel that way about the town where they grew up?
Perhaps. But this place felt as if it were ingrained in him so deeply, he’d never be happy settling down anyplace else. When it had come time to separate from the Navy, there’d been no question that Vince would return here.
But finding the woman who almost immediately amused him, intrigued him, got under his skin, and pushed every one of his lust-buttons? That had been completely unexpected.
And he wasn’t going to screw it up.
Not by being a “handsy” asshole.
His libido could wait.
Driving up to his parents’ house, the lights in the living room were still on, which wasn’t exactly a surprise. It was still only eight o’clock.
He’d left Lace’s early because she’d looked pretty wiped out to him,andshe had to get up at four to work a full day tomorrow.
Seriously?
He didn’t know how she was doing it.
If this had been wintertime, her schedule would have been a whole different story. Commercial fishing excursions depended upon the seasonal availability of certain catches; tuna in Maine being from June to October. By the end of October, Lace would be finished with this particular job.
Sometime in November, NOAA would assign her to another boat which would likely be a lobstering vessel, and her hours would be greatly diminished.
But here she was, at least for the present, slogging away with twelve—but more likely fourteen-hour—shifts, 5AM to 7PM, six days a week. It was a difficult haul for anyone, but for someone undergoing cancer treatment?
Lace was some kind of crazy super-woman.
Walking into the house, his parents greeted him from their respective spots.
His mother always favored the couch, her basket of knitting next to her as they watched the singing shows they both enjoyed. His father had a kick-ass recliner that boasted all kinds of electronic gadgets; heat, vibration, lumbar support. Once the man settled in for the evening, there’d be a habitual fluctuation between watching TV and napping, before he finally took himself off to bed.
Cooper and Reyghan, Buck and Bobbie’s dogs, came racing over to greet him like they hadn’t just seen him yesterday.
“Good pups,” Vince crooned, bending down to pat them before addressing his parents.
“Who’s winning?” Vince sent out cheekily. It was his normal comment, no matter what was on the screen.
“Well, that lovely young man from Bar Harbor?—”
“Ellen,” Guy Sothard butt in with a snort. “Vincent is notreallyinterested. Haven’t you figured that out by now?”
Ellen shot her husband a look. “You never know, Guy. One of these days, he might be asking out of real curiosity.”
She lifted the remote and paused the show, giving Vince a probing look. “And speaking of serious… How did things go with Lace and Inez today?”
For once, Vincent didn’t fluff off his mother’s nosiness. He took a seat, anxious to share his thoughts.