Barefoot in White (Barefoot Bay Brides)

by Roxanne St Claire

  “God, no, I left him this afternoon and had a bunch of other stuff to do. I figured with Misty gone, we didn’t have that much pending at work today.”

  “We didn’t. Ari and I went to the beach. She just went upstairs to change, and I was on my way when I saw you in the window. I guess you don’t want to go out to dinner.” She gestured toward the giant salad bowl and the carrot and knife in Willow’s hand.

  “No, I’ll eat in tonight. How was the beach?”

  “Hot. How was Nick?”

  “The same.” She eased into a smile. “He swam naked.”

  “Get out of town!”

  “I wish he was, but he’s not.”

  “Damn, I should have put big candy on that one.”

  Willow laughed and handed her a carrot. “Here. Eat nature’s candy.”

  Gussie’s face said exactly what she thought of that, but she took the carrot. “Were you naked, too?”

  “Nope. That never seems to stop him, though.”

  She crunched a bite, eyeing Willow from under her baseball cap. “Can I ask why not?”

  “As if you wouldn’t ask even if I said no to that question.”

  Gussie shrugged. “True that. So, what’s going on with you two?”

  Willow didn’t answer right away, wiping her cutting board clean and choosing a pepper to cut up next. “Nothing, actually. No, that’s a lie because there’s definitely something, but I don’t think it’s anything.”

  She got a good guffaw in response to that. “So, nothing, something, or anything. Take your pick.”

  It was as convoluted as it sounded. “Well, he asked me to read what he’s written of his novel, and I did, but I don’t think he loved what I had to say.”

  “It’s not good?”

  “It’s very good, but it could be even better. He’s holding back and not really being honest.” She looked up, knife in mid-cut. “He seems to want my opinion but not want it, you know? Plus, who am I to tell him what to write? I read books, not write them. But I really wanted to be honest, because it’s good enough to be amazing if he works on it.”

  “The fact that you’d tell him that makes you the perfect person to give him an opinion. Plus, he probably figures next time you will get naked with him.”

  Willow shook her head. “He just likes to get naked.”

  “And the problem with that…”

  “I…I…” Am not going to talk about this. “It’s too soon and too late.”

  Gussie laughed again. “You’re a walking contradiction today, Willow.”

  “Because I’m confused,” she admitted, setting down the knife. “This is not my first time around Nick, as you know.”

  “But everything is different now, especially you.”

  Not everything was different now. There were some things that no diet, discipline, or distance would ever change. And the truth of that was starting to weigh heavily on her.

  “Right, Willow?”

  Willow smiled at her friend. A dear friend, a trusted friend, and a friend who wouldn’t mock her for choices she’d made or hadn’t made in the past, right? “Right,” she agreed, her voice tight. Then, on a sigh, she added, “I guess.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that…” She toyed with the pepper stem, twirling it in her hand and thinking how Gussie would react if she knew everything about Willow. It wouldn’t change how Gussie felt about Willow, but—

  “Trouble, you guys.” Ari pushed open the kitchen door, holding her phone out. “I just got a text from Jill Peyton.”

  Willow sighed with relief at the reprieve. “Uh oh,” she said. “The bride who put the cray in crazy.”

  “No kidding,” Ari said, also still dressed in a beach cover-up, her amber-gold skin glistening from sunscreen. “Her last red-flag email was an order that only a specific pattern of Waterford crystal be on the tables and, of course, it’s only available from the manufacturer. In Ireland. With a six-month wait.”

  “But you brilliantly found it all on Ebay, so whatever she wants, we shall solve. I hope.” Gussie was always so optimistic.

  Ari waved the phone. “Unless I can find twins on Ebay, we’re out of luck. She wants us to provide a ‘matching’ ring bearer and flower girl.”

  “What about her cousin’s kids?” Gussie asked. “We already found that four-year-old girl a persimmon and peach dress and matching boy’s tux that shipped to us last Wednesday and will be here tomorrow.”

  “Jill had a falling out with her cousin, and now she needs replacement kids,” Ari said. “And we have exactly ten days to supply them, and they have to match, and they have to fit in the clothes that have been ordered.”

  “She’s wack!” Gussie exclaimed. “We don’t supply the wedding party. The bride and groom do.”

  “Ahem,” Willow fake-cleared. “Barefoot Brides? Kick off your shoes and let us plan.”

  Ari nodded. “Okay, then what about Tessa and Chef Ian’s twins?” she suggested, referring to the nearly five-year-old tow-headed children of the resort’s chef.

  “Great idea,” Willow agreed. “We can talk to Tessa to see if she’ll agree. But this reminds me of something I got from Nick today.”

  “An eyeful?” Gussie teased. “You’ll have to tell Ari how he skinny-dipped for your viewing pleasure.”

  “If she can decipher this.” Willow pulled out the note that Misty had written for Nick, letting them both read the brief and unintelligible message.

  Leaving the F&B entirely up to you. RD & CP (go crazy, it’s on Steven), WP brunch, hd’s & recpt. dinner. Cake. DA brunch. All themed, whatever you and W work out. Will call you and be back soon w/ mf!! xo

  “F&B is food and bev,” Gussie said. “RD is rehearsal dinner. CP?” She squished up her nose. “I don’t know, but let’s charge a lot if it’s on Steven.”

  “Cocktail party?” Ari suggested.

  “WP is wedding party brunch,” Gussie said. “And hd’s? Hot dogs? Happy dates? Huge dic—”

  “Hors d’oeuvres,” Willow interjected. “Get your mind out of the gutter, will you?”

  “Says the woman who’s seen his hammer twice.”

  “Cake means cake,” Ari said.

  “You’re a genius.” Gussie gave her an elbow. “And DA would be…”

  “Day-after brunch.”

  “But what’s this mean?” Willow tapped the page. “I’ll get back to you soon with mf?”

  “My fiancé,” Ari said with a smug smile. “See? I do speak Misty.”

  “Apparently, you do.” Willow stepped back to her vegetables, picking up the pepper, but seeing that cryptic note in her mind’s eye. “Why would she leave so many critical details and sparse directions to a guy she barely knows? It’s weird.”

  “She’s a busy model,” Gussie said. “He’s here, and we’re here, she’s back in New York.”

  “Really,” Ari agreed. “Don’t question a gift! The universe could be stingy next time.”

  Willow rolled her eyes. “I’ve never seen any bride less interested in the planning of a wedding, not to mention one that has no mother, maid of honor, sister, or best friend to nudge her along. It’s like the only thing she got excited about was the dress.”

  “I just said, she’s a model,” Gussie repeated, as though that explained it.

  Willow wasn’t buying it. “Have you ever, in your career, met a bride willing to let a guy handle the cake? The reception menu? Anything more important than buying the groomsmen some gifts?”

  Ari crossed her arms and leaned her hip against the counter. “I have to agree, it’s strange.”

  “It’s like she doesn’t even care about this wedding,” Willow said. “It’s like an afterthought to her.” She sliced the pepper carefully.

  “I guess that means you’ll have to be very involved,” Ari said. “And spending a lot of time with Nick.”

  Willow slowly put the pepper slices on top of her salad, considering just what that would mean. “If I do, he’s going to
want me to help him with this book, I just know it.”

  “She’s his muse,” Gussie explained to Ari.

  “Do you want that job?” Ari asked.

  Willow gnawed at her lip, thinking about it. “I’d love to help him, and he obviously has some stuff from the war he needs to get over, but should I?” She looked at her friends, wishing they had the answer…except they both didn’t know the extent of the question.

  “Because you’re scared you’ll get hurt again?” Gussie asked.

  Yes and no. “I guess I’m afraid that if I help him face his past, he’s going to make me face my own.”

  Ari gave a slow smile. “Oh, I love when the universe does its magical things.” She reached into the salad bowl and stole a fresh pepper, biting it with a gleam in her eyes. “You can’t do anything but sit back and enjoy the ride.”

  * * *

  After he ran, Nick did a hundred push-ups, three hundred crunches, and held a plank for as long as it took to listen to Z-Train’s live version of My Sweet Ambrosia. And he still had energy to burn. After writing until two A.M., he wasn’t sure what kind of juice he was running on, but it felt good.

  Creative juice. That’s what it was. Ever since Willow left yesterday, he’d been swimming in the stuff. He’d written until his fingers felt like they were going to fall off—well, he’d rewritten, more accurately.

  It hadn’t been easy at first. He had to stew about her advice for a while, stare at the pages and rationalize why she was wrong, but then…he went back over some of the scenes where he’d introduced the character of Christina.

  Two things happened. He wrote fast and furious, and when he went to sleep, instead of dreaming about a sultry brunette with a risky streak, his mind was on a willowy blonde with a wry smile and the inability to look away when he stripped.

  So maybe she was right. And kind of an inspiration, because when he woke up, all he wanted to do was write more…and have Willow read it.

  On his bed, his cell buzzed, making him hope it was her. But when he looked at the screen, a different kind of happiness hit. Damn, he needed this call, too.

  “Trew Blue,” he said, forgoing a standard greeting for his closest friend, Lieutenant Jason Trew. “How’s it hanging, bro?”

  “Low and long, my man.” Jason Trew’s voice echoed with his signature sense of joy, an unwavering belief that all the shit in the world didn’t matter as long as you had friends who had your back.

  Trew had sure had Nick’s back when that IED blew. If it hadn’t been for Trew’s reflexes and willingness to take a chance, Nick would have lost a lot more than his hearing. Most likely a limb…or his life.

  “Where are you?” Nick asked, closing his eyes to imagine where his platoon could be now. No way of knowing. He was out of the loop.

  “Some fucking hellhole near water.”

  Nick snorted, getting a lot from that non-answer. First, Trew wasn’t at liberty to say, even to another SEAL teammate. Second, it was out of nearly land-locked Iraq. Third, it was somewhere hot. Hot for action or hot in the air, but hot. He didn’t need to know much more.

  “Staying out of trouble?” Nick asked, knowing that despite the casual nature of the question, Trew would know it was quite serious.

  “We could use you, Nicky. Your sub is kind of a dick. How the hell’s your ear?”

  Nick lifted his left hand to touch the ear, a sickening drop in his stomach. “No change as far as I can tell.”

  “Damn it, really? When are you coming back?”

  His whole body literally ached with the desire to answer that question with “soon.” But that would have been a lie, and he knew it.

  “Not cleared yet.” Because he was still deaf in one ear. “Doc wants to give it more time.”

  He heard Trew’s exhale of frustration. “Ah, that blows.”

  “No shit. But I’m alive, man.”

  Trew barely grunted. “Anybody talking about the next move for you?”

  “Not yet.” But it was only a matter of time until the Navy made a decision about what to do with him. He hadn’t had enough combat experience to do much training, but he might work at the SEAL prep school or some other desk job. Until he could hear an insurgent sneaking up on him, he wasn’t going back into action, that was for sure. And he missed it. A lot.

  “In the meantime, I’m here doing your dirty work, my man.” Nick went for light, but it might not have come out that way.

  “It doesn’t suck, right?”

  “Hell, no, it doesn’t suck.”

  “You don’t hate it there, do you?” Jason sounded anxious to be reassured about the MOH stand-in duty and, hell, that was the least Nick could do.

  “On the contrary,” Nick assured him. “And, look, don’t think I don’t know why you cooked up this whole ‘my sister needs a companion’ deal. I know why you did it.”

  “You know?”

  Nick laughed softly that Trew could be so naive. “Of course I know.” Medical leaves brought bad, bad mind-sets, that much was common knowledge. When a SEAL was less than two years out of BUD/S training and finally deployed and making a difference, a medical leave was a huge setback, and Trew knew it was no different in Nick’s case. A lot of guys never really got out of the hospital bed, at least not figuratively. Some of them stayed so wasted that they couldn’t get up.

  There was a long silence, then Trew asked, “And you’re not pissed? ’Cause I really thought you’d beat the shit out of me when you found out why I asked you to go there.”

  Beat the shit out of him? Why? “For sending me to a first-class resort on the beach?” He snorted softly. “First of all, I do appreciate the concern, though you had nothing to worry about with me. But I am trying to get…something accomplished. And this place…” He glanced around the room that had somehow become a cocoon of creativity for him, to the window that faced the heartbreaking view of the bay.

  “What about it?”

  “It’s good, man,” Nick said in a masterstroke of understatement. “It’s working. In fact, I decided to stay for a month.”

  “Get out! That’s awesome, except I’d rather you were here.”

  “Me, too, man, but this is”—different, if not better—“fine.” He couldn’t resist adding the truth. “Place is crawling with tail, Blue.”

  “Excellent. Anything in particular?”

  “One.” He closed his eyes and pictured Willow. “Blond, blue-eyed, hot.”

  “Different for you.”

  They both knew he meant Charlotte. Jason Trew was the only SEAL on the team who knew about Nick’s budding relationship with the embedded journalist. And even he didn’t know the real truth about Charlotte’s death, but he knew what it had done to Nick.

  “She is different,” Nick mused, his brain firmly on the present and not the past. “And I knew her in college.”

  “Seriously? In California? How the hell did that happen?”

  “Someone up there loves me, I guess.” He grinned and paced the room. “And I’m not complaining.”

  “Is she a guest?”

  “No, no, she’s the wedding planner working for your sister.”

  “What?” The word came sharp through the phone, a jab of shock.

  Nick laughed. “Is that against the wedding rules or something?”

  “Nick, you can’t tell her. Holy shit, you cannot tell her. Misty will fucking kill me.”

  What the hell was he talking about? “Tell her what? That I’m your stand-in? Too late, man. I told her everything. She knows you were supposed to be here, but I’m here instead. Misty explained that you and she had this planned since you were kids.”

  All he heard was a light choke of disbelief.

  “Why the hell can’t she know that?”

  “Not that,” Trew said. “The whole reason why you’re there.”

  Nick stopped pacing, dropping onto the bed to process what his friend was saying. And it still didn’t make sense. “Which would be…what?”

  Trew swor
e softly.

  “What?” Nick demanded again.

  “Man, I gotta talk to Misty. Is she there?”

  “No, she left. I think she went back to New York. Why do you have to talk to her?”

  Jason Trew, normally a talkative bastard, was dead silent. In the background, all Nick could hear was the ambient sounds of the mess hall.

  “What the hell is going on, Blue?”

  “I’ll, um, I’ll tell you after I talk to Misty. Did you tell her you know this wedding planner chick? Does she realize that?”

  “Yeah. What difference does it make?”

  “Oh, none, I guess. I gotta book. They’re haulin’ us out of here, and I didn’t get any chow. We’ll talk soon.”

  He thought about pushing for an explanation, but whatever was gnawing at Trew’s ass didn’t matter. God only knew when they’d talk again, but when they did, his friend would probably tell him it was some stupid thing about catching the bouquet that he thought would piss Nick off. “You stay in one piece out there, Blue.”

  When he hung up, he forgot about the weird conversation as soon as he turned on his laptop. Instead, he let the familiar clatter of the mess hall work as background music in his head while he wrote for three solid hours. He was on fire.

  Chapter Twelve

  Willow was about to hit send on the email to Jill Peyton, sending pictures of Chef Ian and Tessa’s “matched set” of twins they’d successfully recruited for the wedding party, when her email dinged with a new message. Tempted to ignore it, she glanced at the window that didn’t quite offer a beachfront view, but the soft golden light told her that it was sunset on Barefoot Bay, and she wanted to get out to enjoy it if at all possible.

  Maybe a certain resort guest would be out there watching that same sunset on the beach. She hadn’t seen Nick since she’d left his villa yesterday, and her whole body hummed with a need to change that, pronto. She might not have seen him, but she sure as heck thought about him a lot.