“You need a napkin?”
“I’m good,” I said as I tore off another bite from the gooey, warm roll.
“I’ll get you one.” He stood before I could say another word. A slight chuckle escaped my lips as I watched him stride to the condiment cart. A man on a mission.
My phone rang in my purse. I dug it out as I continued to watch him in amusement and then answered the call. “Hello.”
“Is this Ms. Conley Logan?”
“Yes,” I said, mentally kicking myself for not checking the caller ID before answering.
“Hi, Conley. This is Jessica with Entertainment—”
“I’m sorry, Jessica. But if you have questions or are looking for a statement, you’ll need to contact our publicist,” I said sternly, giving her the same line I’d given reporters for years.
“Are you saying you have no comment on your and Bobby Knox’s relationship status?” The words rushed from her mouth.
Tempering my anger, I ignored her and ended the call. She was trying to rope me into the conversation, and I wasn’t going to give her any more of a chance to.
Tim slid back into his seat across from me, placing the napkins on the table between us. “Who was that?”
“Nobody important,” I said, dropping my phone back in my purse while trying to hide my irritation. It wasn’t often I’d get calls from random reporters. The times I did, it annoyed me to no end. Especially, now.
Slowly spinning his paper coffee cup on the table, he studied me for a moment, as if weighing whether to push me. When he finally picked it up, taking a drink and relaxing back in his seat, I breathed a little easier. He wouldn’t, and I was glad. Things had been better between us over the last few days, and I knew any mention of Bobby would disrupt that.
We continued to eat the rest of our baked goods in silence. After polishing off mine in record time, I placed my elbow on the table and rested my chin in my hand as I watched Tim finish his muffin. “I still can’t believe you didn’t order the cinnamon roll.”
“And I can’t believe you’ve never tried anything else.”
“Are you offering me a bite?”
“Hell, no. Get your own,” he said before devouring the last bite as if worried I’d reach over and steal it from him.
I opened my mouth in mock horror. “What kind of gentleman are you?”
He shrugged, mumbling through his grinning mouth as he chewed, “Nobody comes between me and my muffin.”
I burst out laughing. “I never knew you felt this way. I don’t think I’ve seen you this passionate about anything other than music.”
He swallowed the last of his food, his smile slowly fading as he stared back at me. In that moment, I wished I could read minds. Specifically, his. Something in his expression told me he was holding back, refusing to tell me the words on the tip of his tongue, ones that very well might have changed everything between us.
Shaking away whatever thoughts he was having, he said, “You ready to get out of here?”
My hopeful heart sank to my stomach. “Yeah… Let’s go.”
Standing from my spot on the grass to stretch my limbs, I tilted my head back and blinked against the sun, letting it shower me with its warm rays. It had turned out to be such a beautiful day. We set up outside on the church lawn. Since I was already up, I decided to see how things were coming along on Tim’s sign. He was still hunkered over the same white poster board he’d been working on for the last thirty minutes.
“What the hell do you call that?” I asked, standing over his shoulder looking at the sign.
Sitting back on his heels, he looked up at me. “What do you mean?”
“That looks terrible.” I pointed a finger at the sign. He’d been painting the words advertising the booth while I worked on the one that listed the face painting options with examples. “Nobody will want their face painted by me with a sign like that.”
“I thought it looked good,” he said, his eyes dropping back down to the sign. The words were barely legible. Some were large, taking up most of the board while others were scrunched in where he’d run out of room. Not a single one had been painted on straight.
“I thought you had this.”
“I do.”
“A five-year-old could’ve done a better job than you.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yep.”
Before I knew what was happening, a splatter of black paint landed on my cheek. I gasped and blinked in surprise. “You did not just do that.” I lifted my hand, dabbing the wet spot with my fingers.
“You bet your pretty little ass, I did,” he said unashamed, a toothy smile on his face.
“Ooohhhh…” I nodded my head, rubbing the tips of my fingers together to dry what I had on them. “Okay… I see how it is…” I said over my shoulder, heading back to where I’d left my paint and brush.
Catching on quickly, Tim jumped to his feet to stop me.
I let out a girly scream as we both made a mad dash for my paintbrush. At the same time, we both dove for it, landing us both in the grass as we rolled and wrestled, trying to hold each other back, while simultaneously trying to make a desperate grab for it. My belly ached with laughter and weakened my chances at overpowering Tim. In one Herculean move, he flipped me, pinning my back to the ground and my hands over my head with one of his as he hovered over me, the sexiest smile looking down at me.
The thudding and heaving breathing in my chest increased as I stared up at him. My cheeks ached from the laughter and the wide smile I still had.
“You give, yet, Logan?”
“Never,” I said breathlessly.
“I had a feeling you might say that.” With his free hand, he snatched up the paintbrush we’d been fighting over and added more paint to my other cheek and the tip of my nose. Lifting off me slightly, he admired his handywork. “Now that’s a damn fine face painting if I do say so myself.”
With the weight of his body pressing me into the earth, I didn’t even care that he’d covered nearly my entire face in paint. I didn’t care about the fact that every car that drove by would see us lying on the church lawn, where my father preached every Sunday, in what easily looked like a compromising position. I didn’t care about any of it. The only thing I cared about was that he didn’t move. That he held me like this a little longer, a little tighter.
My eyes went to his grinning lips. I wanted to feel them once again, wanted to know if it would be as good as the first time. His smile faded slowly, as if he’d been reading my thoughts. He didn’t pull away like I expected. I wet my lips with a small swipe of my tongue. He swallowed, his eyes bouncing to them before finding my gaze again. His head tentatively lowered closer as his grip loosened on my wrists.
Desperate to close the distance, I lifted my head slightly to meet him, my pulse racing with anxious desire. His other hand weaved slowly through my hair, cupping the back of my head. Seconds felt like an eternity as he gripped a little firmer, moving closer until I could no longer see his mouth. My eyes fluttered shut, my lips parting, allowing our fiery breaths to mingle. When his lips barely brushed mine, I held my breath, waiting for the full weight of them. But before that could ever happen, a car horn blared in the street as it passed by, jolting us apart.
Tim jumped back and to his knees and it felt like the universe had fallen out from beneath me, even though I’d landed my head with a thud against the grass.
“Dammit,” he cursed under his breath, driving a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry,” he said, swiping some of the paint from his face that had rubbed off of me onto him. He stood, his head lowered as we both evened out our breathing. “I’m sorry, Con. I—”
“It’s fine,” I snapped, sitting upward. I didn’t need to hear about how he already regretted what almost happened again. He offered his hand to help me up, but I ignored it. “We should go. It’s getting late and you need to get to the bar.”
He gave me a quick nod, and we both packed up the materials without another
word to each other. He wouldn’t look at me the whole way back to his place. When he’d gotten out of my car with a mumbled goodbye, my eyes filled with tears I wouldn’t shed.
13
Tim
Pop-up tents covered the town square and all the connecting side streets a good half a block in each direction. People milled about shoulder to shoulder in some places from tent to tent, getting their fill of homemade chili, funnel cakes, and other decadent foods while checking out different vendors and games. They had set up a stage in front of the courthouse. The sound of live music filled the air as local musicians and bands from around the state rotated, playing their music sets. It was sunny and warm with clear blue skies, a perfect spring day for the annual chili cook-off. The people of Greene County couldn’t have asked for better weather.
Standing to the side, out of the way of the moving crowd, I stared across the makeshift lane between the rows of booths at the sign hanging on the pole of a white pop-up tent. It was advertising a free face painting with the purchase of a baked good. Conley was right. It did look like shit. I’m surprised she and her dad still used it. I figured she would’ve made a new one. Part of me was glad she hadn’t. It meant I might not have completely messed things up between us.
If the way she’d given me the cold shoulder all week was any indication, though, then I had.
It was fifty-fifty at this point.
Not sure what I was thinking that day on the church lawn, nearly kissing her again. Probably because I wasn’t thinking the way I should’ve been.
I wasn’t thinking about how she was someone else’s girl, or that she was my employee. All I was thinking about was how good it felt to have her under me. How when she’d released that sweet little gasp as my lips grazed hers, I wanted to elicit more sounds like those from her.
Taking a deep breath and pushing it out, I strode toward where she sat under the tent. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun high on her head. She wore black cut-off shorts that revealed the pocket lining and a loose-fitting top that slipped off her left shoulder every time she moved her arm. The late-afternoon sun kissed her already tanned skin as it made its slow descent in the sky. She had an adoring smile as she painted and spoke to the little girl with pigtails in the chair across from her. Conley’s hand held a paintbrush, moving in steady strokes over the girl’s cheek, creating a colorful butterfly. As she twisted to the side to dip her brush in the paint, her eyes caught mine. They widened slightly before she caught herself and schooled her face to an emotionless expression.
She looked back at the girl, giving her a tiny smile. I waited a few feet away until she was done. Conley handed the girl a mirror. She squealed with excitement when she saw the masterpiece on her face, then jumped up and sprinted to show it off to her mom.
Unsure how to break the ice that had hardened between us the last week, I gave Conley a hesitant smile, tucking my hands into my front pockets.
She hadn’t expected to see me. Honestly, I hadn’t expected to be here. Never in all the years I’d owned Dudley’s had I been closed on a Saturday. But somehow, I’d let Melanie and Alex convince me to close Dudley’s down for the entire day. Their points seemed sound at the time, mainly the one about how we’d be slow anyway with everyone in the county being at the chili cook-off today. The event went on through the evening with live music, food, and beer—all of which would keep most from searching out a beer at Dudley’s for one night.
Truth be told, I wanted to come as much as the two of them had, but not for the same reasons. The main reason I’d wanted to come was sitting in front of me. Glaring at me.
“Tim,” she stated sharply.
I had to admit, it was a nicer greeting than I expected. “Con… You got a minute to talk?”
“As you can see, I’m busy,” she snapped, turning toward where her paints sat on a folding table and beginning to clean the brush she’d been using in a jar of water.
I glanced around the immediate area, not seeing any kids waiting for their turn at a face painting. It was why I’d finally come over to talk to her, instead of watching her from a distance like a creep.
“Tim Hudson? Is that you?” a gruff voice came from behind her.
I lifted my head to the man stepping inside the open-air tent and up behind Conley. “Reverend Logan,” I greeted, meeting his extended hand and shaking.
“How are things?”
“Can’t complain.”
“That’s good. And your father?”
“He’s doing well, also. Enjoying retirement.”
“That’s right, I remember hearing that… Good man, your father.”
I nodded in agreement.
“It’s good to see you, son,” he said with a genuine smile. “It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you or your father. We miss you both on Sundays. Where have you been?”
I scratched at the back of my neck, having a hard time meeting his eyes suddenly. “Fishing mostly.” I gave him the truth.
As if sensing my discomfort, he held his smile without any judgement in his expression while giving me a light pat on the shoulder. “It doesn’t matter where you talk to the Lord, whether in a church or fishing, as long as you’re on speaking terms.”
I gave him another nod, the tension releasing from my muscles.
“So, did you stop in for a baked good and free face painting?” he asked, placing his hands on his hips.
I chuckled, flicking my eyes to Conley before meeting her dad’s again. “Actually, I was hoping to steal Conley away for a moment. If you could spare her, that is.”
“Of course. I was just about to tell her to take a break and check out the festival. You’ve got perfect timing.”
“Oh, Dad, I don’t need—” Conley started.
“Great,” I interrupted her before she could object. “There’s something I wanted to show her.”
“Well then, you two kids have fun. And take your time,” he said, giving her a squeeze on the shoulder.
“But what if someone wants a face painting?” Conley protested.
“I’ll tell them to swing back by when you're done. No worries, honey. Go on now.”
Taking a step back, I waved my arm out to the side. “After you, Ms. Logan,” I said with a cocky grin.
Conley narrowed her eyes as she stood, leading the way. She’d taken off in a hurried pace as I told her dad goodbye. I raced after her, placing my hand at the small of her back when I caught up to her. “Hold up there. Where are you going?”
“Wherever you aren’t.”
Gripping her elbow, I turned her to a stop. “Conley, I get that you’re mad at me about the other day. And I’m sorry. But I wasn’t lying when I said there was something I wanted to show you.”
“What?” She crossed her arms.
“I can’t tell you just yet. Will you just come with me to the stage? You’re gonna want to see this next artist.”
She studied me for a moment, as if trying to decipher whether or not I was trying to trick her. Her shoulders eased slightly as she finally said, “Fine.” She turned on her heels, leading the way once again.
I stayed close to her as we weaved our way through the crowd, finding a spot near the front of the stage. The crowd waited as the stage crew set up a single mic stand and a stool. A few minutes later the next musician strolled onto the stage with his guitar in hand. I glanced down at Conley, waiting for the moment she realized who it was.
“Oh my gosh,” she said on a gasp, her hands flying to her mouth. “That’s Ricky!” She screamed in excitement as she dropped her hands and then looked over at me.
“Yep.” I fought back a grin.
“But he can’t play. Can he?” Two lines appeared in her brow as she searched her mind.
“Just watch.” I nodded toward where he’d taken a seat. The crowd fell to an unsettled hush as they all waited.
When the beginning notes of Howie Day’s Collide started, Conley’s eyes flashed to me, wide and bright with shock. I winked at her with a
shit-eating grin before she turned them back to Ricky. While Conley watched her little brother in awe, tearing up the stage with his guitar and voice, I watched Conley. She swayed with the crowd as he played, and then slowed her movements, leaning into me. Unable to resist, I put my arm around her, holding her closer than any man who wasn’t Bobby should.
While he played, Ricky searched the sea of people in the front row for Mia and then began singing straight to her. When the song ended, a shit-eating grin sliced his face as he said, “Mia Anderson will you go to prom with me?”
The girls in the crowd went wild, the men hooted and roared as Mia’s friends pushed her toward the stage stairs at the side. Her hands covered her mouth as tears rolled down her blushing cheeks. Ricky discarded his guitar and ran to meet her at the top of the steps. He picked her up in a sweeping motion, spinning her around before planting a kiss on her mouth. The whole scene made the audience grow even louder with their cheers and whistles, Conley’s and mine being the loudest of all.
As Ricky and Mia took a bow, Conley turned to me, proud and happy. “I can’t believe this. That little shit-head is romantic as hell.”
I laughed, throwing my arm over her shoulder once again and pulled her to me. Lowering my mouth to her ear so she could hear me over the crowd, I asked her, “You wanna get out of here?”
Glancing up at me, she gave me a single nod with an enormous smile. That single smile undid me. It was so damn beautiful and freeing; I knew for certain as long as I lived, I’d never be able to truly get over Conley Logan.
“Can’t remember the last time I did this,” Conley said, idly kicking her legs where they dangled off the back of my tailgate. She’d taken off her sandals and set them aside. She’d flex and relax her right foot from time to time, drawing my eyes to her painted red toenails. And like my eyes always did on their own accord, they’d travel from her toes, over her calf, and along her thigh, the toned, tanned skin begging to be touched. While they wandered so did my mind, curious if her legs were as soft and smooth as they appeared.
Tempting Tim: A Small Town Friends to Lovers Romance (Billingsley Book 4) Page 12