"How about this?" He strummed the strings and a combination moan, hum, sexy groaning sound escaped his mouth.
Good Lord, he could sing too. It made me squirm, and my insides melted. After a few more of those sexy sounds, I recognized the song. "Sunday Morning," a sensual, romantic ballad by Maroon Five. Only he sang it better than the singer, at least in my opinion. I touched my chin to make sure my jaw wasn't hanging open.
There was something familiar in Ben's voice, but I couldn't quite place it. It almost sounded as if he was trying to mimic a singer from a band, but the band's name escaped me. He was really good and could probably out-sing anyone I'd heard on the radio as of late, including whoever that elusive band singer was.
He sang the whole song, and the only time he didn't maintain eye contact with me was when he closed his eyes, hitting the higher notes. I was uncomfortable but not in a bad way, shifting on the throw, sitting on my hands and resting them on my lap. I couldn't take my eyes off him. Watching the way his hands moved, the way his fingers touched the strings of the guitar, the way his Adam's apple floated up and down his neck when his voice lowered. The way he licked his lips and smiled as he sang the chorus, gazing steadily into my eyes the whole time.
My heart rate kicked up a notch and my blood rushed through my body, warming those same parts that awoke just a minute or two before. I crossed my legs instinctively in an attempt to hide the attraction my body wanted to make obvious. Tiny pellets of sweat formed on my forehead. What the heck was happening to me? He was just a guy playing the guitar, but my senses went into overdrive. I could hear every chord his fingers played, every note his voice hit. I could practically feel his eyes blink, taste the moisture on his lips as he licked them between breaths. I wanted to jump up and run, run across that creek and throw myself at him like a pre-teen at a boy band concert.
When he finished, I golf clapped—a pathetic attempt at being cute. Truth be told, I could listen to him forever, but I feared if I did I would actually become that pre-teen at a boy band concert, so instead, I gathered my things to leave. "That was really amazing. You're incredibly talented," I said, stumbling over my words. "I'd love to stay and listen some more, but I need to get back and get ready for dinner."
He set the guitar on the throw. "Got it. No worries. I'll be here tomorrow, too. Same time. Same place." He ran a hand through his hair. "If you're not busy, of course. I'm always happy to have an audience."
Did his teeth sparkle when he smiled or was my imagination in high gear?
"Great. That's great," I said, struggling to speak, afraid I'd say something pre-teenish. "I may just come by. If I'm not busy, I mean." I waved as I walked away, and said, "Nice meeting you, Ben."
"You too, Carly."
He said Carly with such a heated, soft sexiness I actually moaned a little.
***
Lou was watering flower baskets on the front porch of the Inn when I returned. "Did you have a nice walk?" she asked.
I smelled the sunflowers she'd just watered. "I did, thanks for asking."
"I hope you didn't spoil your appetite none eatin' all those cookies," she said.
"No, I didn't. Actually, I got distracted and didn't even have any."
"Well, all righty then. I'm making my special fried catfish. Won all kinds of cookout awards here in town. Even been mentioned in the paper." She snipped a dead bud from another planter. "'Course, if you don't like fish, I could make you something else. Maybe chicken salad?"
"I've never had fried catfish, but I'm sure I'll love it."
"I reckon you will." She took a glass from the serving tray on the front porch table, filled it with ice and poured in lemonade. "For you," she said, handing it to me. "Sit a spell and rest. That walk must-a made you give slap out."
I wasn't sure what "give slap out" meant, but I assumed it was something similar to tired, because that's how the walk back made me feel. "Thank you," I said, taking the glass. "I'm going to do just that." I sat in a rocker on the porch. "This is such a lovely place," I said. "How long have you owned it?"
"Oh, the house has been in my family since it was built way back in the late eighteen hundreds. Eighteen ninety-two, to be exact." She plopped down into the chair next to me and fanned her face with her hand. "My great-grandmammy Abigail Pruitt was born in this house and died here, too. She swore till her dyin' day the house was magical." She rocked in her chair. "She wasn't lyin', neither. I seen all kinds-a miracles in my day."
"Miracles and magic huh?" I said, after sipping the sweet, tangy lemonade. "These next few days could turn out to be pretty exciting."
Lou stood. "That they will, honey. That they will." She patted my knee. "Now I best be gettin' back to my chores, 'fore Stan comes out and catches me takin' a break." She winked, and then walked back into the house.
"See you at dinner," I said.
I sat on porch, rocking in the chair with my eyes closed, enjoying the fresh lavender scent emanating from the wild lavender shrubs growing off the side of the Inn. It was so calm, so peaceful, and I couldn't remember feeling that relaxed in months. A few months before Matthew and I broke up, actually. I made a mental note to remember that the next time I missed him.
My relationship with Matthew had taken a negative turn about two months before he dumped me, at the same time my company, a graphic design studio in Buckhead, let several people go. The rest of us were worried we were next up for the pink slip, and I couldn't help but bring that tension home with me at night, which didn't make things any easier between Matthew and me. More people were laid off, but by the grace of God or sheer luck, I wasn't one of them. My job was okay, but my relationship dropped further into the toilet and shortly thereafter, Matthew gripped the handle hard, flushing it down into the bowels of relationship sewage.
"I just don't see myself spending the rest of my life with you," he said, as he packed his t-shirts and video game console. "I don't want to hurt you, but we're just different people. We want different things."
By different things, he meant I wanted a commitment, a wedding, a home and a family some day. Matthew didn't even want to commit to getting houseplants. He zig-zagged from job to job and career to career, and he was between jobs almost as often as he'd had one. While we had often shared beautiful dreams and plans together about the romantic places we'd travel to—Tuscany, Bali, the Costa Rican rainforest—usually while lying side-by-side, naked in bed after some great sex, it was all just pillow talk. Matthew was sexy, charming and elusive as hell, yet I'd always thought that if I hung in there long enough, gave him enough space and supported his dreams, mine would someday come true.
I'd done this for five years, and we'd lived together for almost three of them. But it had only taken the next girl, his wife now, three months to do what I couldn't. Ten days after the break-up, I ran into him at happy hour at our old hangout and barely recognized him. He wore an expensive designer suit, and his shoulder-length brown hair was perfectly cut, coiffed and had even been slightly highlighted in the front.
"What the hell happened to you?" I asked after I realized it was him.
He smiled sheepishly, showing the dimple I'd always been crazy about, and glanced down at himself with a shrug. "I got a new job. I think I've finally found what I'm good at doing."
His smile became vaguely apologetic as this petite little doll of a woman with long, red curly hair that any sane woman would kill for walked up and wrapped her arm around his waist. I recognized her from the Around Town section of the newspaper as a wealthy Atlanta investment banker's daughter. "Come on now Matt, we must get to the club to meet my parents for dinner."
When Matt introduced her as his girlfriend, I almost choked on my glass of wine.
"Sure looks like you did, huh gold digger," I said to him with a wink and a bright smile as fake as the redheaded debutante's perfect boobs. I turned my Miss America smile toward her. "Good luck with him," I said, as casually as possible. As I turned away from them, I guzzled the rest of my wine, and mar
ched straight to the bathroom where I proceeded to barf my brains out.
I'd read the engagement announcement in the paper less than a week later, and I knew that if I didn't get the hell out of Dodge for their wedding date, my friends' and my parents' well-intentioned sympathy would be the death of me. I'd brought home a copy of the paper, opened a bottle of wine, turned to the travel and timeshare classifieds in the back pages, and with my eyes closed, pointed at one…The Inn at Laurel Creek. I grabbed my laptop, checked the pictures on their website to make sure it wasn't a dump, and booked my reservation for the date of Matthew's wedding.
From the looks of the photos, I could tell the Inn was absolutely perfect. Peaceful and quaint with an incredible front porch lined with a row of wood rocking chairs facing endless acres of trees, shrubs and all things that had nothing to do with Matthew and his high-society wedding.
I came to the Inn hoping to forget that Matthew was marrying someone wealthy and unfortunately, attractive, and would have the life he said he didn't want, but apparently just didn't want with me.
"Well look who's at the Inn." The sexy, sultry voice that made my toes curl was only three feet away from me.
My eyes shot open, and I straightened my shoulders, while pushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "Are…are you staying here, too?"
He nodded. "For another week. Came here to work on a few songs." He sat in the same chair Lou had just minutes before. "It's peaceful here. Perfect place for composing."
"I imagine it is." I glanced at him, and his lips curved into a beautiful half circle, his straight, white teeth sparkling again. I guess it hadn't been my imagination. I stared a bit too long and jerked my head toward the walkway, blushing.
"Hard not to be inspired by all this beauty," he said. "And the house and land ain't too bad, either." He was leaning back in the chair, his head tilted toward me, that sweet smile and sparkling set of beautiful teeth in full view. It was then I noticed how full his lips were. How they were a light shade of red, almost pink, and so deliciously luscious looking. I imagined what it would be like to kiss him. I was going to need a super-cold shower before dinner.
"Oh, you're funny."
His eyes glistened, and he gave me a smaller version of his previous smile, which didn't stop my body from twitching.
"I wasn't going for funny. I was shooting for cheesy. Guess I'll have to try harder next time."
I laughed. "Oh, you hit cheesy right on the mark, that's for sure."
"Good to know I haven't lost my touch."
My face flushed at the mention of the word touch, and while I knew he wouldn't touch me then, or maybe even ever, my body temperature rose anyway.
We both leaned back and rocked in our chairs. I wasn't sure about Ben's reason, but I knew if I didn't try to relax I would reach over and run my fingers down that bicep of his whether he wanted me to or not.
I swallowed back the golf ball sized lump in my throat. "There's lemonade over there," I said, pointing to the table with the tray. "Would you like some?"
He stood. "Sounds great, actually." He glanced at my glass, and then reached for it, his eyes glued to mine, and his voice barely above a whisper. "Would you like me to top that off for you?"
I tossed back what was left of my lemonade, pretending it was a shot of tequila, and handed him my glass. "Yes, please," I said, choking from the quick gulp. Then I burped. "Oh my gosh," I said, covering my mouth. "I'm so sorry." My face heated up, and I knew it was redder than a tomato. I buried my face in my hands. "Oh my God."
He laughed. My face was still buried in my hands when he came back with a fresh glass of lemonade, and nudged my arm with his. Electricity shot through my body and I shuddered.
"I'm not sure I should have anymore," I said, but took the glass anyway. "I might have reached my limit."
"It's possible," he said, giving me that same smile that made my heart skip a beat before. It did it again, too. He sat back in his rocker. "But I'll tell you what. If you go over the legal lemonade limit, I'll stick close by so nothing happens. I don't want you running off and burping like that for just anyone." He sat in the rocker and leaned toward me once again. "Your voice is incredibly sexy when you're embarrassed."
I buried my face in my hands again. "I'm beyond embarrassed."
He nodded. "I know, and I love it, but seriously, don't sweat it," he said, rocking in his chair. "It was actually pretty impressive. Can you burp the alphabet?"
My eyes widened. "Good Lord, no. I don't think I have the lung capacity for something like that."
He frowned. "Too bad. I always said I'd marry a girl who could burp the alphabet. I was hoping it would be you, too."
I blushed again, feeling something sizzle from my heart and straight down.
"You're cute when you get all red like that," he said, grinning.
I was way past embarrassed, and edging up close to utterly horrified. Thankfully, Stan stepped outside at that moment and saved me.
"Well looky here," he said in his sweet southern drawl. "Me and Lou were hoping you two would meet." He turned back into the Inn. "Looks like the two young'uns met after all," he said.
Ben shifted his eyes in my direction and whispered, "I think they're trying to hook us up."
I whispered back. "I think you're right."
"Should we play along?" he asked.
I wanted to jump out of my seat and into his lap screaming, Yes, yes, for the love of all that's holy, yes! but I nodded instead.
"Okay, watch this." Ben stood and shook Stan's hand. "Me and Carly, we want to thank you, Stan. We're already in love, after just a brief meeting at the creek." He mimicked Stan's southern drawl. "We might could drop one-a our rooms and shack up together, if you ain't opposed."
Stan's eyes popped and Ben busted out laughing. "Gotcha," he said, hitting the old man gently on the shoulder. "I'm just playing with you, Stan. Figured since you've tried to make a love connection for me for the past five years, I ought to let you think it's working."
Stan laughed, and Lou came rushing outside. "Well lookie here," she said. "A match made in Heaven." She winked at me. "Magical, I tell ya," and then she retreated back into the house.
Stan and Ben kidded for a bit longer, and then Stan insisted Ben sit back down and pay attention to me. I wasn't going to argue. Having those blue eyes darken in intensity while he looked at me made me hot, both literally and figuratively, but in a way I really, really liked.
"So you've been coming here for five years?" I asked Ben after Stan went back inside.
He nodded. "I come here when I'm struggling with my music." He leaned back and rocked. "I grew up coming here with my mom, and something about this place, this town even, it just brings out the song in me."
I laughed.
He stopped rocking and raised his eyebrow at me. "What's so funny?"
"Do all musicians say cheesy stuff all the time? Because that was really cheesy."
He leaned back and rocked again, a slow and steady movement with his right foot that made the muscle in his thigh flex each time he pushed back. That tiny movement made my hands sweat.
"Not all musicians. Just the extremely talented ones."
"So what do you do with your music after you've finished writing it? Do you sell it?"
He clipped his head back and forth once. "I usually record it."
"That's so cool," I said. "So do you have a CD or something? Do you have a music contract or something?"
"Or something," he said. "But I'm just trying to write the best stuff I can. That's what's most important to me." He shifted his head toward me. "So what brings you to the Inn? Looking for places to have your wedding?"
"I see what you did there," I said, smirking. "But no, I'm sure as heck not planning my wedding." I tapped my foot on the porch, speeding up the rocking of my chair. "I just needed a little me time."
"I get it. Recent break-up?"
I shot him a surprised look. "Why would you say that?"
He lifted h
is shoulders and then dropped them back down. "This is a bed and breakfast. It's the perfect place for romance so I figured if you were in a relationship, you'd have brought the guy along. A girls' weekend would probably happen at a spa or something, but not a bed and breakfast. So you're not on a girls' weekend and you're here alone. Do the math. Adds up to a break-up to me."
I nodded. "Very perceptive for a musician." And then I leaned my head back on the chair, working hard to relax.
"You feel like talking about it?"
There was a sweetness to his tone that made me want to blurt out all of my thoughts and feelings—from my frustration and touch of relief about Matthew to my thoughts on South African coffee farms using child labor. He was just the kind of person I felt I could share my soul with, without feeling afraid or submissive. "Are you looking for material for your music? A good break-up love song maybe? Or do you write more of the head-banger kind of stuff?" I giggled at my own joke, when really I was just covering up my sensitivities about the end of my relationship with Matthew.
His mouth lifted into a half-moon-shaped grin. "Head-banger? I didn't know people still used that expression."
I admired his lips and how they curved upwards, taking my breath away. I didn't even realize he was still talking.
"Carly?"
"Uh, yes, sorry." I shook my head to refocus. "I got lost in my thoughts for a second. What did you say?"
"I said no, I'm not looking for material so your story's safe with me." He crossed his heart with this hand. "Promise."
"Okay then, yes, there was a break-up a few months ago."
"And you've just found the time to deal with it now?"
I fiddled with my hands to avoid eye contact. "He's getting married tomorrow to the girl he started dating right after we broke up."
He stopped rocking. "Ouch."
"Who gets married after only three months?"
"Apparently, your ex."
I flinched. "Talk about ouch."
"I'm sorry. I was just kidding around."
"I know, no worries."
The Ghosts Page 5