by Kat Cantrell
That was a real fairy tale in Aria’s opinion.
What had drawn Isaiah to it? He wasn’t hideous like Shrek. He was actually a really good-looking guy, clean-cut with a wiry build that hinted at both inner and outer strength. The real kicker was his eyes, though. He had one blue and one brown. Over time, she’d trained herself not to stare at them but it had been hard at first because they were so uncommon and interesting.
Someone knocked on her bedroom door and Serenity stuck her head inside without waiting for Aria to answer. “Hurry up, now. You have a caller!”
Aria paused midturn, her recently-shed uniform forgotten in her fingertips. “A what? It’s not 1942, Aunt Serenity.”
Serenity stuck her tongue out, but kept rearranging her long gray hair as if she couldn’t decide what to do with her hands. “I was born in the sixties I’ll have you know. Get dressed. Isaiah’s here to see you and it’s rude to keep a man waiting. Unless you’d rather receive him in that outfit, in which case I’ll show him in.”
With a glance down at her granny panties and serviceable bra, Aria arched a brow. “You wouldn’t.”
“Eh. Probably not,” Serenity mused as if actually thinking about it. “Might give a fellow the wrong idea about the kinds of things I’m okay with going on under my roof.”
Please. She and Isaiah were just friends and no amount of skin-showing—on the part of either party—would change that, thank goodness. It wasn’t like she had much to inspire a man in that department anyway since her share of womanly curves had gone to Ember. She slipped a sundress over her unsexy underwear and hustled her aunt out of the way so she could go see about her gentleman caller.
When she walked into the living area, Isaiah was cooling his heels by staring up at the very large watercolor that Serenity had hanging over her threadbare couch.
“Aria’s mom painted that when we were kids. It’s a longhorn,” Serenity explained helpfully since the painting did warrant some clarification—it resembled a giant uterus more than a cow. “Isn’t it brilliant?”
Isaiah flashed Aria a smile that could more readily be described as brilliant and nodded. “It suits the place.”
Clever man. Not everyone could make such a statement sound both sincere and like a compliment without actually validating Serenity’s opinion about the horrific artwork. Because it was frighteningly bad, not that Aria would disrespect her late mother by saying so.
“You didn’t come by for an art appreciation lesson, did you?” Aria asked, strictly because she was dying to know what had caused Isaiah to darken her aunt’s door.
Caleb came up to the third floor all the time to see Havana since they were engaged and also working sixteen hours a day together on the town revitalization plans. But this was the first time a former SEAL had made the trek upstairs specifically to see Aria and she might be a little giddy over it, never mind that he was the wrong SEAL. In this case, he was so very right and she wasn’t about to apologize for it.
Of course, he was probably here to talk about Tristan. Why else would he have come by, to take her on a date? Silly. She didn’t even want that. No one had to know about the tiny little bit of disappointment that wormed through her stomach. She didn’t even know what to do with that.
Serenity’s talk of a caller had gotten her all twisted around. She didn’t want to date anyone unless it was directly related to the bet. Except now she was thinking about dating someone just because they liked each other. And maybe she wasn’t so against the idea after all. In theory, anyway. In reality, there was still a lot of room to get hurt.
“I came to whisk you away for a private chat,” Isaiah informed her and gallantly took her hand in his as if they were an item and he had done it lots of times.
Everything promptly drained out of her head except for the fact that she was holding hands with a man.
Isaiah’s palm warmed hers and she made the mistake of glancing at his unusual eyes. She sort of fell in with no lifeboat in sight. The brown one was the color of old glass, like the kind they used to make bottles out of. Lennie had a few at his antique shop that he stored up on a top shelf behind the register. They’d been there so long that the bottles were coated with dust but that didn’t keep the color from shining through when the light hit them right.
That layer of dust over Isaiah’s gaze—she suddenly wanted to know more about the enigma behind it.
And she hadn’t even started on the blue eye. That one held secrets better than a swirled marble, hinting at depths you really wanted to examine but couldn’t because the surface obscured the center. Once she’d played marbles with some of the other kids from school, but she wasn’t very good at letting go of the shiny piece of rounded glass in her hand. It was a treasure and she wanted to keep it.
“I’ll give you two some privacy here, if you want,” Serenity offered.
“That’s kind of you, but I have something else in mind,” Isaiah said and the sound of his voice broke the staring contest they’d somehow fallen into.
Aria blinked and tore her gaze from his without a clue why it was so difficult all at once. “Really? You have something planned?”
“Come with me,” he instructed and led her toward the door.
She had absolutely no problem with that idea. He could have suggested a root canal and she’d follow along obligingly because her brain had turned stupid the moment a man had paid attention to her. Plus he was still holding her hand, which would have made it hard to refuse. Sure she could have pulled loose, but why in the world would she want to do that?
In a tiny dot of a town like Superstition Springs, there weren’t a lot of places to go unless you had access to a vehicle. Caleb owned an SUV but he and Havana had gone to La Grange to talk to Damian Scott and his investors, who were building a resort near the river, so Isaiah couldn’t have much in mind in the way of destinations. But he still managed to shock her when he steered her downstairs to the second floor and then opened the stuck-in-place door at the end of the hall with a flourish.
A little befuddled, she stared at the dark staircase that led upward. “How did you get that door open? It’s been stuck shut since we moved into this place. I actually thought there was a wall behind it.”
She’d tried ten times or more to pry it open to no avail. When she’d asked where it led to, Serenity shrugged and told her maybe nothing, chalking it up to the very odd renovations the owners had done over the years. The entire third floor had been converted from individual rooms into a loft-style apartment, but the previous owner hadn’t finished the job, leaving half painted walls and rooms that weren’t enclosed. Since there were actually doors in the place that opened into spaces that went nowhere, Aria had forgotten all about it.
“Surprise.” Isaiah flapped a hand toward the darkened opening. “Don’t you want to see where it goes?”
More than she wanted to breathe. Without hesitation, she strode over the threshold and clambered up the stairs. Isaiah followed her and they stepped out onto the roof. A blanket of black unfurled above her, breathtaking and dotted with stars so beautiful it almost hurt to look at them. The quiet town slumbered beyond the edge of the roof, making it easy to imagine they were the only two people in the world.
She didn’t hate that idea.
Isaiah fetched a wad of fabric from behind an old board and spread it out, then helped her sit down on the ground cover. Utterly charmed, she folded her feet beneath her as she waited for him to settle next to her.
“You certainly know how to call on a girl,” she told him wryly. “I wouldn’t have guessed you could show me something new about the hotel I’ve been living in for two years. Gold star to you, sir.”
He grinned, his face a bit shadowed since it was dark, but the stars provided just enough light to give the place atmosphere. Except she shouldn’t be so enchanted by the magical vibe Isaiah had created. She needed to save that up for Tristan—he could enchant her more than enough when she won her bet. That’s what she should be thinking about.
Maybe she’d ask him up here to the roof.
All at once, she didn’t want to talk about Tristan. It felt…wrong to bring another person into this secret rooftop sanctuary. Plus, there was no guarantee she’d ever win the bet she’d made with Havana and Ember in the first place. And she certainly wouldn’t if she refused to broach the subject with the man who’d agreed to help her get Tristan’s attention.
It was just so peaceful up here on the roof. The interior of the hotel was too busy with all the people and history and the occasional creak or tap of the ghosts Serenity insisted shared the space with them.
“I have to admit,” Isaiah said. “I’m pretty impressed that you charged right up those stairs without knowing where they went. You’re my kind of fearless.”
His kudos put heat in her cheeks and she blessed the semi-darkness that hid it from him. There was nothing worse than having a billboard on your face that broadcast your emotions to God and everyone. “Not really. I mean, what kind of danger could there possibly be?”
“Spiders. Rats. Dead or alive, a lot of people wouldn’t want to run across either. I thought it was brave.”
“Oh. Well…okay. Thanks.” Imagine that. Isaiah, who had spent a good number of years in some very nasty places according to the stories she’d heard from Havana, thought she was brave. “Spiders don’t really bother you unless you bother them and rats run away pretty fast when they hear you coming. Dead things might be another story but it was dark and—”
“Hush now,” he instructed with a laugh. “And let me admire you.”
Oh, yeah that was so easy she could just flip a switch and stop being weird about it. But he didn’t wait for her to mull that over.
“I have a confession to make,” Isaiah murmured with so much weight she glanced at him. “I haven’t brought anyone else up here. It’s kind of a refuge. One that wouldn’t benefit from a lot of traffic, if you get my drift. So I’d love for you to keep it quiet for a while.”
He was saying she was special. That was such a doozy, she scarcely knew what to think. But she liked it. She nodded and mimed locking her lips closed. “I had that thought too. More people would spoil it.”
“I figured you’d get it.” Companionably, he leaned back on his hands to stare up at the stars. “We seem to be on the same wavelength about a lot of things.”
Yes. Surprisingly. Which she’d have totally missed if she hadn’t asked him to help her. She basked in that for a minute. “Thanks for sharing your secret with me. Now we each have one about the other.”
Clearly amused, he raised his brows. “What, like if you tell someone about my hideout, I could get you back by telling Tristan about the bet you made over his virtue?”
“You make it sound tawdry.”
But she laughed just the same and it felt nice to be so comfortable with a man, especially one she’d just held hands with. Her fingers still tingled, and coupled with the magic of this rooftop secret, this was the best date she’d ever been on.
Also known as the only date she’d ever been on. And it wasn’t really a date. She was just taking liberties with the term because Serenity had started it with all the talk of having a caller. Maybe that was one of the things she should be asking Isaiah to help her focus on—her complete lack of experience with men. Ember had horded what few eligible boys there’d been around town when they’d been teenagers, and as Aria had grown into her twenties, her looks hadn’t followed her. Men generally didn’t notice her, which worked in her favor as far as she was concerned.
And yet here she was on the roof with one man while poised to get all the information needed to win the attention of another one. Maybe. One step at a time. First she had to figure out how to get Tristan to ask her on a date and then she’d charm him so much, he’d…what? She literally had no idea what was supposed to happen after that. What did you even do on a date?
Oh, goodness. What if Tristan thought she wanted to start dating? Like actually dating, because he mistook her interest in winning the bet as interest in him long-term? The thought brought her up short. She hadn’t categorically dismissed dating because she didn’t want companionship. It was strictly a defensive mechanism.
People left. She didn’t. But what if a miracle happened and she found a man who knew how to stick?
“Make no mistake,” Isaiah said after a beat. “Tristan can turn something tawdry all on his own. He doesn’t need your help.”
That didn’t sound like a compliment. She should ask more about that, but for the first time, it occurred to her that there might be some things about Tristan that she might not like once she got to know him. And that would ruin the lovely little fantasy she’d just spun, which was why she should stick to the plan.
“Tell me what kind of music he likes,” she said instead.
Might as well get this show on the road. Why she’d been dragging her feet, she couldn’t fathom. This was her chance to show Havana and Ember that she didn’t need a stupid makeover to get a guy like Tristan. She aimed to earn her sisters’ respect and maybe demonstrate that she’d done fine by herself after they’d gone. What was her problem?
“The very loud, very complicated electronic kind,” Isaiah said, his tone indicating how highly he respected his friend’s taste, which was not at all. “He likes to dance.”
Aria made a noise that sounded a lot like blergh because really? “There are so many things wrong with those statements, I don’t even know where to start.”
“I know, right?” He shook his head. “If you’re going to dance, that is not the way to do it. Slow and sensual is the ticket. But listening to dance music when you’re not dancing is the height of annoyance in the first place. If you’re just sitting around, jazz is the way to go.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to admit that she’d never danced to either kind of music when she accidentally blurted out, “That’s what I listen to too. The bluesier the better.”
“Come on. Not really. You’re a jazz fan?” Isaiah sat up. “What’s on your playlist?”
“I don’t know. Chet Baker’s ‘Almost Blue.’ Some Amy Winehouse. Screamin’ Jay Hawkins, Billie Holiday. ‘Don’t Explain’ is the best song ever written.” Warming to the subject, she ticked off some more of the music she’d grown up listening to. “‘Lilac Wine,’ ‘Cry Me a River.’ Oh, John Lee Hooker—‘Boom Boom,’ of course. And then you know, John Coltrane, Duke Ellington, Miles Davis.”
She trailed off as Isaiah pulled out his phone and tapped on it, then handed it to her. One glance revealed exactly what she’d already guessed—his list of songs was nearly identical to hers. The main difference being that hers was on an ancient iPod that Havana had sent her several years ago for her birthday; Aria didn’t and probably never would own a cell phone.
Nearly identical. But not quite. And that was a travesty of the highest order.
“Seriously?” She arched a brow at his John Lee Hooker choices. “‘Free Beer and Chicken’? That’s his worst album.”
“You could not be more wrong.”
Fighting words. Which of course devolved into a twenty minute argument about the merits of all things blues. It was the most fun Aria had ever had while disagreeing with someone.
Finally, she held up her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, you win. I will listen to the entire album again without prejudice or malice.”
“Now you’re talking. We can start right now.” Isaiah flicked the screen of his phone and a saxophone wailed through the still night. “There is never a bad time for ‘Free Beer and Chicken.’”
The music wafted through her, kicking up a slow ache as the sensuous notes did their thing. She stared up at the stars, utterly content to never move again. “It’s not so bad when you have the right company.”
He glanced over at her and something in the long pause heated her skin as she felt him watching her. “Music is always different when you have the right company. That’s what makes it art.”
Geez, was that comment supposed to sound so ro
mantic? Definitely not. The stars and the magic of this rooftop not-a-date and the music had addled her brain, causing her to read into it. Actually, if anything, it was her fault for spitting out such a leading comment. This was not the kind of thing that normally happened to her, so she could be forgiven for a momentary lapse, right?
Problem was, she wished it wasn’t so out of the norm. And under these circumstances.
She was only here because Isaiah was helping her learn about Tristan. Oh, yeah. Tristan. Funny thing. She’d forgotten all about him. Easy to do when Isaiah had curled his body toward her, his half lounge both casual and intimate at the same time.
“So I guess Tristan and I aren’t going to connect over music,” she croaked, hating to break the mood by mentioning another man but she kind of had to.
Isaiah flinched and jackknifed up to a sitting position as if he’d forgotten the real reason they were here, which shattered the vibe instantly. “Oh, yeah, probably not. We’ll find something though. What else do you like?”
You. She almost said it out loud. She and Tristan could share a friend, right? Surely that meant they’d have something in common since they both liked Isaiah. But she couldn’t seem to get that out around the big lump in her throat. Best thing would be to keep her thoughts to herself in case he misunderstood the comment and made it out to be something it wasn’t.
She had a huge crush on Tristan. Ask anyone. She’d practically turned it into an art form. It was absolutely imperative that she get him to notice her for a number of reasons, not the least of which was winning the bet. But also because it meant something if he did—that Aria was good enough, special enough, and important enough to for someone like him to believe it. Then maybe her sisters would see it too. And no one would ever leave again.
The real trick was how she’d convince herself of that when people who should have been in her corner never believed it either. It would be so much easier to forget the whole bet and hang out with Isaiah instead. He was funny and sweet and so unexpected, drawing her into his circle easily, almost as if they’d always known each other.
