Take Me To The Beach

by K. L. Grayson, Karina Halle, A. L. Jackson, Marni Mann, Monica Murphy, Devney Perry, Kristen Proby, Rachel Van Dyken

  Despite my lack of feelings for Tiffany, that fact stings.

  Unfortunately, once that revelation was made, Tiffany truly lost it. She went so far as to accuse me of having an affair with Caroline. Despite my repeated denials, I knew she didn’t believe me.

  So what happened between her and Caroline? When did they talk? Christ, what did Tiffany say to her?

  Grabbing my phone from my pants’ pocket, I start to text my assistant, then pause. It’s late in the evening, and I shouldn’t bother Kelsey with my personal problems. That’s taking it too far.

  I put my phone away and go to the back door that leads out onto the deck that overlooks the ocean. The sun set not too long ago, but there’s still faint light streaking the sky, casting everything in a dim purple haze. I shake the glass in my hand, the ice rattling against the sides, before I take another sip, draining the last of the alcohol.

  Alone. Again. I don’t mind. Having no companion is better than having a terrible companion who doesn’t love you, right? I think I’ve finally learned that lesson. I always tripped over my own feet, eager to make love happen like some sort of slobbery puppy. But I choose wrong. Mother always warned me.

  Yet she never really told me how to choose right either.

  What the fuck do I know about love anyway? My parents are good, decent people, but they’re both consumed with their own lives. They always have been. My sister is off living her own life. We work together, but she knows how to separate her personal and professional life. She’s already married and they’re trying for a baby. My brother is fairly dependent on our parents, though he has a caretaker when they aren’t around—just in case. He believes our parents baby him, and I agree. I try to spend as much time as possible with him, but I’m sure it’s not enough.

  I’m just as busy, just as selfish as every other bastard out there. There are only so many pieces of myself I can give to others.

  The rest, I need to keep for myself.

  Chapter 15

  Caroline

  It’s a typical boring Thursday morning at work when a man in a delivery uniform enters Noteworthy, carrying a giant pink floral arrangement that’s so tall, I can barely see his face.

  “I have a delivery,” he says, setting the flowers down on the counter I’m standing behind. He glances at the card nestled among the blooms. “For Caroline?”

  Surprise steals my breath, and I rest my hand on my chest. “That’s me.”

  “Here.” He has me sign my name as confirmation I received the delivery. “Have a nice day,” he calls before he jams out of the building.

  I study the bouquet for a quiet moment, turning it this way and that, leaning in to smell the fragrant flowers. There are pink roses and lilies, and even a few sunflowers. The arrangement is big and bold and I love it so much, I want to dance around with it, but I don’t.

  Since Iris is back in her office, and Cassie isn’t here yet, plus there are no customers in the store, so I get to savor this moment all by myself for a few minutes.

  Flowers. From who? I have no idea. Sometimes clients send them to me as a thank you for helping them—seriously, choosing the perfect invitation or save the date card can be such an agonizing process—but that’s rare. There are no men in my life who would send me flowers, and the ones I’ve dated in the past never sent them to me, so...yeah. There’s no special occasion to celebrate.

  So who sent these?

  Anticipation curling through my veins, I finally reach for the card, studying the way my name is written. Unfamiliar handwriting, though I’d guess it was written by a man. The dark slashing letters gives me masculine vibes. Carefully, I open the envelope and pull out the tiny card.

  * * *

  I’m sorry for what happened.

  ~ Alex

  * * *

  Huh. I’m frowning. I mean, yes it’s exciting that Alex Wilder sent me flowers, but he’s sorry for what exactly? Making my life miserable by bringing his fiancée into it? Though honestly, that’s not his fault. Tiffany is the one who contacted me first. She brought Alex back into my life, not the other way around.

  I tap the card against the counter, contemplating what it says. Perhaps he’s sorry for the way Tiffany came into the store and verbally attacked me. But how does he know she did that? Did Tiffany actually tell him? I find that hard to believe. She behaved like a complete maniac, so why would she want to reveal that?

  Curiosity getting the better of me, I grab my phone and go into my recent calls, finding the number for Alex’s office. I hit the number without thinking, and Kelsey answers on the third ring.

  “Good morning, Alexander Wilder’s office,” she says.

  “Kelsey, hey. It’s Caroline,” I tell her, glancing around to make sure Iris isn’t anywhere near. There’s still no customers around either. Why I want to make this call in private, I’m not sure. But I do.

  “Caroline! How are you?” Kelsey sounds genuinely glad to hear from me, which is nice. I really like her. So did the rest of my friends. I think she’s a good fit with our group. “Is everything okay?” she asks when I still haven’t said anything.

  Her voice is hushed, and she’s talking fast, which tells me that maybe she’s a little busy. Clearing my throat, I get right down to business.

  “Yeah, everything is fine. I was just wondering if Alex was in?”

  “He is, but he’s leaving for an appointment in a few minutes. Hold on.” There’s a click, then instrumental music starts playing. A pleasant rendition of a song that I recognize, but can’t quite place.

  Wait a minute…

  It’s Travis Scott’s song “Pick Up the Phone”.

  Huh. Fitting.

  There’s another click and then it’s him. Alex. His deep, rich voice is directly in my ear and a shiver moves through me at hearing him say my name. “Caroline, hello.”

  I don’t bother beating around the bush. “Thank you for the flowers.”

  “You’re welcome. I hope you like pink.” His voice is warm and friendly, sounding nothing like the last time I spoke with him, when I was delivering a giant load of bad news.

  Come to think of it, he didn’t sound this warm and friendly when he met with me and Tiffany either.

  “I love pink, though actually I love peonies more than any other flower.” Oof, why did I just say that? I sound completely ungrateful for the arrangement he just sent me.

  “Peonies? I’ll make note of that.” He hesitates for a moment, and I can’t help but wonder why he needs to make a note of my flower preference. “Truthfully, I was hoping you would call.”

  “You were?” I squeak. I sound ridiculous.

  “I wanted to talk with you. Privately.” His voice lowers on that last word, sending my imagination into a spiral. “Are you busy tomorrow evening?”

  Tomorrow is Friday. I should lie and tell him yes, I am soooo freaking busy. That way I don’t look pitiful for not having a date on a Friday night…

  No, that’s stupid. I should be honest. If he wants to get together tomorrow night, I am more than game.

  “No, I’m not busy,” I tell him, trying to keep my voice light. Casual. Like this is no big deal.

  “Care to have dinner? Though I’m not sure if you want to be seen out with me, after my recent and very public breakup.” He actually sounds amused, like he could give a crap if the local gossips catch him out on the town with another woman so quickly after he ended his engagement.

  “I don’t mind being seen with you in public,” I assure him. Has he become a social pariah, all because he ended things with a woman who cheated on him? I should hope not. Talk about unfair.

  “Perfect. I’ll pick you up tomorrow, say around seven?” I hear the low murmur of a female voice and I am pretty sure that was Kelsey talking. “Sorry, I have a meeting to go to, but are you calling on your cell?”

  “I am.”

  “I’ll have my assistant give me your number and I’ll text you later. See you soon.” He’s gone before I can say anything
else, reminding me of how Tiffany would always end our calls too soon as well.

  I guess I’m going to dinner with Alex tomorrow. The realization fills me with sudden, unmistakable anxiety.

  I ask Iris if I can take an early lunch and once I get her approval, I head to Sweet Dreams so I give Stella an update. She takes her lunch break as well. We both order salads and homemade lemonade and take our lunch up to our apartment so we can eat and gossip in peace.

  “He offered to take you to dinner?” she repeats after I tell her exactly that. “Sounds like a date to me.”

  I’m a little taken aback. “A date?”

  “He asked you to dinner on a Friday night. That constitutes a date in my book,” Stella says with a firm nod.

  Huh. I mean, when he asked me, I immediately thought I should lie and tell him I already had a date on a hot Friday night, so I see where Stella is coming from. But I don’t think he’s asking me out on an actual date.

  Is he?

  “Come on. He just broke it off with Tiffany. He’s not ready to date yet,” I tell Stella.

  “Uh huh. And you are the first girl he ever kissed,” Stella reminds me, not that I need the reminder. “And you accidentally walk back into his life like one of those romcom movies we love on Netflix, so of course he’s intrigued.”

  “He ended his engagement. He’s in mourning.” I stab at my salad with my fork like I’m trying to kill vegetables.

  “He doesn’t seem to be mourning too deeply.” Stella’s voice is laced with sarcasm.

  “She was going to be his wife.” In my eyes—crap in anyone’s eyes—that’s a big deal. Huge.

  “Right, but he never gave her an engagement ring.” Stella takes a sip from her lemonade, her lips puckering up after she swallows. Guess it wasn’t quite sweet enough. “I don’t think he was that into her.”

  “Isn’t that a title from one of those movies we watch?” I point my fork at her. “Or was it the title of a self-help book?”

  “I think it was both.” Stella sets her lemonade down, pinning me with her gaze. When she wants to, my friend knows how to make me squirm. “The point is, I think Alex is totally into you.”

  “That is the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said.” I mean it, but then I think of—for about the hundredth time—when I confessed all and fell into his arms as I was leaving his office. The chemistry between us was palpable in that moment, but I couldn’t help but wonder if it was all one-sided. Or maybe he wasn’t feeling it between us because he was so sad about the demise of his relationship.

  Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he did feel the connection.

  “Plus he sent you flowers. What guy does that unless he’s interested?” Stella says.

  “He’s just being nice,” I say quietly as I stare off into space. What do the flowers mean? What does any of this mean? Do I really want to go on a date with a guy who’s on the rebound? That’s exactly what Alex is—rebounding from a terrible relationship that ended badly.

  If it was anyone else, I’d say hell no. I’d have zero interest.

  But it’s Alex. While it’s been years since I’ve seen him and for all I know he could be a complete asshole, because of our past, I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  Something I rarely give anyone, unless it’s one of my friends.

  Chapter 16

  I’m trying to play it cool getting ready for our dinner date —I so hate using the word but what else can I call it?—tonight, but the nerves are coming at me big time. To the point that I’m a shaky mess and I keep screwing up my eyeliner and mascara. The bathroom is still hot and steamy from my shower so I’m looking kind of , and my hair is going limp.

  In other words, I’m turning into a total date fail.

  “I can’t do this.” I tear a makeup wipe from its package and start scrubbing first one eye, then the other, until all the mascara and eyeliner are gone. Stella cautious enters the bathroom, her gaze meeting mine in the mirror. “I’ll just go to dinner with a plain face and a bright lipstick,” I tell her, as if that will solve all of my problems.

  “Absolutely not,” Stella says with the conviction of a woman who won’t back down from her feelings.

  I rest a hand on my hip, irritated. “Are you saying I’m not good enough for Alex unless I slap a bunch of cosmetics on my face?”

  “Please. Of course not. You’re all worked up over this, and I have no idea why.” Stella grabs hold of my chin, turning my face to the left, and then to the right, her scrutinizing gaze making me want to shrink away from her. “I’ll put the eyeliner on and you do the mascara. Deal?”

  My answer is one quick nod, and then she’s bossing me around some more, demanding I close my eyes so she can begin. Her hand is steady as she draws first one line, then another across my each eyelid. When she finishes, she steps away from me and I open my eyes. “There. Done.”

  I turn toward the mirror and check her work, thankful to see the perfect, not too thick, not too thin lines above each eye. Way better than my squiggly, uneven attempts. “Thank you,” I breathe, grabbing my favorite mascara. Why I own three when I only use the one, I don’t know, but that’s how us makeup-obsessed women roll.

  Inhaling, I tell myself I can do this. I can apply mascara and not make a mess of it, and lo and behold, I actually do.

  “How do I look?” I tilt my head in Stella’s direction.

  “Your eyes look great.” She smiles. Nods. Gives me the thumbs up.

  Awesome. “Okay then. I’m ready.” I shake out my hands, then wipe them on my denim-covered thighs.

  “Uhhh, is that what you’re wearing?”

  Stella’s casual tone tells me she’s feeling anything but casual. As in, I don’t think she likes my outfit choice. Glancing down, I inspect my cropped high waisted jeans with the hole in one knee. God, I seriously love these jeans. “What are you trying to say?”

  “I’m trying to say that you are looking way too…comfortable for this date.”

  “I don’t think he’s taking me somewhere fancy.” I try to back up to study myself in the mirror, but the bathroom is so tiny, it’s not working.

  I head to my bedroom where I can examine my outfit in the full length mirror I found at Wal Mart for $15 that’s propped against my wall. I turn this way and that, checking out my butt—not bad—kicking out one foot to examine my new wedge sandals I’m wearing. “I like my outfit.”

  “You need to wear a dress.” It’s not a suggestion, but a statement. As in, Stella doesn’t want me to argue.

  I turn to look at her. “Won’t I look like I’m trying too hard?”

  “No.” Stella shakes her head slowly. I can hear her dangly earrings clinking with the movement. “Right now, you look like you’re not trying hard enough. A dress would be appropriate for tonight’s date.”

  “It’s not a date.” I keep saying that so I won’t be disappointed when I find out that it really isn’t a date.

  “Keep telling yourself that,” Stella mutters as she opens up my closet door and starts digging. The hangers go flying by, one after the other, and she’s whispering to herself as she examines each of my dresses.

  I have quite a few. I wear mostly dresses to work, considering I’m constantly meeting with clients and trying my best to look professional. But that’s the problem. All of my dresses are in work mode, and I need a dress that’s more like date mode.

  For my non-date dinner with Alex.

  “Here we go,” Stella says, yanking the dress from my too crowded closet and holding it up for my inspection. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear this.”

  That’s because I only wore it once, then stashed it in the back of my closet so I would never have to see it again. “It gapes too much at the front,” I tell her.

  She smiles, wagging her eyebrows like some sort of perv. “He might like that.”

  “I don’t want to give him a tit shot.” I reach for the dress but she turns, holding it just out of my reach. “I’m not wearing it.
”

  “Why not? It’s so cute! And sexy. Sexy and cute, the perfect combination!”

  Stella’s not wrong. The sheer fabric is a lovely pale pink, with darker pink flowers scattered all over it. The sleeves flutter, as does the hem, and while the fabric is see through, the dress is fully lined. The deep V neck is no joke though, and the dress is a wrap style. Meaning one wrong move, and your boob might fall out.

  Which is exactly what happened to me the last time I went on a blind date six months ago. We’re at a Chinese restaurant, I keep having to lean over so I’m not slurping chow mein noodles and making a mess, when uh oh, I can suddenly feel a breeze on my cleavage. Glancing up, I caught my date ogling my chest—specifically my right breast, which was mostly hanging out of the neckline.

  Thank God I decided to wear a bra that night.

  “Don’t you remember me telling you about that date I went on and my boob was practically resting on my plate?” I ask Stella.

  “In the sweet and sour chicken?” When I nod, she glances down at the dress. “You were wearing this?”

  “Yeah. It was so embarrassing.” I had to go to the bathroom—and it was kind of grungy, like the entire restaurant—and try to fix the dress, but it was uncooperative. I finally cinched the wrap tie so tight around my waist, it cut off most of my circulation, and I couldn’t finish my dinner.

  It was a disastrous blind date, especially since he thought he’d get some action from my accidental flashing. That guy was such a jerk. I don’t even remember his name.

  “We can fix this. Hold on.” Stella tosses the dress on my bed and flees my bedroom, heading for her own. I hear dresser drawers open and shut, a few grumbled curse words, and then she’s back, clutching a silky, lacy cream-colored camisole in her hand. “Wear this underneath it.”