by Kat Cantrell
It didn’t matter. He couldn’t do what Hardy was asking. This was the line in the sand. The mayor needed to hear that Isaiah wasn’t the person he thought and that sticking around this place wasn’t on the agenda. Except he’d promised Aria something that he hadn’t done yet. And he’d promised to get the barn done. He couldn’t leave yet. But neither could he pretend that everything was going to work like Caleb hoped.
At the door, Hardy turned for a final parting gift. “Start with one small thing. Build on that.”
One small thing. Like what? Design a new town logo? Pick a theme song?
Instantly, ideas unrolled in his head. While he’d kind of meant that last part sarcastically, he couldn’t deny he knew music well enough to figure something out that might be a catchy way to build an advertising campaign that would convince folks they wanted to visit.
Maybe he could handle that. The barn project was moving along. It might be nice to have something else to occupy his time. He could use it as the stake in the ground. As soon as he had that done, he’d make sure Aria had gotten her chance with Marchande and then he could go with a clear conscience once he’d told Hardy his plans. No matter how difficult all of the above would be.
Oddly, as soon as Hardy left, Isaiah’s mood improved. He pulled out the slip of paper where Serenity had written his prediction.
You must slow down a bit to find love. Seek a romantic retreat to heal and nurture your soul while connecting spiritually with a like-minded soul that shares your need for depth.
What if he was supposed to love this new job as the PR guru of Superstition Springs? Maybe that’s what the prediction meant. It was an opportunity to find a new way to function within the team, only the team would be a much bigger pool of people. Who would be counting on him to keep the town together.
That was the rub. He didn’t trust himself to stick. To breathe. To motivate others.
The worst part was how much he longed to do it. How great it sounded to be a part of something, filling a spot that had his name on it. If he did it right, he might not have to leave this time and that was the thing that was tripping him up. Because he didn’t want to. But neither did he deserve to stay.
If nothing else, this new assignment was a great excuse to ask a long-time resident for some advice.
Eleven
Isaiah hustled out of his room to take the stairs to the third floor before he could change his mind. Aria answered the door at the private apartment she shared with her sisters and Serenity, her red hair hanging down her back in a long liquid fall of gorgeous. He didn’t bother to pretend he wasn’t drinking in her pretty face.
He’d missed her. Which was ridiculous. He’d just seen her at church a few hours ago. But that didn’t change the big ball of happy in his chest that expanded the longer he looked at her.
“Isaiah.” She stared at him as if she couldn’t quite look away either. “Didn’t we decide we’d reconvene after I tried talking to Tristan on my own?”
He shrugged. “I guess that’s where we left it. I’m here about something else. Something roof-worthy. You can’t say no.”
This would be a great time for his rusty persuasion skills to make a reappearance. Good practice too. He had a burning need to get Aria Nixon onto that roof and an even greater need to prove to himself that he could still figure out how to motivate people into doing things they didn’t necessarily want to.
If he could find remnants of his old self, maybe—maybe—he might have a shot at doing what Hardy had asked. Not that he was going to. It was just that he would feel a little better about his chances.
“I can’t say no?” Crossing her arms over her midsection, she tried—and failed—to keep the amusement off her face. “What happens if I do?”
“I’ll cry,” he said deadpan. “And you don’t want to see that.”
She actually laughed, leaving him wondering why he’d been in a bad mood all day. Maybe he’d misread her caginess earlier. Or he’d really hit on something when he’d told her she was scared of Marchande, which she hadn’t liked. Either way, he didn’t intend to leave without her.
“Tell me what it is then,” she insisted.
“Can’t.” He mimed zipping his lips, which was hard with the grin stretching his face, and that’s when it struck him that he’d been in a bad mood solely because he hadn’t been in Aria’s orbit. Being around her did nice things to his insides, things that lightened his spirit, and he was glad all at once that Hardy’s visit had caused him to seek her out. “Come with me to the roof and I’ll spill everything.”
She didn’t move. “But this is not about Tristan?”
“No, something else,” he promised, glad all at once that he had an excuse to spend time with her that had nothing to do with other people. “Come along.”
Shock of all shocks, she nodded and stepped across the threshold, shutting the door behind her. That had been far too easy. His skills might be in much less dire shape than he’d thought.
But now he had a bigger problem. Aria spilled into the hall, surrounding him in ways that his greedy, contact-starved soul lapped up like a dog. Why did it always feel as if the sun had just broken through the clouds of his heart whenever she looked up at him through those clear blue eyes?
“So… yeah. This way,” he said brusquely and turned, hoping whatever warmth had just bloomed inside would die a cold death the second he cut off the source. Didn’t happen. But it was too late to back out now.
When he pushed open the door to the roof, sunset had just started staining the sky to the west, throwing purples and oranges deep into the blue. He couldn’t have timed this better if he’d tried and the serendipity of it actually made it much better than if it had been planned. The only thing he could do at this point was roll with it.
“That’s a nice picture,” Aria commented, her gaze fastened on the horizon.
His gaze was on her and he couldn’t seem to stop watching the small smile playing at her lips as she gorged on the sunset. “It’s more than nice. It’s closer to perfect.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot for a second how much of a romantic you are,” she said wryly. “I stand corrected. It’s a lot like perfect.”
“I’m not romantic.” A genuine scoff barked from his throat. “Furthest thing from it.”
At that, she sifted her gaze from the sunset to his face, zeroing in on him with uncomfortably canny focus. “You do realize that Shrek is a love story. Right?”
Rolling his eyes, he gave up. She could think whatever she wanted about his nature and assign his preferences all kinds of fluffy qualities. Didn’t make it fact. “Let’s circle back to that later. I have something that I need your help with. Strictly in exchange for helping you with Tristan.”
Yes. Good. Focus on the task.
But Aria was already shaking her head. “I’m setting you up with Cassidy in exchange. It’s already decided.”
“The same Cassidy who completely ignored me at the movies yesterday? I don’t think that’s something you can promise.” Nor was that what he wanted, and not just because of the prediction—though that was a huge factor. First and foremost, he didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings since he had less than zero interest in Cassidy. But he didn’t want to examine why he had no interest, let alone explain it to Aria. “This is a much better favor. Hear me out and then you can decide what’s fair compensation.”
“I’m listening.”
“Caleb asked for help in putting together some ideas to draw people to town.” It didn’t sound so overwhelming phrased like that, more like a group effort. Hardy could benefit from some tips on persuasion, which didn’t include tossing around the concept that Isaiah would be in charge of anything. “As a longtime resident, you’re well suited to coming up with angles that might appeal to people.”
“Ideas about how to draw people?” She pursed her lips. “Permanently or you mean like, to shop at Voodoo Grocery?”
“Either. Both. To do things that don’t exist yet. Like may
be we create a festival.” Now he was just making this up as he went along, because that had been nowhere on his radar. But he warmed to the idea almost against his will. “What local traditions could we capitalize on? That’s the kind of insight you’ll have. I’m thinking we could come up with some great stuff together.”
Suspicion marred her pretty features as she did some mental calculations in her head that apparently didn’t add up in his favor. “Why didn’t Caleb come ask me to help out on this himself?”
“Because it’s…”
Wow, there was not a good way to weasel out of answering that honestly, not after he’d wordsmithed it to sound like something different than it was, namely Caleb trying to force Isaiah into an ill-fitting mold. Sure Caleb had good intentions and there was the possibility that taking on this assignment could help tether Isaiah to Superstition Springs in way nothing else had. But at the end of the day, framing it as a team think tank type project had been disingenuous and he owed Aria a better explanation.
“It’s really supposed to be mine,” he told her, straightforward, no hem hawing. “Tapping you for help was my idea, not Caleb’s. I think we’d be a formidable team. Don’t you?”
“Why don’t you think you can do it by yourself?”
The simple question washed over him with surprising force. She hadn’t even bothered to be complimented by his pretty words and instead had honed in on the root of his issues, despite additional deflection. This was the inherent problem with Aria: she saw him a little too clearly and he liked that a little too much.
He was so tired of pretending. Why couldn’t he just be honest with her about how itchy it made him to think about her and Marchande together?
Well, what if he did tell her? Then what? It wouldn’t change anything. He was still on his way out the door and Aria wasn’t. All Isaiah could do at this particular point in time was spend a few hours in the company of a woman he liked and work out some ideas to help the town. One step at a time, like Hardy had said.
“I can totally do it by myself.” Which was totally a lie. Not only that, he couldn’t be honest about Marchande, and he couldn’t flat out tell her how broken he was. “I just don’t want to. We like the same music and of course, you have a vested interest in new blood since you work at the diner, right?”
She shrugged nonchalantly. “Sure. Ruby could use some patrons with deeper pockets. I always feel bad taking tips from people I’ve known my whole life, who don’t make much money in the first place.”
“Does that mean you’re willing to help?” he asked her hopefully.
After a brief moment of hesitation, she nodded. “We’re going to be here a while then. Where’s the blanket?”
A little thrown by her sudden decisiveness, Isaiah jumped to do as she bid and pulled the blanket from the watertight container he’d invested in after figuring out that a wet blanket wasn’t the slightest bit fun and spares were hard to come by. He fanned it out, stomped out the air bubbles and extended a hand to Aria to help her get settled before taking his own seat.
The silence stretched as the sun finished up for the day, sinking toward the horizon, which ran in a line as far as you could see.
“I appreciate you. For doing this with me, I mean,” he corrected hastily.
“Of course.” She flashed him a smile that took on a mysterious edge in the fading sunlight. “It sounds like fun and besides, watching a sunset with you is not a chore.”
“Well, it was a tossup whether I’d actually get you up here tonight. You weren’t so keen on the idea earlier,” he reminded her lightly, praying that she couldn’t read how much her rejection had actually bothered him.
“I’d planned on hunting up Tristan tonight,” she said, her gaze trained on the stain of colors beyond the lip of the roof. “To prove I’m not scared of him. Yet here I am. Avoiding him again.”
“I didn’t mean anything by that.”
Other than to point out the obvious—that she wasn’t getting Marchande on board the Aria train fast enough. Isaiah needed them together and the whole thing done with. Then he didn’t have any room to imagine a different ending to his association with Aria or have to worry about his prediction.
“You did so.” But her tone was gentle enough to tip him off that she wasn’t mad. “And it’s a valid point. I’m comfortable with you. It’s easy. I like not worrying about whether I’m saying something witty or if you’re giving me a compliment that you’ve repeated to a hundred other women. I know you’re completely sincere. Why wouldn’t I prefer that to a sweaty-palmed encounter with a man I have nothing in common with?”
Ridiculously pleased, he absorbed all of the nuances of what she’d said and then did it again because hello. She’d just admitted that she preferred Isaiah’s company to Marchande’s. Not a typical occurrence in his world. Or anyone’s.
“Thanks,” he said, though how he got the word out around the lump in his throat was a mystery. “I like hanging out with you too. That might have been at least half my motivation for dragging you up here.”
Oh, look. He could be honest after all.
“I came willingly,” she returned with enough texture in her voice that he did a double take.
She wasn’t…flirting with him, was she? If so, he’d gone about this whole thing wrong. He should have brought candles. Invested in chairs. With cushions.
And then reason returned in a huge, uncomfortable rush. Aria wasn’t interested in him. She liked Marchande or they wouldn’t even be here. Likely she was rehearsing her moves, hoping to rinse and repeat with his friend. Isaiah had volunteered to help. Why not with that aspect as well? Certainly made it a lot easier to ignore the little rush in his stomach when she smiled at him if he kept the idea front and center that this was all practice. Not real.
Eventually she’d get it right with Marchande. And then Isaiah would have to sit back and watch his efforts bear fruit while Aria cozied up to someone else. He had to get to the point where he was okay with that.
“Yes, you did and a good thing too. I don’t invite just anyone up to my roof.”
“I do feel special, then,” she murmured and her gaze wandered away from the horizon to light on his face. “Where should we start?”
About a million responses sprang to mind but he bit them all back. Every last one was too provocative, too intimate. But that didn’t stop him from wishing he had the liberty to say exactly what was on his mind and it was not a dying town, the bet she’d made or anything other than how much he’d like to kiss her.
“Theme song,” he choked out and she blinked. As well she should. He needed to get his thoughts in order before he blurted out stuff. “I think Superstition Springs should have a theme song. Maybe ‘If the Stars Were Mine.’”
“Melody Gardot?” Aria pursed her lips, which did nothing to stop kissing type thoughts from multiplying in his head like rabbits. “That’s a fascinating choice.”
“I mean, you can’t dance to it or anything…” Duh. What a lame thing to say, as if dance-ability factor had anything to do with anything. She’d fried his brain or something. “Maybe slow dance but it would be tricky.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Aria said wryly. “I’ve never slow danced to anything, so I wouldn’t exactly call myself an authority.”
“That’s terrible. And easily rectifiable.” Instantly, he jumped up and fished his phone out of his pocket to key up the song in question, pushing everything Superstition Springs related out of his head. “Let’s see how it would work.”
The notes wailed out of the speaker, low and sultry. He held out a hand to help her up, but she hesitated long enough that his lungs seized up.
“You don’t have to dance with me,” she said with a half-laugh that was anything but amused.
Those candles would come in handy right about now. He’d love to have some extra light to read the things in her eyes that she hadn’t said. But if his persuasion skills hadn’t completely deserted him, he could still feel his way through this wi
thout benefit of additional clues. “Come on. You don’t want Tristan to ask you to dance and then stumble all over his feet, do you? This is just practice.”
Labeling it as such seemed to do the trick, just like it had for him a minute ago. This was no big thing. It meant nothing. She placed her hand in his and climbed to her feet, crowding into his space and then there was nothing left to do but pull her into his arms.
Yeah, he was really wrong. This was a big thing. Huge. She smelled like cinnamon and something fruity which he would have never expected to go well together but on her, it swirled into a magical blend which crossed his eyes.
“What do I do now?” she murmured throatily and the catch in her voice told him that she was similarly affected by the moment.
How, was the question, but he didn’t dare chalk it up to anything other than nerves, likely because she worried she might be doing it wrong. The least he could do was set her at ease.
“You’re doing great. Put your other hand at my waist,” he instructed her without giving away just how affected he was.
His performance deserved an Oscar to boot, especially once her warm fingers nipped into his flesh. The T-shirt between them hardly mattered since he could still feel her heat through it, and he wasn’t at all ashamed to admit he’d much prefer it if the shirt could go.
“Let me lead,” he said and guided her in a clumsy circle that probably told her all she needed to know about his skill on the dance floor, which was somewhere in the low fives on a scale of one to ten. But it wasn’t zero.
They found a sweet spot where they moved pretty much in sync, and when he caught her gaze, deep and rich and full of unfathomable things, his soul turned over.
“This is kind of fun.” The surprise in her voice made him smile. “And not as hard as I was thinking. It probably won’t be easy when I’m trying to do it with another man, though.”
Not for either of them, he thought sourly, but pushed that out of his mind. He had a lot of nerve even thinking about Aria as anything other than a friend, her scent and the way she felt in his arms notwithstanding. “We’ll practice a lot. How about that?”