Barefoot in the Sun by Roxanne St. Claire Read Free Book Online Page A

sniffled one last time and wiped his nose, leaving it gleaming wet with teary snot. “I want a dog.”
    “Probably frowned upon at the Ritz.”
    He gave her a “Yeah, duh” look that only a kid his age could nail with such perfection. “No dogs at the Shitz-Carlton.”
    She tried not to laugh at the name, so out of place on his little lips. “You allowed to talk like that?”
    “Who’s gonna know?”
    “Me.”
    “Who are you?”
    “I told you—”
    “There’s no such thing as fairy godmothers.”
    She put her elbow on the desk and pointed to him. “Now that, kid, is where you’re wrong. I’ve got one and she rocks.”
    “Does she have a wand?” he asked, the question rich with childish sarcasm.
    “Several. And a crystal ball. And”—she leaned forward and shifted her eyes from side to side, as if a nosy nurse could pop up at any minute—“a man-eating plant.”
    His eyes widened, then he snorted with disbelief. “Do you play cards?”
    She smiled at the non sequitur. “Like a freak. You like Egyptian Rat Screws?”
    “Never heard of it , but I can play canasta and pinochle.”
    “Oooh, super fun.” Not. “Where’d you learn that, from the shuffleboard crowd at the Shitz-Carlton?”
    He fought a smile. “My grandma taught me.”
    “Ah, I see.” Oliver’s mother had passed away when he was very young, and he’d never talked much about his father. So Zoe guessed the boy was referring to his maternal grandmother. Yeah, people that rich would totally be the bridge and pinochle type.
    “Can you teach me that Egyptian game?”
    “I don’t know. It’s really complicated.”
    “I’m smart and I know a lot about Egyptians. They built the pyramids.”
    “Sorry, but there are no Egyptians in Egyptian Rat Screws.” She smiled. “There is a lot of cussing, however, and apparently you’ve got that covered.”
    He grinned and that did incredibly stupid things to her poor heart. Oliver’s son. A heavy mix of envy and longing and regret rolled around her belly. “How old are you, anyway?”
    “Eight. How old are you?”
    “A hundred.”
    He rolled his eyes. “I’m not one of those kids.”
    “You don’t say. I’m thirty-four. Five.” Eight? Seriously? Wow, Oliver didn’t waste any time, did he?
    “I have a hundred-and-sixty-two IQ.”
    “Ouch, that’s gotta hurt carrying that much smart around.”
    He tapped his head like it could handle the weight. “Not a problem. Want me to get cards? That lady in the front has a deck.”
    “Cruella?”
    He laughed. “I saw that movie.” Then his face dropped. “All those dogs .”
    Something inside her chest cracked. “Spotted ones that talk. Bet you liked them.”
    “Yeah.” He pushed up and stood. “You gonna be here for a while?”
    Was she? Run, Zoe, run. “Maybe.”
    “What’s your name, anyway?”
    Don’t tell him. Don’t get connected. Don’t fall for Oliver’s son . “Zoe. You?”
    “Evan Townshend Bradbury.”
    “Wow, that’s as big as your IQ. What do you want to be when you grow up, Evan Townshend Bradbury? A doctor like your dad?”
    He squished his face and shook his head. “Cancer people make me sad.”
    “True that. So, not a doctor, then what? Lawyer? Investment banker? President? I assume you’re thinking big.”
    “Meteorologist.”
    She drew back. “Never saw that coming. Like you want to be on TV and lie about the next day’s weather?”
    “No, I want to be a scientist and get inside a hurricane.”
    “Interesting career goal. Hurricanes can be nasty. My friend lost her house in one.”
    He lifted his brows and opened his mouth into a toothy “O” shape. “That is so cool. What happened to her? Did she die?”
    She laughed at the onslaught of questions. “No, but her house got completely annihilated while she was in it.”
    He practically jumped out of his skin. “Get out! What did she do?”
    “Survived. Thrived. Built this.” She grabbed her handbag and opened it, snagging the Casa Blanca