Beyond Now: The Hutton Family Book 3

by Brooks, Abby

  “I doubt we’re thinking about the same thing.” She gave me a wicked smile.

  And…welcome back lewd thoughts.

  Though, as Maisie launched into her idea, that line of thinking settled down into a disappointed lump of ‘not gonna happen, Moose.’

  “Let me get this straight,” I said, coming to a stop and pulling my arm from hers. “You want me to fill in as best man for your friend’s wedding. A wedding that is happening tomorrow afternoon, where I will know exactly zero people other than you.”

  “Sounds awesome, right?” The wind off the ocean blew Maisie’s hair across her face and she delicately tucked it behind her ear. She wore it straight today and it hung in a perfect curtain down her back. “Free food and booze. A chance to dress up. And the best part? We can spend the entire night together, people watching and enjoying said free food and booze.”

  “When you put it that way, I can’t think of a better way to dread a Saturday afternoon.” I wrapped an arm around Maisie’s shoulder and pulled her close. “But you’re going to owe me, my friend. Big time.”

  “You name it. It’s yours. What do you want in return?”

  “Oh, no. That’s not how this works. I’m not locking myself into anything. When it’s time to collect, I’ll let you know.”

  Maisie regarded me as if she were weighing a heavy decision. “But can I trust you not to take advantage of me…?”

  “Definitely not.” I shrugged as she laughed. “But those are my stipulations. Take it or leave it. You want all this cleaned up and in a tux by tomorrow evening?” I ran a hand down my body and didn’t miss the greedy look in her eyes as she followed it. “Then it’s gonna cost you.”

  “You drive a hard bargain, Hutton. But, you have me by the balls here. Figuratively, of course. There’s no way I’m heading back to that hotel without a best man in tow. You have no idea the level of Bridezilla that’s awaiting us.” Maisie linked arms with me again and headed toward the parking lot.

  “Us?” I asked, as I stumbled along behind her.

  “Damn straight, us. You think I’m just going to show back up without proof of acquisition?” She shook her head. “You obviously haven’t met Brighton yet. Now come on, my friend.” She gestured toward the parking lot. “Which one’s yours?”

  Seven

  Maisie

  Caleb smelled like man, wrapped in ocean, and covered in sea salt. Not a combination I ever thought I’d appreciate, but appreciate it I did. He managed to make cargo shorts, a tank top, and flip flops look like Channing Tatum in a Magic Mike video—only with more muscles and sex appeal. He also had me wrapped around his little finger with that quiet confidence he discovered somewhere along the way as he grew.

  Whatever he had in mind for calling in his favor—and my dirty little mind had a few…okay…plenty ideas of its own—then I might be willing to break several of my ‘no strings attached’ dating rules if it turned out we were thinking the same thing.

  Caleb was sending very mixed signals and honestly, I was sure I was, too. Sometimes it felt like we were heading toward a hot hookup, but as soon as I started thinking it was inevitable, the mood would shift and he would start an obsessive round of calling me friend, almost like he was trying to brand the word on me somewhere.

  He was into me, I could tell that much. But maybe our history was enough to weird him out. Or maybe he just wasn’t that into me…cue a decade old movie to go with his decade old phone.

  Either way, it felt wonderful to be with him again, especially when I came face to face with his choice of vehicle. “No way,” I said, circling a retro convertible with a stellar blue and white paint job.

  “You like?”

  I leaned against the hood in what I hoped was my best pinup model pose. “Like it? I love it.”

  “She’s a nineteen-fifty-six Ford Fairlane in peacock blue and colonial white. What she doesn’t have in speed, she makes up for in style.” Caleb grinned like a proud papa and I walked around the exterior, giving the car the attention it deserved. He followed me, then pulled open the passenger door and gestured for me to have a seat. “Milady,” he said as he dropped into a surprisingly graceful bow.

  “Why thank you, kind sir,” I replied in my best British accent (hint: even my best wasn’t very good) and I lowered myself into the soft, leather seat, groaning in appreciation as I ran my hand along the material.

  He got the name of my hotel and brought the engine to life. Conversation flowed easily between us and I found myself growing more and more relieved to know he would be spending Brighton’s wedding with me. As much as I appreciated my friends, Caleb’s easygoing nature soothed a part of me I had forgotten existed. A part of me that hadn’t gotten much playtime since I vowed to leave my Kentucky life behind.

  He was just…happy. His life was what it was, the way he made it, and he seemed comfortable with his choices and with who he had become. Everything about him was out on display. Every truth. Every like. Every dislike. He didn’t try to hide parts of himself the way everyone did in Los Angeles—myself included. His take-me-as-I-am-or-gtfo attitude was so refreshing, which was exactly why I didn’t flinch even the slightest when Brighton gave him a hard onceover after she let us in her room.

  “Not exactly digging the vibe here.” She gestured at his outfit and out-on-the-water-all-day hair. “Though something tells me he cleans up nice.”

  I slapped my friend on the shoulder. “Brighton! Not cool.”

  “Sorry.” She gave me an apologetic look, then turned to Caleb. “I really am. Stress has eaten my soul. Forgive me?” She batted her eyelashes and put on her best I’m-really-quite-sweet face.

  “Already forgiven,” Caleb drawled, quite obviously playing up a southern accent he really didn’t have and just like that, he had Brighton under his spell.

  Well played, old friend. Well played.

  They chatted about the specifics and Brighton thanked him roughly seven hundred times for stepping in during her hour of need. “I’ll pay for the tuxedo rental, of course. It doesn’t make sense for you to incur any cost while swooping in to rescue me.”

  “No worries. I have one of my own, though I’m not sure it’ll work if you’re doing some matchy-matchy color thing.” Caleb gave me a look like a drowning man begging for help. Brighton’s energy could be overbearing on her best days, and as she had already admitted, this was not one of those days.

  She turned to me. “This guy just happens to have a tuxedo hanging in his closet, ready to go. Are you Bruce Wayne?” She leaned in to study his face. “You’re Bruce Wayne, aren’t you?” Her voice trailed off before she finished her joke, as she started really putting the pieces of his face together. “Oh my gosh! Maisie!” She turned back to me, gesturing wildly at the man standing between us. “He’s your picture frame boy!”

  Caleb gave me a wide-eyed look. “Picture frame boy?” he mouthed.

  “Wow.” Brighton stared at him, practically drooling. “Really…wow. You sure have filled out, haven’t you?” She clutched one meaty bicep and gave it a squeeze. “I mean, who in their right mind would have thought that skinny little kid would turn into something like this?”

  “Brighton! That. Is. Enough.” I turned to Caleb, ready to apologize and die a hundred deaths of shame, but he gave an easy laugh.

  “Certainly not that skinny little kid. Now,” he said as he wrapped an arm around Brighton’s shoulder and pulled her close. “Tell me about this picture.”

  Eight

  Maisie

  Caleb could wear the hell out of a tux. His tousled blonde hair was gelled to perfection. Broad shoulders seemed even broader thanks to the fantastic cut of the jacket. No one in Brighton’s wedding party could take their eyes off him, men and women alike. I watched with a certain amount of pride as he fit in with this crowd of strangers like he had known them for years instead of just under an hour. His easy nature, his infectious smile, and that damn fake southern drawl had everyone charmed.

  Me included. />
  The question in my mind was whether or not he knew he was doing it. After we left Brighton’s hotel room yesterday, he had owned up to adopting the accent because he got a kick out of watching tourists swoon, but was the rest of his personality just as calculated? Or was he genuinely so laid back? He was like anti-anxiety pills personified. The human equivalent of medical marijuana. (Not that I was ever one to partake.) If Mrs. Hutton admitted to having a torrid love affair with Matthew McConaughey, with Caleb being the only evidence of the union, I would buy that story without flinching—even knowing Rebecca Hutton as well as I did when I was younger.

  Brighton chose a tropical garden with an impeccably restored mansion on the property for the wedding and reception. Guests chattered in their seats as music filtered from hidden speakers and peacocks strutted around the scene. I stood with Caleb and the rest of the wedding party at the start of a long, white stretch of carpet that would lead us to our places before the happy couple said their vows. My bridesmaid dress was my favorite shade of blue, somehow managing to match the peacock feathers and knowing Brighton as well as I did, that was no coincidence. Too bad she and Sawyer wouldn’t be driving away in Caleb’s car, as it would truly be the perfect touch.

  As the music swelled, I turned to the man who used to be my best friend. The man who still felt as comfortable and genuine as he did when we were kids. The man whose eyes met mine and sent a shiver of desire humming along my spine. “You always did say we’d walk down the aisle together,” I said, offering him my arm.

  There. Hide behind humor. Great diversion tactic.

  Caleb gave me a look I couldn’t decipher. “Not exactly what I had in mind. But, beggars and choosers, you know?” He leaned in. “And I’d beg for you any day.”

  His words set off an explosion of butterflies in my stomach and I almost laughed out loud. Butterflies? Butterflies? I was immune to butterflies. I was an impenetrable fortress of butterfly resistance. I was...

  Caleb placed his hand on the small of my back. “Come on, beautiful. Let’s do this.”

  …totally swarmed with butterflies.

  The music swelled and my heart was full as together, Caleb and I walked down the aisle, rows and rows of people smiling as we passed. How many times had he told me he was going to marry me when we were kids? How many times had I clung to those words like a lifeline? Caleb had been my anchor. My armor. He had been the one I turned to when I needed help and back then, I had been the only one he felt comfortable opening up to.

  And now, all these years later, here we were, walking arm and arm past a sea of strangers, under a luscious canopy of tropical trees, keeping company with strutting peacocks elegantly fanning their feathers. If Sawyer heard this little plot twist to our story, I’m sure it, too, would get his ‘perfectly ironic’ seal of approval. For a tiny, happy little moment, I let the little girl inside me imagine that this was the day Caleb had always promised me. But all too quickly, we arrived at the end of carpet and separated to make space for the rest of the wedding party to take their places as the bride and groom started their walk toward us.

  The ceremony began and I did my best to shake off the strange feelings. My stay in Key West was nearly over and Caleb’s life was here. Soon, we’d be back to living our separate lives on opposite sides of the country. Indulging in daydreams seemed dangerous and if walking down the aisle with Caleb was Karma’s way of closing the loop on our friendship, then I would smile at the gift and do my best to be grateful for it. Only greedy little girls asked for more.

  Though, as Caleb caught my eye and grinned while Brighton and Sawyer said ‘I do,’ the urge to be greedy swelled right along with my heart.

  * * *

  Damn that tuxedo.

  Damn the open bar.

  Damn the DJ for choosing a perfect mix of love songs.

  And damn Caleb for keeping me on the dancefloor all night, my body pressed to his as his hands roamed my back. With his cheek to mine and his strong arms guiding me into swooping dips and spinning swirls—where the hell did he learn to dance like that anyway?—the swarm of butterflies had disintegrated into white hot desire coursing through my veins.

  I liked him.

  And I wanted him.

  And his perfect lips brushed my ear every time he spoke and…

  “Caleb?” I murmured, letting myself get carried away with the alcohol and the atmosphere. “Did you ever want to kiss me when we were kids?”

  He laughed lightly. “All the time.”

  The next thing I wanted to say was right on the tip of my drunken tongue. Kiss me, Caleb. Kiss me now while the music is right and the mood is perfect. Kiss me in front of all these strangers, sweeping me off my feet and taking back your place as the most important person in my life. Kiss me and prove that fate exists and life is kind.

  Those words caught in my throat, struggling and straining to break past a giant lump of logic reminding me that our lives were too separate for him to be anything but a fond memory. Sometimes, I listened to logic. I valued logic. It had its place and was a powerful trait in the right circumstances.

  But I hadn’t climbed out of the ashes of my parents’ bad decisions because I listened to logic. I hadn’t listened to the people telling me it was foolish to dream—that poor-as-dirt little girls grew into poor-as-dirt women. I didn’t listen to people warning me that Los Angeles was a place built on the broken dreams of people willing to sell their soul to get what they wanted. That the success stories were a tiny percentage of the truth and more often than not, people failed hard in that land of sunshine, smog, and nose jobs.

  It wasn’t logic that had me taking a chance on Collin West, with his red hair and awkward disposition. In fact, there was nothing logical about the way I chose who I wanted to represent. I listened to my intuition. It whispered to me during meetings, guiding me out of terrible decisions masquerading as sure things and pointing out the hidden gems that would make my career. It was intuition that sent me to LA. It was intuition that called for me to take the job as an intern at Paradigm Shift Talent Agency. It was intuition that landed me my first chance to represent someone as a full-blown agent.

  My life was about listening when that little whispering voice started talking. In that moment, wrapped in Caleb’s arms and swaying to soft music in a beautiful tropical garden, my intuition wasn’t whispering. It was yammering away, reminding me that each second I let pass would be one less second I had with my old friend who grew into the perfect man. We had been tossed together like this for a reason.

  If I let myself back away from him because I was afraid, then I wouldn’t be half the woman I thought I was.

  “What about now?” I asked, shoving the words past the lump of logic in my throat. “Do you want to kiss me now?”

  Caleb met my gaze, still swaying to the music, but guiding us toward the outer edge of the dancefloor. He nodded slowly, his eyes hooded with lust as they dropped to my lips. “That’s all I’ve wanted since we ran into each other at the bar.”

  I smiled up at him, knowing I was drunk. Knowing he was, too. Knowing that it was both too early and too late for us to be anything but a bad decision. But my intuition told me it was time to stop thinking. That worrying was getting us nowhere and the two of us were supposed to be something.

  Caleb pressed firm hands to my back, sliding one up to cup the back of my head, the rough skin on his hands sliding over my shoulders and sending shivers dancing deliciously down my spine. He smiled as he met my eyes, our lips so close I could feel the heat between us. He whispered my name, angling his mouth to meet mine…

  “There you are!” Brighton’s shrill voice was a bucket of ice water dropped on my head. I stepped away from Caleb, energy vibrating in the space between us, as if in that pure and perfect moment of our almost kiss, his cells had invaded mine and our souls would be forever entangled.

  “Oh!” Brighton stared, a knowing smile tugging at her lips and lighting up her eyes. “Worst timing ever. Sorry. But it’s time f
or your speech.” She wrinkled her nose apologetically and lifted a shoulder before taking my hand and leading me away.

  Caleb took my other hand and gave Brighton his most charming smile. “Give us a minute,” he said to her while pulling me back into his arms. His lips pressed to mine and one hand cupped my cheek. He tasted like champagne and memories, and a tidal wave of want threatened to crush me as I gave in to him.

  “When do you go back to LA?” he asked, then kissed me again without waiting for me to reply.

  Reality brought another bucket of ice water down on me. I stopped kissing him, imagining myself drenched and dripping in the middle of the room, hair ruined and makeup running. “Tomorrow.”

  Pulling away just enough to meet my eyes, Caleb gave an imperceptible shake of his head. “No. Stay longer. I’ll get you a room at The Hut.”

  He left no room for argument, kissing me again, stealing my breath and my body as his lips moved against mine. I nodded and he released me, though something told me we would never fully separate again.

  Brighton stared, jaw dropped, eyes alight with mirth and merriment, then took my hand and led me away.

  Nine

  Caleb

  The drive up to The Hut used to be a tense one. The closer I got to my family’s home—traveling north through the islands—the closer I got to the memories of Dad and the terrible things he used to say to us when he was drunk. My anxiety would rise, and this bitter rock would settle into my stomach.