Swept Away for Christmas

by M. J. Fredrick

  An unwanted memory rose to the surface of her mind like a jellyfish, all stinging tentacles. “I might be pregnant.” Finn’s expression of betrayal had been so dark it bordered on hatred.

  Miranda handed Shelby a glass, then hoisted her own. “To friendship! As vast as the ocean and as comforting as the rhythm of the surf.”

  “Yeah, that’s not sappy at all,” her fiancé teased.

  As they clinked glasses, Shelby added, “To happiness. I hope the two of you have a lifetime of it.” And that the rest of us are lucky enough to find it someday.

  Chapter Three

  The large dining room table in Bruce’s luxury suite worked well as a conference table. Finn flipped through the binder in front of him, shaking his head in admiration. “I can’t thank you enough for your help orchestrating the investors. Let me start with buying you a drink tonight.”

  “With what you pay me, buying my own drinks isn’t a problem.” Bruce tilted his chair back on two legs, grinning. “Besides, you give me too much credit. After the awards nominations you racked up this year? Finding a few more investors who agreed to your terms was a piece of cake.”

  “Spoken like a man who’s never been a pastry chef,” Finn joked. “Desserts are harder than you think.”

  “I—” Bruce was cut off by the buzzing of his cell phone. He pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. “My mom. Again. I didn’t realize getting married was going to generate so many daily phone calls. Give me a sec?”

  Finn nodded, heading out on the balcony so that he wasn’t eavesdropping. Ignoring the beach below, he thumbed through the timeline and budgets Bruce had outlined for him. While Finn had worked damn hard to make Wayfarer’s Feast a success, he wouldn’t have been able to open his own place without Bruce’s financial expertise and advice. The concept for Finn’s restaurant was combining all of his favorite techniques and ingredients from his travels in unique and unexpected ways. So far, the culinary world had been extremely receptive to his “mismatched” menu. Now, he was opening two new locations in Birmingham and Orange Beach.

  Considering the long hours he’d worked and some of the more difficult chefs he’d apprenticed under to hone his skills, he should be feeling nothing but pride at his accomplishments. But his triumph had a bitter aftertaste. For the past year, regret had been a slow simmer deep inside him. Part of it had stemmed from not having anyone to share his victories with—oh, sure, his mom and two sisters were proud, but…

  Your problem isn’t that you don’t have “anyone” to celebrate with—it’s that you can’t celebrate with her.

  He shoved a hand through his hair. For all the short-lived flings he’d had during his travels, he’d only been in love once. It had been easier to ignore the gaping hole in his life when he was working double-shifts and multiple jobs, sacrificing sleep to make connections or perfect his talents.

  On the night he’d toasted a successful restaurant opening with his staff, he’d glanced around at the smiling faces, the flutes of champagne, and realized with a brutal pang how much he wished Shelby was in the circle. He’d tried to tell himself it was a one-time lapse in a moment of sentiment, but watching Bruce and Miranda plan their life together not only magnified his loneliness, it stirred up a lot of old memories.

  Like the memory of dumping her. Her face was seared into his memory, her skin pale with shock, her eyes emerald-bright with tears.

  “Honestly—

  Finn almost jumped at Bruce’s sudden appearance at the railing next to him. He’d been so lost in his own thoughts he hadn’t heard the door open behind him.

  “—I don’t know why she calls me anyway. Miranda’s the one with all the wedding details. You think I’m spreadsheet happy? My girl’s efficiency in planning everything in two months was a marvel to behold,” Bruce said fondly.

  Finn cleared his throat, annoyed with his bout of self-pity. He was a man of action—had been since his father’s death made Finn the man of the house at thirteen—not one to mope. “So, where is your lovely bride-to-be?” When Bruce had texted him, he’d said they had some time alone in the suite to talk shop. But Finn was surprised Miranda hadn’t returned by now. The bubbly drama teacher could usually be counted on for entertaining diversion.

  “With Amy and Shelby. Apparently it’s a time-honored ritual that they help with each other’s hair and make-up before going out.”

  There had been other traditions, too, back in the day, but Finn suspected they wouldn’t apply tonight.

  Bruce gave him an assessing, sidelong glance. “I saw Shelby earlier. She looks good.”

  “No surprise. She always looked good.” Change the subject, Wilder.

  “It’s not going to be too uncomfortable for you, is it? Being the best man with—”

  “I’ve known since an hour after first meeting Miranda Donavan who her maid of honor would eventually be. If I’d had a problem with it, I wouldn’t have agreed to be the best man.” Finn gripped the binder so tightly that the plastic edge bit into his fingers. “I’m going to run this up to my room and call the restaurant to check in. Meet you all downstairs?”

  Bruce nodded. “I’ll text you when the ladies are ready.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Finn exited the suite and headed for the elevators. The accountant needs to get his eyes checked. Shelby didn’t look “good.” She looked freaking amazing. What were the chances Miranda and Amy’s styling assistance would result in a bulky sweater and restrained bun?

  He rode the three floors down and unlocked his hotel room, phone already in hand. His employees had teased him about leaving the restaurant for the first time since it had opened, asking how many times a day he planned to call. He was known as something of a good-natured control freak. Gordon, his front-of-house manager, had solemnly promised that they could get through a week without any major problems.

  Then again, Finn thought as he tapped the CALL button, if there was a disaster brewing at Wayfarer’s, he’d have a completely reasonable excuse for skipping drinks tonight.

  ***

  “I can’t wear this!” Shelby eyed her reflection in disbelief. It was her maroon tunic dress, with wide three-quarter sleeves and black beading along the neckline and hem, but she looked nothing like herself. Especially with the “smoky eyes” Miranda had given her. “Are you two trying to get me arrested?”

  From the other end of the bathroom counter, where she stood curling her coppery hair, Amy Donavan snickered. “If you think it’s so indecent, why did you pack that dress?”

  Miranda stood behind them, trying on a pair of Shelby’s gladiator sandals. Having the same foot size meant their shoe collections were automatically doubled whenever they were together. “Hey!” she reprimanded her cousin in a stage whisper. “No talking back to your elders—even when they’re being needlessly neurotic.”

  Neurotic? “It’s just…I normally wear it with leggings,” Shelby explained. “And never with this bra!” The lingerie offered maximum lifting power. Sometimes, she appreciated that. But with a V-neck dress?

  “It’s not that short. You’re only scandalized because you’re so used to dressing for fourth graders.” Miranda met her gaze in the huge mirror. “But we’re not in school right now, we’re at the beach. Around here, women wear string bikinis and mesh cover-ups. No one’s going to blink an eye at a bit of tasteful cleavage. Well.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Someone might.”

  Was that a reference to Finn? “String bikinis in December?” Shelby asked skeptically. Granted, the weather was beautiful this week. At the hottest part of the day, the temperature could reach the seventies, but the water was considerably cooler.

  “You’d be surprised.” Amy shielded her eyes as she misted her curls with hairspray. “I figured people would only be using the heated hotel pool, but I saw a few intrepid souls in the surf.” She brightened suddenly. “And did I tell you about the shirtless guys jogging on the beach? They were built. And tan! Men in Detroit do not look like that th
is time of year, if ever. Mom and Dad had it wrong, just visiting Alabama in the summer. We should have wintered here, too.”

  Miranda chuckled, but Shelby was only half-listening. Finn had said he was going running earlier. Had some cute young woman ogled him from her hotel balcony, sighing over his male physique? Lord knew he was easy on the eyes. But he was murder on the heart—she hadn’t just learned that lesson, she’d majored in it and graduated with honors. Hell, she could guest lecture, do a whole series on why it was emotionally masochistic to fall for Finn McBride.

  She scowled, annoyed at her inability to find balance. While it was smart to guard against the man’s charm, she didn’t want to be a cynic. Especially not the weekend of her best friend’s wedding. Wouldn’t that make for a memorable toast?

  “Everything okay?” Miranda asked, watching her too closely.

  “Of course. Amy’s mention of tans got me to thinking. I’m way too pale to wear this without leggings. So I—”

  “Will wear my boots,” Miranda said firmly. “I was going to, but why waste them on me when they’d be mostly covered by my skirt? Plus, I’ve stolen your sandals.” She was in a blue and black tie-dyed maxi dress. The halter-style top was completely backless. When Amy asked if she’d need a sweater or wrap to keep her warm tonight, Miranda had chirped, “I have Bruce for that.”

  Lacking the energy to argue with Miranda, Shelby found herself sitting on the edge of her bed, zipping up a pair of black leather boots. On Miranda, they were probably knee-high, but on Shelby’s shorter frame, they skimmed her thighs.

  Amy glanced over her shoulder and gave a sharp nod of approval. “They cover up a lot of your ‘pale’ legs. Feel better now?”

  “You look hot,” Miranda pronounced. “End of discussion. Now, come on. We have men to impress.”

  ***

  Holy shit. Finn, who’d been answering Jake Donavan’s questions about the restaurant, trailed off mid-sentence, with no idea what he’d been about to say. He couldn’t even remember what his restaurant was called.

  “Whoa.” Beside him, Jake straightened, staring at the trio of women who stepped off the elevator. Specifically, the one in the middle. “Is that Seashell?” His tone was loaded with unmistakable interest. It was the only time Finn had ever wanted to punch Miranda’s brother.

  Jake stepped forward to greet his sister and cousin and hug Shelby hello. He held her a few seconds longer than Finn deemed appropriate. In fact, he would have physically dragged the guy away if Finn weren’t still frozen in place. His gaze kept darting between her face and body, his thoughts a jumbled riot. He was thinking twenty things at once, some of them in direct conflict with each other, and he felt overloaded, like a robot in some bad science-fiction movie that was about to short-circuit and start rolling repeatedly into the wall.

  Shelby’s hair was pulled into a high ponytail, fluffed to sassy volume and spilling down her back in an exuberant profusion of curls. The way it was pulled back made her face even more striking. Her green eyes were dramatic tonight, her glossy lips a shade darker than that bewitching dress she wore. He felt foolish now for noticing the modest amount of cleavage she’d flashed earlier in the day. This was Cleavage. Enough so that he wished he were wearing a jacket he could offer it to her. Perhaps a scarf, as well. Anything to get Jake Donavan to put his damn eyeballs back in his skull where they belonged.

  Finn stalked forward. “Ladies.” He thought his voice sounded natural enough, but his smile felt too tight on his face. Strained. With effort, he ripped his gaze from Shelby and turned to Amy. “You look a lot like a cute kid I used to know.”

  She jerked her thumb toward him and muttered something to Miranda that sounded like, “Another case in point. Why can’t Detroit be like this?” Then she beamed at him. “Finnegan! My favorite fishing teacher of all time.”

  “Hey,” Jake interjected. “What about all the times Scott and I took you out fishing?”

  Amy rolled her eyes. “You mean the times Aunt Debbie and Uncle Craig made you bring me along? Miranda was the only one who was ever nice to me.”

  “Oh, yeah? What about the time when she…”

  As the three members of the Donavan family continued their playfully barbed conversation, trading jibes with each other, Bruce herded everyone out the door of the hotel. Finn stole another look at Shelby and found her staring right back at him. Her cheeks reddened and she immediately ducked her gaze.

  Say something. The silence was too awkward, but none of the words that rose in his throat were suitable for their casual group outing.

  You’re stunning.

  Those juicy looking lips make me want to taste you again.

  I’m sorry.

  But was he? If he could go back, do things again, would he actually change anything? They’d been on such different paths.

  “So, uh, I guess Miranda’s brothers have stayed local.” He managed not to cringe at the inane sentence. This was what he’d been reduced to, small-talk about Bruce’s future in-laws?

  “Yep.” Shelby wasn’t rude enough to flat out ignore him, but she kept her eyes straight ahead, as if Bruce’s back were absolutely riveting. “Her oldest brother, Steve, is married. He and his wife just had a baby daughter.”

  Anyone eavesdropping probably wouldn’t hear that jagged edge beneath her aloof tone. Finn knew from experience that sharp, broken bits of shell in the sand could cut as easily as glass, and her voice drew blood. The memory made his heart pound in his ears. “I might be pregnant.” That had been the beginning of the end for them, even though she had not—thank you, God—actually been pregnant. She saw kids as a precious part of her future. He saw them as responsibility, shackles to Starfish Shores and the life he yearned to escape. It wasn’t that Finn didn’t love his younger sisters, but he’d never wanted to be a second parent to them. He hadn’t wanted to worry over bills at thirteen and whether his siblings would have enough to eat.

  Unwilling to discuss babies—Steve Donavan’s or anyone else’s—Finn said, “And I understand Wyatt’s a pirate now?”

  Jake Donavan was the youngest of the three boys, the closest in age to Miranda and a frequent part of her social group. Wyatt, slightly older, had a job with Buccaneer Banquets—a company that took tourists out on moonlit dinner cruises where the return trip was interrupted by attacking pirates. Bruce and Miranda had decided to book such a cruise for their rehearsal dinner Friday night.

  Bruce glanced back at them. “Did I hear someone mention Wyatt? He’s meeting us at the bar.”

  Shelby took a quick step forward, putting more distance between herself and Finn. “How’s Wyatt doing these days? Seeing anyone serious? Bringing a date to the wedding?”

  Finn smirked. He knew perfectly well that if Wyatt had a serious girlfriend, Shelby already knew about it from Miranda. She was just seizing the excuse to get away from him. Why, Shelby James, you gorgeous coward.

  It was easy to recognize cowardice in someone else. After all, Finn had done more than his own share of running.

  Chapter Four

  By the time they were within sight of The Pit, Miranda had left Amy and Jake to squabble and was walking with Bruce and Shelby. It didn’t escape Shelby’s notice that instead of cuddling together, hands held or arms around waists, the engaged couple had flanked her. It felt protective.

  As much as she appreciated the show of support, she didn’t want Miranda to spend her wedding weekend worried about Shelby and her past with Finn. Then you can’t freak out whenever he looks your direction. She hated that she’d let herself get emotional for an instant; she’d heard the unwanted tremor in her voice when she mentioned Steve and Joy’s baby. Any more missteps like that and pretty soon, the entire bridal party would start thinking of her as poor fragile Shelby. Unacceptable.

  While she would be perfectly content to go the rest of her life without exchanging another sentence with Finn McBride, she forced herself to smile over her shoulder at him. “So, did you do anything special for dinner? I imag
ine chefs are always interested in what other restaurants are doing.” The hotel manager had cautioned that The Pit wouldn’t have much in the way of food beyond maybe baskets of chips. Miranda and Shelby were supposed to have gone out to dinner, but they’d stopped first at Top Tier—the bakery that was doing the wedding cake—and inadvertently filled up on some of the irresistible goodies in the glass case. Shelby could now attest that Brenda Wesley, the baker, rocked at her job.

  It took Finn a moment to find his voice, probably because he was surprised she’d voluntarily spoken to him. “Grabbed a deli salad from the hotel so that Bruce and I had a chance to discuss business, actually. Boring, huh?”

  Ha. She was willing to bet her retirement pension that not a single person had ever called Finn boring.

  “I do love food,” he said, “but the company has to be really good for me to relax and enjoy a meal. Otherwise, I can get distracted by how I might have approached a dish differently or tried to improve it. The burden of being a perfectionist.”

  The word sizzled through her, taking her back to the night they’d first made love. She’d been a virgin and, much as she’d wanted him, the experience had been a bit uncomfortable. But, afterward, when she’d expected Finn to pull away, he’d kept touching her, insistent that she find pleasure, too. Later, she’d shyly apologized that she hadn’t been able to climax during sex and he’d teased her that they’d keep trying until they got it right. Just call me a perfectionist. They’d spent every stolen moment that summer perfecting their technique.

  Heat stung her cheeks, and she dropped her gaze. Who knew if Finn even remembered that now? It wasn’t an inherently sexual word, so there was no reason to believe he was flirting with her.