My Kind of You (A Trillium Bay Novel Book 1)
Page 10
She didn’t realize at first and just sat there giggling, but when she tried to stand up, she just got more and more tangled in the damn chiffon skirt, effectively pulling her dress down even farther. The more she struggled, the worse it got. Finally, the judge from Ypsilanti took off his tuxedo jacket and tossed it to her while trying to avert his eyes. The only saving grace was that the pageant wasn’t televised, and it happened just before every person on the planet had a smartphone with a camera in it. If that happened today, the video would go viral faster than you could say, “Here she comes, Miss America.”
“I tripped and fell,” Lilly said. “I got up, and my dress didn’t.” Her voice was matter-of-fact, and Emily was incredibly proud of her sister’s handling of the situation. Then and now. Emily would have been so mortified that no hole on earth would have been deep enough to hide in.
“Your dress fell off?” Chloe’s gasp was appropriate to the occasion. “Seriously?”
“Well, not all the way off. Just the top part. So I guess it could have been worse, right? That’s something to be glad about. I guess being voted Miss Lilac Festival during my senior year of high school was pretty much the pinnacle of my beauty queen career.”
“Wow.” Chloe shook her head and stared down at her toes as they continued walking in silence.
“So, after the parade, how long am I stuck in the pie tent?” Emily asked a moment later, hoping to lighten the mood once more. Public humiliation was never a fun topic. Familiar, but not fun.
“Only an hour or two,” Lilly answered, swinging her pink sun hat by her side. “It’s actually a pretty good gig. You’ll be in the shade, you can hear the music, and everybody stops by to see you.”
Oh, awesome. That was great. Word was certainly out by now that Emily was back on the island, and no doubt everyone would stop by and ask her the same three questions. When are you moving back to the island? Whatever happened to that guy you ran away with? And finally, did you know Reed was in town?
There was really no way to avoid any of it. At least this way she’d get it all over with in one day. Everyone could come and look at her and make their assessment, form their opinions, and then go whisper about her and her questionable life choices while stuffing their pieholes with actual pie. But hey, if Lilly could laugh off wiping out on a stage and ending up topless in front of a panel of judges, Emily could handle an afternoon full of pseudo-friendly interrogations. Maybe Mrs. Bostwick would stop by, and under the guise of handing her a pie, Emily could trip and nail her in the face. Now there was the silver lining.
“Lilacs aren’t really my thing, Dad.”
They really weren’t, but so far Ryan had been entirely unsuccessful at dissuading his father from dragging him to this quaint, down-homey festival. Only the promise of there being a beer tent had finally convinced him to go along. That and the fact that Emily had said she’d be in the pie tent, which gave him a convenient excuse to find her and ask if she’d found out anything about the Bimbo. Even if she hadn’t, well, again. Pie. And Emily.
He’d dreamed about her again last night, and try as he might, there was just no denying— something about Emily Chambers had sunk under his skin. Maybe it was her peaches-and-cream complexion or the way she playfully interacted with her daughter. Maybe it was the way she’d laughed and blushed when telling a story about herself in the cab. Or maybe it was something even less mysterious. Maybe it was simply that Emily Chambers had a great body, and he hadn’t been on a date in a while. He’d been so busy working lately that the only women he encountered were coworkers, and he had a very strict no-fraternizing-with-the-employees rule. So that was probably it. He just had an itch that needed scratching. If that was the case, Emily wasn’t a good choice. One did not mess around with the daughter of the chief of police, nor did one toy with the emotions of somebody’s mother. She was both. Not to mention the fact that they were on a pretty small island, a place where, he gathered, nothing stayed secret for long.
Ryan and his dad rounded the corner at Beaumont and Main and headed into the thick crowd of tourist traffic, which today was human only. The road had been blocked off to wheeled and hoofed transportation. Tables draped with purple fabric were set up in front of many of the stores, displaying their crafts, and lavender banners flew overhead reminding everyone that it was the day of the Lilac Festival, as if anyone could forget that given that the blooms were everywhere and the scent, for once, overwhelmed the aroma of the fudge.
“Where’s that beer tent?” Ryan asked, hoping to park himself there while his dad strolled around looking at homemade glass beads, vases made from gourds, homespun scarves, and a seemingly endless assortment of stuff shaped like an oven mitt. It took him a few minutes to make the connection. Ah, Michigan. He’d never really thought about the fact that the lower half of the state was shaped that way, but there was just no missing it now. He’d never take something hot out of the microwave again without remembering this trip.
“It’s not even noon yet, Ry. Too early for beer, but there’s lemonade over this way.” Tag had that goofy, happy grin on his face again. Maybe the Bimbo was slipping antidepressants into his dad’s coffee. Or . . . maybe it was the sex. Visions of Emily blazed into his mind again. Where was that pie tent? Maybe he should go see her right now. “Lemonade sounds good, Dad, but do you know what sounds even better? Pie.”
Tag smiled in agreement, nodding his silver-haired head. “Now you’re getting into the spirit of it. Let’s go find you some pie.”
A few minutes later they were standing under a bright yellow canopy filled with a couple dozen people, including some guy in a beekeeping hat. Down the center stretched three long tables covered with pies of every sort. Apple, blueberry, banana cream. The temptation was distracting, but then he spotted her. She was standing off to the side, laughing with Chloe and wearing a pale blue sundress covered with big, bold sunflowers, a completely different look than the white business suit he’d seen her in before. Her hair was loose and fell around her bare shoulders in waves, and the sweet, feminine simplicity of her appearance kicked him right in the gut and rolled lower.
Chloe saw him first and waved, and when Emily looked in his direction and her eyes lit up, his knees nearly buckled. What. The. Hell. What was wrong with him? He stood there, paralyzed like a fainting goat just because she smiled at him? The clerk at his hotel had told him that the ancient Ojibwa believed this island had magical properties. Looking at her and the way she glowed, he wondered if they weren’t that far off base.
He cleared his throat and walked over to her, trying to act all nonchalant-ish, as if, you know, he was just there for the flaky crusts and the gooey filling. Tag was on his own. Ryan had some flirting to do.
“Hi, ladies,” he said. “How goes the bake sale?”
“Good so far,” Emily answered. “Do you see anything you like?”
He couldn’t contain the smirk, and his eyes went immediately to Emily, who then offered up a Mona Lisa smile in response. His throat went dry even as his mouth started to water, and it wasn’t from the pastries. He bit back the reply he wanted to give and said instead, “Um, what do you recommend?”
Chloe leaned toward him over the table as if to confide a secret. “Well, I can tell you that I don’t recommend the mincemeat. Apparently it’s really got meat in it, and fruit. Disgusting! Other than that, though, the rest look pretty good. And don’t tell Gigi I said this, but rumor has it the Mahoney sisters make the best strawberry-rhubarb pie.”
He looked to Emily. “How about you? Which one do you recommend?”
She was on the same side of the table as he was, standing a mere two feet away. Close enough that he could see a hint of cleavage above the neckline of that dress and smell her perfume. It smelled even better than pie, and he recognized it from that evening in the cab. It was also quite possible he’d dreamed about it, if dreams could have fragrance.
“I’m a bit of a traditionalist, I guess. I like apple,” she answered.
&nb
sp; He pointed at one with some crumbly topping and cocked an eyebrow. “You mean like this one? How about them apples?” Chloe groaned loudly, while Emily’s smile was indulgent, as if she appreciated the gesture but found his skill at humor a bit lacking. He could hardly blame her. He cringed a bit inside at his own lame-assity. It was the sundress. The sundress had made him stupid.
“Just for that, you have to buy an entire pie,” Chloe said, still shaking her head. “But we can have it delivered to your hotel. That way you don’t have to carry it around.”
He didn’t know what he was going to do with an entire pie, but now he’d seem cheap if he didn’t buy something. “That’s a pretty good deal, I guess. I’ll take a whole apple pie, then.” He reached back with one arm to grab his wallet and turned slightly as he did so, catching sight of Tag on the other side of the tent . . . talking to the Bimbo.
“Holy shit, that’s her!” His voice came out in a strangled whisper as he leaned toward Emily and tried to point discreetly.
“What?”
“That’s her. That’s the Gold-Digging Bimbo over there talking to my dad.” His discreet pointing became a little more frenzied as Emily gazed in the direction he was indicating.
“Which one is your dad?” she asked, her whisper matching his, and her neck craning to see around the crowd.
“Right there, in the green golf shirt, talking to the Bimbo in the pink shorts.”
There was a slight hesitation, and then Emily’s gasp was loud in his ear.
“Hey! Wait a minute! That’s not a bimbo! That’s my sister!” Her voice carried like a Tibetan gong, bouncing and reverberating around the space, and everyone from the tent all the way up to the International Space Station froze in place to stare at her. Including Tag and the Bimbo.
Heat cascaded over Ryan as his eyes darted from his father, to the girl in the pink shorts, to Emily, and then back around again. “Your sister?” He had the good sense to keep his voice at a whisper. “You said you didn’t know anyone named Daisy!”
“I don’t, you moron. Her name is Lilly. And she is not a bimbo!” Her eyes flashed, but she managed to lower her voice again. Unfortunately for him, she also crossed her arms defensively, effectively pushing her breasts higher and deepening that cleavage, but he didn’t have time to fully appreciate that right now because he sensed a bit of a shitstorm coming. The Bimbo’s name was Lilly? Shit. Ryan was always lousy with names. He must have gotten his flowers mixed up, and when Tag had made introductions last night, Ryan was so damned distracted by her age he’d only been half listening.
“Well, whatever her name is, she was with my father last night. Did you know that?” The whisper burned in his throat.
Her forehead creased in a frown as she pulled him by the arm into the corner of the tent. “No, of course I didn’t. I also didn’t realize your father was a dirty old man, but I guess I should have figured that out this morning when you said he was involved with a twenty-five-year-old. She’s twenty-six, by the way, but still, what the hell is he doing toying with my little baby sister?”
Ryan felt his surprise turn toward irritation. “My father is not a dirty old man. If anyone is toying with anyone, it’s your sister toying with him. My father is a good man.”
“Yeah, right. I’m sure his intentions are very honorable.” She said honorable like the word was too big for her mouth.
Ryan tore his gaze from Emily and looked back over at the other two. Whatever the hell that girl’s name was, her face had turned as hot pink as those incredibly short shorts, and a burgundy flush had crept over Tag’s tan face, too. They both looked guilty as sin. Bystanders in the tent continued to observe, clearly wondering just what was happening in the Buy-Buy Miss American Pie tent. The guy in the beekeeping hat even raised the veil to get a better look.
“You have to be making a mistake. There’s just no way,” Emily whispered.
“I’m not making a mistake. I know that’s her. The three of us had dinner together last night.”
“Well, then your father is totally taking advantage of her. He should be ashamed of himself.”
“Uh, excuse me. I think it’s the other way around. She’s taking him for a ride.”
“Oh really? He’s the president of some big company in California, and she’s a girl who’s never lived off the island. Who has the upper hand here? Your father is a dirty old lecher.”
Ryan tried to keep his voice down, but what he really wanted to do was shout. Not his style, but given the circumstances it was understandable. “He’s not a lecher! And if anyone is taking advantage here, it’s her. She thinks he’s her ticket off this island. She’s using him.”
As they bickered under their breath, the cluster of speculating tourists parted like the Red Sea and Ryan’s dad crossed the small expanse of the tent to reach his side. Another millisecond later Emily’s sister, oh my God, Emily’s sister? She crossed over, too, until the four of them squared off, with Chloe having snuck in behind her mother.
“Lilly? Seriously?” Emily hissed, quiet but insistent. “This is the guy? Do you realize he’s fifty-nine years old?”
“How do you know how old I am?” Tag asked, as if that was remotely important at the moment.
“I told her,” Ryan said, trying to draw in a breath but feeling like his lungs were full of sludge. It was really hot under this tent all of a sudden.
The crowd started to murmur and move again, but the bystanders were doing a collectively piss-poor job of trying to act as if they weren’t listening. The beekeeper had sidestepped a few feet closer, lowering his veil again as if it made him just a little stealthier.
“You told her how old I was? When?” Tag asked.
“At the airport. Or on the phone. I don’t remember exactly, but this is the woman I shared a taxi with, and apparently she’s your . . . girlfriend’s sister.” It was as awkward to say as it was to hear.
“Could we talk about this someplace else? Please?” The Bimbo looked over her shoulder at the interested crowd of bystanders. “Or better yet, talk about it later?”
“So this really is the guy?” Emily asked again.
“He’s the guy,” Ryan said tersely, “and she’s the Bimbo.”
“I’m not a bimbo!” That one was loud, too. For a couple of women trying to keep a secret, Emily and her sister sure weren’t very discreet with their exclamations. People were starting to pull out their phones to snap pictures. If Trillium Bay had a gazette, this would surely be front page, above the fold. Meanwhile, his dad had the stones to look at him with a stern, fatherly expression. “Ryan, Lilly is not a bimbo, and I didn’t raise you to insult women that way. You need to apologize.”
He tried to wrap his head around the irony of that. “Really, Dad? You’re going to lecture me about respecting women right now? I’m not the one who jumped into bed with a twenty-five-year-old.”
“I’m twenty-six,” the girl said, as if that made all the difference.
“Eww, Aunt Lilly!” Chloe gasped. “You were in a bed with him? He’s like a grandpa.”
Shit, Ryan had forgotten Chloe was there. Now he did feel like an asshole, and maybe he felt a little bit bad about calling Emily’s sister a bimbo, too. It hadn’t felt like such an insult back when he didn’t know anything about her. Now he did.
“I’m sorry, Chloe. I forgot you were there. And . . . Lilly, I didn’t mean to call you a gold-digging bimbo.”
“A what?” she gasped. “A gold-digging bimbo?”
Shit. He’d let that one slip out. This was not his day.
“Yes, Lilly, Ryan and his brothers think you’re after Tag’s money.” Emily arched an eyebrow and crossed her arms more tightly, adding to that cleavage. He wished she’d stop doing that. He could hardly claim the moral high ground about respecting women if he was staring at her breasts.
“After my money? What?” Tag glared at him. “She’s not after my money, Ryan. That’s ridiculous. Now you owe her two apologies. And you owe me one, too.”
“Chloe,” Emily said, staring at said beekeeper. “How about if you take Mr. Krushnic to that cash register over on the other side of the tent and let him pay for that pie he’s manhandling.”
“But this is more interesting,” Chloe said, earning her a hard stare from her mother.
“Oh okay, fine. Come on, Mr. Krushnic. We’ve been shunned.”
Emily pointed at her daughter’s retreating form, and the beekeeper’s shoulders drooped as he turned to follow.
“You guys need to leave,” Lilly said quietly, staring over at Tag. “Please. We’ll talk later, but we can’t stand here. Everyone is trying to eavesdrop.”
Tag started to reach toward her but dropped his hand before actually touching her. “Are you sure? I don’t want to toss you to the wolves. I don’t need to keep this a secret if you don’t.”
“I do need to keep this a secret. I mean, at least until I’ve had a chance to talk to my dad.”
“Oh my gosh,” Emily said. “Dad is going to have a coronary, Lilly. Holy shit. Do you realize this guy is the same age as him?”
“Shhhhh! Keep your voice down and listen to me. Tag and I have a right to some privacy, so please respect that. And you two”—she tossed a glance at the men—“you both need to get out of this tent.”
Ryan could not agree more. He needed to get out of this tent and find the damn beer tent. Maybe there was even a whiskey tent someplace? That would be even better.