The Most Wonderful Time

by Fern Michaels

  Maybe Abe would take her.

  “And what about this guy? Daniel’s cousin?” Becky asked.

  “What about him?”

  “Um, he’s hot,” Bernie said into her mug.

  “He’s okay,” she said, even as she felt the traitorous blush heat her face. Why was she pretending? She liked him, and these were her friends. What was the worst that could happen? They’d tease her, she’d blush, but she’d still get to talk about Abe. “Actually, he’s really nice. And funny. And he has all these stories about growing up in Coral Bottom.”

  “And you totally have a crush on him,” said Bernie. “Not that I blame you.”

  “So? I came here for the wedding and the reunion. I didn’t come here to crush on the cousins.”

  Bernie waved her concerns away. “Please. This is a wedding. Single people hook up at weddings all the time, or so I hear. Live the dream!”

  “Live what dream?” Liam asked.

  “Live the dream of hooking up with the hot fiddler,” Becky explained.

  “Oh. Yeah. Go on,” he said. “Live the dream.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Abe tried really hard to listen to Kevin’s instructions as he led them through the rehearsal. But it was going to be a short ceremony, and Abe only had to play while they walked up the aisle, then just sit and listen until they turned around to walk back down. In between, he had a lot of time to think about Emma.

  He didn’t think he’d ever seen a girl have an existential crisis before. He’d thought it would have been more dramatic. All in all, she was pretty chill about the whole thing, or at least she seemed to relax once she got to Granny Sue’s library.

  The way her face lit up when they walked into that dinky old building—that was something he wouldn’t soon forget. He could tell that she was getting charmed by Coral Bottom, seeing the diamond at the heart of its rough. He liked that about her. Showed she had good taste.

  And it got him thinking dangerous thoughts about her hanging around.

  Which was ridiculous, because he wasn’t hanging around.

  Maybe she’d like Nashville.

  Not that he liked Nashville. Well, not the Nashville life he was living.

  By the time Daniel herded them all out of the barn and into the lodge for the rehearsal dinner, Abe had moved Emma into a little house near the Coral Bottom Library, where they spent evenings by the fire, her reading and him playing her some musical accompaniment. It was a pretty picture, but it was also just that—a picture. Why would a woman with her PhD move to the middle of the middle of nowhere to run a library that made Podunk look like a bustling metropolis?

  Besides, he hadn’t even kissed her yet. Maybe she was a terrible kisser.

  His eyes zeroed in on her as he walked into the lodge’s restaurant. She sat there, laughing with her friends and with Granny Sue, her eyes lit up with amusement. Who knew what story Granny Sue was telling her. He could only hope it didn’t involve him losing his britches.

  He was about to head off Granny’s story when he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. “Abe Tate? Sounded real good up there.”

  Abe turned to find Gary Loshe, host of Up the Holler, a world-renowned radio show that featured everything from Southern blues to singer-songwriters to mountain fiddlers. He was also Coral Bottom’s most famous native son, and a former paramour of Granny Sue’s. He’d always been a supporter of kids learning traditional music, and he’d been a good friend to Abe.

  Abe almost hated to run into him.

  Because Gary was a nice guy, so he’d probably want to talk to Abe about how he was doing, which would lead to questions about how Nashville was treating him, and there was no way Abe could lie and tell him that it was great and that he was probably going on tour with Taylor Swift next year.

  “Have a seat,” Gary said, and Abe, being a glutton for punishment, did. “How’s Nashville treatin’ you?”

  Well, that didn’t take long.

  “Great,” Abe said, leaving the Taylor Swift stuff unspoken.

  Gary laughed. “You never could tell a lie to save your life, you know that?”

  “It’s rough, man. But I’m still tryin’.”

  “I remember. ’Course, I was in Nashville about forty years ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday. I’ve never felt so chewed up and spit out in my life, and I’ve been married three times.”

  “I’m playin’, I’m just not makin’ much of a living.”

  “You been there, what, a year now?”

  Abe nodded.

  “Well, as long as you don’t stop playin’, something will happen. But, you know, things are happening here, too.”

  “Yeah, I heard your show got picked up.”

  “Yeah, now I get to do pledge drives in four different time zones, not just West Virginia.”

  “Heavy is the head.”

  “Don’t I know it. But, listen, if you ever decide to come back home, I’m working on a few things. Traditional music is having a bit of a comeback. ’Course, you never thought it went anywhere, did you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I got people from New York and all over interested in learning the old songs. It’s the young people. I can’t hardly believe it. Just a few years ago, you couldn’t get a kid to let go of the remote control long enough to listen to a banjo tune, but now it seems like they can’t get enough.”

  “Really?”

  “You sound surprised. I have to admit, it’s a small movement, but it’s a movement, and I need people to help me build on that momentum. Show those Brooklyn hipsters where the real music comes from.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Just think about it, that’s all.”

  “Gary, will you quit talkin’ my grandson’s ear off? He ain’t even had a bite to eat!” Before Abe could ask more about music and movements, Granny Sue had him up to his eyeballs in fried chicken and greens.

  Before he knew what was happening, his belly was full and those who were so inclined were sittin’ around the fireplace, pickin’ on instruments and tellin’ tales. He’d managed to say two words to Emma (she was doing fine, she reported) before he got swept up in a spontaneous jam session of songs older than the hills. Gary was there, too, pulling his harmonica out of his pocket, and a jar of clear liquid from his bag.

  That was the moonshine. Abe took a sip when the jar was passed around. He watched Emma take a sip, too, and laughed as she tried, unsuccessfully, to hide a wince. Yeah, it burned goin’ down. But that fire loosened up his fingers and he knew they were in for a long night.

  Man, it felt good to be back home.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Abe was just toeing his jeans off when his door knocked. Or someone knocked at his door. He shook his head. Whshhhoooh . . . white lightning.

  He giggled. Which was another way he knew he was drunk. Grown-ass men do not giggle, he reminded himself. Then his door knocked again. He tripped out of his jeans and opened it.

  It was the librarian.

  She squinted—moonshine eyes—but still managed to look him up and down.

  He looked down, too.

  Yup, he was standing in the hallway in his boxers.

  He reciprocated the look, and he wanted to say something smart about the pink cat pajamas she was wearing, but she just looked too cute. What was she doing at his door, looking all cute?

  “Can I help you?”

  She leaned against the door frame, which brought her face awful close to his. “Too quiet,” she said.

  “CAN I HELP YOU?” he shouted, then doubled over in a fit of giggles.

  She shoved at his shoulder. He wiped his eyes. God, he was funny.

  “I can’t sleep.”

  “I thought you couldn’t sleep when it was loud?”

  “No, I couldn’t concentrate when it was loud. Now I can’t sleep cuz it’s too quiet.”

  Funny, he was thinking the exact opposite. This quiet lodge was the first good sleep he’d had in he didn’t know how long.

>   “And I’m cold.” She rubbed her arms and shivered.

  “Are you trying to seduce me?”

  She shrugged one shoulder.

  He brushed her arm as he reached for her waist. “Damn, woman, you really are cold.”

  “I told you.”

  He pulled her into his room and kicked the door closed. Before he could even take a breath she was on him, her cold hands around the back of his neck, her sweet lips soft on his. He was surprised, but he caught on real quick. He hoisted her up so she was off-balance and pressed tight to him. He ran a hand into her hair to hold her still so he could get inside that hot mouth of hers. They were both sloppy and gasping, but determined, and he walked them back toward the bed.

  But then she tripped over his jeans, and he tripped over her, and they landed in a tangle on the bed.

  “Shit.” He reached for the back of her head, which had made an unfortunate collision with his elbow.

  “I’m fine,” she said, blinking hard. “Wait. I might have a concussion. Unless your room is supposed to be spinning?”

  He flopped onto his back. Yup, the room was definitely spinning.

  “Emma,” he said to the spinning ceiling. “This is a bad idea.”

  He heard her sigh, taking all the air in the room with her. “Okay,” she said quietly, and clambered up so she was sitting on the edge of the bed. “Sorry.”

  “No, hey, no, not like that.” He grabbed her wrist and tugged her down so she was facing him. Probably not a great idea with the room spinning and all. But he didn’t want her to go.

  “So, we’re gonna do it even though it’s a bad idea?”

  Her impish grin made his heart do a little flip in his chest. She should definitely go.

  “No.”

  He really was the stupidest man alive.

  “But not because you don’t want me?”

  “Hell, no.” The evidence of that was poking out of his boxers.

  “Then why not?”

  He brushed a lock of her hair out of her eyes. “Because we’re drunk.”

  “I’m not drunk.”

  “How many fingers am I holding up?”

  She didn’t take her eyes off of his. “I don’t care.”

  “Shit,” he muttered. He ran his thumb over her cheeks. She shivered. She was still cold.

  “Come on.” He pulled the quilt down and scooched underneath it. She followed on her hands and knees, and he had to shut his eyes because he was pretty sure that was the sexiest thing he had ever seen in his life. Then she landed heavily next to him, and he remembered the moonshine.

  He wrapped his arms around her, then pulled her arms around him. Her hands snaked up his shirt and he yelped.

  “Sorry!” she said, but she didn’t move them. Instead, she heaved a giant, happy sigh and cuddled into him. “You’re warm,” she muttered into his chest.

  He was burning up. It was his own fault for being so stupid. But he was just trying to be hospitable. She was cold. He could help her with that.

  He lifted his arm, held a protective hand over her head. “Shh,” he told her, because if she kept talking, he was definitely going to do something stupid. “Close your eyes and go to sleep.”

  “The room’s spinning.”

  He closed his eyes. Yup. The room was definitely spinning.

  “I’m not tired,” she mumbled.

  He wasn’t either. But it was either go to sleep or take this thing that was between them and mess it up.

  He should send her away.

  But she felt warm tucked up next to him. And she’d said she was cold before. He couldn’t send her away cold. What would that say for his Appalachian hospitality?

  “I can’t believe I’m cuddling with the hot fiddler.”

  “I can’t believe you’re still talking.”

  “It’s your own fault for not making out with me.”

  All kinds of warning bells went off in his head.

  “So, how’d you like Coral Bottom?” he asked, even though he knew perfectly well that she’d loved it. At least, she’d loved the quick visit. She might not love it so well if she stuck around.

  Whoa. That was some nuclear-level wedding-induced feelings talk.

  Her shoulder rose and fell with her sigh. “I like it here. I never thought I would. But I guess I never thought I’d be going to a gay wedding in West Virginia.”

  “Hey, now. West Virginia legalized it before the Supreme Court did.”

  She lifted her head and clumsily brushed the hair out of her face. “It did?”

  “Yeah. Like six months before, but still.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Why, you thought we were all backwards rednecks who couldn’t cotton to a feller kissin’ another feller?”

  She swatted his chest, then leaned back into him. “No.”

  He ran his fingers through her hair.

  “Okay, yes.”

  “Ha, I knew it.”

  When she didn’t say anything, he asked, “Are you pouting?”

  “No.”

  “You’re pouting because the people you’ve met so far in West Virginia are not as homophobic as you thought they’d be?”

  “No! I’m pouting because I was wrong. There’s a difference.”

  “Mmm-hmm. If it makes you feel any better, not everybody was kind to Daniel when he came out.”

  “That actually doesn’t make me feel better at all.”

  “I had to kick Bobby Avery’s ass because he kicked Daniel’s ass because Daniel tried to kiss him in fourth grade.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah, and Bobby Avery’s twice my size.”

  “But you kicked his ass?”

  “I may have exaggerated.”

  “You didn’t kick his ass?”

  “Well, technically he kicked my ass, but it was in defense of Daniel’s honor, so it still counts.”

  She giggled into his shoulder.

  “Are you laughing at my pain?”

  “No! I’m just imagining little Abe, slaying the giant for his . . . what is Daniel to you? Cousin?”

  “Yup. His mom and my mom were sisters. So close everyone thought they were twins.”

  “And you and Daniel are close.”

  “Like twins.”

  “You were really fine with him being gay?”

  Abe thought back to that time. It wasn’t until high school that Daniel came out to him. Abe was ashamed of some of the things he thought when Daniel first told him. But he was hurt, dammit.

  “I was more upset that he kept a secret from me. We’d always told each other everything.”

  “You thought he didn’t trust you?”

  Abe shrugged, jostling Emma. “I don’t know what I thought. I didn’t really know anything about gay people, I just knew that something was eatin’ Daniel up inside, and telling me seemed to make him feel better.”

  “Must’ve been a shock.”

  “And a relief. That bastard is handsomer than I am. If he was straight, I’d never’ve gotten a girl.”

  Getting a girl was too close to what he wanted to do with Emma right now, especially with her laughing that sweet laugh of hers and running her fingers along his collarbone.

  “Quit laughin’. We’re supposed to be asleep.”

  “The room’s spinning, remember?”

  “I bet it’s not.”

  She didn’t say anything for a minute, and he stretched to look down at her. With the moonlight coming through the sliding door, he could see that her eyes were closed. Then her breathing got low and heavy, and so did his eyelids. The room stopped spinning, which was good. And soon, he was asleep.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Emma blinked her eyes open.

  It was really, really bright.

  Like, really bright.

  She looked out the sliding doors. There was snow on the trees. That must be why they looked a little different from yesterday morning. Also, she was really warm, which was another difference from yesterday. Also, h
er blanket was moving.

  That was no blanket she felt at the small of her back. Then she screwed her eyes shut and shoved her face into the pillow. Oh, my God. Last night suddenly came to her with humiliating clarity. Moonshine. She hadn’t drunk that much of it. But then she also remembered Granny Sue telling her she didn’t have to drink that much for it to work. Then going upstairs and flopping into her pajamas. Then coming down to attempt to seduce Abe. Then being soundly rejected but somehow managing to fall asleep in his arms.

  She wondered if there was a way to sneak out of his room without him waking up.

  He stirred behind her. All of him stirred. But that was just a natural biological reaction to the morning. He’d made himself pretty clear last night: It was a terrible idea. She was a terrible idea. Her kissing was a terrible idea.

  He wasn’t wrong. She was a mess. She had no direction. And she was terrible at holding her liquor.

  “Morning.”

  His voice was like gravel. But, like, sexy gravel. It made her feel all warm and tingly inside.

  He squeezed her closer to him, which made her feel even warmer and tinglier.

  Damn her body and its stupid natural reactions reacting to his natural reactions.

  He leaned over her, and she could not think of a polite way to avoid his eyes, so she didn’t.

  Warm, melted chocolate. That’s what his eyes reminded her of.

  She loved chocolate.

  “You don’t look half as bad as I feel,” he said, and brushed a lock of hair out of her face.

  Wait, was he flirting with her?

  He smiled down at her, all crooked and melty, and she couldn’t help but smile back, even though surely the next moments held the potential to be the most awkward of her life.

  Tempting the devil, she reached up and brushed his hair out of his eyes. He turned his head so his beard tickled her palm, and kissed her.

  “Did I snore too much?” he asked, as if waking up with her after platonically rejecting her drunken advances was the most natural thing in the world.

  She shook her head. If he had snored, she sure didn’t hear it.

  “Good.” He kissed her cheek. Then the corner of her mouth. Then her lips.