But then, maybe Libby would waltz in here this morning and kick him out of the Pelican the way she kicked him out of bed. Then there’d be no ambience. And no Libby.
He shook off the thought and peered into the belly of the jukebox and—what the hell? It didn’t look anything like the YouTube video. This one had been modified, heavily. Did it work the same?
Reaching around the open lid, he scanned the bright yellow buttons, a list of the alphabet and a row of numbers, to pick a random song. How about…L for Libby. And five for…don’t think about it, Law. There wasn’t going to be a sixth.
The cylinder turned, a metal prong searching for a song on the round record stack, but it got stuck after moving an inch. He reached in and tried to help it move, but it didn’t budge as it had in the video he’d watched.
Swearing under his breath for what was probably the twentieth time that morning, Law pushed away. He’d deal with it later. These guys had been here all morning and had lives to get back to.
He walked back to the bar to help them finish, his gaze traveling over about fifty bottles of booze he’d taken down himself from the rack.
“That couldn’t have been a pleasant job at seven thirty in the morning,” Ken mused, following Law’s gaze.
Law shrugged. “It was a great victory.”
“How’s that?” Mark asked.
“Handling all those bottles and not feeling a thing. It’s like seeing an ex and not even twitching to touch her. That stuff…” He jutted his chin toward the bottles. “Has no hold on me.”
“Then what does?” Ken asked. “Or should I say who?”
Mark slowed his screwdriver, eyeing Law as if the answer interested him, too.
“Nothing. No one.”
They shared a look that said they thought he was lying. Damn, was he that transparent about her? Law flicked the air to ward off more questions, looking around the bar. “You know, it’s a shitty job to work on a restaurant and doubt it will ever be mine.”
“You don’t know the outcome yet,” Ken said. “You could still find that will, or the judge could put some kind of delay in place and you could be here for another year.”
“Great. Libby torturing me for a year. Just what I need.”
“Didn’t look like torture last night,” Mark said. “You two can’t keep your hands off each other.”
Law snorted. “She can.”
He saw the other two men exchange another silent look.
“I take it you’ve talked about this already,” Law said.
They didn’t answer, and he choked softly, grabbing a rag to start wiping off the bottles he wanted to keep to display on the new lower back bar.
“Guess you got all curled up with your ‘fiancées’ and shared secrets and opinions about poor, miserable Law, destined to live alone and pop from restaurant to restaurant.”
Ken chuckled. “You’re the one who scoffed at the idea of having a fiancée, bro. You practically spew venom every time either one of us reveals that, hey, we’re happy and satisfied and content with these amazing women we’ve found.”
Ken’s words seared his chest like hot oil on a cast-iron pan. Law swiped the rag over a bottle of Jose Cuervo Silver, the faint whiff of tequila making his stomach turn a little. “God, I hate this shit.”
“The booze or the conversation?” Mark asked, pulling the last shelf out and climbing down the ladder to dispose of it himself.
“Both,” Law admitted. “Addictions suck.”
“You just said you’re not addicted to the booze anymore,” Ken said. “Is it Libby?”
He closed his eyes and fought the urge to howl. Yes, it’s Libby! Of course it’s Libby! He breathed out, the way she did when she got tense. Noisily. “I didn’t expect this to happen,” he ground out.
“Lose the restaurant?” Mark asked.
Law shot him a look.
“Or lose your precious solitude?” Ken fired back.
Law swore again under his breath, and the other two laughed. “I’m really glad you think this is funny.”
“Watching you topple from your mighty ‘love sucks and is just for idiots’ soapbox?” Ken asked.
“Yeah, it’s pretty entertaining,” Mark agreed. He came around the bar and brushed his hands on his jeans. “But it isn’t easy. I’ve been there.”
“We both have,” Ken added.
“You were itching for a wife,” Law said to Ken. “You made no bones about the fact that you wanted to hook up, settle down, and breed.”
Ken smiled, shaking his head. “It wasn’t a hookup.” At the look both men gave him, Ken shrugged. “Okay, it was a hookup. And an unplanned pregnancy. But, damn, I didn’t realize life could be this good. You, too, Mark. Right?”
Mark grabbed one of the rags on the counter and used it on his hands, considering his response as he wiped. “I knew life could be this good. I found love as a kid and lost it as a man. But I didn’t think I could find it again, or that it would be so different. But it’s…” He nodded, looking from one to the other, fighting a smile. “It’s damn good stuff, Lawless. If you can’t break the habit of Libby, I say that’s one addiction that can only make you stronger and better.”
Law eyed his friend, the oldest of the three of them, and maybe the wisest. But Ken was no dummy—a hero and a firefighter. He’d be a great father, too.
While Law? What the hell would he be, but…
He waited for the old voice, Dad’s voice, to remind him what a piece of shit he was and always would be. He waited for Jake’s voice, always there with something positive to say. Even his own internal ghost who nudged him to find the easy way out. In this case? That would be a one-way ticket to Arizona.
But the only voice he heard was Libby’s. Sweet words. Sexy words. And get the hell out words.
“Why are you fighting it so hard?” Ken asked, confirming that Law was probably doing a lousy job of hiding his emotions.
“I’m not,” he said gruffly. “She is.”
“Because of this fight over who owns the restaurant?” Mark asked. “Too complicated?”
“She’s just, you know, independent.”
Ken snorted softly. “You gotta work with that, my friend. It makes a woman damn attractive.”
“I mean, she’s had a few crappy marriages, and I…well, I’ve never entertained the idea, so—”
“Marriage?” They said it at exactly the same moment, with matching faces of sheer incredulity. Law couldn’t help but laugh at the reaction.
“Well, a relationship,” he said, picking up another bottle to clean. “Something steady. Something longer than…the hour in the sack I got last night before being unceremoniously shoved out the door.”
“Got a taste of your own medicine, huh?” Ken needled.
Law glared at him over a half-empty bottle of rum.
“Just take it slow,” Mark said. “You know, like you learned. One day at a time.”
Or one night. One lonely night like last night after he left Libby’s.
“I have to make a decision about a job at a Ritz-Carlton in Arizona,” he said, realizing just how heavily that was weighing.
“You want to go to Arizona?” Ken made a face. “I mean, I heard it’s pretty and the Ritz is awesome, but…damn. That’s far.”
“Really far,” Law agreed.
Mark stood and put a friendly hand on Law’s shoulder. “Listen, Emma’s waiting for me down at the house. We’re going to finish that new kitchen today if it kills us. Just don’t fight it, okay? If Libby feels right, trust that.”
Law nodded. Libby felt right, that was for sure. Every inch of Libby felt right, inside and out. “Thanks for the help, man,” he said to Mark.
“Yeah, I gotta go, too.” Ken lifted the toolbox he’d brought over for them to use, then held it out. “You want me to leave this in case you want to work some more on that jukebox?”
Law almost said no, but then he glanced at the broken machine in the corner. It wouldn’t even play Blown
Away anymore. God knew he’d tried to listen to it last night when he came home to lick his wounds.
“Yeah, leave it. I’ll bring it over to you in a day or two.”
“I don’t need it now. We finished building the shelves in the nursery.”
“The nursery.” Mark grinned at them. “Man, things have changed since that reunion.”
“Changed for the better,” Ken said.
“Damn right.” Mark gave a quick salute and headed to the front door, a bounce in his step that Law watched with no small amount of envy.
“You’ll figure it out, Law.” Ken grabbed his wallet and keys from the bar.
“Or I’ll go to Arizona.”
“But, man, that’s far away,” Ken said again.
“From what?” Law looked hard at his friend.
“From my kid. I want him to know Uncle Law.”
Law gave a rueful laugh, ready to disparage his uncle-ing skills…but then he realized how much he wanted to know Ken and Beth’s little dude. Damn it. This was the life he wanted. Here, on Mimosa Key. Here, in the Toasted Pelican. Here, with Libby Chesterfield.
Son of a bitch. “I’ll visit,” he said quickly. “Because why stay here? If she wins this place, and something tells me she will, then what? I can’t even work for her if she turns it into a stupid…yoga studio.”
“You can’t be sure that’s going to happen,” Ken said.
“Oh, it’s happening. She’s on a mission to have this place called Balance and make an oasis. My gastropub.” He threw the rag he was holding down with too much force. “And I’m out.”
Out of here…and out of her life, just like last night.
“What about your infiltration plan?” Ken asked. “What happened to the ‘possession is nine-tenths of the law’ strategy that you told me about the first day you took her to that storage unit? You’re here. You’re making changes. You’re making money. Maybe she’ll just give up the fight.”
Or I will, Law thought glumly. It would be easy, a well-loved shortcut to the next life, full of…nothing because Libby wouldn’t be there.
When the holy hell did that happen?
“She’s not giving up anything,” he said.
“You got that right.”
Both men swung around at the statement, which came from the darkened kitchen hallway.
Libby.
How much of that had she heard?
“I’m not giving up a thing.” She appeared in the doorway looking…fierce. Her blond hair tumbled over her shoulders like the mane on a breathtaking palomino pony. She wore a deadly black tank top, his favorite cutoff shorts, and a look in her eyes that said…oh damn.
She’d heard everything.
Chapter Twenty-one
His infiltration plan?
What did he think he could infiltrate besides her place of business? Her bed? Her life? Her heart?
“Hey, Lib.” Law took a few steps closer, eyeing her carefully. Behind him, Ken nodded in greeting, his navy blue firefighter’s T-shirt dusty from the work of taking that heinous back bar down. The bar looked great, though, she had to admit, until she remembered it was part of Law’s infiltration plan.
“You’re just in time to help him restock that bar,” Ken said. “What do you think of what Law did here?”
What Law did to the bar he didn’t own. Except…possession is nine-tenths of the law.
She hated when her mother was right.
“Nice,” she said, purposely brusque. Then, to Law, “We need to talk.”
Law drew back at her tone, but Ken instantly moved toward the door. “Yeah, well, I was just leaving,” Ken said.
“Thanks for your help,” Law said, turning to give his friend’s hand a shake.
“Sure thing. Call me if you need anything.” He glanced at Libby and gave a tentative smile. “You, too, Lib.”
“I don’t need anything but answers.”
Ken gave Law a slight grimace and took off, leaving them standing face-to-face in the empty restaurant.
“Answers to what?” Law asked without moving. “Because if you just heard what he said—”
“We’ll get to that.” She took a slow breath, steadying herself. She knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to stew one more hour without confronting him directly. “Let’s talk about the picture that isn’t Jake Peterson.”
“What?”
She took a step closer. “Or how it is possible that I spent a year going in and out of that closet and never saw that shaving kit on the top shelf.”
His eyes flashed, but he didn’t say anything.
Oh God, don’t let Mom be right.
Two more slow steps and now she could see his green eyes growing darker.
“Or let’s talk about how convenient it was that the date Charity Grambling pulls out of thin air is nine months before my mother’s due date.”
“Convenient? For who?” He looked more confused than attacked, she could tell, but that didn’t stop her from getting close enough to reach out and touch him. Not that she would. No, she curbed that urge, but used the proximity to truly read his reaction to see if he was lying.
He looked…honest. And good. And stunned by the attack she refused to stop.
“After we discuss all that,” she said, “then you can address the, what was it? Infiltration plan?” Mom would have a field day with that one. After she got finished delivering a standing-ovation-worthy I told you so soliloquy.
“I didn’t say that,” Law said. “Ken did.” But she heard the resignation and, essentially, the confession in his voice.
Libby finally tore her eyes from his and slowly scanned the dining room. Not a single inch of it was quite like it had been before he moved in. That was the infiltration plan and, damn it, he’d gotten her to help him.
He crossed his arms and sighed. “Look, Libby, I thought, at one point, that the best way for me to get what I wanted was to move in, take over, and show you what could be done. I’m not going to lie. I still do believe in what I could do with this restaurant. But once we found the DNA—”
“That you planted so that when it comes back without a match, you can claim Jake isn’t our father after all.”
His brows drew together in confusion. And no small amount of sadness. “Libby, seriously? You think I’d do something that…that low?”
“I don’t know. Did you?”
“No.” He blew out a breath and looked away. “But the fact that you even think that…wow. I didn’t think that kind of thing could hurt so much anymore.”
Her whole heart dropped, hitting her stomach hard. She’d made him feel worthless, which made her feel like crap.
“Libby, that toilet article kit was pushed against the wall on the top shelf. The only reason you saw it was because your head was tilted all the way back.”
“In the throes of a climax that you gave me.”
He gave a quick laugh. “Is that what I’m being accused of? False and misleading orgasm transmission? Is that Sam’s legal interpretation?”
“Actually, no.” She took another breath, maybe a hair less steady than when she walked in. “Sam never questioned the veracity of that bag. Or the picture.”
“But someone did. Your mother?”
She closed her eyes as the truth hit. “My mother sees this in a different way.”
“Your mother found some dude running out of your house at midnight, half dressed and covered with your scent. Wouldn’t you lash out at a man you discovered leaving Jasmine like that?”
“My daughter wouldn’t be so stupid as to sleep with a man who was…tricking her.”
He winced. “I’m not tricking you.” He turned away, busying himself with a row of bottles on the bar, thinking. Buying time. Building…a lie?
“Yes, your mother sees this differently,” he finally said. “We’ve established that from day one. And I’d very much like to talk to her, because her take on Jake Peterson is really different from mine.”
She eyed him. “But not wrong.”
“Different,” he repeated. “And I’m willing to talk to her. To share what I know and get her historical perspective without you filtering it. What the hell is she talking about that that isn’t Jake in the picture?”
She shrugged. “She said it isn’t him, just some guy she went out with to make Jake jealous and it didn’t work. She doesn’t remember his name.”
“Some guy who happens to have Jake’s exact, distinct nose.”
“Some guy who happens to have a large nose, which isn’t exactly a positive identification.”
“But I don’t understand,” he said. “If she’s trying to convince you that I have some dark ulterior motive of planting proof that you aren’t Jake’s daughter, why would I use a picture to try to prove that they were together and then have it confirmed—by you—that the picture was taken on or about the day you were conceived?”
She angled her head in concession. “That confused me, too. But I didn’t date the photo, Charity did. Charity, who will do anything for you. And my mother thinks you have some courtroom antics up your sleeve where you’ll go to that hearing and suddenly prove my mother was with another man, not Jake, and make her look like a liar.”
His eyes widened as he came closer to her. “She’s crazy.”
Libby didn’t argue. “She’s…imaginative.”
He reached for her hand and snagged it before she could pull away. “She can’t do this to us, Libby. Don’t let her.”
“First of all, there is no us. Second, she can do anything she wants. Always has, always will.”
“There was an us last night,” he said quietly, the tone in his voice making her next breath difficult to take.
“There was sex last night,” she replied. “I think we’ve both established that’s all it was and ever will be.”
“You established that.”
She searched his face, looking for the truth, and what she saw was genuine.
Which screwed everything up, because she shouldn’t have trusted him in the first place. But…she had. She did. She trusted him. Liked him. Wanted him.
Still holding her hand, he pulled her closer, a storm of emotion in his eyes that matched the one brewing in her heart. “Libby. Please don’t do this.”
Barefoot at Midnight (Barefoot Bay Timeless Book 3) Page 21
