Please just let it die a quiet, non-embarrassing death.
No such luck. They were barely out of earshot of the house when Tate said, “Can I apologize now?” His voice was a mix of exasperation and teasing, and he wore a self-deprecating smile that was really kind of charming.
“There’s no need. Really.”
He sighed. “When Helena gets an idea in her head . . .”
“She’s tenacious about it, I know. And I know she means well.”
“Still”—his voice turned serious—“what you heard me say . . .”
“It’s fine. My feelings aren’t hurt.” The need to strangle Helena was coming back full force, though.
“It’s nothing personal. You’re a very nice person. You’re beautiful and funny and smart . . .”
“And you’re not interested. I get it. It’s okay.” She tried to sound reassuring, but Tate just shook his head.
“I’m just saying it’s not you personally, or anything like that.”
“Good to know.” Before he could go on any further, she moved in front of him and held up a hand. “Can we stop this now? I don’t want you to ask me out.”
Tate pulled back a little, and she felt bad almost immediately. She hadn’t meant for the words to come out so sharp. But the surprised look that followed nearly made her laugh. He hadn’t been expecting that. He might not want to ask her out, but considering there were plenty of women in Magnolia Beach—and the surrounding counties, too—who’d be more than happy to grab him right up, her words had to have been a shock. Considering he’d been an unwilling participant in the evening’s farce, she’d give him a pass for including her in that bunch of women. But only this one time, and only because he was Helena’s friend. Plus, she reminded herself, no one liked to hear something like that.
He cleared his throat. “That makes this easier, then.”
“Exactly.” It was still awkward, though, and after a few more throat clearings and random looks around, they finally started walking again. Quietly, this time, thank goodness. The breeze kicked back up and Molly ran her hands over her bare arms to rub the chill bumps away.
“You cold? Take my hoodie.” He was already shrugging out of it.
She shook her head. “It’s a little chilly, but I won’t freeze between here and home.”
“I don’t need it,” he insisted. “I only have it with me because Helena borrowed it last week and returned it to me tonight. Here.” Tate held it out, gentleman-style, ready for her to slide her arms in, and further refusal would just make her look silly.
The hoodie held his body heat, chasing away the chill immediately. As she zipped it up, she could smell the spicy scent of Tate’s aftershave. She’d noticed the scent before, but from a respectable distance where it had been only a faint aroma. This time, it surrounded her, filling her nose and lungs each time she inhaled. It was nice.
Unsettlingly nice, actually, and it took her a moment to figure out why. It was just so utterly, unabashedly male, and coupled with the warmth of his body and the loaning of his clothes, it pushed the right set of buttons in the right order to cause a little flutter low in her belly.
Maybe if Helena hadn’t had matchmaking on her mind, therefore putting it in her mind, this wouldn’t be happening. She’d never denied Tate was a hottie—she wasn’t blind, after all—but she’d never let her thoughts wander past that to the man himself.
It wasn’t that she hadn’t noticed; she just hadn’t noticed like that.
But it was a lovely evening and she was on a quiet walk with a good-looking, smart, and kind man who smelled nice and had the good manners to offer her his jacket.
It was downright romantic.
And now she seemed to be noticing him in a big way.
It had been so long since she’d thought—really thought—of any man in that way, she figured her ovaries were all but dust anyway. Finding out that wasn’t the case was nearly overwhelming.
And very disconcerting.
Damn Helena for putting ideas in her head.
No longer even the least bit chilly, she unzipped the hoodie to midchest to let the night air cool her down at the same time she started walking a little faster.
Four more blocks.
If Tate noticed the change of pace, he didn’t say anything, and his long legs easily matched her stride. She didn’t realize she was mumbling under her breath until Tate looked at her oddly.
Keep it together.
“I wanted to say thanks for giving my sister a job,” he said, choosing a new topic. “She’s really excited, even if she doesn’t know anything about coffee.”
It was such a complete change from where her mind had been that it took a second for her to process the shift. Once she did, though, she grabbed on to the topic like a lifeline. “I’m glad to hear it. She’s got the right personality and attitude for the job, and that’s the most important thing. Everything else is teachable.”
“Can I ask how much it pays?”
Molly nearly tripped over her own feet. She gave him a hard look. “Why? Are you planning to apply for a position?”
A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “No.”
Nosy big brother. “Compensation is negotiable and those negotiations are private,” she said in her most businesslike tone. “Ask your sister if you want to know.”
“Like she’d tell me.”
“Then don’t ask me to.”
“Fair enough. But do me a favor and don’t tell her I was asking.” There was that grin again, and she felt it all the way to her toes. Damn it.
“Of course not. I think it’s very sweet that you’re so concerned about her.” She was still way off balance mentally, but at least she could handle this conversation.
“Can you convince her of that?” Tate shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned in to her as they walked. “She thinks I’m just being nosy,” he admitted.
“Should it come up in conversation, I’ll do my best,” she promised.
The corner of her street, where she’d be able to turn right, finally appeared like an oasis in the desert. “This is my stop. Thanks for walking with me.” Please don’t let him be gentlemanly enough to walk me all the way home.
“My pleasure.”
She reached for the zipper of the hoodie. “Here. Let me give this back.”
Tate’s hand landed on hers lightly. “Keep it. You can return it later.”
The touch was brief and not at all inappropriate, but it gave her a jolt, and the warmth lingered even after he returned his hand to his pocket.
She needed to have her head examined. “Well, good night.”
“Good night, Molly.” There was a moment of awkwardness before Tate nodded at her and left, disappearing almost immediately into the shadows outside the streetlamps’ glow.
With Tate away, the tension dropped out of the air, but Molly was still left with a reservoir of tingly energy in her belly she didn’t want to examine too closely.
Because it would prove she was certifiably insane. She had no business getting those kinds of tingly feelings.
Once safely inside her house, with Nigel winding around her ankles, she stripped off Tate’s hoodie and dropped it into a chair.
She could still smell him, though.
But alone in her kitchen, she could at least think rationally. In the two-plus years she’d been in Magnolia Beach, she’d never looked at Tate as anything more than just another guy in town, and he’d certainly never given her the slightest reason to. Just because she’d suddenly discovered she still had a functioning—or malfunctioning, depending on how she wanted to look at it—libido, nothing good could come from acting on this newly discovered information. This was all crazy and needed to be stuffed back into the box it came out of.
She had enough on her plate and plenty of worries on tap.
This was something she simply couldn’t contemplate.
Chapter 4
By the next morning, Molly had it all straight in her
head.
She’d spent some time reading last night, and all her books seemed to say that the feelings stirred up were good, however inconvenient they felt now. It simply meant that she was healing, and when the time was right, she’d be ready to find someone, start dating, and maybe even fall in love again.
That was a good thing.
The Children’s Fair might also be indirectly responsible, too. Being entrusted with a big job by people she respected—however scared she might be about that—was an ego boost, and her brain was just exploring that new confidence in different ways, one of them being the reawakening of her libido.
As for why her brain had picked Tate—well, that was explainable, too. Tate was genuinely nice, the complete opposite of Mark in everything from looks to personality. He was the good friend of a good friend and therefore trustworthy. He’d offered to help her in her time of need, and American culture had all but trained her to go all moony-eyed when Prince Charming rode up on a white horse to save the day.
It didn’t hurt that he was damn cute, too.
And a good-looking, kind, trustworthy man who was willing to help her out of a tight spot without first negotiating for something in return . . . Of course she’d be attracted to that. Who wouldn’t be? Tate was just lucky she hadn’t swooned into his arms last night from the shock.
She didn’t need to worry about her sanity. The wires might be crossed in her head, but that was okay. Now that she understood why she’d had that reaction last night, she could deal with it. It wasn’t completely Helena’s fault—although she was still to blame—and Molly didn’t need to worry about being around Tate now.
Her reaction had just been a confluence of many things. It would work itself out. She’d be fine. It was all perfectly normal, and, honestly, a very good sign.
She couldn’t—and really shouldn’t—act on any of it, of course, but it meant she was getting there.
Progress was often slow, but it was good, and once she progressed through this stage, the Tate-tingles wouldn’t be an issue.
After so much thinking last night, she hadn’t gotten much sleep, but she was in a good mood opening Latte Dah anyway.
She no longer had to dread her meeting with Tate. It was still going to be a little awkward and uncomfortable, all things considered. But she’d just act as normal as possible, treat him the same way she always had before, and this would pass.
A little after ten, the chimes over the door rang, and she looked up to see Tate.
“Sorry I’m a little late. Crazy morning,” he added with a smile and a shrug of explanation.
There was definitely something residual from last night happening in her veins, but she ignored it. “It’s fine. Is everything okay?”
“Just the usual stuff,” he answered, as if she was supposed to know what that might mean. She didn’t, but she nodded anyway.
“Can I get you something?” she asked.
“Coffee would be great.”
She waited, but Tate didn’t expound on his order. “Want to narrow that down for me?”
Tate laughed. “Guess I need to. Just plain coffee. Nothing fancy.”
“That’s easy enough.” As she poured, she saw Tate looking around, a little crease forming between his eyebrows.
“Did you paint in here?”
“No. Why?”
“It looks different somehow.”
She looked around, trying to see if anything was out of place, but it was just Latte Dah: sea blue walls loaded with old photos of Magnolia Beach she’d found at a church rummage sale, overstuffed couches, tables with mismatched chairs—also from the rummage sale—all shabby chic and intentionally homey. “I don’t know why,” she finally said.
“Maybe I’m just tired or something.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “How’s Nigel?”
“Grumpy. I think he knew I wanted to check his weight last night and wouldn’t let me pet him.”
He laughed. “They do seem to know, don’t they?”
Tate seemed to be acting pretty normally, not showing any lingering effects of last night’s debacle, but then why would he? He wasn’t the one who’d spent the majority of the evening examining his psyche for cracks. If he wanted to forget the entire evening ever happened, she was good with that.
Tate accepted the coffee with a nod of thanks, and she gestured toward the table where she’d stacked all of Mrs. Kennedy’s notes. “Let’s talk about the Children’s Fair.”
He sighed. “I don’t know why you’re freaking out over this,” he said calmly.
She was not going to dignify that with a list of reasons why freaking out was the exact correct response. Hell, back in Fuller everyone would be in a panic on her behalf. No, in Fuller, no one would dream of putting her in charge in the first place. They knew she was a screwup, too flaky to be trusted not to burn the whole thing down. And while she was trying to think positively, deep down she was afraid they were about to be proven right. There were still plenty of reasons for Molly to be worried. Tate was just obviously one of those people who didn’t freak out about things, which was practically a guarantee he was going to grate across her last nerve very shortly. “Beyond the fact that this is quite an important piece of the weekend’s festivities that needs to be done right if I’m ever to hold my head up in town again, the truth is I have zero experience planning anything like this.”
“Attitude and personality are what’s important. Everything else is teachable,” he reminded her.
“You’re real funny.”
“I try.” At her look, he lifted his hands in defeat. “Okay, joking aside, show me what you’ve got.”
“Thank you.” She led him over to the table where her carefully organized stacks of Mrs. Kennedy’s notes lay, yellow sticky notes hanging off their edges where she’d written questions or notes to herself. Tate settled his lanky frame into one of the ladder-backed chairs and pulled the first stack toward him. “That, as far as I can tell, might be contact information for the people involved,” she said.
Tate chuckled. “That would be my guess, too.”
“But it doesn’t match up to her list of vendors or volunteers, and that list doesn’t match up to last year’s site map”—she handed the map over when he held out a hand—“that shows where everything was set up. So I can’t tell who’s even supposed to be there.”
“Can you call Mrs. K and ask her?”
“I could, I guess, but until I have a better grasp on what I’ve got here, I don’t know what to ask.” Plus, that would be admitting defeat before she even got started. She still had a little pride she wanted to hold on to. So far, Helena and Tate were the only people who knew how clueless she was, and she’d like to keep it that way for as long as possible.
Tate nodded. “Let’s start with the site map, then. I can help you reconstruct the list of who was there last year.” He met her eyes. His were blue—really blue, she noticed, before she forced herself not to. Tate didn’t seem to notice her noticing at all, thank goodness. “I will say that I’m sure everything’s in good shape,” he assured her. “We’re less than five weeks out, so most of this is probably in place already.”
“That’s my hope.”
“Mrs. K has done this so many times, it’s probably all organized perfectly—only all the details are in her head.”
“Which doesn’t help me much,” she grumbled. But she was relieved to hear that nonetheless.
Tate pointed to a big area on the map. “So that’s the petting zoo there. Cliff Hannigan brings the animals in.”
“I’ve seen that name somewhere,” she said, flipping open one of Mrs. K’s notebooks as Tate made notes on one of the sheets. He was left-handed, she noticed, and moved his coffee cup out of the way. “He judges the dog show, too, right?”
“Yep. But that’s not you.”
“It’s not?”
“No. That’s Sunday after the parade.”
“Yay.” She drew a line through that item on her list. “One less thi
ng to worry about.”
Tate nodded but didn’t look up, busy as he was labeling the map and annotating her list, occasionally pulling out his phone to look up a phone number or e-mail address and add it.
His confidence and no-nonsense, get-it-done attitude was a balm to her nerves, and she recanted her earlier assumption that he’d grate on her. She’d never spent much time with him alone before now, and she liked the efficient and organized way he worked. There was no unnecessary small talk, either, which made this easier for her.
She sat back sipping her drink and watched him for a minute. He had good posture, she noticed; although he leaned forward over the table as he worked, he wasn’t hunched up, and his shoulders—broad like a swimmer’s—were held straight, the green stripes of his shirt running almost perfectly parallel across his chest without a wrinkle. Dark hair fell over his forehead when he leaned over to look at something, softening the angular line of his jaw and prominent cheekbones.
There was that tingle again, but it was easier to mute today. She was making progress already.
She searched through her mental gossip file. Many a young lady had a crush on Dr. Tate Harris, and while he had a couple of exes, there didn’t seem to be any drama there. The only woman he was ever linked to was Helena, and that, she knew, was platonic. From a purely objective standpoint, Tate Harris was quite the catch. Why, then, was he still single?
Suddenly, those blue eyes were staring at her. “What?”
She cleared her throat. “What what?”
“You’re staring at me. It’s making me nervous.”
Crap. She searched for a reasonable explanation. “Just wondering how you got pulled into this.”
An eyebrow arched up. “You were all damsel-in-distress last night, remember?”
She sat up straight, a little indignant at the comparison. “I do not damsel-in-distress.”
“Then I’ll just saddle up my white horse and ride out of here.” He pushed his chair back from the table.
0451471040 Page 5
