The Wedding Gift Read Free

underwear; she didn’t need to see his.
    Batting her hands away, he closed the lid. “I dropped it at the cleaners. I’ll pick it up tomorrow.” He nudged her aside with his hip. “Why don’t you suit up? The water’s perfect.”
    â€œOkay. I got a new bathing suit. What do you think?”
    With that, she dug through her suitcase and pulled out a— God help him —bikini.
    A sound erupted from his throat. Distress, but Jan took it as derision. Her face crumpled.
    â€œI thought . . .” She plunked down on the bed. “I just wanted to try something different. A new Jan.”
    The hurt on her face made him pull it together fast.
    â€œFirst of all,” he said, “there’s nothing wrong with the old Jan. And there’s nothing wrong with . . .” He waved a hand at the pink-polka-dotted Band-Aids that passed for a swimsuit. “It just surprised me. You always wear a one-piece.”
    â€œI know.” She met his gaze, her expression earnest. “Maybe I should just—”
    â€œYou should just put it on. It’s”— too skimpy— “cute. You’ll look”— too sexy —“great.” He faked his best-pals smile. “See you at the pool.”
    He did a one-eighty and scrammed.

 
    Chapter 2
    J AN WALKED TO the pool’s edge and toed the water. “Perfect.”
    â€œTold you,” Mick called from the float. “Even Miss Narrow Comfort Zone can’t complain.”
    She flicked water so it spattered across his suntanned chest. Mick was lucky. Unlike her, he never had to worry about burning. He was always browned up from skiing the Rockies or snorkeling in Cozumel.
    He worked hard. He played harder.
    Now he pointed at two lounge chairs in the dappled shade of a palm. On one, the new Jack Reacher novel; on the other, the latest National Enquirer .
    He knew her so well.
    She dropped her bag on her chair and unfastened the towel she’d cinched around her. But before she could drop it, stage fright struck.
    She’d never shown this much skin. This much white skin. Whiter than snow. Some of it hadn’t seen the sun in all of her thirty years.
    Maybe the bikini was a bad idea. She’d picked it up at Macy’s along with some bright tops, short shorts, and a few skimpy sundresses. Everything was young and colorful, and like nothing she’d ever worn before.
    Dowdy was more her speed. Dowdy was easier. Easier than arguing with her mother every time she went out the door. Easier than looking like a poser trying to imitate the pretty girls.
    Dowdy made her invisible.
    But she was done with dowdy. She’d hit thirty last month— THIRTY! —and it was the wake-up call she needed to jolt her out of her rut. Irrefutable evidence that she wasn’t a kid anymore, that she couldn’t sit around any longer waiting for her life to begin. It was already under way, and a good chunk of it had passed her by.
    Sure, the whole turning-thirty crisis was a cliché. But it was a cliché for a reason.
    So yeah, it was long past time for her to discover the woman who was hiding under all those plaid skirts and cotton blouses. Who Jan Marone might’ve been if her father hadn’t died in the line of duty twenty-four years ago, leaving her alone with a mother who’d grown more overprotective with each passing year.
    New Jan was inching out of her comfort zone, and being not-dowdy was part of the plan. A part which, frankly, had sounded a lot less traumatic when she wrote it down in her journal.
    In real life, being noticeable would take some getting used to.
    Glancing around the pool area, she decided this was as low-key an environment as she’d ever find. Mick revolved in a lazy circle, gazing up at the palm leaves overhanging the pool. A German-speaking couple shared a bottle of wine and some quiet laughter. And the thirty-something guys climbing out of the hot tub