by Reese Ryan
“She’s giving, all right. And a lot less lonely these days.” Sin could barely hold back a grin. “They’ve been spending a lot of time together, even before you came back to town.”
“You’re saying that Ms. Lila…and my dad…” A boulder settled in the bottom of her stomach. “No?”
Dakota wasn’t completely clueless. She’d teased her dad about how enamored he’d seemed with Ms. Lila the day they’d had breakfast with Nick and Dex. But he’d dismissed it and changed the subject. Maybe she’d given him a pass because she wanted it not to be true.
“I think it’s cute…your dad and Ms. Lila. They’re both really good people who’ve lost their life partners, and they’ve been lonely. Don’t you think they deserve some happiness?” Sin glanced at her briefly.
“Yes, but…” Dakota sank her teeth into her lower lip and sighed.
She’d enjoyed Ms. Lila’s visits. But it was nice spending time with her father. Maybe it made her sound like a spoiled toddler, but Dakota wasn’t keen on the idea of someone else riding in and replacing her mother—not even someone she liked as much as Lila Gayle.
“I was in my dad’s room the other day. Everything is exactly as my mother left it. He hasn’t gotten rid of any of her stuff. That tells me he isn’t ready to move on. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“No there isn’t,” Sin said gently, her eyes on the road. “But it has been five years since we lost your mom, Dakota. I don’t see anything wrong with him wanting love and companionship, either. Do you?” Sin spared her a quick glance.
Companionship? Sure. Love? The thought made her shudder.
She couldn’t imagine her father loving anyone other than her mother. Her parents had been married for more than thirty years. Yet they’d still been affectionate toward each other. As kids, she and Shay had been grossed out seeing the two of them kiss and cuddle.
Her parents hadn’t just loved each other. They’d been in love, right up to her mother’s death. It broke her heart to think of her dad with anyone other than her mom.
Dakota studied the waves of the Atlantic Ocean as Sinclair navigated Jessamine Drive, the winding road that made a circuit along the edge of the island. She still hadn’t responded.
“Kota, I know you miss your mom. Obviously, your father does, too. But would you rather he spend the rest of his life alone than with someone as sweet and caring as Ms. Lila?”
“He isn’t alone. We have each other,” Dakota corrected her friend.
“Until you’re back to New York or off to some other faraway city barely able to spare any of us the time of day.” Sinclair sucked in a breath and pressed a hand to her chest. “God, I’m sorry, Dakota. I shouldn’t have—”
“No, you’re right.” Sin’s words hit Dakota like a sucker punch to the gut. Sinclair was right to be upset. The distance between them all these years had been totally her fault.
She and Sinclair had been best friends most of their lives, but she went off to school in New York while Sin stayed on the island and worked for her father at the hardware store. They’d both tried to stay in touch at first. But the separation, her ambitious course schedule, and the city nightlife had eventually made it difficult for Dakota to keep in contact.
She had honestly intended to call Sinclair, but there was always some obligation or distraction that kept her from picking up the phone. Sin was the one who kept making the effort. But eventually they’d lost touch. Dakota had apologized to Sin the day she’d picked her up from the bus depot, but she was obviously still hurt about it.
“Sin, I really am sorry that I allowed our friendship to lapse while I was away. Yes, I was overwhelmed by my school schedule and life in the city, but that’s no excuse. I should’ve made time for you. Called. Visited. I got so caught up in—”
“Living your best life?” Sin snorted. “Guess that’s my fault. I did buy you that book of Oprah’s as your going-away present. That’s exactly what I wanted for you. I just never imagined that you’d be living your best life without me.”
Dakota’s chest ached with both shame and regret. As angry as she’d been with Dexter for the sudden breakup, how could she not have realized that she’d essentially broken up with Sin the same way? Or how much pain she’d caused her best friend because of it?
She placed a gentle hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Sin, I really am sorry. I promise, no matter where I go or what I do, I will never, ever neglect our friendship again. It means too much to me. You mean too much to me. Forgive me?”
“God, I can be so freaking easy sometimes.” Sin sniffled and fanned her teary eyes so she wouldn’t ruin her makeup. Their laughter broke the tension between them. “Of course I forgive you. But if you ever drop me like that again—”
“I won’t. I promise,” Dakota said, and she meant it. She’d genuinely missed her bold, funny, thoughtful, and irreverent friend. “Now, will you please tell me where we’re going?”
“Such impatience,” Sin scolded. “Fine. If you can’t wait a few more minutes, I’ll tell you. We’re going to the Foxhole.”
“Seriously?” Dakota folded her arms and stared at her friend. “I got dressed up and put on these shoes”—she pointed at her feet—“just to wade through three inches of peanut shells on the floor and wear a lobster bib?”
“Ye of little faith.” Sinclair nodded up ahead as their old hangout came into view.
Dakota’s gaze followed Sin’s to the end of the road. “That isn’t the Foxhole,” she said, despite the large sign declaring that it was. “This place is—”
“Gorgeous. I know!” Sinclair pulled into the newly paved parking lot, which was once all gravel, and parked the truck. “I sold it to Drew and Lydia Halliday three years ago. He still plays pro football out in California, but Lydia’s family has been running the restaurant.”
“It doesn’t even resemble the old place. It’s incredible, and it has to be at least twice as big as it was before. And check out all those windows overlooking the water.”
“I know. Drew sank a ton of money into the place. There’s a gorgeous deck in back, all strung with lights. It’s a wonderful space for weddings and special events. They have all kinds of events during the year, and they bring in live musicians on Friday nights.”
“Who’s playing tonight?” Dakota stepped out of the SUV and straightened her dress.
“Guess we’ll have to find out.” Sin shrugged, but the mischievous twinkle in her eye left Dakota wondering what other surprises her friend had in store.
Chapter Twelve
Dexter nearly fell off his barstool when Dakota Jones walked through the door wearing a black-and-white dress with one asymmetrical shoulder strap, which highlighted the shimmering brown skin of her toned shoulders and her long, elegant neck. The body-conscious cut of the dress and the slim belt at her waist played up her ample curves: full, round breasts and generous hips, which swayed as she walked.
His heart raced thinking of those curves and the expanse of her legs, elongated by black and silver high-heeled sandals with straps tied in a black bow above each ankle.
Good God. Was the woman trying to kill him?
He turned back toward the bar and swigged his beer, her image burned into his memory. The visceral sensation of those long legs wrapped around his waist as he’d made love to her shot down his spine, hitting him with the force of a two-ton battering ram. The sensory memory was so vivid, he shuddered. Dex gulped from his bottle of beer to cool down the heat rising in his chest.
Nick, seated on the stool beside him, gave him an odd look and placed his own beer on the bar. He turned toward the door. “Ahh…I see.” He turned back to his friend.
“What?” Dex asked. “This is the hottest event on the island tonight. Lots of people we know will be here. Em’s coming tonight, isn’t she?”
Nick glanced at his watch. “Yeah, but I invited her. I didn’t trick her friend into bringing her here. Besides, you know I don’t think of your sister that way. We’re just fri
ends.”
“And I’m the one that’s delusional?” Dex muttered the words under his breath.
“Look, whatever, man.” Nick waved him off. “And don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing here.” He pointed at Dex with his beer. “I’m not that easily distracted.”
A gorgeous blonde with a skirt that was more like a postage stamp and a prayer strode past them and grinned at Nick. He watched the pronounced sway of the woman’s hips as she and a friend walked away.
“You were saying?” Dex raised an eyebrow.
“We’ll talk about my issues later.” Nick finally dragged his gaze back to Dex. “Right now we’re talking about you and Sin scheming like Lucy and Ethel to get you and Dakota back together. Remember, bud, those harebrained schemes always backfired. I get the distinct feeling this one will, too. Besides, didn’t we just talk about this a few hours ago?”
“First, I’m not scheming to get Dakota back. Anymore,” he added in response to his friend’s pointed look, which called bullshit on his claim. “Obviously, the situation has changed. I meant what I said earlier about her being off-limits. I do hope that we can at least be friendly again. Especially now that we’re all working together. Otherwise, things would be awkward around the office, and none of us wants that. Second, yes, I did suggest that Sin bring Dakota out to the Foxhole tonight. But that was weeks ago, and she never confirmed that they’d be here. With everything that’s been going on this week, I’d kind of forgotten about it.”
Nick chugged the rest of his beer before setting it down on the bar and indicating to the bartender that he’d like another. “Fine. Keep telling yourself that, friend. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when things go sideways.”
“You’re making a big deal out of nothing, Nicky.” Dex smirked when Nick narrowed his eyes at him for using his childhood nickname.
“You know I hate it when you call me that.” Nick pointed at him.
“You don’t seem to mind when my sister calls you that,” Dex pointed out.
“Em’s not a big, hairy dude.” Nick smirked.
“Nicky. Dex. Hey!” As Sinclair waved from across the room, Dakota flashed a look of displeasure at her best friend.
Nick gave him an I told you so look, then rose to greet them. “Sin, Dakota. What brings you to the Foxhole tonight?”
“When do I ever say no to a fabulous party?” Sin elbowed Nick. “Besides, we’re celebrating my girl Dakota’s new job and my sale of Higgins’s Bait Shop.”
“You finally unloaded that rattrap? Well, good for you. This does call for a celebration.” Nick wrapped an arm around Sin’s shoulder and squeezed. “Looks like it’s been a good day for all of us. Tell you what, first round is on me. What are you ladies drinking tonight?”
“Thanks, darlin’.” Sin batted her eyes. “I’ll have a cosmo. Kota, what’re you drinking?”
They all turned to Dakota, who had yet to speak. One hand gripped the elbow of her other arm, her expression equivalent to that of a rabbit who’d wandered into a foxhole. She cleared her throat and stood a little taller. “A French 75.”
Nick and Sin exchanged looks, as if they hadn’t heard her right. They both shrugged.
“I’ll see if they have it,” Nick said.
“I’ll come with.” Sinclair ran her fingers through her hair. “I’ve gotta see what’s in this fancy drink Dakota ordered.”
Nick and Sin left, leaving Dex alone with her. An awkward silence filled with all the words he wanted to say to her settled between them.
I’m sorry.
Forgive me.
Give us another chance. I promise I won’t blow it.
But the way she wrapped her arms around herself made it clear that those weren’t words Dakota was ready to hear from him.
Nick was right. Now that he was Dakota’s boss, what he’d planned for tonight was an incredibly bad idea. But he couldn’t regret the fact that she was standing here with him now.
Dex pulled out the barstool Nick had vacated. “Have a seat?”
“Thank you.” She put her purse on the bar and slid onto the stool. The hem of her thigh-length dress rose. She tugged at it, drawing his eyes there momentarily. “What brings you and Nick here tonight?”
“I’m usually here when they host the Friday Night Jam Sessions.” He sank onto the barstool again, trying to stay relaxed and casual about the fact that she was sitting here beside him. Like two old friends shooting the breeze, as his father liked to say.
“Jam sessions?”
“Informal jazz sets in the tradition of those held in New York during the early forties.” It was a topic he could talk about endlessly. “Jazz musicians who were able to secure regular, well-paying gigs at high-class hotels or radio shows often didn’t have the freedom to play the music they really wanted to play. And, of course, most of the bands were segregated. At these jam sessions, usually at a club like Minton’s Playhouse or Monroe’s, musicians of all ethnicities would get together after their shows and play. You never knew who might drop in on any given night. Artists like Dizzy Gillespie, Miles Davis, Benny Goodman, Bill Evans, and Thelonious Monk.”
“You seem to know a lot about it.” Her voice had a teasing lilt, which he’d missed. It was the most relaxed she’d been in his presence since her return to Holly Grove Island. “When did you become a jazz aficionado?”
“My great-grandparents were well-known jazz musicians. My great-grandmother was a jazz singer and my great-grandfather was the leader of his own band. So I’ve always had an interest in the subject.” He took another swig of his beer. “And my grandfather was a jazz pianist. He played venues all over the world before they settled down and got married. He talked about his glory days all the time.”
“I never knew that.” Dakota seemed saddened by the realization. “But then, you didn’t talk much about your paternal grandparents.”
“Didn’t know them very well back then,” he admitted. “My father and grandfather had a falling-out when my father was young. They didn’t speak for years. When we were”—he cleared his throat—“when we knew each other, I’d only met my grandparents a few times. But when I went to college in Texas, they lived a short distance from my dorm. I started visiting them regularly. Had dinner with them nearly every Sunday. Granddad and I would sit on the porch and talk for hours after dinner. I think he was trying to make up for all the years he missed with my dad.”
“Must’ve been a pretty big argument to cause that kind of rift. Did they make up?” Her gaze was warm. Sincere. It reminded him of how comforting her presence had always been.
If he’d had a bad day, he’d known he could talk to Dakota about it. But even if he hadn’t wanted to put words to whatever he was dealing with, being with her eased the tension.
He missed that, and he missed her. But she hadn’t been the one to walk away. He had. Even though he’d done it for all of the right reasons, he would never stop regretting the decision that brought them here. As two strangers who’d once promised to always love each other.
“They did,” he responded finally. “The weekend I graduated from Texas A&M. I didn’t give them much choice. I wanted them both there. It forced my father and grandfather to hash things out.”
“Here you are. A French 75.” Nick approached with Dakota’s drink in hand, a lemon rind spiraled around the long stem.
“Thanks, Nick.” She accepted the drink. “Here, you can have your seat back.”
“Keep it.” He held up a hand. “There’s someone I need to say hello to.”
Nick excused himself and headed to the corner of the room where the blonde and her friend were seated. Nick definitely had a thing for blondes, and brunettes, and redheads.
“I wonder where Sin went.” Dakota craned her neck, searching the room. She blew out a breath that sent her side-swept bangs fluttering, then took a sip of her drink. “Not bad.”
“When’d you start drinking fancy drinks from old movies?” Dex grinned. “Casablanca, right?”
They’d watched the movie together one summer night under the stars, when it was played on a projector at Holly Grove Island Park. Dex didn’t remember a lot about the movie, but he remembered everything about being with Dakota that night. What she wore. Her wild, natural curls pulled into a high ponytail. The root beer lip gloss he’d stolen a taste of when he’d walked her home. And the fact that she’d mused about one day trying all of the drinks ordered in the movie—especially the French 75.
“It’s been a long time since we drank together, Dex. You didn’t think I was still sneaking wine coolers under the high school bleachers, did you?”
He chuckled. “No, I s’pose not.”
“I see your palate hasn’t changed much.” She indicated his beer bottle.
“There’s plenty of night still ahead, woman.” He winked at her, then put the bottle to his mouth and downed the rest of the warm liquid. “A man has got to pace himself.”
“I suppose.” Her dark-brown eyes twinkled as she reined in a mischievous little smirk that made his heart dance. He couldn’t help remembering all the times he’d seen that smirk before and the intimacy they’d once shared.
He fought back the desire to lean in and plant a kiss on her full lips, as he had so many times before. Because he was her boss now. And as long as he was, friendship was the extent of their relationship. But at least in this moment, friendship felt like more of a possibility than a far-fetched fantasy.
“Dakota Jones? Is that you? Oh my gosh. Look at this, folks. We’ve got ourselves a real-life celebrity in the house.”
Dakota’s shoulders tensed and her nostrils flared as Angela Gilson—the owner of the shrill voice—approached.
The muscles in Dexter’s back tensed. He clenched his jaw and gritted his teeth as he clutched the empty beer bottle. Restrained himself from uttering the words he wanted to say.