by Kay Correll
“You’re close with your grandmother.”
“I am. I adore her.”
“And your nieces.”
“But not my siblings.”
“Families are strange things, aren’t they?” She trailed a finger through the moisture on her glass, lost in thought, then her delicate fingers wrapped around her drink.
He couldn’t quit sneaking quick looks over at her. She’d found a lot of forgiveness in her heart. He admired her for that. Heck, he admired her for so many things. Like the fact they could sit here and talk like this and he wasn’t afraid she was just looking for a story she could later tell about on social media.
Whitney insisted on helping clean up the dishes after dinner. It was the least she could do after he cooked this meal for her. Even if he did kind of burn the steaks, not that she let on she thought that. He seemed so proud of his grilling whiz title.
They puttered in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher and putting leftovers in the fridge.
“I could drive you home.”
“No, that’s not necessary.”
“Then how about I walk you home? I don’t feel comfortable letting you walk back home alone.” He set a towel on the counter.
“You realize I walk home alone every night.” She rolled her eyes.
“But I asked you over. This is different.” He winked at her. “It was hard enough to say yes when you said not to come pick you up. But I’d just convinced you to come to dinner, so I didn’t want to push my luck.”
“Well, if it will make you feel better, then you can walk me back home.” Might as well humor him.
“It will.”
“Well, we must always be about what makes you feel better,” she teased him.
They walked outside and down the long stairway. The evening sky dazzled them with starlight. They headed toward her house, and he tucked her hand on his elbow. She left it there, enjoying his closeness as they fell into step. They chatted more about the weather forecast for the party and his growing to-do list.
“I usually have someone who handles this kind of planning for me.” He shrugged. “But I wanted to do this myself, for my grandmother.”
“I’m sure whatever you do, however the party turns out, she’ll love it.”
He walked her up to her door. She debated asking him in. She needed to get up early in the morning but wasn’t ready for the evening to end.
“You going to invite me in?” He put on a proper pretty-please look.
She laughed. “Yes, of course. You did walk me all the way across town.”
“I did. It was… exhausting. I should probably sit with you for a while until I’m all rested up.”
“Of course, you should.” Her heart did a tiny flip, which was ridiculous. He’d just been polite to walk her home. She was just being polite asking him in.
She unlocked the door, led him through the house, and out on the back deck. They stood at the edge of the deck, enjoying the gentle sea breeze. She looked up at the starlit sky and suddenly a silly thought popped into her mind. “So… why do you think they call actors movie stars? I mean, I wonder how the term star got started. Who decided actors were stars?”
“I never really thought about it. Though, there are other stars, right? Like baseball star, country music star?”
“I guess you’re right. It’s all you glittery, shiny people.”
“Not sure I’ve been called glittery before.”
“You know what I mean.” She looked at him, leaning against the deck rail, all relaxed. Just like a regular person. Only he wasn’t a regular person. He was a movie star.
He looked down at her then, with his make-her-knees-go-weak-like-a-fool smile. He stood for a moment, looking at her. “Have you ever been kissed by a glittery person before?”
“I—”
She felt him, more than saw him, lean toward her to kiss her. Time froze. The heat from his body spread through her. But he was a movie star. His eyes were filled with… With what? Her thoughts collided in her brain. Uncertainty twisted with longing. Fear—not of him, but of her feelings—washed through her. At the last second, she turned her head, and he brushed a kiss on her cheek.
He stepped away and tossed her an impish grin. “Close enough.” He took her hand in his. “I had a really great time tonight.”
She tried to concentrate on words, not the almost-kiss. “I did, too.” The warmth of his hand spread through her, connecting her with him. She didn’t think she ever wanted him to let go of her hand. Which was ridiculous. She barely knew the man, right? Oh, the confusion he caused.
“I should go.” He looked down at her hand in his.
She nodded. He let her hand slip out of his, walked down the stairs, and with one last smile, disappeared around the cottage.
She stood on the deck, her now empty, lonely hand resting on the railing. She looked out to sea with the waves rolling to shore in a relentless march. She looked up at the endless, starlit sky, suddenly feeling all alone and small standing here beside the ocean.
What kind of trouble had she gotten herself into now?
Chapter 9
The next morning, Rick grabbed his phone off the table when it rang insistently. Shawna again. He couldn’t keep ignoring her forever. Though… maybe he could. He set the phone down without answering. A tiny bit of guilt hovered over him for ignoring her. Again. He’d talk to her soon, but right now, he needed to work on the birthday party. That was his number one priority.
Or, he could admit he was just flat out avoiding Shawna…
And another thing. He needed to quit thinking about his near-kiss with Whitney. He’d been surprised when she’d ducked her head at the last minute, not that he blamed her. He’d caused her nothing but trouble with the photos and people in town talking about her.
He looked at his to-to list, the kiss firmly out of his mind. Kinda. He decided to confirm everything with the musicians he’d hired. He tapped in their phone number. A squeaking recording came on. “I’m sorry, the number you called is no longer in service.”
He looked at his notes again and confirmed he’d put in the correct number. He scowled, then took out his laptop, opened his browser window, and searched the internet for the website of the band. Before he could locate it, a notification for his social media account flashed across his screen. He clicked on it and sat back in his chair.
Whitney’s name was plastered all over social media. Someone had obviously given her name to the press. He clicked over to a Hollywood gossip site and saw a video of a reporter interviewing Shawna. He clicked on the sound and sat back while Shawna, in the way only Shawna could make everything all about her, tell the reporter Whitney’s name.
He was torn between calling Shawna and letting loose on her—she knew how much he valued his privacy—and rushing over to let Whitney know her secret was out. Of course, he had to admit, he’d ignored Shawna’s calls for days.
He slammed the laptop shut. He’d better go talk to Whitney. She was not going to be pleased.
He grabbed his keys and headed out the door. He glanced at the red sports car. It turned a lot of heads wherever it went, but at least he’d get to Coastal Creations more quickly. The faster he got there, the faster… she’d kill him. He sighed. He needed to get to the shop before Whitney found out from anyone else. He had to try to make this right.
Whitney sat behind the counter at Coastal Creations working on the necklace for Viola Lemmons. It was turning out nicely, which pleased her. She didn’t know why she felt so much pressure to assure that this piece was special.
She shook her head. Of course she knew why she was so attached to this piece. She wanted Rick to be proud of her work. She reached up and touched her face, a gesture that she’d done about a hundred times since he’d kissed her cheek last night.
Oh, she knew he’d been going for her lips, but she’d been so taken by surprise that she’d turned her head at the last moment and he’d pressed a kiss to her cheek.
The chee
k she kept touching. A blush warmed her face from the memory of the look in the depths of his deep blue eyes.
Luckily, she hadn’t fallen for the magnetic draw of those eyes of his.
She hadn’t.
She didn’t want to be a weekend fling. Not with Rick. Not with anyone. He had a life across the country. She had one here. Besides, Willie had said Rick was involved with Shawna Jacobson. Though, maybe he was used to dating several women at once. What did she know about the glamorous Hollywood life?
She had to admit, she’d been just the tiniest bit sorry she hadn’t let him kiss her properly. Though, maybe he was just going to give her a friendly peck on the lips.
She set the necklace down in frustration. Why, oh why, did she always have the tendency to overthink things? She looked up at the sound of the bell jangling over the door.
“Miss Layton?” A man entered the shop.
Great. A customer would take her mind off things. Specifically, Rick. “Yes, may I help you?”
“I’m Steve Jones from the Charleston Review. I wanted to know if you have a statement about your relationship with Rick Nichols.”
She grabbed the edge of the counter. “My what?”
“Your relationship with Rick Nichols. What is it like to date a movie star? Did you ever think you’d meet someone like him in Indigo Bay?” The Steve guy hammered out questions.
“I don’t have a relationship with Rick Nichols.”
“But you had dinner with him at Bistro Fifty. You’ve been seen around town with him.”
“I…” She looked up when the bell above the door rang again, then she grabbed the counter even tighter. This was not going to help. “Rick…”
The reporter whirled around. “Mr. Nichols. Steve Jones here from the Charleston Review. Would you like to make a statement about your relationship with Miss Layton?”
“What I’d like is for you to leave the shop.” Rick’s eyes flashed with fury. “There’s no reason to invade Miss Layton’s privacy or to bother her at her place of work.”
“I just wanted to get—”
“You were just leaving.” He held the door open.
The reporter held his ground for a moment, then sighed and slipped past Rick and out the door. He stood outside on the sidewalk though, refusing to leave.
Rick grabbed his cell phone. “Mitchell, I need a detail, pronto. Indigo Bay, South Carolina. Twenty-four-hour coverage. I expect you here by evening. Yes, thank you.”
Rick walked over to her. “You okay?” His voice was low and soothing.
It did nothing to subdue her nerves. She released her grip on the counter and sank onto the stool.
“Whitney, you look… frazzled.”
“Frazzled? This is frazzled? This is certifiably upset.”
“I was on my way to tell you that your name got out. I was hoping to tell you—”
“Before I found out by a reporter waylaying me in my shop?”
“Um, yes, before that.” He walked behind the counter and put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
“How can I run my shop if reporters and media people hang around outside my door? How do I know who’s coming in to order some of my jewelry and who’s just a looky-loo trying to see Rick Nichols’ new conquest?”
“You’re not a conquest.”
“What am I?” She looked him right in the eyes.
“I…” A sheepish look covered his face. “I don’t know what we are. I like you. I enjoy your company. You’re fun to be with. You don’t ever treat me like—”
“Like what?”
“Like an actor. Someone you only want to be with because of what I am.” He dropped his hand from her shoulder.
She sat in stunned silence. She hadn’t even thought about all of this from his angle. How he never knew if someone was interested in Rick the person or Rick the actor. She looked closely at him again and slowly took his hand in hers.“I never thought of it like that, from your perspective. I just keep thinking, why is someone like you going out with someone like me?”
“Because you’re kind, and pretty, and have a quick smile. Because I enjoy being around you. Because you like to watch sunsets and you didn’t even mention that I burned the steaks last night.”
She laughed then, and the laughter freed the tension coursing through her. “They were possibly a tad overcooked.”
“They were burnt. I got so involved talking to you that I didn’t watch them carefully enough.”
“The salad was good, though. And the dessert.” She smiled.
“The salad came from a bag… and I got the pie from Sweet Caroline’s.”
She laughed again. “I knew the pie was from Caroline’s, but I wasn’t going to let on that I knew.”
“But I kept my promise about no reporters or photos.”
“You did. At least last night…” She tossed him a wry smile.
Rick watched as some of the tension slowly drained from Whitney. Her shoulders relaxed, and she smiled at him. But she was right. This was going to make running her business a nightmare. He looked down at her small hand holding his. As if she could read his thoughts, she withdrew her hand and it took all his restraint not to snatch it back in his.
He scrubbed his now-free hand across his jaw. “I’m sorry about all of this, but I’ve taken care of things.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What did you do, exactly?”
“Well, I’ve hired some… people to help out with that whole reporter-photographer problem.”
“You did what?” Her narrowed eyes flew open wide, their sky-blue tones darkening.
“I have some men who will be outside your shop and your house. A female will be with you here in the shop. She can pretend to be a worker here if that’s better for you.
“You’ve hired bodyguards for me?”
“Well, not exactly.” He delicately sidestepped the question.
She stood up and faced him, toe to toe. “Then what would you call them?”
“A security detail?” He carefully watched her face.
“So… bodyguards.”
He sighed. “Yes, bodyguards. Just until this blows over.”
“And how long do you think it will take until this blows over?”
He reached up and massaged his temples. “Something else will come along that catches the media’s eye. It always does.”
“Somehow, that isn’t very comforting.”
“I’m sorry about all of this.”
“I do not want someone following me around all the time.”
The door flung open, and a woman rushed in. “Miss Layton, Mr. Nichols.”
A flash blinded him for a minute. He sprang forward and took the woman’s arm. “Out.”
“I just want…”
“Out of the shop.” He pushed her out the door and locked it behind her.
“You can’t lock the door. You’ll lock out my customers.” A look of panic crossed Whitney’s face.
“I know. The only solution I can come up with is hiring my security detail until things settle down.”
Her shoulders slumped, and she sank back onto the stool. “I guess you’re right.”
“I’ll stay here today and fend off reporters.” He gave her a small smile. “I’ll be your doorman. How does that sound?”
“It sounds… crazy.”
“But it will work, won’t it? Until the security people get here?”
“I don’t think having Rick Nichols answering the door to my shop is really going to help the problem, will it?”
He scowled. He hadn’t thought of it that way. “No, probably not.”
She sighed. “I guess I’ll close the shop for the rest of the day.”
“I don’t want you losing money on my account.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw.
“I’ll work on your grandmother’s necklace. At least I can do that much.”
She slowly walked over to the door and flipped the sign so it said closed. “I’m going to take this to the backroom a
nd work on it.” She gathered up a cloth that held the necklace.
“I’m staying with you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I’m staying until my people show up, just in case.”
“Have it your way.” She shrugged, and he followed her to the backroom. A large window allowed light to flood onto a big table that held an array of wires, gems, shells, and sea glass. The items were spilled across the table in a haphazard manner. How did she ever find what she was looking for? He didn’t dare voice his question, though. She was aggravated enough with him.
He took a stool, perched at the end of the table, and watched her work. She bit her lip as she carefully wrapped a wire around the piece of sea glass, creating a beautiful swirl of silver around the glass. He stared in fascination as she lost herself in her artistry.
He looked at his watch and was surprised it was already a little after noon. Whitney sat up straight and tilted her head from side to side.
He got up and walked to stand behind her. He put his hands on her shoulders and slowly started to massage the knots out of her muscles.
“I’d purr if I could.” Her voice was low.
His fingers pushed and prodded and coaxed her shoulders to relax. The fresh scent of her shampoo filled the air surrounding her. He wanted to lean down and kiss her head, spin her around, kiss her…
But he wasn’t quite ready for her to turn her cheek to him again.
She tried not to focus on Rick’s warm, firm hands on her shoulders. Her body warred with the decision to relax under his careful, tender massage or to tense up because his body was right behind her, inches away.
She gave in and lost herself in his touch, feeling the stress of the morning and the tension of concentrating on her work melt away under his touch.
He stopped, and she had to bite her lip to keep from begging him to keep going. He slowly spun her stool to turn her to face him.
She knew, just knew, he was going to kiss her.
“If I kiss you again, are you going to duck your head?” He whispered the words.
