The Truest Thing (Hart's Boardwalk 4)

They lived in a comfortable four-bedroom house in North Hartwell, a few blocks over from Jess and Cooper. Like all the houses in Hartwell, the home was clad with white wooden shingles, had a brightly colored awning, and a porch to while away the summer evenings.

It was Ira who greeted me at the door with a kiss on the cheek and a glass of lemonade. Ever the host.

“Iris is in the kitchen,” he whispered, “so I’ll say this quick. Warning: she invited someone else to dinner.”

A niggle of uncertainty moved through me. “Who?”

“Sebastian Mercier,” Iris announced as she strode into the hall, wiping her hands on her apron. She shot Ira a look. “Husband, you know I have bat ears.”

“I don’t know how I could forget.”

Her lips twitched as she turned to look at me. “Mercier is the chef who bought George’s old place and converted it into The Boardwalk. No one knows anything about this man or his seafood restaurant. He hasn’t attempted to get to know the rest of us boardwalk owners”—there was definite judgment in her voice—“so I thought I’d go over there, introduce myself, and invite him to dinner. His restaurant is opening in a month, and I think it’s high time we got to know this man.”

I frowned. “I thought you weren’t concerned about his restaurant now that you know it’s a seafood place.” Iris and Ira had been anxious about another restaurant opening on the boards. They already had competition from Cooper’s with his pub grub, Paradise Sands with its fancy European restaurant, and Bailey’s inn catered dinner for its guests. However, they were less anxious about the competition now that they knew it was a far cry from a pizzeria.

“Oh, she’s not,” Ira said dryly.

“What am I missing?”

“I just thought it would be nice to get to know him.”

“And matchmake.” Ivy appeared in the doorway to the sitting room. “Hey, Emery.”

I smiled because it was nice to see her. “Hey.” Then her words hit me. “Matchmake?”

“Pfft. Lies.” Iris waved a hand at Ivy and wandered back into the kitchen.

Ira shook his head at me and mouthed “truth.”

Uh-oh.

Following father and daughter into the sitting room, I asked quietly, “What’s going on?”

Ira and Ivy exchanged a look, and Ivy sighed as she curled her feet under her on the couch. “Mom took one look at this chef and decided he was the perfect distraction for one of us.”

There was that sinking feeling again. “For one of us?”

“Yup. She thinks he’ll definitely decide he likes the look of you or me and it’ll be a distraction for whomever he chooses.”

Hearing the sarcasm in Ivy’s voice, I smiled despite the uncomfortable situation I was about to find myself in. “And did it occur to her that both of us might like him and that might cause problems between us?”

Ivy grinned and shook her head. “I don’t think she thought that far ahead.”

I rolled my eyes and sat down beside Ivy. “I’m not really in the market for a distraction.”

“Neither am I.” She chuckled. “Let’s hope he doesn’t like either of us.”

“Impossible,” Ira said. “I’ve got two of the prettiest girls on the East Coast right here. No man can resist either of you. His problem will be choosing.”

Ivy shook her head, a fond smile on her face. “Dad, do you not see how backward it is to have a man come over to dinner to choose from your prettiest girls?”

Ira winced. “Well, when you say it like that, it sounds backward.”

Ivy and I shared a look and burst into laughter.

It was much-needed relief from an exhausting, emotional day.