by Kristi Rose
“You know what, Hank, this”—I point to him and then myself—“is a great idea. Things aren’t awkward between us at all. Nothing’s changed, either.” I lean in. “Brilliant, isn’t that the word you used? Yeah, brilliant.” I walk off. This time he doesn’t catch up with me. This time I’m on my own.
I find Josie near the art tents. I snatch her glass of wine and down it.
“Are you OK?” There are a thousand other things she could say to me and be right about all of them.
“Yeah, come on, I’ll introduce you to my sister.” I steer Josie toward the tents of various vendors. One of which is my sister’s and Dan’s, both peddling their respective companies. She and Gigi appear to be in an animated conversation.
“Hey, how’s it going?” I start with a hug to Gigi before moving to my sister.
“Paisley, I’m glad you came.” Sarah Grace leans over the table, and we kiss each other’s cheeks.
“Sarah Grace, this is my friend Josie, who is getting married in two weeks.” Gigi and Josie already know each other.
“Ohh, Paisley sent me a picture of her bridesmaid dress. I love the color. Beautiful.” Sarah Grace can be very easy to get to know.
“Thanks. I’m getting a lot of flak from my mom about not having the men in tuxes. She thinks the navy suits are understated.”
“Well, I think it’s beautiful,” Sarah Grace says. “Very elegant. How are you holding up? Not getting nervous or anything? Not like Paisley who spent the whole night before throwing up and crying.”
I groan. “I had food poisoning.”
“Mm-hmm, so you keep saying. Remember how Nana said she’d give you ten thousand dollars and buy you a plane ticket to Scotland if you didn’t go through with it?”
Josie’s mouth drops open.
Gigi laughs. “Remember she told me to go get the car and bring it around?”
“I bet you all think I was stupid for not taking it and running,” I say.
“At the time yes, because he seemed too perfect to me. Almost one-dimensional. Now I’m glad you married Trevor.” Sarah Grace continues when I gave her a glare. “I wish he would have been the man you needed and I certainly didn’t enjoy watching you go through your divorce, but I see something in you now I haven’t seen for a long time. Something good and if going through everything with Trevor is what’s making it come back out, then I guess it was worth it in the end. Because now you can really find true happiness.”
“I agree,” says Gigi. “I hope now you’re more intolerant of BS. You sure put up with a lot.”
I’m caught off guard and about to ask more, when a tall, middle-aged man steps up to the booth and smiles at Sarah Grace. This is clearly his first Swan Ball because he’s dressed in a three-piece suit with a monogrammed handkerchief and cuff links to boot. Doesn’t he know clogging and square dancing may break out at any moment? Or most of the men here think being dressed up is having their jeans starched? Lakeland should call their Swan Ball the Swan Shindig. Or Swan Hoedown. Certainly not ball. I mean, there are two boiled-peanut booths here for Pete’s sake.
“Excuse me? Are you the interior designer who decorated the Townsend property?” His voice is nasally, with a nondescript drawl.
“Yes, I am.” Sarah Grace smiles.
“You did a magnificent job. I’m the architect in charge of renovation and revitalizing the downtown area and I would like to speak with you at length regarding the possibility of us doing some work together.” He reaches into his breast pocket, pulls out a business card, and passes it to Sarah Grace.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” Gigi asks.
“No. Oregon.” He gives her a curious look.
“We can tell. It’s the suit,” I say.
“I was told it was a business-dress affair.” A flash of irritation crosses his face.
We nod. Someone is pranking the new guy.
“Honey,” Gigi says, “blue jeans are the business attire for these guys.”
He nods as he absorbs the information.
Sarah Grace hands him her business card. “Thank you for thinking of me. I’ll talk to my business partner and see if it’s something we might be interested in.”
“Please do. Call my office for an appointment if you find you’re interested.”
He nods to us all. Lord, he must be hot as a fire poker in that suit. A small bead of sweat rolls down his temple and he pulls out his hankie and dabs at it.
“If you’ll excuse me. Have a nice day.”
We watch him leave. He’s a good hundred yards away before anyone says anything.
“Poor bastard,” Josie says and we all laugh. Sarah Grace snort-laughs.
“What’s so funny?” Hank wanders over.
“How long have you been there?” Gigi swats at her brother.
“Long enough. I came over to see if anyone wants to get out on the dance floor and two-step with me.” He dares one of us to be a taker.
“Not me. That’s just too weird,” says Gigi.
“Paisley?” he asks, extending the metaphoric olive branch.
“Actually, Josie would love to do it.” I’m extorting reparation for a long list of injustices, the most recent being BOB.
“I don’t even know how to two-step. Paisley was gonna teach me.” With a tentative hand, Josie reaches out and takes Hank’s, and she gives me a shrug.
“Well then, let me be the first to show you how it’s done. You’re gonna be a pro when I get done with you. I’ll teach you the right way, not some half-assed McAllister way.” He whisks her off and heads to the floor.
“Hey,” Sarah Grace calls out to him, “I’m deeply wounded by your words and utter lies.”
Gigi huffs. “Lies you say? We all know Lancasters have moves and McAllisters have two left feet.”
“Hang on,” I say, “just who do you think taught you Lancasters any of those moves?”
“Ms. Lisa at Lakeland Dance Studio, that’s who,” says Gigi.
It’s on now. The friendly competition between our two families, spanning decades, is rearing up once again.
“There’s lots of trash-talking going on here,” John says as he and Dan walk up. He puts his beer on the table and grabs Gigi’s hand, pulling her toward him. “We heard you all way over by the beer booth. I say, no more posturing, we go out there and show ’em.”
“Wanna put your money where your mouth is?” Dan reaches for Sarah Grace, pulls her over the booth’s table, and rushes her toward the dance floor, trying to beat Gigi and John.
“I’ll just stay here and watch the booth,” I say. “Don’t mind me.”
My phone chimes, and I pull it out, looking at the face. One missed call from Jake and now a text message.
Why haven’t I heard from you? Lets get together. Soon.
Like the other messages and calls since he pushed me to the floor, I ignore it and wish for the umpteenth time this phone had a block-caller option. My day with Jake is coming. I just have to work up to it.
Gigi said she hoped I was more intolerant of BS. I think I may be. I sure hope I am. I look out at the dance floor. My family and friends are out there laughing with each other, having a good time. I turn my phone off and tuck it into my back pocket.
Right here, right now, this is darn near perfect, fight with Hank notwithstanding. All I need is a dance partner.
Mr. Suit-and-Sweaty walks by and I call out, “Hey, architect guy.”
He wipes his brow with his hankie as he chugs a beer. He looks at me and points to himself.
“Yeah, you. Do you know how to two-step?” I don’t even know why I’m asking him, except this guy has got to be miserable and hot, yet is still trying to make a good impression and network. Plus, it never hurts to be friendly, Southern hospitality and all that.
“Preston and no, I’m afraid I don’t.” He walks toward me and I move to meet him.
“Well, Preston, you know how to follow directions
?”
He nods and takes a long swig of a beer.
“Good, take off your jacket and tie and hand them over.”
He does as I ask, and I toss them behind the table at Sarah Grace’s booth. “Roll your sleeves up. The designer you were chatting up is my sister, who is on the dance floor. You being out there dancing will go a long way with her and these people.”
He rolls up his sleeves and gives me a smile. “Lead the way....”
“Paisley. This is a great way to get in with the good-old-boy network running rampant in this town. That and buying a large truck and jacking it up on some Super Swampers.”
“Super Swampers?” He steps onto the floor and lets me take the lead. He’s a quick study.
“Tires. Relax your arms.” I pull him around the floor and point out people he’ll likely work with. Many are guys I went to school with who’ve taken over for their fathers. We do two laps before he takes over and begins to lead me.
“Hey, I just took this novice here and taught him to two-step with only two turns around the floor,” I say to Gigi and John.
“Prove it.” She grabs Preston’s hands, leaving me to dance with John.
“Let’s see some of that McAllister Magic,” John says. We dance off.
One song blends into another and the competition continues. Who can outdo whom? I dance with more people than I can count and laugh nonstop. It’s during the fifth song that I find myself in Hank’s arms.
My face freezes, and I tense. I don’t want to fight with him. I don’t want things to be awkward between us and there’s no question I don’t want him dancing with Melinda anymore either.
He twirls me around once and I step on his toes twice before I smile at him.
“You feel better now?” he says when I grind my foot against his.
“Actually, I do.” I relax against him and follow his lead.
“About Melinda,” he says.
I groan. “Please don’t ruin the moment.”
“You totally blew it out of proportion.” He moves me into a pivot step.
“Kind of like you did when you came to my apartment.”
“The difference is Melinda isn’t at my house. It was one dance, and before I danced with her, I danced with Michelle Jones.”
“Oh.” He’s kind of got me there. I did overreact. He’s staring at me with a raised brow.
“What? You want an apology or something?” I ask.
“That would be a good start.” He waits.
“Hmm, not going to happen.” Time to change the subject. “How many turns around the floor did it take Josie to pick it up?” I watch Josie take a misstep with Dan.
“About three. Maybe four. Why?”
“I taught the suit over there how in two and now look at him.” I nod toward Preston, who is twirling Sarah Grace around. “That’s right, sucker. McAllister Magic strikes again. I’m the Ginger Rogers of Central Florida.” I beam up at him.
Hank laughs and draws me in closer.
“I haven’t seen you this happy in a long time. It’s nice,” he says.
“Don’t get a big head. I like to dance.”
“How about that apology now?” He’s tenacious at best.
“How about you give me one.” I turn the tables on him.
“For what?”
“Exactly. Why should I give you an apology?” I duck under his arm as he turns me through the steps.
“Just once it would be nice to hear you say you’re sorry.” He slides his hand down, resting it in the hollow of my back.
“Never.” I step closer.
“We’ll see.”
We smile at each other and my heart leaps.
Uh-oh.
Chapter 22
I arrive at the Fox and Hound early, head straight to our usual place, and toss my heavy bag full of bachelorette party plans and tentative agendas onto the table. It’s an impromptu get-together on a Thursday night, mainly to discuss our plans for Josie.
Jayne’s talking on her cell phone. She blushes when she sees me, and I surmise she’s talking to Stacy. She insists they’re just friends, but I see how they look at each other. She quietly ends the call and flips open the ideas book I’ve created for Josie’s bachelorette party. Dinner service hasn’t begun and the place is quiet. I’m nervous about seeing Jake, dread a confrontation, so I naturally avoid looking at the bar. But I know I can’t sit with my friends and make chitchat while this hangs over me. Irritated, I pull from that emotion rather than my fear. I remember those feelings of intimidation and powerlessness. It’s now or never.
“Paisley—” she starts.
I hold up my hand. “Hold on, there’s something I need to do first before I lose my nerve. Do I have any lipstick?” I bare my teeth. If I’m going to do this, I’m at least going to look good doing it.
She shakes her head, looking at me with a wide-eyed gaze, questioning. I take a deep breath, stare at my fingernails, take a second breath, and do a quick scan toward the bar. Part of me hopes he won’t be here. When I see him, my heart stutters, races, and I dig what nails I have left into my palms. Jake’s back is to me. I’m pretty confident he hasn’t seen me come in the door. He’s too busy leaning over the bar toward the same blonde he nuzzled on our first date, his hand on her shoulder. She’s sitting sideways on the stool and when she laughs, which is frequently, she tosses her hair over her shoulder and leans toward his arm.
It’s taken me three days to gather up my courage and proceed with my plan. If my divorce from Trevor and over a year of therapy has taught me anything, it’s how well I play the role of victim, how willing I am to be manipulated, even if it’s subconscious. I’m not going there anymore. I’m not burying my head like I did with Trevor. Call it naïveté or being foolhardy, it doesn’t matter. The fact is I let this fuck stick Jake manipulate me while my intuition was screaming in protest. This is reminiscent of Trevor and that’s not OK with me.
I’m different now. At least I hope I am. Or trying to be.
There will be no burying my head this time, no more wishing it away. This one requires confrontation, something I’m not very good at. I used to be. Back when I was a kid, before my dad died.
I vow never to be in this position again. Wouldn’t it have been easier to not make a second date with him than to be in this current situation? I suck in a breath, curse my trembling hands, and make my way to the bar. I take a seat behind him, on the other side of the bar. Jake doesn’t hear me approach, but he does hear me pull out the bar stool.
“Be with you in a minute,” the creep says over his shoulder, not turning my way. He continues to flirt with the blonde, twisting a lock of her hair around his finger like he’s done to mine.
Asshole. What’s with men? Do they have a list of moves and this is one of them? I’m infuriated and it helps settle my nerves. Not only has Jake done this move on me, so has Hank. This pisses me off the most. Is it a move, a play? A way to reel women in? Because that’s what twirling a girl’s hair does. It makes the girl think the guy is completely into her and is sweet enough to do something as girlie as twirling their hair.
Next time I see Hank Lancaster I’m punching him in the gut. Hard.
From my position at the bar, the breathy sound of their whispers reaches me, but not the words. The blonde gets red-faced and even more flirty. I look back at Jayne and see both Josie and Kenley have arrived and are watching me. I put my finger to my lips.
Jake is slow to move away, letting her hair slip through his fingers. The player Josie was talking about is so obvious now. His moves are smooth and perfect. He flirts like a professional. The blonde gets up and heads toward the restrooms. That’s when Jake turns around.
“Paisley. Baby.” He glides toward me in the hip-thrusting way gigolos do and leans over to give me a kiss. I turn my head in time for it to land on my left cheek.
“Who’s your friend?” I keep my question mild, not that I care. Not that I d
on’t already know. What I’d seen on our first date and today is enough information for me. Yet, I want to see how he reacts.
“Where? Who?” He gets doe-eyed.
“The girl you were just talking to. I could swear I’ve seen her before and am trying to place it.” I gave him what I hope is a quizzical look, while I tap my left temple as if I’m struggling.
“What girl? I don’t know what you are talking about.” He attempts what I’m guessing is a quick diversion. “What’s the plan for this weekend? You come up with a surprise for me like I asked? Hey, you talked to Josie, right, about the wedding?”
It’s pretty astounding, his audacity. I suppose I should introduce this guy to my ex. They seem to have some things in common, one being they think I have the intelligence quotient of a doorknob. Anger takes over. It fuels me.
“There is no plan this weekend, Jake, and your surprise is this: I don’t want to see you again and you aren’t going to Josie’s wedding. Surprise!” I smile and do jazz hands beside my face.
Damn, I should have ordered drinks first. What if he jacks them up or does something terrible like spitting in them?
Jake’s eyes get squinty as he stares at me. He reaches out and grasps both of my upper arms and wrenches me up and against the bar. Only the tips of my toes touch the bar-stool rung.
“I thought I told you I wanted to go to Brinn’s wedding.” His words are a snarl. He twists his hands, causing my arms to burn.
“I can’t imagine why. You don’t even know Brinn.” I try hard not to flinch, and I curl my left hand into a fist. If I hit upward, my left will have to do the work because he’s leaning toward my dominant arm. It’s a choice of damage over power should I decide to punch him. He leans in closer.
“Everyone knows Brinn MacRae. I’ve been trying to get hired on with him for a year now. I want to be in on this company from the start-up. This is my one chance. My last chance.” He squeezes harder.
Ahh. Now I know what this is about. I’m such an idiot. I’m a pawn in a game, a way around an obstacle. I want to kick him in the man bits.