coach. For, like, years. She’s a champion athlete, too. So you’re not the only one.”
“Is that so?” Blake asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Figure-skating gold medalist,” Charlie said. “A while ago, though. She retired.”
Blake frowned. The name “Grace” didn’t sound familiar at all.
“I guess she used to be called Izzy when she was skating.”
“Oh, Jesus, Izzy Banks?” he asked. “You’re kidding, right?”
“And her mother—Winnie Banks,” Charlie said. “Grace is like a second-generation champion.”
Now, what were the odds? Blake asked himself. Winnie and Izzy were famous mother/daughter skating icons. Winnie Banks had quit skating to marry her coach and they’d produced one of the best known women’s figure-skating champions in the world. “Unreal. What’s she doing now?”
“Well, she owns the flower shop and she’s having a baby,” Charlie said. “Troy is a high school teacher. And in that house there,” he said, pointing to the house between Winnie’s and Cooper’s, “Spencer and Devon live there. Spencer and Cooper have a son together.”
Blake’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that so? Two men?”
Charlie laughed. “Not like that. One of them is the dad and one is the stepdad or something like that. I can’t figure out which is which, but Austin’s mom died a couple of years ago. Now Spencer is married to Devon, and Cooper is married to Sarah. And Austin has two bedrooms.”
After all the house and community shopping Blake had done he’d managed to somehow land in a neighborhood where kids had moms, stepmoms, dads and stepdads, missing moms and so on. Where he grew up in Baltimore it was like that, but usually someone in the family was in jail and there sure weren’t any three-story houses on the beach or champion athletes hanging around. Just gang members, drug dealers, prostitutes and pimps. There were missing parents, dead parents and foster parents, kids raised by aunts, grandmothers and neighbors. Families of every creative invention, now that he thought of it. Back when he was a kid, you practically needed a chart to figure out who belonged with whom. He was always a little surprised when folks who could pay the rent had similar family trees.
No beach houses where he grew up, no, sir. He was raised to the age of thirteen in an urban tenement slum in a city that got so freaking cold in the winter he hung out with vagrants who built fires in trash cans under the tracks and bridges. From thirteen to sixteen he bounced around a lot while his mother tried to get her life together, but at least he went to school regularly. That turned out to be critical. An education was the thing that ultimately got him out of a neighborhood where a lot of young men and women lost track of their lives.
“What do you do on that computer besides research your neighbors?” Blake asked Charlie.
“I look up everything. Anything I can get for you?” he asked. And then he grinned the cutest grin.
Blake had a real soft spot for kids. All kids. But he didn’t worry too much about this type, the kind of kid who grew up in places like brand-new, pricey, three-story beach houses with famous retired athletes. He was more concerned about the kids who had tough, deprived childhoods. He’d been working on a project for the past several years meant to serve kids in need and he was nearly ready to unveil it as soon as he had a couple more corporate sponsors on board.
He liked Charlie right away. He felt privileged that he’d be seeing him around. “There is something you can do for me. I have to get on the bike and do at least fifty miles. Then home and clean up.” He looked at his watch. “Any time after one o’clock that your mother thinks is okay to come over and meet my neighbors, could you let me know?”
“Could be closer to dinnertime if you want to meet them all. Troy has been helping Grace at the shop.”
“I don’t want to impose on dinner—just a quick hello. I’m home the rest of the day,” Blake assured him.
* * *
It was not strictly required that Lin Su wear some kind of nurse’s uniform, but she wore clean scrubs every day just the same. For one thing, they were easy to move around in and her job sometimes found her on her hands and knees digging around beneath the bathroom sink or wiping up a kitchen floor. For another thing, scrubs were easily maintained and, if need be, replaced. And importantly, they identified her—even the UPS man at the door knew she was either on the job as a medic or worked somewhere nearby as medical personnel and was dressed in her work clothes.
As a home health care nurse, she could wear civilian clothes while tending patients like Winnie Banks, those who needed assistance and yet were not desperately ill. But when she tended patients in the end stages of diseases, which tended to be incredibly messy, her civilian clothes needed to be spared. After all, they were few and carefully chosen.
So it was all logical, her use of scrubs on the job. And when she opened the door to a very attractive man, they proved effective.
“So, you’re the nurse,” the man said. “Charlie said I could brave a visit, just to introduce myself and say hello. I’m Blake Smiley. Your neighbor.”
“Hello,” she said, more wide-eyed than she liked. He was just so damn handsome, it threw her. She’d caught glimpses of him when he was on the beach or on his deck next door, but up close he was shockingly beautiful. She was speechless.
“You are Lin Su. I asked Charlie, you see.”
“Ah! Yes, I’m Lin Su Simmons. Please. Come in.”
“Is it a convenient time to say hello to Mrs. Banks?”
“Come in! Come in!” Winnie called from the dining room table.
Lin Su stepped aside so that Blake could enter.
Winnie was sitting with Charlie at the dining table, both of them with their laptops open. Winnie closed hers and held out a hand toward him. “And how do you do, Mr. Smiley! Charlie told me you might be stopping by.”
“It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Banks,” he said, taking her hand.
“Will you sit for a moment?” she asked. “And now that the formal introductions are dispensed with, can we proceed as Winnie and Blake?”
“Nothing would please me more.”
“Charlie,” she said. “Fetch Mikhail from the deck.” Then she turned to Blake. “Very nice of you to make the effort to visit. It’s not easy for me to get around, as I’m sure Charlie told you.”
“He told me,” Blake said. “I’m so sorry to hear it. Lou Gehrig’s disease, how bloody awful for you. You look positively wonderful. How are you feeling?”
“Until I try to pick up a glass or stand, I feel just fine,” she said, adding a small head shake. “Speaking of glass, what can we get you?”
“Nothing at all, Mrs.... Winnie. I just wanted to meet you. I was shocked to hear two famous athletes were living next door.”
“Yes, but we’re not competing anymore,” Winnie said. “What in the world are you doing here in Thunder Point?”
“I’m
