That morning, just one day before the party, Knox made his move. He had Beau’s sound system in his truck, and Coach Kern had agreed to deejay—though Shelby had arranged for that; Knox had nothing to do with it. The speakers, however, meant that Knox had a reason to show up at the beach house. Plus, his mother had been nagging him to come over and grease the wheels with Bridger before their big night in together, anyway.
Paisley had spent the week there, in his old childhood bedroom. Well, his and Bragg’s. This was another thing that sent his nerves ablaze. The image of a pretty woman sleeping in his room, in his bed—his old room, old bed—was almost too much to handle. Had she stumbled across anything? What had his mother left in there? Old baseball card collections? His high school track-and-field trophies? Maybe a prom portrait or two? Was Paisley nosing around? Or was she falling into his bed each night, tucking herself against the very pillow he’d used as a boy?
After feeding and walking Hickory, he asked his old mutt for a good luck lick, which Hickory provided. No questions asked. That was the good thing about dogs. They didn’t pressure you one way or another.
His mother ushered him in, waving him over to a plateful of her famous Betsy Calhoun Crunchy French Toast.
He hooked a thumb back to his truck. “Speakers?”
“After breakfast,” his mother answered. “Quite a bit after breakfast.”
But when he glanced past her to the dining room table and spotted Paisley, he took a step back.
“I need to ask Shelby something. About the… about the plans with Dad,” he fibbed.
His mother eyed him so suspiciously, he thought her left eyebrow might detach and climb right into her hairdo. Then, she pointed a red-painted nail directly above them. “She’s still in her room. Snap, snap, Knox. Breakfast’ll get cold.”
He dashed up the stairs, murmuring about how she wasn’t snap-snapping Shelby to hurry down.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Shelby’s face was impassive. Her tone sincere and flat as a steamrolled dollar bill. But his sister’s eyes bore a straight hole clear through to the back of his head. She stood in front of her bedroom door, a towel wrapped around her head and an old robe cinched about her waist.
“Let me ask again, Shel…” He took a step closer and dropped his voice. “Does Paisley use your Mistletoe app?”
She cocked her head coyly and crossed her arms. “Let me ask you: why?”
He knew he positioned himself poorly, making himself a target. And if Paisley wasn’t this girl, the one he’d stood up, then he looked like a fool in front of his sister, and he knew for a fact she would spill the beans to his mother. Worst of all, the setups and blind dates would roll back in like they did every time Knox hinted that he was open to the idea of dating.
But. If Paisley was not CarolinaGirl, then at least he had a chance with her. Because CarolinaGirl, whoever she was, had made it crystal clear that she wouldn’t suffer fools.
And Knox Calhoun was, when it came to romance, an utter fool.
Chapter 29—Paisley
Paisley watched as Betsy let Knox in, exchanged a few brief words, then shooed him upstairs.
The Calhoun matriarch returned, her face pinched. “He’ll be down shortly. Just needed to grab something.”
Paisley’s gut clenched. “Oh, um. In his bedroom?” She’d left her suitcase flapped wide open on the bed. Her neatly folded intimates on display in the center of her luggage. Before Betsy had a chance to respond, Paisley slid out of her seat. “I… um…” She craned her neck toward the stairs and took long strides, finishing her words over her shoulder. “I’ll just be back. I didn’t make the bed!”
Mortified at the probability that Betsy would think Paisley was trying to meet Knox up there, Paisley’s face turned hot as she took the stairs two at a time, searching the hall before she reached it, only to see Knox turn from Shelby’s room.
“Just a moment!” she squeaked, ducking into his old room mere seconds before he’d made it that far.
She heard him respond with a weak and confused “Okay?” just as she shut the door behind her, pressing her body to it as she scanned the room.
Her dorky reindeer pajamas were splayed across the pillow. Her suitcase yawned widely open, displaying the remaining three sets of undergarments she’d packed for the stay—Paisley always overpacked. Just in case.
“One minute!” she hollered as she zipped the suitcase shut, folded her pajamas, and stashed them beneath a pillow before pulling the quilt back up.
Then, she strode back to the door and opened it, plastering a smile on her face as she expected to find Knox there, waiting to retrieve something from his old bedroom. Maybe a light sweater—three still hung in the closet. Or a baseball cap—two were hooked on the back of the door. Not that Paisley had gone through anything in there…
But when she opened it, she saw him descending the stairs.
Her chest fell, and her pulse returned to normal. “Oh,” she murmured to herself. He heard her, because he twisted and looked up as she arrived at the top of the staircase. “Sorry,” she offered. “I thought you needed something in your room?”
His face opened. “Oh, no. I didn’t need anything,” he answered, waiting for her at the bottom.
“Your mom mentioned—” she flushed. “Never mind.”
Knox smiled at her. “Good morning, by the way.”
“Good morning,” Paisley replied, smoothing her blouse and falling into a slow step with him toward the kitchen. “I haven’t seen you in a couple of days.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Not that I was looking for you, I just meant—” Abort, Paisley! Abort! an inner voice screamed. Knox Calhoun was her vice president’s brother. And he wasn’t interested. And neither was she. She wasn’t interested in anyone. She didn’t need anyone, not even by the New Year. Not even to keep the investors. She had the party, and that would surely be enough. A beachfront, homey mixer that would scream downhome grandmother more than a serious boyfriend ever could, when it came to Paisley’s image or that of the company. And if Mr. Cook and associates still thought Paisley had to be duly taken to run a successful business, then maybe they weren’t the right investors. Or maybe matchmaking wasn’t the right business…
Shelby was supposed to come down for breakfast. And Betsy was supposed to stay for it, too.
Apparently, however, Aunt Tiny was en route with ingredients, and she’d forgotten something and for some reason impractical to Paisley, both Betsy and Shelby had to leave to help her.
With Bridger planted firmly in his bed upstairs, ESPN blaring from the television, that left Paisley and Knox alone.
Again.
Betsy Calhoun’s Famous Crunchy French Toast had earned its name, but still, Paisley picked at it, her stomach churning with discomfort. Thankful she’d woken up early enough to fix her hair and makeup, she still felt inadequate in the presence of Knox.
Two whole minutes (that felt like two whole hours) into their lone breakfast, he finally cleared his throat.
“So,” he began, wiping his mouth and holding his coffee mug to his lips, “how do you like Indigo Bay?”
“Indigo Bay?” she asked. “Oh, I like it a lot. I, um, I haven’t explored it yet, though. I’ve just been here—” she held her hand up to indicate the beach house “—oh, and that little café. Caroline’s? Or, um, Sweet Caroline’s, I guess it’s called?”
Knox had been mid-sip as she answered him and promptly choked on the drink. Mild choking—the wrong-pipe type of choking where he sputtered momentarily then recovered through intermittent coughs thereafter.
“Are you okay?” she asked, hoping that heart attacks weren’t catching.
“Yes—” He cleared his throat again, pulling through. “Sorry. I swallowed weird.” Another throat clear and then, “Sweet Caroline’s, huh?” Knox dropped his eyes to his plate and pushed small squares of French toast around in a puddle of syrup. “When did you make it over there? Did Shelby take you for lunch one day or�
�?”
She pursed her lips, thinking back to the fact that BeachBum was just that—nothing more than a bum and also to the fact that it wouldn’t necessarily hurt if she opened up to Knox. Little truths never hurt anything, especially when spun just so. “Actually, you see,” she started, pulling a serious-yet-indifferent expression (if there was such a thing), “I had a meeting with someone… regarding the app, I mean.” Should she include that this so-called meeting had been set to take place on Christmas Eve?
No.
“A meeting with someone for your business? Like a business meeting?” He stared hard at her.
She stared hard back. “Exactly, yes. A business meeting. It fell through, but there you have it. I love that little place—the café. It’s charming. The boysenberry pie knocked my socks off, actually.” She leveled her chin at him and, miraculously, managed a small smile.
“Fell through?” he pressed.
Her lips evened out into a line, and her brows fell low. “Yes. Fell through. It’s just as well. I actually… I didn’t need to meet with him after all. I sorted through the… er… the business issue with Shelby. We’ve moved on from it.” She emphasized we to drive home the point about it being a business meeting. Nothing more.
His shoulders slumped in, and he pushed the plate away. “Oh, I see.”
“That’s as far as I’ve gotten, though,” she added, rounding back to the question at hand.
Knox frowned then narrowed his eyes back on her. “As far as you’ve gotten?”
“Right. I mean, I’d love to do more. Really I would.” She blinked and took a sip of her coffee, glancing left then right then landing her gaze back on him.
He looked… confused. Adorably confused.
“So would I.” His voice had dropped low, and his face softened.
Paisley tipped her head to the side. “I’m not sure what you mean. Don’t you… live here?”
Chapter 30—Knox
He knew his face reddened by a hundred degrees, and he desperately wanted to push off from the table and hide. The mortification was too thick to climb back through. Should he barrel ahead with what she thought he meant? Or explain himself? Come clean?
“Um.” It was all he could think up. “I, um…”
And like that, her entire effect melted down. All that was left was a confused, cute-as-could-be, matchmaking houseguest he now was almost positive had to be the same woman he’d met on the app.
Then again, two questions re-emerged in his brain. One, why would Paisley use her own app to find a date? Wouldn’t that be… odd? And two, if it was her, why had her profile gone missing?
There was one thing he could do to throw the heat off himself and get down to business.
“I thought we were talking about, um, your business. I meant I would love to do more to help with it. With the party and, oh, I don’t know, if you need any ideas or anything.”
“Oh,” she answered, and something glinted in her eyes. The look reminded him almost exactly of how a student looked just as he or she was coming to understand an intangible concept. Like symbolism or metaphor. That moment they crossed from ignorance to mastery. The best moment about teaching.
Not the best moment about sitting with a beautiful stranger, though.
Especially since he had no idea what it was she suddenly comprehended.
“And I’ll set up the speakers, you know. I’m sure I can figure it out, by the way.”
She smiled. “Thank you. That would be great.” She took a bite of her breakfast.
“So,” he went on, suddenly undeterred. “About your app.”
Her eyes flashed up at him, and he thought he spotted it. Another moment of revelation. Or suspicion. “Yes?” she asked, swallowing her bite and dabbing her lips with a paper napkin, dainty and adorable as could be.
He cleared his throat. “Have you… you know… tested it? Do you and Shelby get to, well, you see what I mean… use it?”
Color filled her cheeks, and he knew he’d made a mistake. He rushed to take it back, but then she answered, “Oh. Um. Well, that would be pretty awkward. In fact, that’s the whole reason for this party.” Her tone shifted almost imperceptibly, but still, she’d left an opening.
“The reason for the party? You and Shelby testing the app? What, do you mean one of you met someone on there? And he’s… coming?” His knee bounced under the table, and the thought of taking another bite of breakfast churned his stomach.
“Oh, um—” She shook her head and glanced down. “No. Not at all.” A wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Are you sure?” He dropped his voice another octave, and his jaw set. He stared hard at Paisley, willing her gaze up to his.
“You think I met someone on the app, and I’m going to meet him at the party?”
“You said that you were having the party to test it out. Right?” The only problem with his line of reasoning was that Knox wasn’t going to the party. Couldn’t go to the party. Wouldn’t go to the party.
Would he?
“I said we’re having a party, yes. Not to test the app, though.”
“Then why?”
The conversation had stabilized, and she returned his stare with her own, a boldness taking shape on her pretty mouth.
“Because I need to save the company.”
“Because the investors aren’t happy with the product, right?” He gave her a hard look, pushing her to the threshold of her comfort zone. He was already there. He could do that because he was already there, too. At the threshold of his comfort zone.
“No, no. They’re happy with the product all right.” She set her fork down and folded her arms over her chest.
Knox frowned. “I don’t understand. If the product is good, then what needs saving?”
“I do, apparently.”
Chapter 31—Paisley
She regretted saying it. She regretted it the minute it fell out of her mouth, but not because it nearly gave her away. Because it made her seem less than. Inferior. Unsuccessful. The worst thing Paisley could be was unsuccessful, because without her success, what was she? Who was she?
“You don’t seem to be the type who needs saving,” he answered coyly.
She grinned. “I’m not, actually.”
“What does that mean, then? That you need saving?” His drawl came out, and he turned from her vice president’s brother into a… well… into a man. An attractive, flirtatious man. A familiarity in his brusque manner drew her nearer.
“It means…” She felt hot beneath her sweater. Sticky and prickly and all the things she hadn’t felt in ages—if ever—in the presence of a, well… man. She sucked in a breath. “It means that the investors think my single status is an issue for the brand. They think I need a boyfriend.” She tried to roll her eyes and play it off, but he didn’t seem to budge.
“You didn’t answer my question.” His voice was throaty and serious, and she knew where things were going, and part of her didn’t want it to be true. Couldn’t let it be true. Because if it were—then he was, well, not a man. He was a bum, right? A sarcastic, witty bum with a penchant for mutts and reading and—and that would explain it.
The stand-up.
Maybe Paisley did want it to be true. Maybe she needed it to be true.
If Knox were the man she’d been talking to, she hadn’t been stood up. Not intentionally. It meant BeachBum had a good reason for not showing. A great reason. A reason she might have learned about had she kept her profile active.
But she’d deleted it. She didn’t need a man. Or a date. She didn’t need a boyfriend to save the business.
“What was your question again?” Paisley stood and swept her plate and utensils up with her, reaching for his, too. Both had barely picked at their breakfasts, but oh well. She carried the leftover food to the kitchen counter, tugging open drawers looking for aluminum foil. Waste not. Want not. Waste not; want not. Wasn’t that the expression? Savor every little thing? Salvag
e it all? Use it for the future?
“Have you ever used Mistletoe?” he asked. His breath was hot on her neck and if she dared to turn away from the counter—the leftovers and the Christmas-themed plates and the spread of paper napkins and Christmas cookies and the coffee carafe and everything that made their breakfast utterly normal, her nose would meet his Adam’s apple no doubt.
She pressed her body into the counter and twisted to face him, her hands gripping the lip of the granite. He stood two inches away, and the look in his eyes said it all. Said everything.
Paisley answered his question with a question. “Have you?”
Chapter 32—Knox
The air turned warm in the Calhoun kitchen, but it wasn’t the heat that kept Knox from edging even closer to Paisley.
“Knox!” His father’s craggy voice floated down from the staircase and in an instant, Paisley had swiveled back to face the counter. Knox fell back two steps and ran a hand up the back of his neck.
“In here, Dad,” he answered, raising his voice just enough for it to carry out to the great room. His eyes lingered on the back of her head, and he figured he’d had his answer.
Now, he just needed a chance to act on it.
“Oh, pardon me,” Bridger grumbled as he hobbled past the fridge.
“Dad, this is Paisley Barrett. You might recall from—”
“The Christmas party. Of course, I do. I had a heart attack, not a stroke.” Bridger lifted his face to Paisley, and Knox noticed a change in the old man’s features. A brightness. A difference. “Miss Paisley, how do you do?”
“Just fine, thank you, Mr. Calhoun. How are you doing? I hear you’ve had a rough week.”
Bridger waved her off and popped the fridge open. “No big deal. Just coming down to see about a little snack. Knox?” He leaned out of the fridge.
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