Ask Me Why

by Marie Force

  Katie Ann picked up a china plate and studied the back. In typical Katie Ann, she was wearing a pretty pink sundress today and low pumps, her hair curled and pinned on top of her head. Of all of them, Katie Ann was the only one who had done all the girlie things, modeling in pageants and hosting a giant debutante party. “Maybe I should move away. I swear, every single man in this town is either gay or related to me.”

  “Small-town America, keeping people celibate for thousands of years.” Susie grinned, then tucked a strand of long blonde hair behind her ear. “Maybe the rest of us lonely hearts should go on a road trip. Head up to New York or something and come back with some hunky men.”

  “You make it sound like a hunting trip,” Maggie said. “Big Game Bachelors.”

  A moment later, they all pronounced the cake, nearly finished for the wedding, the most beautiful ever seen. Then, just when Maggie thought the day was over, she was being shepherded off to a nail salon. Five minutes later, she had her feet in a swirling tub of hot water and a glass of champagne in her hand.

  “I think we should have weddings more often,” Rachel said, her voice rat-a-tatting from the shiatsu massage running up and down the back of the leather chair. “This is like heaven. Remind me to get pedicures every week.”

  “We’ll do them for Maggie’s wedding,” Katie Ann said. “Assuming, that is, that Nick proposes. Which I totally think he will. That guy looks at you with stars in his eyes. If he proposes, do you think you’d come here to get married or get married on the beach?”

  “A beach wedding would be awesome.” Susie sighed. “If I ever get married, it’ll be in Hawaii, while the sun is setting—”

  “And the groom is lei-ing you.” Charlotte giggled.

  Laughter erupted from the pedicure chairs. A short Asian woman slipped into the space between the chairs and put Maggie’s free hand into a dish of warm, soapy water. “So rough.” Her face twisted and her nose wrinkled. “Like rocks.”

  “I, uh, work with my hands.”

  “Uh-huh. Working rocks?” The woman pushed Maggie’s hand deeper into the liquid. She wrinkled her nose again in distaste. “You soak. Long time.” Another glance at Maggie’s hands. “Long, long time.”

  “Better listen to the woman,” Charlotte said. “I bet Nick will appreciate a nice, smooth hand on the job.”

  That caused another burst of laughter from the other bridesmaids, and a few snickers from the nail techs.

  “I’m not—” Maggie cut off the words. She was supposed to be dating the man. Of course she’d be having sex with him. “He’s, uh, not too picky.”

  “What man is when it comes to jobs?” Charlotte said, which sent up a whole new round of giggles.

  Why had she thought this was a good idea? She should have just turned down the dare and let Rachel fix her up with her cousin again. Anything was better than talking jobs and hands and Nick. Because all it did was feed the constant fantasy reel running in her head, the one that began with that kiss last night and ended with them in bed.

  The nail techs buzzed around the wedding party, filing and buffing, chattering in their native language beneath the chitchat of the bridesmaids. The other women sat back in the chairs, relaxed and at ease, but Maggie felt like inchworms were crawling up her back. She’d only been here for forty-five minutes and was already itching to leave. She could have spent the time studying for her exam or going over the plans for the reno they were starting after she and Nick returned to Rescue Bay. Or heck, chewing off her own hand and running away until the wedding was over.

  The other girls had dropped the topic of Maggie’s wedding to Nick, thank goodness. The lie seemed to grow in proportion to every minute she was here.

  The pedicurist left for a second, then returned with a small electric tool. She settled herself on a stool and began to attack the calluses on Maggie’s feet.

  Maggie yanked her foot back. “Hey!”

  “Like rocks. Need this.” The motor whirred, spinning a sandpaper disc in a quick circle.

  “That’s for wood, not for feet.” Maggie put up her hands. “No. No. Just . . . no.”

  A few words exchanged, then the pedicurist let out a long, frustrated sigh. “I just paint color.” She wagged a finger in Maggie’s face. “You, no complain about rocks for feet.”

  Rachel leaned over and gave Maggie a grin. “When was the last time you had a pedicure?”

  “Somewhere between a century ago and never. You know me. I don’t do this”—she waved her hand around, sending the bottle of nail polish flying, which made the nail tech curse under her breath—“stuff. Sorry about that.”

  The nail tech rolled her eyes, grabbed Maggie’s hand and pressed it down on the table. “Stay.” She muttered something to the pedicurist, who just nodded and rolled her eyes.

  Maggie was pretty sure they’d said high maintenance in whatever language they were speaking.

  “Can I get another glass of champagne, please?” Maggie said, waving to the manager of the shop. “A really, really big glass?”

  Twenty minutes later, Maggie had a smudged manicure—which came from bumping the drying table when she tried to leave too soon—and a slight buzz. Four glasses of champagne had made the whole process . . . tolerable.

  “Okay, girls, off to our next adventure!” Rachel said.

  Maggie pressed a hand to her forehead. Her bangs cemented themselves in her still-wet nail polish. Of course. Please don’t say dress shopping. Please don’t say dress shopping.

  “Dress shopping! We all need something awesome for the rehearsal dinner, right?”

  “Come on, Maggie,” Katie Ann said, slipping an arm through Maggie’s. “Let’s get you something that knocks Nick’s socks off.”

  They hustled her into a dressing room at Daisy’s Dress Barn and shoved dresses at her over the top of the door. Dresses of all colors, styles. Some with belts, some with zippers that slid up the side, treading too close to her armpit for comfort. By the time she had wriggled her way into the third dress, Maggie was sweaty and tired and needed another drink.

  “Let’s see it!” Susie called. “Come on out—do a little spin.”

  Maggie tromped out of the fitting room and flung out her arms. “There. You saw it.” She turned to go back for dress number 572.

  “No, no, don’t take it off yet.” Rachel grabbed Maggie’s hand and tugged her back. “Stand on the pedestal. And here, put these on with it.” She slid off the wedges she was wearing and held them out to Maggie. “Go ahead, they won’t bite.”

  The others all stared at her. All women comfortable in heels and dresses and manicures. Unlike Maggie, who would have paid them all to leave her in her work boots and T-shirts, her hair in a sloppy ponytail and nothing more than ChapStick on her lips. Maggie would have bolted, but she’d promised Rachel, and it was her job, as maid of honor, to participate in all prewedding insanity. So Maggie slipped her bare feet into the wedges, wobbling from side to side. Rachel braced her on one side, Susie on the other, and together they hoisted her up the step onto the carpeted pedestal that faced a quartet of mirrors. Rachel gasped.

  “What? What?” Maggie spun, glancing down at the dress. “Did I rip it?”

  “No, not at all. Look at yourself.” Rachel stepped to the side and waved toward the mirrors. “Maggie, you’re beautiful. I mean, you were always beautiful, but this just makes you look even more so.”

  The mirror reflected back an hourglass shape, outlined by a black dress that scooped across the front, tapered in at her waist, then flared out like a bell. The waist she normally hid beneath an untucked T-shirt was pronounced and defined, and the legs that most days were covered with paint or sawdust seemed almost . . . elegant when paired with the heels.

  “You are beautiful,” Susie agreed.

  “You have to buy that dress,” Katie Ann said. “Definitely.”

  “Nick will pass out when he sees you. Guaranteed.” Charlotte nodded.

  The thought of Nick passing out—or even pass
ing her a compliment that wasn’t based on her carpentry skills—filled Maggie with an odd longing. Just because she wanted to make the act more believable. That was all.

  Then why did her mind wander to Nick the rest of the day? When she got back to Hattie and Herbert’s house, she hung the garment bag on a hook in the bedroom closet, beside the white bag with her maid-of-honor dress and the row of Nick’s dress shirts. She fingered the soft cotton, slipping down the sleeve, along the cuff, imagining his arms, his wrists, his hands.

  God, what had happened to her? Was she overcome by the scent of acetone or something? No way was she falling for Nick Patterson. No. Way.

  But he lingered in her thoughts as she changed and got ready for book club. She heard a noise in the driveway and looked out the window, feeling a stone of disappointment when she saw the white mail truck instead of J.W.’s pickup returning from fishing with Nick.

  “You’re looking out that window like you left a diamond on the driveway,” Hattie said, coming to stand beside Maggie.

  Maggie pivoted toward Rachel’s grandma and gave her a quick hug. Hugging Hattie was like wrapping her arms around a fresh-baked loaf of bread. Soft, warm, comforting. Hattie was the closest thing Maggie had to a real family, the stand-in grandma who had welcomed her as one of her own all those years ago. “Just enjoying being here again, Grandma Hattie.”

  “Seems to me maybe you’re looking for your heart’s twin,” Hattie said. “We all have one, you know. And yours is out there.”

  Out where? Maggie started to ask, then stopped herself. Good God, she was getting caught up in this wedding fever. Turning into a real-life romance novel. “Oh, I am far from falling in love. I’ve got a career to build, a business to start—”

  Hattie put a soft hand on Maggie’s cheek. “And you will. But it won’t mean a thing without somebody to be the wheels beneath your engine, sweetie.”

  Maggie laughed. “I don’t need someone else, Grandma Hattie. Besides, haven’t you always told me to be bold, be myself, be strong? This car is driving itself and doing just fine.”

  Hattie’s light blue eyes softened, and a bittersweet smile filled her face. “I’m proud of you for all that, sweetie. I really am. But one of the greatest joys in my life has been marrying Herbert. When you share your life with someone, you share your memories, and there’s something . . . special about that. Because only you two, in this whole wide world, hold those memories together, like bookends on a life. Then you’re strong together, which is something so mighty powerful, it can take on near anything the world hands you.”

  Maggie gave Hattie another hug. “I’m not quite ready to be somebody’s bookend, Grandma Hattie. All I want to do is enjoy being here with the people I love.”

  A little while later, Maggie and Rachel were just heading out the door with copies of Dared to Love under their arms, when Nick, J.W. and Herbert finally returned. Rachel let out a squeal and launched herself into J.W.’s arms. He drew her into a deep kiss, holding her against his waist with one arm, tangling his hand in her hair with the other, as if they’d been apart for years, not hours.

  Maggie had to look away. Not just because they were kissing like they were setting a Guinness world record, but because the way J.W. cradled Rachel’s head made her think of Nick, of that kiss last night in the bunk bed. Of how much she’d wanted it to continue.

  Because she was insane like that. She’d clearly gotten all wrapped up in Grandma Hattie’s words, to the point of no common sense.

  Nick plucked the book out from under her arms and smirked at the cover. “Is this the discussion for the night?”

  She snatched it back. “It’s called book club. Remember?”

  He leaned in close, his breath a warm tickle along her neck. “Sounds like an excuse to talk about sex.”

  “We don’t talk about sex.” Well, they had today, more than once. But only in the context of manicures. And cake. And that cute waiter at lunch.

  “Too bad. Because I really like to talk about sex.” He drew back and his eyes met hers. “With you.”

  Was this part of his act? Or was he being serious? Before she could decide, Nick had taken a step away. His face took on a look of apology. “As much as I’d love to kiss you like that,” he nodded toward J.W. and Rachel, “it’ll have to wait. I’m covered in fish guts. I should hit the shower.”

  The word shower flashed an image of a naked, soapy Nick in her mind. Her with a loofah, reaching all his hard-to-reach places. “Uh . . . good. But, uh, we’re heading out. I won’t be back till late.”

  Why was she telling him all that? Nick didn’t truly care when she returned or where she was going. It wasn’t like she was trying to schedule a time to have—uh, talk about—sex with Nick. No, not at all.

  He lifted her chin with the edge of his hand, then leaned in and pressed a sweet, too-short kiss to her lips. “I’ll miss you, honey.”

  Then he was gone, heading into the house and saving her from a response. A good thing, because hormones had muddled her brain. What was that? Where had Nick learned to look at a woman like that? And why did her insides dissolve at a simple touch of his hand?

  “That Nick is quite the catch,” Rachel said. She thumbed the remote on her car, and the women climbed in. “If I wasn’t already engaged to and madly in love with J.W., I’d go after him myself.”

  The thought caused a fissure of jealousy in Maggie’s chest. Insane. Nick had dated dozens of women since she’d met him, and she’d never been one bit jealous. Definitely an allergic reaction to acetone.

  The talk shifted to the wedding plans and away from Nick and Maggie, thank goodness. Maybe she could go an entire evening without talking about the one man in the world who drove her crazy.

  As soon as Maggie stepped through the door of the Happy Ending Bookstore, her heart swelled. She loved this silly old shop, with its hand-hewn wood floors and brass wall sconces. She loved the muffins in the case and the scent of fresh-brewed coffee mingling with the warm and slightly musty smell of old books. Seeing all her friends there made her feel as if she’d truly come home.

  And she loved Noralee, who had owned the Happy Ending for three decades, ever since her mother died. Noralee came rushing forward, enveloping Maggie in a tight hug. “Darlin’, I have missed your pretty face around here.”

  “I’ve missed being here.”

  “I made your favorite cookies. Chocolate cherry. And I put a pile of books on hold for you, ones I figured you’d take a shining to.”

  That was what Maggie loved about Noralee. The bookstore owner welcomed her customers like family, always going that extra little bit to let them know she cared. With Noralee, it wasn’t about good business—it was about good person-ness. From the bun of gray hair on her head to her practical tennis shoes, Noralee Bondurant was a woman who loved those in her life.

  Noralee drew back and parked a fist on her ample hip. “What’s this I hear about our always-planning-to-be-single girl bringing along a date to the weddin’ and keepin’ it a secret? And where is this hunk-o-burnin’-love who stole your heart?”

  “I’ll bring him by before I head out of town,” Maggie said. “We’re not serious, Noralee, just dating.”

  “Not serious? I seen the way that man looks at you, Maggie, and he is as serious as a church pew,” Susie said. “Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if he got down on one knee—”

  Maggie put up her hands before Susie went any farther down that crazy-idea path. “Oh, Nick is not going to do that. Believe me.”

  “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about men,” Noralee said, “it’s that they’re about as easy to predict as rattlesnakes on a hot day. Your man might just be cooking up a surprise at this very minute.”

  Charlotte put a hand on Maggie’s shoulder. “He might get so swept up in wedding fever that the question just kind of pops on out.”

  “Like biscuits in a can,” Katie Ann said, and the others laughed.

  Good God, no, she didn’t want him to just po
p out with a ring. And knowing Nick, he wouldn’t do it without a bonus or pay raise anyway. It was all an act, she reminded herself, all an act. Except for the times when they were alone and it felt all too real.

  Crazy thoughts.

  “Aren’t we all here to discuss a book, not my love life?” Maggie held her copy aloft. “Besides, there are cookies over there with my name on them.”

  The women crossed to the back of the room, settling into a circle of wingback chairs that fronted a cozy fireplace. The flames flickered in the low light, casting soft golden shadows over the floor and wooden coffee table. Drinks and cookies were dispersed, with coffee quickly chased by glasses of wine. And then the book club got down to business.

  Charlotte clapped, got their attention, then held up the book. The group took turns with leadership, and Maggie wasn’t surprised that Charlotte, the die-hard romantic in the group, would choose this one. Charlotte had been dreaming of her wedding day since she found her first Brides magazine in seventh grade. As far as Maggie knew, Charlotte still had a hope chest stuffed full of pictures and trinkets she was saving for the big day. All she needed to add, she always said, was a man. “All right, ladies, let’s talk about our first pick in our new Life Lessons theme.”

  “Life Lessons theme?” Maggie asked.

  “If we were going to choose books to read, we wanted them to have a message. You know, a takeaway. So we’re each choosing a different book to share with the rest of the group.” Rachel reached for her copy of Dared to Love. “Which is why I picked this one. Because daring to fall in love with J.W. was the scariest thing I’ve ever done—”

  “Besides that bungee jump off the Howard Bridge,” Susie cut in.

  “Besides that.” Rachel laughed. “And I want all of you to know how awesome it is to take that leap and find someone amazing at the bottom.”

  “Wait, you picked this book?” Maggie asked. “You, the one who vowed she was never going to get married when we were back in high school? The one who thought romance and flowers was a silly idea?”