Summer at Seaside Cove by Jacquie D'Alessandro Read Free Book Online

doorbell. Add to that the dog’s incessant barking, and it was a cocktail of headache-inducing cacophony loud enough to shake his brain inside his skull. He might have just slapped a pillow over his head, but damn it, now that he was awake—sort of—he’d at least have to quiet down the dog, who otherwise would bark nonstop until Christmas.
    With a growl of annoyance, he pushed himself into a sitting position and stared with sleep-bleary eyes at the bedside clock. Seven twenty-five? A.M.? Jesus. He’d only crawled into bed less than two hours ago. No wonder he felt as if a truck had hit him. He glanced down and squinted. He still wore his jeans from last night—unbuttoned and unzipped. His Polo shirt, socks, and Reeboks rested in an untidy heap on the floor near his bare feet.
    With an effort, he shoved himself to his feet, gave his fly a half hearted yank, and made his way toward the door, wincing at the pounding and ringing and barking. Christ. That was one of the disadvantages of living in such a small community—everyone knew each other and there didn’t seem to be any “you don’t knock on your neighbor’s door at the crack of dawn” boundaries. His last early-morning caller had been just a few days ago. Dorothy Ernst from across the street had wanted to know if she could borrow some half-and-half for her coffee.
    Even though Dorothy had awakened him and the dog from a dead sleep—although with not nearly the noise that this morning’s visitor was using—his annoyance had evaporated at the sight of her, tiny in stature and big on smiles that showed off sparkling dentures and creased seven decades worth of wrinkles around her twinkling eyes. She’d reminded him of a sweet, chipper bird, peering at him over her bifocals, another pair resting on her poof of snowy white hair—’cause she always needed an extra pair—and he’d felt like a total heel telling her he didn’t have any half-and-half. The closest thing his fridge yielded was a quart of low-fat milk that had plopped in thick lumps into Dorothy’s cup while filling the kitchen with a foul, sour stench. She’d laughed and said, “Typical bachelor,” then left, her lime green rubber flip-flops thwapping against her heels. Later that afternoon Dorothy had stopped by again upon her return from the grocery store to give him a container of half-and-half—along with a chicken and rice casserole she’d baked.
    And that was one of the huge advantages to living in such a small community.
    The banging and ringing and barking continued until he entered the kitchen. He whistled to his chocolate Lab, who immediately turned and continued to bark, letting him know that someone was at the door.
    Like with the pounding and ringing he hadn’t figured that out.
    â€œGodiva, sit,” Nick said, simultaneously giving her the signal to stop barking.
    Godiva’s butt hit the floor—for a nanosecond—then she hurled herself at Nick in a tail-wagging, tongue-lolling frenzy of doggie adoration. Clearly more time was needed on her obedience lessons, but he found it impossible to be annoyed at a creature that loved him so profoundly and unconditionally.
    â€œGood girl,” he said, scratching behind her dark brown ears while Godiva slathered his forearm with kisses. He tapped her rump and pointed to the floor. “Lay. Stay.”
    This time Godiva obeyed, stretching out onto her belly, but her body quivered with excitement, her tail sweeping across the kitchen floor while pitiful whines emitted from her throat.
    The banging and ringing had continued unabated, and with a growl of impatience, Nick yanked open the door. And stared. At an unfamiliar woman he judged to be in her midtwenties who sported a scowl he bet matched his own.
    â€œIt’s about time you answered the door,” she said.
    His scowl deepened. He didn’t know who she was or what she was