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Despite knowing down deep that I was making a huge mistake, I wouldn’t give up on Mira Parker.

CHAPTER FOUR

Miranda

Of course, I didn’t hear the end of it the next day when I met Leah for lunch after I finished daily cash. I dropped the bank deposit off and walked down the road to the small beach hut we both liked. They served great seafood so I ordered a crab cake and slaw, having not eaten anything since the previous night.

“You should have at least had a drink with him, Mira,” she said, shaking her head as we took our drinks and meals and sat at a picnic table under an umbrella. The sun was hot and I couldn’t wait to change into my bathing suit and go for a swim in the surf. “From what I could see, he really had the hots for you and was very chivalrous. Steve was so jealous I thought his head would explode.”

I laughed and waved her off. “Steve isn’t jealous. He’s just being protective. He’s never said or done anything that would give me any other idea. And Beckett was trying to seduce me. Men who want something from you are always very chivalrous.”

“Don’t try to tell me you didn’t have the hots for him, too. I saw you smiling at him like a girl on her first date.”

“He was very persistent.”

She slurped her drink and forked a piece of crab cake. “What did you two talk about? You talked a lot.”

I shrugged, remembering back to our conversation, trying not to sound too interested. “He’s a veteran. He was in both Afghanistan and Iraq. He’s now in technology. Has a business that develops high tech for the military. That kind of thing…”

She punched me on the shoulder playfully. “He’s perfect for you! Why on Earth didn’t you at least have a drink with him? God, girl… You’re nuts.” She took a huge bite of her bun and chewed thoughtfully. “I’d have been all over him like white on rice.” She swallowed and slurped down more of her drink. “Why didn’t you bite? Still feel guilty?”

I raised my shoulder, not wanting to get into it. “I live with Jeanne and Scott. What would they think if I came home with some man I met at the bar? They’d think I was a floozy.”

“Floozy?” she said in mock-horror. “I’ll have you know I met all my past boyfriends at bars. Am I a floozy? No, don’t answer that,” she said with a huge laugh.

I grinned but said nothing.

“Compared to you, we’re all floozies. Two men, Mira? You’ve only been with two men in your life. You need to get out there and sample a few so you know what you like.”

“I liked Dan,” I said, defensively. “I loved Dan. Dan was amazing.”

“Of course you did, and he was a beast-God of a man fit to be worshipped and all that,” she replied, her eyes wide. “But now, you gotta move on. You have to start your life again.”

“I am,” I protested. “I’m moving back to Manhattan. I’m finishing my degree. I’m moving on.”

“Life means love,” she said. “My nana always said that life is nothing without love. You need to find someone else. Get married. Have a family. The only way you’re going to do that is by taking a chance on someone you don’t know.” She raised her eyebrows. “Am I right?”

I sighed. “Of course you’re right.”

“I know,” she said and eyed her crab cake, poking it with her fork. “I’m always right.”

“Annoyingly right,” I said with a face of pretend-anger.

“You love me anyway,” she said and chewed, her smile huge.

“I do,” I said and nodded. I did love Leah.

She’d kept me from utter despair after Dan was killed. She spent so many nights with me sitting in front of the television watching sad movies, letting me cry and talk about Dan without complaint. She kept me sane at work, talking to me about all the characters who came to the bar. It became a game for us, concocting fabulous tales about the regulars.

It kept me from losing myself in depression. I was so glad she was returning to Manhattan with me, to finish her degree. She’d been there for the months before I married Dan. She’d been my maid of honor. She was there for me when Dan died.

She’d be there rooting for me when I returned to Manhattan to John Jay.

That evening, after a day spent on the beach, Leah and I worked at the bar once more. I was pretty exhausted after pulling a couple of double-shifts that week. Pete, the head bartender, was on vacation before the summer season ended and I left for Manhattan.

Steve was my assistant for the night and as I fully expected, he started to rib me about Beckett.

“I hope you went right home last night and didn’t hook up with that hood you were talking to.”