by Lexi Eddings
“We can put this stuff in your fridge if you’d rather go out to eat,” he suggested.
Angie glanced at the big clock over the sink. “Actually, I am going out. Look, I’m sorry about this, but to be honest, I forgot you were coming by tonight.”
Way to make a guy feel like he just stepped in cat crap.
“It’s not like I planned this.” At least she had the grace to look a little embarrassed. When he didn’t say anything, she rattled on, “You see, I ran into an old . . . friend at the college. Totally by accident. And so now we’re meeting for dinner to catch up. Like I said, I’m really sorry.”
When she tented her fingers before her, he noticed she’d painted her nails the same shade as her lipstick.
“I didn’t mean to inconvenience you. This dinner just sort of happened,” she said, her brows drawing together in distress with such earnestness, he couldn’t be upset with her. “Can we reschedule a time to go over the Christmas pageant stuff?”
He shrugged. “Sure.”
What else could he say?
Her lips lifted in an approximation of a smile. It still wasn’t the one he wanted from her.
“Thank you, Seth. I really appreciate your being so nice about this.”
“No problem.” Pointedly ignoring the cat, who’d graduated from glaring to a low growl with each exhalation, he moved the pageant book and settled onto the other barstool. If Angie was going to stand him up, he deserved a few details. “So who’s the guy?”
“Who said it was a guy?”
“I don’t think you’d get this dressed up for a girls’ night.”
“Um . . . you’d be surprised how often women dress to impress other women, but actually, I don’t go out much at all. Look, I was brushing my hair when you knocked.” She raised the brush in her hand. “Do you mind if I keep getting ready?”
“Go ahead.”
She leaned her head to one side, and ran the bristles through the glistening strands. Her slender neck and one little shell of an ear was exposed, pink and soft-looking. Seth’s mouth went dry.
When she finished with her hair, she disappeared into the other room, probably to put away the brush. Seth drew a deep breath. His skin prickled as if static electricity was dancing along each nerve. He felt as if he’d been caught out in an open field, exposed while thunderclouds gathered, lightening crackled, and the sky prepared to drop a torrential rush on his head.
Why this woman should make him so hyperaware of her, he didn’t know. She still wasn’t his type.
A subtle hint of fragrance followed her back into the kitchen. No cloying flowers or baby powder. She’d spritzed on a surprising mix of vanilla, soft woodsiness, and a spicy hit of pepper. She smelled like . . . well, like everything he wanted a woman to smell like.
That settled it. “You are meeting a guy tonight.”
“Yes, I am, if you must know,” she said as she lifted a small foot to adjust the strap on one of her heels. “Peter Manning is his name, and he’s from . . . well, I don’t really know where he lives now.”
“And you know this guy from where?”
“We met as undergrads,” she said. “He and I used to see each other when we were at Baylor.”
See each other naked, you mean? almost popped out of Seth’s mouth, but he stopped himself. The past was the past. He’d hate to give chapter and verse on his failed relationships and he sure didn’t know Angie well enough to poke around in hers.
Still, he couldn’t help wishing this Peter Manning clown would suddenly sprout a big red zit on his nose.
He popped the top on one of the beers and took a long pull. “So what happened between the two of you?”
“That is none of your business.”
“Hey, I’m the one getting stood up here. You owe me.”
“I’m not standing you up. This would have had to be a date for that to happen. I’m just—”
“Rescheduling me, then.”
“Yes. We’re rescheduling.” Her dark eyes snapped. “And I said thank you for being so understanding.”
“You’re welcome. Don’t try to change the subject. Besides, understanding is what I’m after. What happened with this Peter Manson?”
“Manning.”
“Right.” Seth took another swig from the longneck. “You dump him?”
She shook her head. “He dumped me.”
Dang, that’s why she’s trying so hard. He had to admit what she was doing was working. If he’d dumped a girl who could rock a simple black dress like that, he’d want to kick his own rear up between his shoulder blades. “The guy’s an ass.”
“You don’t even know him.”
“Don’t need to,” Seth said. “Stands to reason he’s an ass. He’d have to be to dump someone like you.”
“You don’t know me either.”
He put down his beer. “I’d like to.”
Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times. She looked a little like a bluegill trying to decide whether or not to strike the lure jigging in the water in front of it.
“Why?” she finally asked.
He wasn’t sure. When he’d first met Angie, he’d pegged her as difficult, but not high maintenance. No woman who’d be caught dead in that ratty old sweater she’d been wearing could be called high maintenance. Still, she was an irritable fussbudget who thought she was better than he. But after he’d read some of the things she’d written in the margins of that book, he was beginning to see a different sort of person altogether.
Angela Holloway was sensitive. Empathetic and caring. She had a dry wit. As fragile as she looked, he’d been surprised to discover a core of determination in her that was solid as steel.
And between the lines of her sometimes meandering commentary on the Austen novel, he’d read a deep hurt.
If something was broken, Seth’s go-to response was to fix it. He never could resist a stray, which was why he had two dogs at the moment. If someone was down on their luck, he was first to lend a hand. He figured it was only right since he’d been blessed with a loving family, a decent education, and a business he’d grown into the most successful construction firm in the southeast part of the state. He needed to give back.
It wouldn’t hurt to give back to Angela Holloway. But he was beginning to suspect this need to figure her out was about much more than his usual instinct to help.
Something about the English teacher called to him. He didn’t understand it, but that didn’t make it less true. However, he figured he’d totally creep her out if he admitted that. Obviously, she didn’t feel the same pull toward him.
Yet.
“I want to get to know you because I figure it’ll make it easier for us to work together on the Christmas thing.” That was true, as far as it went. “Besides, you said you don’t go out much. Seems to me you could use a friend.”
“If I need a friend, I’ll take out an ad in the Gazette.”
She was determined to push him off. It was a classic self-protective move. He didn’t remember much from the psych class he had to take to earn his degree, but that particular strategy had stuck in his mind. Angie was trying to drive him away before he could leave her.
She was okay with being solitary when she could convince herself it was by her choice. Not so okay with being alone when the choice was someone else’s.
“All right, then,” he said. “I’ll be back tomorrow night to go through the whole pageant notebook with you.”
“You really think that’s necessary?”
“Hey, if you want to do it all yourself, it’s no skin off my nose.” He could play push away, too.
“No, you’re right.” She put the pizza and the drinks in her fridge. “We can warm up the pizza tomorrow. Thanks for bringing it, by the way.”
“No problem.” He rose to go. “Have fun with Mr. Manicotti.”
“Manning.”
“Whatever.”
As he headed for the door, someone knocked on the other side. Seth opened it to fin
d another guy standing out on the deck, a bottle of wine in one hand, and flowers in the other.
And there wasn’t the slightest hint of a zit on his nose.
Chapter 7
In the immortal words of Suzanne Sugarbaker,
“The man’s supposed to kill the bugs.”
—Shirley Evans, on the difference between men and women
“You must be Dick Manning,” Seth said flatly.
The other guy frowned. “Peter. Peter Manning.”
“Right. Angie, he’s here.”
She had to peer around Seth, who didn’t feel like unblocking the doorway immediately.
“I didn’t tell you where I lived, Peter.” Angie gave the newcomer a frown.
At least someone else is on the receiving end of her scowl this time.
Manning smiled at her.
It reminded Seth of the expression Effie made after she licked her own butt.
“This is a small town,” the guy said. “The lady at the desk of the Heart of the Ozarks motel was happy to give me your address, Ange.”
“Ange?” Seth repeated.
“Yes, Ange,” she said. “Just because you have a name that can’t be shortened, don’t pick on those of us who do.”
Okay, now she’s back to frowning at me. I oughta keep my mouth shut.
She turned to Manning. “I thought we agreed that we’d meet at Harper’s.”
Located on the lower level of the Opera House, Harper’s was the nicest restaurant in town. The menu was a bit pricey for most folks, but the food was as good as you could get in a fine restaurant in any city. The place got a little rowdy on Karaoke Fridays. During the week, it was sure to be quiet and dimly lit by the little candles in the center of the linen-covered tables.
It was as intimate a setting for dinner as you could find in Coldwater Cove.
Seth’s gut burned.
“I thought it’d be nice to have a drink here at your place before we walk across the Square to the restaurant,” Peter said, handing her the bottle of white wine. “Chardonnay. Your favorite. Have you got a corkscrew?”
She took the wine from him, but set it on the counter instead of rummaging through her drawers for an opener. “I’m not much for wine anymore,” she admitted.
“Maybe she’s more a beer kind of girl,” Seth said.
She shook her head. “I really don’t like beer either. I thought you were leaving, Seth.”
Seth ignored her not-so-cordial invitation to make himself scarce. He didn’t like the looks of this Manning character. “Not until you introduce us.”
She sighed in exasperation. “Peter, this is Seth . . .”
“Parker,” Seth finished for her in case she’d forgotten his last name. He stuck out his hand. Manning took it and gave him a surprisingly strong shake for someone who was probably a spineless wiener. No calluses, though. Seth would bet any amount of money the guy had never done an honest day’s work in his life.
Manning narrowed his eyes at Seth. “And you and Angie know each other . . . how?”
“Actually,” Angie cut in, “Seth and I just met today. We’re working together on a community project.”
“What sort of project?”
“The annual Christmas pageant,” Angie said.
“Is that so?” Manning said, turning to Seth. “I didn’t take you for a pageant sort of guy at first glance, but I think I see it now.”
Trust a lawyer to deliver a smack without moving any muscle but the one in his tongue.
Seth wished he could knock the guy into next week just on principle. He deserved it for dumping someone like Angie, but Seth figured she wouldn’t appreciate the gesture. Still, it was fun to imagine how much losing his shiny front teeth would mess up her old boyfriend’s looks.
But Angie’s cat didn’t seem to care what her mistress might appreciate. From the corner of his eye, Seth saw Effie sink into a crouching posture and give her bottom a preattack shake. Then, with a hair-raising yowl, the cat launched herself across the room. She did a bank shot off the counter, sending the wine bottle crashing to the floor. Droplets of chardonnay and splintered glass flew and the rest of the wine glugged out of the remains of the bottle. Then Effie leaped onto Peter Manning, giving special attention to the hand that was holding the bouquet.
He yelped like a twelve-year-old girl and dropped the flowers.
The cat continued to shred the blooms until a bulbous-bodied spider climbed from the ruins. The arachnid scuttled across the kitchen floor, trying to get away, but ran into the rapidly spreading puddle of chardonnay and began to flounder instead.
“Oh, my gosh! That’s a black widow,” Angie cried.
Seth stomped down on it with his heavily booted foot. “Was a black widow.”
Peter Manning’s eyes widened and his Adam’s apple bobbed in a gulp. He looked like he was about to wet himself. “Aren’t they poisonous?”
“Yeah,” Seth said as he pulled a paper towel off the roll hanging from Angie’s upper cabinets and cleaned the spider goo from the bottom of his boot. Then he knelt to sop up the wine as well. “Black widows like to hide out in cut flowers and produce from down south. Then they hitch a ride up here. You maybe ought to check for ’em, before you give any more flowers to a lady.”
“Peter had no idea the flowers had a spider in them, Seth.”
Why is she defending this loser?
“Yeah, well, just to be safe, how about I take the rest of the bouquet out to the dumpster? Just in case Charlotte brought a friend with her.”
“Charlotte?” Angie asked.
“Yeah, like in Charlotte’s Web.”
A quick smile slid over her lips. “That was my favorite book when I was a kid.”
“Mine too,” he said. It was a small thing, but it felt like the first point they’d agreed on from the moment they’d met. Something inside him hummed. “Of course, Charlotte wasn’t a black widow.”
“No, she was a good spider, clever and loyal,” Angie said. “I cried so hard when she died in the end.”
Seth chuckled. “Will you think less of me if I admit I did too? ’Course, I was only eight at the time.”
“Eight? You were a pretty early reader if you were already into big chapter books by then.”
“Okay, okay,” Peter said, obviously trying to interrupt the steady flow of points Seth was making with Angie. “Let the record show we all like spiders as long as they’re in a children’s book.”
“Or outside,” Seth said. “I never kill a spider if it’s minding its own business.”
Angie nodded. “Me, neither. But in the house, if it has more than four legs, it deserves to die.”
“Yeah,” Seth agreed.
“Ange, I’m surprised at you. That’s a rather bloodthirsty attitude you’ve developed. You used to be much more Zen about this sort of thing.” Manning raised a brow at her. “We really ought to have trapped the spider in ajar and taken it outside instead of smashing it.”
“Maybe you coulda done that if you hadn’t been too busy screaming,” Seth suggested.
“I wasn’t screaming,” Peter protested.
“Yeah, you kind of were,” Angie said.
“I . . . I was just surprised by it. Let’s go, Ange.”
“Okay, let me get my jacket.” She headed for the other room, then stopped in her tracks. “No, wait. I haven’t fed Effie yet.”
Seth immediately saw a way to make a few more points with her. “I’ll feed the cat. Then I’ll pick up the mess”—he gestured toward the ruined pile of daisies and carnations—“and lock up when I leave.”
“Would you?”
“I’m used to cleaning up construction sites. Guess I can manage a little feline mess.”
“Thanks, Seth.” Her expression clearly grateful, she breezed off into the other room. It still wasn’t the smile he was looking for, but it was a big improvement.
“She’s way out of your league, you know,” Peter said once she was out of earshot. “You’ll nev
er catch a girl like Angela.”
“Maybe not,” Seth agreed. “But if I did, I wouldn’t be stupid enough to throw her back.”
Peter made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded suspiciously like Effie’s little fake growls. Before he could say more, Angie came back into the kitchen, wearing a fitted leather jacket over her dress.
“There’s a can of tuna in the pantry, Seth. Thanks, again.”
“Okay, you and Manfred have fun.”
“Manning,” Peter corrected.
“Whatever, dude.”
After they left, Seth bagged up the floral debris and opened a can for the cat. When he set the plate of tuna down on the floor, Effie sniffed at it delicately and gave it a lick, but before she tucked in to her dinner, she rubbed against Seth’s legs.
She even gave him a throaty purr.
“Well, cat, what do you know? This just may be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
Chapter 8
In literature or in life, it’s hard to get very far if
you keep rereading the same chapter.
—Angie Holloway, who admits to getting stuck sometimes
As Angie had expected, there wasn’t a big crowd at Harper’s and they were immediately shown to a table in a pleasantly dim corner. The window of wavy old glass next to them opened out onto the Square with its Victorian courthouse framed by the quaint collection of shops. The street lights around the courthouse were electric and had been installed fairly recently, but they were styled after old Victorian gas lamps. Come December, the bulbs would be changed from white to red and green to add a festive flair to the Square.
“What’s good here?” Peter asked after he held the chair for Angie to sit.
Two different guys opening doors and holding chairs for me in the same day. She knew the feminist in her ought to be affronted, but it was kind of nice to be pampered once in a while. Sort of made her feel like a Jane Austen heroine.