by Annie Dean
Just thinking about it gave him a headache; the woman had been making his professional life hell for the last two months. He'd known—everyone had—that the new owners were bringing in an independent audit team to make sure things ran lean, but nobody mentioned that the ballbuster they'd been warned about had reverted to using her maiden name.
C.C. Knox, auditor.
Carole Crenshaw Knox, recently divorced and vulnerable, looking to prove she still had what it took to attract a man. Christ. If he had any clue she'd be auditing at the Post with a huge hard on for giving him pain, Sean would've had a drink with her at least. His personal life was enough of a mess right now between divorce mediators and Junior Strickland's heavy-handed commiseration. If the man weren't such a good divorce lawyer, he'd have shoved him off an overpass by now.
His relief that there wasn't another man involved hadn't factored how other people would rub him raw: “Let me get this straight, you lost Cami to a woman?” Where he took comfort in it, other men especially seemed to find it both hilarious and pathetic at the same time. Then they'd try to school their faces and give him a bolstering talk. You'll meet somebody, they'd say over muffled snickers.
Trouble was, he had already, but she didn't want him either, and now he was living in a loft that had once been a barn with inadequate insulation and no furniture except a bed and a chair Cami had sent over via Junior Strickland's nephew, Jeff. So his life just needed a vengeful auditor dogging him. It was perfect now, no kidding.
Finally, he broke down and told Carter the whole story, which he probably should have done before now. At first, though, he didn't want to admit the woman could be so unprofessional. He'd thought, surely she'll get past this soon and just do her job. But she didn't show any signs of moving on; maybe that's why her husband left.
Carter scraped a palm down his face. “So you brushed her off at the airport twice and now she's taking you to task for all mankind's sins?"
"That about sums it up."
"Christ, why didn't you have a drink with her? She's not bad to look at. How come you didn't appreciate the ego boost?"
He hesitated. “I did, I guess. It's been a pretty long time since I was approached by a woman that way."
"Then what's the big deal?"
"I wasn't ready,” he said finally. “I had a ... transitional woman out west, but I don't know when I'll be ready to start dating again."
That was intentionally misleading. Cami wasn't the reason he didn't want to think about dating. The fact was, how could he ever meet someone like Addie again? He loved her laugh, her eyes, her ability to turn on a dime, her fierce loyalty to her family, her grit and determination. Despite everything, she possessed a gentle heart, and while she had a lot of memories, she knew no regrets.
Sean wanted all of that for himself, but didn't know where else he could find it. So he was mourning a still-born relationship, a might-have-been. If there was anything more painful than might've been, he didn't know about it.
Chin in hand, Carter had been pondering the dilemma. “You need to tell her that,” he decided eventually. “Take her to lunch and explain. Then maybe she'll wrap up your portion of the audit and move on. I don't want any trouble."
He sighed. “Is that an order?"
"It absolutely is. One last thing: I want a story on the homeless guy who lives under the bridge. He claims he can tell fortunes according to the wear on your socks. There better be a rough draft on Peppermint Joe on my desk by Friday."
Though he grumbled as he left Carter's office, he knew he had no choice. Since the paper sold last winter, everyone in management was on edge. The news staff probably wouldn't face much turnover if there were cutbacks, but folks with offices that had doors and windows had something to worry about.
They had made space for Carole on the first floor in the accounting department so he took the stairs. Putting it off wouldn't make it any easier. Taking a deep breath, Sean strode to her through the cubicles, but he waited for acknowledgment before speaking.
Eventually, she raised her head and favored him with a cool look. “Yes?"
An auspicious beginning, he thought.
"We got off on the wrong foot and I'd like to take you out to lunch."
"Of course you would,” she said with cutting amusement. “I'm in a position of power over you now, so naturally you'd like to curry favor."
He clenched his teeth. Nobody had ever accused him of that before.
"That's right.” Sean rolled his eyes. “I'm sleeping my way to the top, starting with you and ending with Carter. I have no scruples. You go to lunch at one, right?"
"I am not..."
"Yes, you are. Panini's okay?"
She narrowed her eyes, and if they weren't surrounded by people, he thought she'd hiss. “Don't think you can bully me into doing something I don't want to do."
"If you don't show up, I charge you with sexual harassment.” As he watched her eyes go supernova, he thought, probably not what Carter had in mind in terms of smoothing things over. She must be Italian, she boils over so easily. But he had a plan.
"Why you..."
"Endearments will get you nowhere. Panini's at one. See you there.” He grinned, turned on his heel and went back up to the news floor.
Sean hadn't much liked the self-assured shark that came onto him on the plane, but he sort of enjoyed the hissing spitfire. He spent the rest of the morning doing a little research on Peppermint Joe. Though he hated these fluff assignments, he admitted the guy was interesting. He'd just appeared downtown, homeless but somehow debonair, the Howard Hughes of vagrancy. The man knew a little magic, told a good story, and nobody knew where he came from. It'd make an interesting piece.
At fifteen to one, he headed out since it was a short walk to the restaurant. He'd chosen a place on the square, part of the revitalization of downtown Sharpeville. The old courthouse still stood in the center, a graceful slice of history from 1876. The surrounding structures were much newer, apart from a few townhouses on Magnolia, two streets over.
Out of the air conditioning, he started to sweat immediately, the air hot and heavy with rain. A few years back, the Daughters of Dixie decided the town wasn't pretty enough; they'd lined the square with beds of bluebells and hydrangea, planted magnolia trees and white oak around the courthouse, but he didn't appreciate it just now. He gave a little sigh of relief as he stepped inside Panini's, and the cold air washed over him.
This place was upscale European, decorated in sleek lines and angles, abstract art and concave hanging lampshades. He'd chosen it because it was quiet; the waterfall fountains provided agreeable white noise that kept conversations private. Downside—the breadsticks in the wire-funnel-looking thing would break your teeth, but the turkey and gouda panini tasted mighty good; likewise the shrimp pasta was a good bet. He hadn't tried anything else.
Right now the place was packed, but Carole had already gotten them a table. Well, of course she'd beaten him here. Anything else meant the meeting might take place on his terms entirely. Fixing a smile in place, he wove through the crowd toward her, ignoring the mustachioed maitre d' and his frantic hand waving.
Before he sat down, she fired the opening salvo. “I would've taken you for a ribs and coleslaw kind of guy."
By her tone, he knew that wasn't a compliment, but he kept his temper and his smile. “Not every day."
He waited until the server took their orders—two cups of bean soup, Mediterranean salad for her, turkey gouda panini for him with a side of coleslaw, diet Coke for both. Then he leaned on his elbows as he studied her. She was attractive enough. Unless her divorce had been especially ugly, there was no reason her self-esteem should've ridden on whether he took her bait on the plane.
Not surprisingly, she attacked while he contemplated. “Just who the hell do you think you are, trying to blackmail me? You've got nothing and you know it."
"I know,” he admitted readily, and that seemed to set her back. Into the silence he added, “But you k
now you've been unprofessional. Ever since you walked in the door, you've been gunning for me. How can you rationalize that? I doubt I've charged more than a thousand dollars in fifteen years, and the paper's own travel agent makes all my reservations when I'm flying for a story."
Her face reflected her internal conflict as she broke off a piece of the breadstick. Sean started to warn her not to eat it, but her teeth must've been cast from solid iron because she made short work of it. For a moment he imagined that in relation to oral sex and a cold shudder ran through him.
When she finally spoke, she sounded angry. “I haven't been fair."
"No, you haven't,” he agreed, then held up a hand when she would've ranted at him some more. “But I was rude. My only excuse is that I'm going through a divorce right now, and I didn't want to deal with another woman. Not you, anyone. You were probably just looking to make friends while you're in town, and I'm truly sorry. My mama would be disappointed in my manners."
Take that, ballbuster.
Though it was just a guess, he'd noticed with Addie that the drawl did wonders for his powers of persuasion. The ice melted off Carole in just about the same fashion and Sean decided west coast women must be particularly susceptible to down-home charm. If he ever dated again, he'd have to remember that.
Carole took a sip of her extra-icy Diet Coke. “I understand,” she said eventually. “My divorce was no walk in the park. Maybe we can start over."
"I'd appreciate that.” So would Carter. He hoped she wasn't getting the wrong impression, so he made sure. “I could use a friend right now."
The woman arched a brow as if to say she knew exactly what he was thinking. “Anything else would be inappropriate."
"Yes, ma'am.” Sean tried not to sweat; she really could be scary. Without knowing the whole story, he felt a little sorry for her ex.
He didn't ten minutes later. The rest of the meal passed pleasantly enough—they compared divorces and managed to laugh about it, but he figured it had to be hard, being left for someone twenty years younger and blonde. It was the kind of thing that happened in the movies, pure midlife crisis. No wonder she'd wanted to prove she still had it, and he felt like an asshole.
"We'll get through it,” he told her as he paid the check. “No matter how absurd it seems to someone else. You can call me anytime, Carole."
To his surprise, she did just that.
Over the next month, she filled the empty hours when they weren't at work. He showed her around Sharpeville, and they went to Williamsburg. One weekend they had dinner with Cami and Robin, who had settled into the condo like it was home. The next Monday, he signed the divorce papers, and just like that, a terminus to twenty years.
But the ballbuster auditor kept him from fixating on that. She laughed at his unfurnished loft, he poked fun at her ultra-efficiency apartment, and they watched sports together on weekends. Wes and Connie liked her; she played tennis better than Cami, fiercer with her serves and returns.
She often said, “We'll have to keep in touch when I go back to San Diego."
But she was a buddy, nothing more.
Sean knew she felt the same; there was no way a woman would sit in a man's apartment in faded sweats and a t-shirt streaked orange with Cheese Doodle fingers if she had any ambition of sleeping with him. As for him, he felt like his sex drive had shut down entirely. It sparked only when he thought of Addie and he didn't permit himself to do that often.
Until the day he came home and found the wedding invitation in his mailbox.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Addie smoothed her green satin dress.
She'd threatened to brain Lorene with a breadmaker if she even looked at the taffeta confections, so they'd compromised on a pretty sheath with spaghetti straps that showed off her smooth shoulders and clung in all the right places. Overall, she'd seen much worse bridesmaid dresses. Worn worse herself on occasion, including Lorene's first wedding. The second had taken place in Cozumel, so Addie hadn't stood for her.
As she watched her friend outline her lips in coral, add gloss and blot, she said, “You're quite an optimist."
"Third time lucky,” Lorene corrected. “This time I got it right. I'm sure."
Maybe she was biased, but she thought Manu was pretty great too. “I'm so glad we're going to be sisters. Sort of."
She wasn't altogether sure how that worked, but to her mind, Manu hadn't stopped being her brother-in-law just because Mel was gone, so that meant Lorene would be her sister-in-law from this day forward. It suited her best that way.
"Me too,” her friend said, bright-eyed and tremulous in her white gown. “We'd better get out there, it's time."
Walking behind her, Addie admired the elegant lines of the gown, a touch of lace and hand-sewn seed pearls. Lorene looked lovely. Okay, maybe white was a stretch, but who the hell cared? I'll punch anyone who says a word.
But she wasn't really worried; they had some practice at managing crowds as a team. The 4th of July bash had been a huge hit, although it looked like they might run out of beef and beer for a while. Family from her mother's side had come from Tijuana and Baltimore and everywhere in between to support them. It had been Manu's idea to invite them to the grand opening, something she never would have considered. Even Lem had come out to bask in his new success, answering questions about his trip to Texas. If her dad had family anywhere, Addie didn't know about it. Maria had often joked that her big extended family was a selling point for him.
Today they were throwing another party: Lorene and Manu's wedding/reception. All the arrangements were in place, rented folding chairs and tables, pretty papier-mâché decorations and centerpieces cut from the front garden. They'd made good use of the open space behind the pool; Addie thought her mama would be pleased.
Sandy had set up her keyboard to the right of the podium, and she wasn't even giving Emmett suggestive looks while she checked her sheet music. Most of the town had turned out, invitation or not, so they'd overflowed the seats, standing room only. Butterflies stirred in her stomach as she took position on the red runner.
It was a gorgeous day, azure sky dotted with high, cottony clouds. A little hot, maybe, but people would put up with anything for free food. Even the mountains in the distance looked approving.
Lorene's dad looked nervous in his new suit, as well he might, given that his daughter didn't have a great track record in this department. But Manu simply shrugged when someone asked him about it, however teasingly. “Third wedding,” he'd say, “First me. This one'll stick."
Manu's buddy from Vegas, wearing full Elvis regalia, claimed Addie's arm and they stepped in time the wedding march. For a hundred bucks, the Methodist minister from town would perform a service anywhere within a twenty-mile radius except while jumping from a plane. Someone had apparently asked once and it didn't work out well.
As the reverend started the service, everyone quieted down. She tried not to listen to the words because they made her ache in ways she hadn't let herself think about in years. It was nothing she'd ever wanted, Addie told herself. She only wanted someone to have fun with, and it didn't matter whether it was the same person, year after year. Hell, that'd get boring, wouldn't it?
Though she'd promised herself she wouldn't, by the time Manu lifted Lorene into his arms and gave her the first kiss as his wife, Addie felt tears prickling at her eyes. She didn't want anyone seeing that; some smart-ass would take it as sour grapes, no doubt, so she hurried back toward the patio, figuring she'd start uncovering the food on the buffet table and setting out the salads.
The music started with Sandy pounding out some cheerful techno covers on her keyboard. Addie knew she was supposed to report for pictures promptly at the gazebo but she managed to set out four Tupperware bowls before Manu came and tucked her under his arm. The man had a way of ending arguments before they began, she reflected. Wonder how Lorene feels about that.
Patiently she endured having her picture snapped when she really wanted to see if ther
e was enough ice, if Tia Consuela had mixed the punch properly and if Sheriff Menlow had started the grill. Calling it a wicked promotional opportunity, Manu insisted that his wedding had to feature their special marinade and BBQ sauces. So much to manage—she was dying to get to it.
At the first opportunity, she made her escape: mingling when necessary, circulating with trays of hors d'oeuvres and just generally making sure nobody was left out. On maybe her sixth trip to the kitchen, she found a Jell-O salad shoved all the way to the back of the fridge. Well, somebody might want that; it looked good, full of mandarin oranges, mini-marshmallows, chunks of pineapple and coconut.
When she stepped out onto the patio, she almost dropped the bowl.
"Sean."
There was no way he could have heard her over the music and the happy rumble of conversation but he turned just the same. At first she thought he wouldn't acknowledge her, then he started toward her. Her heart beat double time; it almost hurt as she ate him with her eyes. Felt like it had been years instead of months.
She'd forgotten so many things—like the way his hair curled tight to his scalp when he was hot or the tiny scar on his chin. She struggled to get her breath, not knowing exactly how she felt.
No, she knew. Not until this very moment had she let herself feel how much she'd missed him. Everyday things just weren't the same without him to share them. She just didn't know what he'd say when she said so. Or how much his rejection would hurt.
"Jell-O?” she asked, lofting the container as he reached her.
What a fucking stupid thing to say, after all this time.
He regarded her with grave, dark eyes. He seemed different somehow, older maybe, although she didn't see more lines, no gray. Nothing she could pinpoint, but maybe he'd always looked at her with a light she hadn't noticed, never dreaming she had the power to put out the fire that separated him from everyone else.