Barefoot at Sunset (Barefoot Bay Timeless Book 1)

by Roxanne St Claire

  She turned back to Mark. “Did you really think that was necessary? Why not just tell us you’d rather not talk about her?”

  Hell if he could even remember now. Emma had made him realize just how stupid that whole avoidance business was. “I don’t know,” Mark said. “It was kind of a spur-of-the-moment decision, and she was all in, and next thing we knew…” We were falling in love. “She left.”

  “What?” Libby’s voice rose in outrage.

  “Mark screwed her,” Law added.

  “Not literally.” Yes, literally. “We had a…” Misunderstanding? “I wasn’t completely…” Honest with her.

  She leaned in. “Did you behave in a dicklike manner?” she asked sweetly.

  Ken snorted, and Law threw his head back and barked a laugh. But Mark looked right at Libby and nodded. “Guilty as charged.”

  “Oof.” She threw up her hands. “Burst my bubble, why don’t you? Here I thought you were perfect.”

  “Far from it,” he assured her.

  “So far,” Law added, sharing knuckles with Ken.

  “Perfect is in another ZIP code,” Ken agreed.

  “But what about the dance?” Libby asked. “You and Emma are partners!”

  “He’s forfeiting,” Ken said.

  “Speaking of dicklike behavior,” Law added.

  “That’s preposterous!” She pushed her chair back as if the news propelled her into action. “You know the steps, right?”

  “No, no, Libby,” Mark said. “I’m not going to dance…” With anyone except Emma. Ever, he thought glumly.

  “Of course you are.”

  “I can’t teach it to you now. The dance competition starts as soon as we wrap up dinner and go into the banquet room.”

  “The eighties can’t lose, Mark!” She was dead serious. “We are the best decade, right?” She looked at Law.

  “If you say so.”

  “Hey, the nineties weren’t bad,” Ken added. “And I don’t think he wants to dance with anyone.”

  Mark threw him a grateful glance, but Libby tapped the table. “He won’t dance with anyone. He’ll dance with everyone. There’s strength in numbers, I say.”

  All three men looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “Stay here, enjoy your dinner, relax. I’ve got this.” She stood up and peered down at Law. “For the record, Law Monroe, I was going to do you so hard that night. You should have picked me over whatever demon won the evening.”

  All humor left his face. “I know that now, Lib.”

  When she left, the three men were quiet for a moment, and Law picked up his club soda in a mock toast. “To all the women I lost because of booze.”

  “Hey,” Mark said. “You’re a new man now.”

  “Wait, if you don’t drink,” Ken interjected, “why are you trying to buy a bar?”

  “You heard the lady. Demons. I try to keep those devils close and under control.”

  “Speaking of women lost…” Both men looked at Ken, whose gaze moved into the crowd. Then he picked up his beer and shifted his attention away, disgusted.

  “Beth?” Mark spotted the attractive blonde in a red halter and a short white skirt that showed off legs from here to tomorrow. After a beat, she turned her head slightly and zeroed right in on Ken like she was locked on a target. “You sure you lost her?” Mark asked.

  Ken looked, and she instantly turned away. “The Titanic hit a smaller iceberg,” he said quietly.

  “So melt her,” Law said. “Come on, let’s hit the buffet. It’s a thing of beauty, if I say so myself.”

  An hour later, sated with dinner and listening to someone at the podium list a string of accomplishments and memories, Mark realized that all he’d done all night—for more than twenty-four hours, to be honest—was hope that Emma would come back.

  But as the evening moved toward the dance competition, that hope grew from a warm ember to a cold chunk of stone residing in his heart. That feeling he’d been most familiar with for a decade and a half.

  Loss. Loneliness. An ache that felt like a black hole that had been filled by laughter and love—oh man. He still sounded like her.

  “Whoa. Whoa.” Law sat up straight and stared over Mark’s shoulder. “Brace yourself.”

  Emma?

  He whipped around and disappointment kicked at the sight of seven women, including Libby, walking arm in arm toward their table, some faces familiar, some not. They moved in unison like dancers or…cheerleaders. Instantly, Mark recognized a few, like Margot the dancer who’d offered to be his partner, and realized he’d seen many of these ladies’ teenage faces in a trophy case the other day.

  Everyone looked…right at Mark.

  “Holy shit, you weren’t kidding, dude.” Law laughed. “You’re like catnip.”

  Allison Breyer was on the right, a glimmer in her eyes as she tossed back her sassy streak of white hair. “Solomon,” she said.

  He swallowed. “Yeah?”

  “Scorps don’t forfeit.”

  A few of them laughed, along with Mark and his friends. “Is that so?”

  “Scorps sting!” The whole line crouched down a little, dropping their joined hands so they could shoot the right one over their heads, shouting, “Sting ’em, Scorps!” in perfect unison.

  A cheer went up from the entire crowd, including Law and Ken. Another table yelled the same thing, and soon the Mimosa High Scorpion battle cry was being shouted all over the sands of Barefoot Bay. Which was probably what was supposed to happen at this event.

  “You’re the cheerleading squad,” Mark said as he realized who and what they were.

  “From 1980 through 1989,” one of them called out.

  “And eighties ladies don’t mess around,” Libby added. “We got the playlist, and we know these songs.”

  “Know them?” one of them called out. “Some of us have Flashdance tattoos.”

  Mark just dropped back in his chair and started laughing. “I give up.”

  “Oh no, you don’t.” Allison grabbed one hand, and Libby took the other, pulling him out of the chair. “We’ve already talked to the committee chair. We’re doing this. Let’s go, big guy. Dance competitors are behind the curtain in the banquet room.”

  “Haul that sexy ass,” Libby added with a yank.

  The next thing he knew he was flanked by the very women he’d hoped to avoid all week. All smiling, laughing, teasing, and, God, cheering. Each one was beautiful in her own way, and not one of them mentioned Julia or threw herself at him.

  What the hell had he been so worried about?

  They dragged him into the back of the resort, and for the briefest moment, he forgot his sadness while they took him behind the curtain that blocked off a large stage at one end of the large ballroom. A number of other couples were back there, donning “costumes” and practicing moves. Enough booze had been imbibed that no one cared that Team Eighties had seven women; they weren’t going to win, but with this crew? They sure as hell weren’t going to forfeit.

  Libby ran the show, and Mark could have kicked himself for the wrong assumption he’d made about her when they’d first met earlier in the week. She was no pampered socialite or, if she was, she was bright and funny and clearly a woman who knew how to get stuff done.

  In moments, Libby had assigned each woman a song, taking Endless Love for herself.

  “No fancy steps,” she said. “Whatever you learned at that studio, you can forget, Mark. We’re all just going to dance the way we did at Mimosa High at every Spring Fling.”

  Julia’s letter flashed in his head for a moment, but he had no time to think about it, because a few hundred slightly inebriated and way-too-old-for-Spring Flinging guests started filling up the banquet room, much noisier than when they’d arrived and checked in.

  “How are we doing back here?” Lacey Walker slipped behind the curtains, holding a wine glass and wearing a relieved smile. The dance contestants hollered at their leader, some gathering around her. She greeted a few, but her
gaze cut through the crowd to Mark.

  “You’re here,” she said, stepping closer.

  “With my squad.” He gestured to the women around him who responded—of course—with a perfectly timed “Woo-woo-woo!” and synchronized fist-pumping like they were on the sidelines of the big Friday-night game.

  Instantly, inexplicably, he loved them all for the support and attitude. Man, he’d judged people wrong.

  Lacey nodded slowly, a light in her eyes that had certainly been absent the last time he’d seen her. Late last night, he’d called and told her everything and made one more pitch for her to consider Emma for the job. She’d left it hanging, but doubtful.

  “Are you dancing to the same songs?” she asked.

  “One each,” Libby offered. “With a grand That’s What Friends Are For finale. Please join us on stage for that, Lacey.”

  “I’d love to,” she said enthusiastically, raising her glass. “One more of these and I’ll be leading the show.”

  “It’s been a tough week,” Mark said.

  She rolled her amber eyes and pushed some strawberry-blond curls away from her face. “Tough but great fun. This is definitely going to be an annual event. But I’m not chairing it ever again.” She narrowed her eyes at Libby. “You’re pretty good at it, you know.”

  “I’ll chair,” Libby said easily. “But I get to handpick my team.” She turned to the group. “Starting right here.”

  “Count me out,” Mark said. “I’ll be in China next spring.”

  “You might come back to Barefoot Bay,” Lacey said. “You never know.”

  He’d never step foot on this godforsaken rock again. One too many memories. But that sounded rude, so he just smiled. “You’re right, Lacey. You never know.”

  Music quieted the crowd, and a coordinator moved all of the dancers to the back of the stage and lined them up in order, youngest to oldest. An old married couple, the Bentleys, who met while they were in the class of 1956, were seated on a sofa, surrounded by their kids and grandkids. They’d be last, of course, and the stars of the show as the oldest alums at the event.

  The first couple, twentysomethings who’d graduated ten years ago, ran off to the opening notes of a song Mark didn’t know, but he heard the words “tonight’s gonna be a good night” over and over again. It would have been a good night, if he hadn’t been an idiot.

  When they finished, the crowd applauded, and on went the thirty-year-olds from the 1990s.

  Libby gathered her girls around Mark for a huddle and hug, and he played along, knowing it would be a disaster and he’d be a laughingstock, but he couldn’t care less. He’d get through this without Emma, thanks to these new friends, then he’d leave the party, pack up, and get out of town tomorrow morning. Back to Australia, maybe, or maybe Bhutan to hike up to the Tiger’s Nest Monastery.

  Where he supposedly got engaged to Emma.

  He closed his eyes to kick the thought away, and when he opened them, the nineties dancers were running behind the curtain to wild applause.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a small change from what’s in your program for our 1980s dancers.”

  The women gave a cheerleadery squeal, and Margot, his partner for Call Me, sidled up on his left, sliding her arm through his and giving him a smile.

  “We’ll do great, Mark, no worries.”

  Another woman he’d misjudged and made wrong assumptions about. “I know we will,” he said easily, but his comment was partially drowned out by the announcer.

  “This tribute to the decade that gave us Miami Vice, Reaganomics, shoulder pads, yuppies, and MTV—” He was cut off by the crowd’s reaction of cheers and boos. Mark shook his head as he laughed, and realized, with yet another boot to the gut, how much Emma would have enjoyed this.

  “This dance number,” the announcer continued, “was supposed to be danced as a great love story, but I’ve received word from backstage that it’s changed.”

  The crowed “awwwed,” and Margot squeezed his arm. “You should have had more faith in us, Mark,” she whispered.

  He should have. He was wrong to assume they were manhunting with every breath. Wrong and ashamed. “I’m…sorry.” And he meant it.

  She laughed lightly. “No need to grovel to me, but there might be a woman out there who’d like to see you suffer a little.”

  But she wasn’t out there, and that was making him suffer more.

  Lacey interrupted, coming over to deliver the good-luck hug she was giving to each couple before they went on.

  “You’re a lucky man,” Lacey whispered in his ear as their cheeks touched.

  Lucky? “I don’t know about that,” he said, adding a sad smile.

  “But you are.”

  “All these women, you mean?”

  She lifted a brow. “Twice in a lifetime. Most of us only get one chance for something like that.”

  Twice? “No. One chance is all I had.”

  Her lips curled up, but before she could answer, Margot pulled him through the opening of the curtains while Blondie wailed. Almost immediately, his body started the moves he’d learned from the yellow-haired choreographer. As Mark turned, he saw Jasper on the side, a friendly arm around the young dance teacher he was competing against.

  Mark gave him a nod and mouthed, “Sorry,” as Margot started moving maniacally around the stage and Mark did his best to dance. He heard Law hollering at the top of his lungs and the hysterical laughter of a well-lit crowd watching others make complete fools of themselves.

  He let go and danced, as one crazy-ass fortysomething woman after another came out and danced through every song on the playlist, taking them up to the Flashdance song, which brought the house down. Then they rocked out to The Power of Love, all the while every note made his heart ache for Emma.

  Every note had a memory or a moment. A laugh, a trip, a touch, a kiss. Right there, as they reached the end of that song, the very moment that he and Emma were supposed to kiss and start Endless Love, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

  Libby, of course. This was her song.

  How badly he wanted it to be Emma. What he wouldn’t give to turn around and see her. He wanted it so much, he didn’t turn until the first few notes started, because the disappointment was going to hurt yet again.

  A woman’s hand snaked around his waist, the fingers spreading possessively. If only—

  He felt warm breath on his neck and the pressure of a body against his back.

  A few people made catcalls and hooted suggestively.

  The song started. My love, there’s only…

  “You in my life.”

  The woman’s voice floated into his ear, softer than Lionel Ritchie and so…familiar.

  “And you,” she sang breathlessly, “will always be…”

  Emma.

  He turned slowly, as if the spell would be broken if he moved too fast.

  And there she was, looking up at him, light in her eyes, her lips parted in a half smile of hope.

  “My endless love,” she finished, taking his hand and drawing back exactly as they’d practiced.

  “You’re here,” he whispered.

  She winked. “Jasper’s watching. Dance.”

  Dance? He wanted to lift her up and spin her around and kiss her until everyone and everything disappeared. “Emma, I’m so—”

  “Dance,” she ordered, moving to the song as they’d learned. This had been their favorite song to practice at the villa. It always ended by falling into bed and making…

  God, he loved her. Did she know that?

  “You have to dance,” she insisted, taking the lead and turning. Muscle memory kicked in, and they got through the next minute arm in arm, eyes locked, silent, certain, and as happy as he’d ever felt.

  The chorus built to a crescendo, but Mark barely heard the music or the crowd. Every sense was focused on Emma, reading the look in her eyes and seeing forgiveness and her irrepressible humor and…love.

  Was he imagining that?


  He finally took his gaze off her to see his seven friends, huddled like women do, excited and happy and wiping a few tears.

  They’d been in on it.

  Lacey came up behind them, and they pulled her into their circle, all of them beaming at him. Did she know, too?

  “How did you do this?” he asked Emma.

  “That’s what friends are for,” she teased as the music to the song of the same name started. But instead of their usual positions, Mark and Emma stepped side by side, and the women came rushing out, forming a line on either side of them, and the whole lot of them started swaying to familiar words with a powerful message.

  This was what friends were for.

  In no time, hundreds of Mimosa High alums, ages twenty-five to God knew what, slid arms around the waist of the person next to them and swayed and sang as loud and off-key as only a room full of tipsy, maudlin, happy people could.

  But no one was happier than Mark, with his arm around Emma where it would stay as long as she would have him. And he hoped that was forever.

  As the song ended and cheers rose and the room rocked, he turned her in his arms and pulled her into him. “Not letting you go, Emma DeWitt,” he whispered.

  “Not leaving you again, Mark Solomon,” she shot back.

  He drew back, still unsure that this could really be happening.

  “I can’t believe you’re here. What about Lacey? Can you still talk to her?”

  “I met with Lacey this morning. I’m on the short list for the job.”

  His jaw dropped.

  “Your call really greased the skids last night, so thanks. She was awesome, and so are you for thinking of that first.”

  “Emma!” He couldn’t help grabbing her tighter and lifting her off the ground for a celebratory twirl, which just sent the cheering section into a frenzy.

  “Get off the stage, you two!” Jasper came running across the stage, ushering them to the other side. “Go make out in private. You can be sure you didn’t win ten grand today.”

  “We won everything,” Mark said, leading her off the stage, where the cheerleaders and matchmakers parted with hugs and pats on the back for both of them.