Prince Not Quite Charming: A Morning Glory Novella

by Liz Talley

  Clem couldn’t imagine not being buried in Charleston.

  Was that crazy?

  Probably.

  So maybe getting all keyed up by Frances was a by-product of his doubting thoughts. Or perhaps he’d finally met his match.

  He could still hear his mother’s words. “Clemson, darling, there is a Jack for every Jill. Thing is, a fellow’s Jill isn’t always easy to identify. Want to know how I knew your daddy was the one for me?”

  “How?” Clem had asked.

  “Three seconds.”

  “Huh?”

  She’d smiled dreamily. “One of my Pi Phi sisters read an article and told me all it takes is three seconds of looking deep into the eyes of a man to determine if he’s the one for you.”

  A fourteen-year-old Clem had snorted. “That’s so stupid.”

  “Oh, it’s not. When I met your daddy at that wedding, I walked right up to him and looked him straight in the eye for exactly three seconds.” Charlotte Vines Aiken fluffed her hair and licked a manicured finger to turn the page in the Town and Country magazine balanced on her knee.

  Clem had been struggling with an algebraic equation at the kitchen table, but since he had a crush on Samantha Mathews, he allowed himself to consider his mother’s musings. “So?”

  She looked up and arched one eyebrow.

  “What happened?”

  Charlotte smiled. “Well, your father asked me if I was drunk.” She laughed, a tinkling not unlike the champagne flutes that rattled in the antique sideboard when he ran through the dining room.

  “But he married you.”

  “Oh, sure he did. I was the Kappa Sigma sweetheart, had an admirable bosom, and told him, ‘I’m not drunk, just buzzed, you idiot.’”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Of course you don’t, sweetie, but one day you will. She’ll walk in and do something that’s unexpected but so right. And you’ll just know that you’ve met your match.”

  “But I don’t want to get married.”

  His mother sniffed. “Well, of course you don’t now. But one day you’ll want someone to sit beside you, to hold your hand when things get crappy, to put her head on your shoulder and sigh because that’s right where she always wants to be.”

  Clem had made a face and refocused on his math because if he didn’t pull up his grades, his father had said he wouldn’t take him on the annual Canadian hunting trip. He didn’t want to get married. He just wanted to know what Samantha’s boobs felt like. That was his only goal for his freshman year—second base.

  Clem snorted as he thought about his mother’s cryptic words. He’d always wondered if she’d been buzzed that afternoon as she sipped something in a Tervis tumbler and observed her youngest doing his homework, but now he sort of got it. Violins weren’t going to play and rose petals weren’t going to rain from the sky when the right woman came along. It wasn’t some divine revelation … but neither was it rocket science.

  The question that banged about in his brain was if the smart-mouthed New Yorker was his match, and if so, how crazy was that?

  He and Frances were so different that a future between them seemed impossible.

  No way would he go to New York City. He didn’t need a rooster waking him every morning or cow-dotted pastures, but he couldn’t stomach the noise, pollution, and busyness. It was also obvious to him Frances had plans for herself in the city. She didn’t fit in Morning Glory any more than a square peg fit a round hole.

  Of course, he knew how to make a square peg fit a round hole. All it took was a chisel and some elbow grease.

  His phone buzzed and he looked down.

  Pepper Moffett. The old cattleman had over five hundred acres and owed Clem a favor. He planned to call it in. He let the call go to voice mail and then pulled over on the side of the road so he could return the call. As he picked up the phone, he saw the number he’d been waiting on for over a month. That number could determine his future. That number could take him to a new dream for himself.

  The timing didn’t escape him. What in the world did the universe have in store for him? One click of the message button would tell him.

  Maybe he didn’t have to decide his future tonight.

  It might have been decided for him.

  “This isn’t a good idea.” Frances eyed the rump of the big mare nickering at the fence as Clem stroked the horse’s nose.

  “It’s a great idea, and Moonlight is the perfect mount for you. She’s calm, gentle, and knows her way on the trails,” Clem said, slapping the neck of the mare. “I’ll help you mount up and then we’ll get going. I know you want to get started on the tile this afternoon.”

  “What tile?”

  “I’ve got some samples of what’s in stock over in Jackson. If we can agree on something, it will keep us mostly on schedule.”

  Frances frowned at the horse and tried to suppress her fear. She’d always wanted to ride a horse but hadn’t realized how big they were. The horse’s back was eye level and the stirrup things looked too high.

  “Left foot in,” Clem said behind her, his hand clasping her waist as he helped to guide her running shoe into the stirrup. “Now spring up and toss your other gorgeous leg over the side. One … two …”

  Frances jumped and swung her leg. The saddle shifted a bit, making her stomach drop, but when she opened her eyes, she was atop the horse. “I did it.”

  “Of course you did,” Clem said, cinching something on the side and lightly smacking the horse’s hind end. He hefted himself onto the sorrel gelding with the white blaze and nudged the horse with his heels. The saddlebag draped behind Clem and filled with a picnic lunch swayed as the horse stepped forward. “Pick up the reins, hold them like so, and nudge with your heels once.”

  Frances ignored the anxiety gnawing at her and did as Clem instructed. The horse immediately started forward, making her bobble side to side. But she stayed on, which allowed her to relax slightly.

  After a few minutes of stability, she tried to enjoy the scenery. The spread, as Clem called it, raised cattle, but the pastures rolled enough to provide bucolic inspiration. Clumps of pine bordered the far side, and after hopping down, opening a gate and closing it, Clem led Moonlight toward a pretty clearing by a trickling creek.

  “What do you think?” he asked, leading her horse by the bridle to a large tree.

  “So serene.” She eyed the ground, which seemed really far away.

  “Perfect place for a picnic,” he said, helping to unhook her shoe. “Big step down.”

  His hands at her waist ensured she didn’t fall on her butt, but she did fall into him. Clem’s arms went around her, steadying her, reminding her how much she liked the feel of his body next to hers. As if she needed a reminder. She’d stayed awake for a good hour rethinking her decision not to sleep with him. Another fifteen minutes had been dedicated to imagining how good he’d be in bed.

  “Thank you.” She turned toward him, wondering if she should kiss him again. Or not. Clem watched her with an odd expression on his face, so she asked, “What’s wrong?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing.”

  Disappointment thumped her, but she shook it off. She’d made the decision to keep things platonic. Which meant she needed to stop thinking about kissing.

  A few minutes later an old quilt covered the ground, several waxed-paper-wrapped sandwiches graced paper plates, and individual bottles of sweet tea awaited them. Birds sang overhead, but otherwise the world around them was at peace.

  “I never imagined it could be so quiet in the world,” she said, unwrapping the sandwich.

  “Which makes this a good first date.”

  “First date?”

  Clem took a bite of his sandwich. “Well, technically the other times were you learning about the town. Today is about spending some time together. It’s not champagne and roses, but I figured you’ve had all that, right? Bet you’ve never ridden a horse to a picnic before.”

  Frances smiled. �
�I’ve never gone on a picnic before. Unless you count eating a pretzel in Central Park a picnic. So if we’re not progressing past whatever this is, why bother with a date?” Riding a horse and picnicking in the countryside wasn’t far off what they’d been doing. Under the guise of learning about Morning Glory, she and Clem had enjoyed fishing, gathering eggs, and kissing. They’d really enjoyed the kissing.

  Clem shrugged. “Why not?”

  “Don’t you remember last night?”

  He lasered her with a hot gaze. “I’ll never forget last night.”

  Frances wriggled and crossed her legs, no words rising to erase the memory of being in Clem’s arms on the pier.

  “So on to the first-date stuff. So, Frances, tell me about you.” Clem gave a self-deprecating chuckle.

  “You know too much about me already. Normally I wouldn’t admit what a failure I am before the first date.” She was glad he’d chosen to lighten the mood. But something inside her couldn’t pretend this was a real first date.

  “You’re not a failure. You’re figuring things out. There’s a difference.”

  “Or not figuring them out,” she said, taking a bite of the sandwich. It was pimento cheese, something she’d never liked, but this one had bacon and jalapenos in it. “I truly can’t decide whether I should keep my head down and proceed with the way things are or if I should find a new career, a new place to live, a new life.”

  “If your family didn’t have a restaurant, what would you have done?”

  She shrugged. “I’m good at running things. I’m also good at marketing, despite what happened four days ago at the restaurant. Wow, has it only been four days?”

  “Crazy, huh?” he said, the corners of his mouth lifting, somehow making him even more handsome. “We’ve packed a lot into your small-town education. And don’t beat yourself up about the whole initial design thing. When the rubber met the road, you were willing to listen and learn about Morning Glory. That’s a huge point in your favor. Which leads me to ask—have you rethought the design plan?”

  “I was very sensible now that you mention it.” She wasn’t the most flexible of people, a fact her family liked to point out frequently. Frances knew she was stubborn and, okay, a bit overbearing. Yet she’d let go of her original intention in favor of closing her mouth and opening her eyes and ears. In doing so, she’d learned more than she thought possible about the small, charming town. The people who populated Morning Glory were sincere, simple, and respectful of their past. They liked to have a good time, engage in fellowship … and indulge in a lot of fried foods. “Maybe I can use sensibility as a strength on my résumé.”

  “So you’re going to do a résumé? Sounds like you’ve already made up your mind.”

  “Maybe. I have a lot of thinking to do. Maybe I’ll start by doing what you suggested—talking to my father and listening to his ideas.” At his immediate smile, she added, “Don’t gloat. My father isn’t the best communicator.”

  Clem watched her for a moment before asking, “Have you always wanted to live in New York?”

  “I can’t imagine not living there.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Why? You asking me to move or something?” As soon as she said the words, she regretted them. She was like a kid lifting a stone to look for creepy crawlies. No way she’d like what she found beneath. And why would she even ask him something like that? They’d known each other for less than a week. Did she think he would suggest she move down here? Insanity wasn’t her middle name.

  “No, I’m just trying to figure out some things myself, like where I belong. Seems hard to know sometimes.”

  “You seem happy here.”

  “I am,” he agreed.

  “But you miss Charleston.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “True. There’s an opportunity with my side business I’m considering. If I decide to go that route, I’ll likely move. Need a transportation hub, and Charleston might work.”

  An odd feeling blanketed her. Charleston was a city she’d been fascinated with ever since she’d read a novel set there. She’d spent a few weeks reading online articles, watching short videos, and even planning a trip with her sister that never materialized. Maybe Clem’s moving back to Charleston would give her an excuse to finally visit.

  “If you go, maybe I’ll come visit. I mean, not as a relationship thing, but …” She cocked her head and set her sandwich on the plate. “We are friends, right?”

  “You could say that,” he said, staring off at the swaying limbs in the distance. A fat cardinal lighted on a low branch and shook its feathers. Clem turned his gaze on her. “But we should be much more than friends.”

  Frances’s heart leaped in spite of her earlier admonition that they could be nothing more than what they were. There was no future for them. Or maybe …

  “Perhaps we should be, but we don’t know each other. Not really. In fact, last night after we talked about sleeping together, I remembered something my mother always told me.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “The one-year rule.”

  Clem made a face. “There’s a rule for stuff like love?”

  “No. There’s a rule for deciding things.”

  “Last night was about having a little fun. Not commitment. You can’t use a one-year rule for every decision. Who came up with that nonsense?”

  Frances shrugged. “I don’t know, but giving myself a year to decide things has always worked for me. Like when I went to Richmond Academy for Talented Arts and hated it, my mother said to give it a year. Same for college. I went away to Rutgers. Gave it a year and came home. Same with relationships, jobs, new hobbies. I always give something a year to see if it’s going to work.”

  “Well, we don’t have a year,” Clem said, his brown eyes so piercing. Like he could see through all her bluster. Like he could ferret out the secret hope hiding beneath the wall she’d erected to keep him at arm’s length.

  “Clem,” she said softly, ripping her gaze from his. She couldn’t look at him. Didn’t want to remember the way his hand felt on her breast, the way his mouth felt on hers, and the way she wanted to let him do whatever he wished. Yet what sat between them was something too scary for her to contemplate at this time in her life.

  The wind blew a strand of hair into her mouth. She pushed it out and turned back to Clem. “I know there’s something unexpected between us, but it doesn’t make sense. You’re you. Big, brash, and country. You don’t fit in my world, and despite my attempt at wearing ball caps and short shorts, I don’t belong here. Maybe I could live outside New York City, but I can’t see myself here. This morning the mailman told me about his sister’s hemorrhoid surgery. In detail. Not to mention the woman who lives in the apartment across from Sal’s brought me banana bread and her nephew’s phone number. There’s no Starbucks. And the county doesn’t sell hard liquor.”

  “Travesty.” Clem grinned.

  “I know. But you know what I mean, right? I don’t belong here, as nice as it is.” She gestured at the muddy creek and cow-studded pastures off in the distance. One of the horses blew out air as if he agreed. Frances Genovese didn’t belong in this world.

  Clem nodded, then finished his sandwich. The once-peaceful silence thickened. Because reality is unavoidable no matter how much one wishes things are different. Sometimes the timing just isn’t right. Nothing to be done about it.

  “Okay. You ready?” he asked, eyeing her half-finished sandwich.

  She took another bite, noting that she might have to change her position on pimento cheese sandwiches. “I’m ready.”

  “When we get back, we’ll take a look at those floor samples and talk to the painters. They’re finishing another project, and we can get the paint from the local hardware store. They have good stuff, so you don’t have to worry about something substandard. It’s not New York, but it will do well.”

  A ping of guilt hit her. Had she really sounded so high and mighty? Probably. “Sounds like a plan.”


  Clem gathered up the various components of the picnic and stood, offering her his hand. She took it and he pulled her to her feet. She’d expected him to protest more than he’d done, but he seemed to accept that they were never to be.

  Something about that didn’t sit well with her. If he thought they had something, why give up so easily? Didn’t he want her enough to fight for her?

  Of course, as soon as those visceral thoughts cropped up, she trampled them. No need to be ridiculous. This was what she’d asked for. To keep it friendly business between them. No matter how much she wanted his hands all over her body. Just business.

  “I’ve been thinking the color I originally picked isn’t warm enough for an Italian restaurant. What do you think about a nice Tuscan eggshell?”

  He dropped her hand. “Sounds like a compromise.”

  Clem helped her back on the horse, and this time she didn’t get quite so nervous when Moonlight started plodding back in the direction from which they’d come. Clem’s horse fell in beside hers.

  “The picnic was nice,” she said finally.

  “It was.”

  “Are you mad at me?” she asked.

  “Why do you keep asking that?”

  “I don’t know.” She looked down at the reins she held loosely in her hands. “I suppose I want you to say it’s a good call.”

  “Maybe I don’t think it is. But I’m not going to press the issue.”

  “Why, Clem? All we can be is a story we tell friends.”

  Clem looked over at her, and she could have sworn it was a sympathetic look. “I’ve never regretted a good story.”

  He kicked the sides of his horse again, launching his mount into a trot. Her horse didn’t bother closing the distance between them. Instead, Moonlight steadfastly plodded behind, leaving her to contemplate the twitching tail of Clem’s gelding.

  Her heart hurt, but she knew nipping the attraction they had in the bud was the right thing to do. It was sensible and reasonable and all the ables that were important in a woman’s life. In her experience, people who chased what-ifs and fuzzy rainbows didn’t end up happy.