No One Like You
Page 6
“No kidding.” She didn’t want to get into her or her sister’s personal lives with him, but she couldn’t agree more.
“Will you grab that stack?” He pointed to another pile of linens behind her. “Didn’t she date Tommy Bouharan back in the day too?”
“Ugh.” Her sister had the worst taste in men. “I forgot all about him. Thanks a lot for the reminder.”
“Between him and Rex and the guy who hooked up with the bartender at the Tavern, how many butts have you had to kick in the name of your sister?”
“Um, none?” Brooke busied herself straightening the tablecloths already on the cart.
“Sure you haven’t.”
Torn between sharing the chaos that came with being the oldest of three sisters and keeping her private life and past as far away from Trevor as possible, she went with splitting the difference. “I might have had a word of prayer with a few people over the years, but there’s been no actual butt kicking.”
“I still say you must be a sight to behold when you get on a roll.”
He didn’t know the half of it.
“What about your youngest sister? Is she as much work as Reagan?”
She stopped folding and refolding linens. “We’re supposed to be focusing on the prom. Let’s stick to talking about that.”
With no lack of dramatic flair, Trevor dropped the cloth in his hands and leaned forward over the cart. “You mean to tell me, all you want to talk about for the next two weeks is the prom and nothing but the prom, so help you God? No can do, Sarge. I won’t survive the monotony.”
“Sarge?”
“Get it? Because your name is Sargent and you keep trying to give me orders.”
“I do not.” She tossed a tablecloth at him. “Don’t call me that.”
“You just made my point for me.” He laughed.
Her resistance to conversation wasn’t because she didn’t like him and want to know more. Quite the opposite actually.
Trevor was a walking quirk. A lean, long-legged, walking eccentricity.
At Dev’s wedding, he’d told her about the time he learned to crochet. Just to prove to himself he could. He’d taken up knot-tying and somehow, for him, that’d segued into crochet.
Because sure, why not?
Also, what in the world motivated him to do yoga? And how he could be so cheeky and yet charming at the same time? Why did her skin tingle every time his fingers brushed hers, and why did he always smell so good?
But the more she talked to him, the more things she found to like. And the more things she liked, the more the ground crumbled beneath her feet.
She needed that foundation solid, hard as a rock, so she’d never fall again.
“Let’s just stay on the topic of the prom. I think that’s for the best.”
Trevor smirked, as though he knew exactly how full of it she really was. “Okay.” With arms outstretched, he smoothed both hands over the linen she’d thrown at him. He hummed low in his throat. “Prom…hmm, let me think. Sticking to the topic of prom.”
He studied the material, adjusting and smoothing, plucking something away from the pristine white, paying such close attention.
Prickly heat began to dance up the back of Brooke’s neck.
He kept petting the damn square of linen, making it smoother with every pass of his hand, removing even the tiniest speck until it was perfect. What if he applied that same level of attention to a person?
Say, her, for example. Caressing her skin until she grew supple and soft beneath his touch.
“I know.” He looked up, his gaze locking onto hers. “What was the best thing about your prom?”
The basement walls shrunk closer, her hearing drowned out by every other sensation warring for attention. “Wh-what?”
“Prom. You’ve restricted me to one topic, so what was your favorite part?”
“You know that’s not what I meant. I don’t even remember my prom.”
Trevor rounded the cart and stood before her.
He was tall, but in her heels, she had to lift her chin only a little to meet his gaze.
“How do you not remember your prom? You were all about Windamere High back in the day.”
“How do you know?”
“I was in school for a year with you. Everyone knew. Brooke Sargent ran Windamere High.”
“I did not.”
His laugh rolled out, full and close enough to warm her skin. “When I was a freshman, you were practically queen of the high school.”
That wasn’t how she remembered things. “I was more workhorse than queen. All I did was study and run student government. I’m pretty sure Shelly Mathis won prom queen and homecoming queen my senior year.”
“But you were in charge of everything.”
“Which made me a geek, not a social queen. By spring of my senior year, I’d been accepted at Wake and prom was…I don’t know. I cared more about going to college than to a dance.”
“Who’d you go with?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Liar.”
“Excuse you.” The urge to throw another tablecloth at him was strong.
“You do too remember. Everyone remembers who they went to prom with. I went with Julie Phillips.”
“Of course you did.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Julie and Trevor were behind her in school, but even as a freshman, Julie was one of the prettiest, most popular girls in Windamere’s tiny corner of the universe. She was the type people remembered, not Brooke.
“Never mind. Don’t answer that. Answer my first question. Who’d you go with?”
“I didn’t take a date. I went with some of my friends.”
Trevor considered her. “I’ll interpret that to mean you turned a bunch of guys down or they were all too intimidated to ask. Either way, it’s just as well. Prom dates are a lot of drama. You probably had more fun going in a group than anyone who went as a couple.”
Maybe. But looking back, her lack of relationships should’ve been a sign.
Even back then, she was so focused on her goals, she didn’t take the time to foster close friendships. She had two sisters and they were more than she could handle.
And there had been no boyfriends.
Boys were nothing but a distraction. Self-centered and energy sucking, they cared only about themselves and what they wanted. So she’d avoided them.
Sadly, marriage had only proven her seventeen-year-old self correct.
“Come to think of it, we should probably keep the group-date option in mind for our prom,” Trevor kept talking, oblivious to the spiral she struggled to pull herself out of. “It’s popular nowadays to go with friends in big groups, versus going in pairs. I think it’s a millennial thing. We don’t want the atmosphere to be over-the-top romantic or couple-y.”
“There will still be couples though.” There were always couples, successful pairings who somehow knew how to make and keep each other happy. Making everyone else feel like even more of a failure.
Wow, she needed to get a grip.
“We won’t veto all of the romance, but we can keep it light. Focus on the fun.”
Brooke shook loose the clutches of her past and tried to ignore the claw marks. “Focus on the fun. Right.”
“This means I’m going to vote a hard no on your hurricane lamp centerpieces tomorrow when we meet with the prom committee chairs.”
“Because they’re staid.”
“You got it, Sarge.” Trevor winked at her.
She narrowed her eyes to glare at him.
“Uh-oh, the Sargent stare.”
Her stare turned to a full-blown scowl.
“Now, now. Don’t be mad. Come here.” He took her hand and began walking toward the back of the basement.
Tingling heat went up her arm, spreading through each limb. “Why? What are you doing?”
“Relax. I’m not going to abduct you. I want to show you something.” He led her to a small storage room in the back corner of the basement.
The room was dark as pitch, and he had to use the glow of his phone to find the light switch. Once on, the single bulb barely illuminated the room. Only enough to throw shadows everywhere and make the place spooky as all get out.
“You’re right, Trevor. My ideas are too staid. Let’s have the prom here instead.”
“Ha-ha. The room is not what I’m showing you.”
He left her there, in the creepiness, as he rummaged around on some of the shelves lining both sides.
At least she was no longer lost in thought about her failed marriage. Sadly, being abandoned in a musty storage room was only a few rungs higher on the ladder of life’s calamities.
“Here it is.” Trevor returned with something in his hands.
Metal and Moroccan in style, a decent-sized lamp with a small battery-powered candle cast more light around the room.
“We used a bunch of these for the Chamber of Commerce’s party. You can still get the feel of candlelight, but this is more fun.” Trevor held the lamp up, casting more light around the room. “See? Something like this is different. Not the same hurricane lamps these kids see every Thanksgiving on Mee-Maw’s dining room table.”
Brooke stifled a laugh and studied the patterns of illumination along the walls and floor. Admittedly, it was a much more stylish option than her idea.
“You look so good in this lighting,” he said.
Her gaze jerked to his. “What?”
“You heard me.”
She waved away the compliment and reached for the lamp to turn it off, but he moved it out of reach. “I mean it. At this point, I’ve seen you at a midday wedding, a late-night pizza joint, and now in a basement with piss-poor lighting. You look amazing.”
She tried again for the lamp. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Bradley.”
“Who said I was trying to get somewhere with you?” He clicked off the lamp, plunging them into darkness.
Brooke squinted, trying to make out his silhouette or see anything at all. Failing that, she stuck her hand out and found his arm. “Trevor.”
“Just kidding.” He turned on the lamp, the patterns of dots lighting their faces again. “I’m totally trying to get somewhere with you.”
“You’re nuts.”
“I know.”
“Thank you, though. For the compliment. Normally I have better manners. You caught me off guard.”
Two lines crinkled his unfairly smooth forehead. “Off guard? You know I’m attracted to you.”
Yes, but his attraction wasn’t something she could wrap her head around. He was shiny and new. Carefree optimism and energy.
She was a salty old crone in comparison. “I know you’re forthright and complimentary. I’m not used to it.”
He made a show of contemplating her statement as he turned on the overhead light. “Not used to honesty and compliments. What the hell kind of crowd you been running with, Sarge?”
“The wrong kind,” she muttered.
“Then it’s a good thing you’ve started hanging out with me.” Trevor grinned and led the way out of the storage room, back to the table linens. He grabbed an armful while Brooke scooped the other stack up in both arms.
“Take the lantern with you. See how it looks at Jolie.” He balanced the lantern on top of her linens and headed up the basement steps.
She stopped at the top of the stairs and turned toward Trevor, her arms too full to open the door.
He joined her on the top step, crowding them in and reaching around, close enough that his body heat warmed her, his clean scent tempting her senses. With a long, strong arm, he practically engulfed her as he opened the door. “Thanks for helping me with these.”
His breath tickled her ear, and her heart kicked demandingly in her chest.
“I…” Brooke swallowed hard. “You’re welcome. But I really should head out now. I have meetings at Jolie this afternoon and you’ve got stuff to do here.”
“No worries. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
Trevor’s easygoing confidence continued to put her at ease, all while whittling away at the foundation beneath her.
They stepped out of the basement and back into the bright light of day.
No worries.
Yeah, right.
Chapter 9
During the day, Chateau Jolie appeared an ideal rendezvous for lovers and romantics.
Rolling acres of vineyard surrounded the back of the hotel in a semicircle. In front, a visitor had to travel down a long, gently winding road before reaching the parking area.
Trevor could imagine Edith Piaf’s voice drifting through the air. At any moment, someone should ride by on a bike, with a basket. And a baguette.
He liked it.
A visit to Jolie would’ve come sooner if he’d known the chateau was so inviting. All he’d ever heard about was the winery. In the years since he’d been back in Windamere, the Sargent family had done little to promote the hotel.
“I think my sister spent some time here last summer,” he said as soon as Brooke met him in the reception area. “With our chef, I believe.”
A smile curled her lips. “Nice try.”
“What?”
“I’m not dishing dirt on your sister.”
“I know she and Wright spent the day here. I busted them on the way back.”
“Sophie was here at an undisclosed point and time. That’s all you’ll get from me.”
“Boo.”
“How about I show you the ballroom before the prom committee gets here?”
A chirping sound cut through the air. “Oh, hang on. That’s me.” Brooke pulled her phone from the pocket of her gray dress pants.
She read the text, and the smile died on her lips.
“Sorry about that.” She flipped the phone to vibrate and shoved it back into her pocket.
Her face went paler than her white blouse, and she led him through the lobby and across the hall.
He shouldn’t ask.
He wanted to know, but he shouldn’t ask.
The chateau was bright with natural light from the tall windows, the walls and décor all fair and airy in color. The main floor was the polar opposite of Honeywilde’s rich warmth, but the effect opened the hotel up, making it welcoming and old-world. A guest could almost forget they were in North Carolina and think they had somehow stumbled into the Burgundy region of France.
Brooke pushed open two enormous French doors and he stepped into a long, mostly empty room, with honey-colored hardwood floors and tapestries draping the walls.
“Very nice.” He moved past her to the center of the floor. One whole side of the room was lined with French doors that matched the entrance. “All of these open up to that garden?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. This place is perfect. How could the school not want this place as their first choice for prom? Have they seen it?”
She shrugged before opening one of the doors so he could check out the garden. “I doubt any of those kids have been here.” Brooke muttered the rest under her breath. “And the Honeywilde name overshadows all.”
“What’s that?” he asked, though he’d made out every word.
“Nothing.”
Trevor shook his head and stepped outside for a quick tour of the rose garden, taking in the myriad other flowers, a walking path, even a bench and arbor.
As much as he loved his family’s inn, Jolie had it all over them when it ca
me to being a prime prom location. Or any dance for that matter.
He returned to find a frowning Brooke staring at her phone, her forehead crinkling.
“What’s up? What’s wrong?”
“Huh?” She glanced up. “Nothing. Just…thinking about the prom. I’m a worrier.”
“Don’t worry.” He stepped closer. Close enough that her hand was only a few inches from his. “You don’t have to.”
“What are you doing?”
“Because we are both consummate professionals in our field.”
She laughed.
“We could plan this event with our eyes closed. Plus, this is supposed to be a fun, amazing event for the kids in our town. There’s nothing for you to worry about.” He took her hand and stepped back before pulling her toward him.
“Trevor.”
“There will soon be laughter and dancing in this room. We’re doing something nice for a bunch of kids, not planning an execution.” He turned, maneuvering her in that direction.
“I am not dancing with you right now.”
“Dancing?” He pretended to be shocked. “That’s a great idea.”
She continued to smile. “I’m serious. We don’t have time. The committee chairs will be here any minute.”
“Then we better make this quick before they show up and get in the way of my moves.”
Brooke pinched her lips together before she spoke, humor making her voice crack. “Your moves?”
“Don’t act like you don’t remember my moves.” Trevor swept her closer, a hand on the small of her back as he turned them again.
Something vibrated against him.
“Sadly, I think that’s your phone and not your knees going weak,” he said.
“I’m not answering.”
“Suits me.” He held her closer, her body pressed against his as they turned again. Her scent, the curve of her back, familiar, and sensations he’d missed.
“I’m not much of a dancer.”
“Pffft.” He stepped out and back in, maneuvering her to turn beneath his outstretched arm. “Don’t forget, I’ve spent all night dancing with you already. You did great.”
“That’s because I let you lead.”
“Then let me lead.”