by Lia Riley
“Between getting clobbered upside the head and watching my first movie in years, this evening has been exciting enough.” He reached as if to brush her cheek, but balled a fist and punched his hip. “Want to know a secret?”
“Always.”
“If it took a two-by-four for us to hang out, it will have been worth it.” He rocked on his heels. “I had fun tonight.”
“Me too.”
“Does this mean we’re friends, of a sort?”
“Of a sort.” She curtsied, and five minutes later was on his bed, her actual head resting on one of his actual pillows. It was a masculine room, painted light gray, with a black and white color scheme, with giant windows that he told her looked out over the river bluffs. She’d have to take him at his word until the sun rose.
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” she announced to the dark, once she was situated and unable to bear the intimate silence. “Us here together? Kinda, sorta having fun?”
“Strange.” His voice was husky with sleep.
“Want to know something else strange?” She paused for maximum effect. “I love popcorn-flavored Jelly Bellies.”
A pause. “No one eats those.”
“My favorite.”
“Would you believe me if I said you’re the strangest person I’ve ever met?” He chuckled drowsily, rolling over.
And the inexplicable thing was that sleeping together didn’t feel strange. In fact, as her eyes closed, the late hour weighing down her bones, it felt like the most natural thing she’d done in a long time.
Chapter Nineteen
The next afternoon Beau sauntered into Chez Louis, Everland’s finest dining establishment. The hostess took his name with a discreet nod, walking him back to an intimate ivy-walled courtyard. A woman, her dark hair pulled into an elegant chignon, sat at a bistro table tapping away on a cell phone.
“Hello, uh, Meredith?”
“Wait.” She lifted a single manicured finger. “I just need to get this offer out before noon and then…yup, we’re done.” She fixed on his face with a straightforward gaze. “My goodness, aren’t you the spitting image of Rhett’s description?” She stuck out a hand. “Wonderful to meet you in person, Mr. Mayor.”
“Likewise.” He slid into the opposite chair. “And how exactly did Valentine describe me?”
“That you’re the male version of me?” She pointed to the phone clutched in his hand. “How many e-mails did you read on the walk over?”
“You got me.” He gave a surprised bark of laughter as the truth hit home. “Six.”
“Not bad.” She inclined her head. “And city hall is, what, two blocks?”
Competition flared. “I also checked the mayoral Twitter and Facebook accounts.”
“Oh, cute. You’re still on that stuff?”
He frowned at her dismissive nod. “Our senior population has embraced technology and rank among my most loyal followers.”
“That’s sweet.” She gave a superior smirk. “I checked twenty-four messages and finalized another offer in the parking lot.”
He shook out his napkin and set it across his lap. Rhett had done exactly as promised. Found a woman who would be for all intents and purposes his perfect match.
But while he liked her, there wasn’t even a spark. And from the way her longing gaze kept sliding to her phone, the feeling seemed mutual.
Strange. He frowned to himself. He’d always imagined it would be easier to date the female version of himself. That similarities would make everything easier.
But instead it felt a little dull, like looking in a mirror and already knowing the view. No surprises. No excitement.
No spark.
“How are you settling into Everland?” he asked, trying to think of anything to say.
“Keeping busy.” She fiddled with a bracelet. “Come to think of it, you live out near the bluff? In that Greek Revival mansion with the magnolias and pecan grove, am I right?” She leaned in on her elbows. “That’s an awful lot of square footage for one man.”
For a horrified moment he thought she was propositioning him before they’d put in an order—already measuring the drapes. But then she launched into a spiel on how the housing market was hot, especially for sellers. She was scheming, all right, but the focus was on getting him to be a client.
“Thanks for the tips, but I’m staying put,” he said with enough resolve to douse the gleam in her eyes. “Belle Mont’s been in my mama’s family a long time.”
To her credit, she attempted a smile. “How refreshing to see someone so invested in family history.”
The elevator-style background music seemed to increase in volume as the seconds ticked on, until finally growing uncomfortable.
There was no babbling. No inappropriate observations or nosy questions. This was a civilized adult lunch date.
And boring.
So. Fucking. Boring.
The server appeared, and they ordered the same thing, salade niçoise and mineral water with a lemon slice.
Beau scooted his fork to be level with the knife and spoon. Time to try again. Search for any flicker of interest. “Tell me more about yourself. What movies do you like?”
“Movies?” Her laugh was incredulous. “I can’t think of the last time I watched anything.”
His gaze slid to his fork again. A sudden desire hit him, not one of romance, but to pick the utensil up and stab it in his eye, end this misery. “Okay, any hobbies?”
She cast another glance at her phone. “Who has time?”
He tipped his head back and studied the patch of blue sky. “Music?”
“Don’t get me wrong. I like it. I just don’t…listen to it.”
He’d had dentist visits more fun than this conversation. “How about food? You like to eat?”
“Now we’re talking. I’ve never met a pizza I didn’t like.”
Progress. “What’re your thoughts on pineapple toppings?”
Her eyes went to the size of saucers. “Wait. Oh dear. You like pineapple on pizza?”
“No. I just met someone who did.” And finally he gave a name to the unfamiliar feeling coursing through his veins.
He missed Tuesday.
He blew out a swift breath.
Yes. That was it, dammit. The ugly truth was that he missed Tuesday.
The way she rambled about things that he didn’t fully understand.
Her spontaneous crazy.
Her strange taste buds.
Had she whacked his head harder than he thought? Because she didn’t make sense. A woman like Meredith Rogers did. The two of them could sit on the couch, faces lit blue from laptop screens, breaking the silence to comment on a project or ask for advice on phrasing an e-mail. And when he went to official functions, she’d be on hand to say the right thing and behave in a way that didn’t offend any sensibilities. She was safe, and he’d be bored.
God, he’d be so bored.
By the time the salads arrived, two things were as clear as their crystal glassware. One, he liked the new Realtor fine. But she deserved someone who found her fascinating. Two, it turned out that what he was craving wasn’t simply female companionship, but a real connection. The elusive, mysterious spark.
By the end of the date, neither pretended. He didn’t mind Meredith’s disinterest any more than she seemed to mind his. With a businesslike handshake they were off, heading in opposite directions before the Chez Louis front door slammed.
He strode toward city hall, slowing his usual brisk pace to check the weather report. Sunny and seventy on the coast. What if he took the afternoon off? First time for everything. He loosened his tie, pausing before tearing the damn thing off, shoving it in his pocket, and veering toward his bike, parked under the sign that said, RESERVED FOR THE MAYOR. The Calypso needed a new spark plug in the outboard motor, and he needed to recalibrate.
Fifteen minutes later, he pulled into Buccaneer’s Marina. Rhett’s truck was parked in its usual spot. Beau tore off his helmet with more
force than required, his fleeting good mood fading fast. The last thing he felt like was confessing that his first date had been an all-out disaster. Worse, that Rhett had been right and probably had known all along he’d be right. Smug bastard.
He strolled onto the dock, waving at a few people on their boats. Some were getting ready to go out, others just coming back. Four slips down from the Calypso, the singing started, an unfamiliar tune, but the voice came straight from his dreams.
Despite the day’s heat, goose bumps erupted across his lower back.
Tuesday?
And there she was, platinum hair pinned in loose waves around her face, wearing oversize circular sunglasses and a red-and-white polka-dot bathing suit. Her sexy lips were painted a matching cherry color.
“Thought you had big plans.” Rhett came from behind, carrying a gas tank.
“Those plans went back to her office.” Beau shoved his hands in his pockets. “You were right. We did have a lot in common.”
Rhett grinned. “Something tells me there is a ‘but’ buried in there.”
“But it’s not going to work out.”
“Huh. Imagine that.”
Yep. Smug bastard.
“Go on. Say it,” Beau muttered. “Say it and get it over with.”
Tuesday quit singing. Now she wandered up on the bow, holding out a vial of nail polish over a kid dressed in all black. Beau couldn’t quite see what color she’d chosen, but he bet it matched that suit.
“So what’s the plan? You heading out, or what?” he asked.
Rhett blew a frustrated breath before reaching for a fishing pole. “I want to, but Tuesday’s afraid of the water.” Rhett smiled and waved as Pepper emerged from belowdecks, her hair wrapped in a scarf. “My lovely fiancée has ordered me on pain of no sex for a week not to push the subject.”
“What do you mean?”
“Tuesday doesn’t like the water. She’s afraid of it.”
“But she’s on a boat.”
“She thought she was coming out to sunbathe. And now Pepper is saying that we can’t force her. I guess she got caught in a dinghy out in a storm as a kid. I can’t put the pressure on. Celibacy and I aren’t friends.”
Beau shook his head. “Maybe you can’t, but I sure as hell can.” Before Rhett could say anything else, he’d jumped on the boat.
Tuesday made a show of ignoring him. “You’re blocking my sun, Mr. Mayor.” Whatever strange intimacy they’d shared in the night had burned away in the harsh light of day.
“Not for long. We’re taking the boat out.”
She lowered her shades while snapping her gum. “That’s fine. I’ll get my things and wait for you back at the marina’s clubhouse.”
“What?” The kid next to her visibly perked up. “I want to go out.”
“But, Flick, honey, we have music here,” Tuesday said, reaching for sunscreen. “And magazines. And lounge chairs.”
“You’re coming,” Beau said softly.
“I can’t sail,” Tuesday snapped. “I do not like it, Sam I am.”
“Oh, please, oh, please. I really want to go,” the girl said, presumably Flick.
“When is the last time you’ve been on one?” he asked.
She didn’t answer for a moment. “I was nine, on Whitefish Lake.”
“Now you’re what, twenty-six?”
“Twenty-five.”
“And this is the Atlantic.”
“The ocean is way deeper than some Podunk lake in Northern Maine.”
He dropped into a squat. “Trust me. You’ll have fun.”
Her gaze traveled his face, as if seeking something. “I mean it. I’m…terrified on water.” She held up a hand as though nipping any rebuttal from him in the bud. “I know I have a habit of exaggerating things, embellishing details. But no crying wolf, this time I mean it. The only reason that I came down here at all is because they assured me I wouldn’t get pressured.”
He could tell her words weren’t hyperbole. There wasn’t so much as a flicker of her usual humor in her eyes. Instead they were wide, a little glassy. And while he didn’t want to scare her, he did want to push her. “I made no such promise. And besides, I know you.” And the thing was that he did. Tuesday would enjoy the hell out of herself on this boat if she’d relax. “Trust me,” he said, pausing to clear his throat.
“Trust you?” She spoke the words slowly, as if mulling the taste, finding the flavor unfamiliar.
“For a woman who gets no small enjoyment out of pushing others from their comfort zones, maybe you should try it for a change.” As much as he knew he was laying it on thick, he didn’t intend to back down. He didn’t want to be an overbearing dick, but the weather was perfect, the sea calm. Ideal conditions to take a nervous beginner out on the water.
“Come on,” Flick pleaded. “Maybe there’ll be sharks. I love sharks. They’re my favorite animal.”
“And here I thought I was supposed to be the one who lobbied you.” Tuesday looked as if she might flatly refuse, except for the fact she’d tugged her lower lip between her two front teeth. “You challenge me, Beau Marino.”
“Likewise,” he said, unable to resist a smile. She was going to give it a shot because he’d asked. She trusted him, and he meant to be worthy of that gift.
* * *
“You sure you’re up to this?” Pepper asked, setting a hand on Tuesday’s shoulder and giving her a concerned look. “I know you aren’t a big fan of the water.”
Understatement.
Tuesday detested the water.
Okay, that wasn’t exactly true. She loved lingering in a bubble bath, bonus points if the water was infused with lavender or ylang-ylang. But water that went overhead? Nope. No likey. And yet here she was bobbing on a small yacht with Flick, her sister, her sister’s fiancé, and the most frustrating man she had ever known, motoring out of Buccaneer’s Marina and turning into the mid-Atlantic.
Waves crashed against the break wall, and her heart responded in kind. A seagull swooped low with an angry call, and it sent her ducking.
“You are wound up,” Flick said.
“Tuesday! I’m serious.” Pepper whipped off her sunglasses “I can tell Beau to turn this boat right around.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Beau stood at the wheel, calm and in control, hands at ten and two. In that white shirt with the sleeves rolled and well-fitting khaki pants, he was the epitome of preppy maritime style. Tuesday was hit with a wave of something that she preferred to attribute to seasickness because what was the alternative? That she was nursing a big, fat, honking crush on a man who couldn’t be more different from herself?
Yeah, yeah, it was true opposites attracted. But at some point couldn’t two people be so different that they’d sooner kill than kiss the other? Where was that line between her and Beau? And would finding out land her in federal prison on second-degree murder charges?
“Having fun yet?” he called.
“Reminds me of this one time I got a splinter.”
Rhett stepped forward. “Flick, want to come practice steering?”
“Sure!” She jumped up and tore to the wheel.
Beau took a seat beside Tuesday.
“You can do this. Keeping looking at the line where the ocean meets the sky.”
For a split second she felt more settled, but he had to go and slide his hand closer. As his pinky hooked hers, all bets were off. Her chest squeezed. Her stomach didn’t feel as if it held butterflies. No, her stomach behaved as if it had become a butterfly. Sweat beaded her upper lip.
Rhett gave Flick a basic sailing lesson, and to Tuesday’s everlasting relief, they didn’t venture too far away from land. Rather, they hopped between coves, lagoons, and hollows common on the islands around them. After an hour they dropped anchor in a pretty half-moon-shaped bay.
“This is lovely!” Pepper exclaimed, turning over one shoulder while gathering her medium-length hair into a short ponytail.
And for a couple of second
s, Tuesday really did feel good. Better than that. She could even see why someone would have fun doing it. Except she made the fatal mistake of peeking over the side. The yawning pits of hell couldn’t have appeared more sinisterly fathomless.
“I…I…I have to go below for a moment.” She offered a silent prayer of gratitude for her oversize Marilyn Monroe sunglasses. Pepper and Rhett were sharing a tender look as Flick gripped the wheel, steely gaze leveled to the horizon. They wouldn’t notice she had vanished.
Before Beau could ask a question, she rose. “I need the little girls’ room.”
Chapter Twenty
Tuesday lurched down the companionway in faltering micro steps. Solid ground was an illusion. Beneath the hull waited an abyss, while the ceiling was low enough to make her duck into the galley kitchen. She braced herself against the dinette table as she paused, letting her eyes adjust to the gloomy light. Ahead, through an accordion-type door, a V-berth bed nestled into the boat’s bow.
She stumbled to the sink and cupped her hand under the tap, taking frantic sips of water.
“Tuesday?”
She choked.
Beau peered from halfway down the stairs. “I’ll tell Rhett to head back. I shouldn’t have forced you to come out.”
“Please. Not another word. Flick is having the best time.” The bow rose on the crest of a wave, rolling side to side as it came down. “I’ve got to get horizontal,” she muttered.
“Seasick?” He skipped the bottom step.
“Fear always settles in my stomach. I used to throw up after auditions. People on the subway must have thought I kept vodka in my water bottle.”
He squeezed into the galley, opened a drawer, and removed a dish towel, running it under the faucet. After squeezing out the excess water, he handed it over. “Hold this to your forehead. My mama used to do that for me as a boy.”
She removed her sunglasses and did as instructed while sitting on the edge of the berth. “I swear I didn’t know you’d be here,” she whispered. “I overheard Rhett mentioning to Pepper that you had a date with some hotshot real estate agent?”