It was a neutral, safe topic, and he grabbed hold of it gratefully. “I take it speeding fines are an important source of revenue to the Magnolia Beach city budget.”
“I wouldn’t say that. It’s just what else are they going to do?” She waved her hand to encompass the quiet empty streets. “We don’t exactly have an epidemic of crime that needs fighting.”
“You have a point. But that’s a good thing.”
“Of course it is. This is the kind of place where most people don’t even lock their doors.”
“And that’s exactly the kind of thing you should mention to the slightly suspicious guy living in your marina,” he teased.
She laughed. “Well, at least we’d know where to start looking if that crime wave suddenly takes hold.”
He pulled in and parked next to Shelby’s rather battered-looking Jeep, and her dog appeared from behind one of the buildings to greet them—well, her. Cupid merely sniffed in his general direction as Shelby squatted and rubbed her ears. “Hey, Cupid. Who’s a good girl?” she cooed.
Declan vaguely wondered why Shelby had given a female dog a male name, but then decided it made as much sense as any other pet name.
Shelby stood and briskly brushed her hands against her thighs. “Well, thank you for the ride home. I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome. Thanks for convincing me to go out. It was fun.”
“There’s a contra dance at the Methodist church tomorrow night. I know it sounds like something for just old people, but it’s usually a pretty mixed crowd. If you’re looking for more things to do, that is.”
Was that an opening? “Are you going?”
“Ah, no, I’m busy. But it’s easy and fun to do.”
“I’ll consider it.”
“Good night, Declan.”
He nodded. “Good night.”
Shelby pulled a key out of her pocket and unlocked the office door.
“I thought you said people don’t need to lock their doors around here.”
“Well, there’s this suspicious guy living nearby, you know.” Then she flashed that grin at him as she went inside, taking Cupid with her. He heard the door lock behind her.
Well, that was pretty clear.
Chapter 7
“I swear, Shelby Tanner, you make me want to strangle you sometimes.” Charlotte sat back on her couch and swirled the wine in her glass.
“Ditto.” Shelby indicated the piles of flyers for First Methodist’s upcoming bazaar, which she’d somehow been roped into helping Charlotte fold and stuff into envelopes. Charlotte’s mother wanted them done by tomorrow, and Shelby, sucker that she was, hadn’t been able to resist Charlotte’s cry for help.
Chester, Charlotte’s fat ginger cat, sat in the middle of the mess on the coffee table, helpfully batting at the unsteady stack of envelopes ready to be sealed like it was not only his job, but his duty, to knock them to the floor. “This is your project. You could at least help, you know.”
Charlotte sighed and lifted Chester off the table, settling him into her lap as she sat and picked up a sheet of mailing labels. “The boy was totally flirting with you, and you just sent him back to his boat like nothing?”
She didn’t need to ask which boy. Charlotte was all about Declan, wedging him into the conversation whenever she could and not even trying to be sly about it. “He was not flirting with me.”
“Oh, please. I’ve seen you nearly frog-march people to the altar after less-obvious signs of encouragement. If you want to be a matchmaker, you should really start with yourself.”
“I gave up matchmaking after the Helena and Ryan fiasco. People will just have to find their own romances from now on.”
“That’s probably smart. I love you, but you weren’t very good at playing Cupid.”
Shelby couldn’t be offended since it was true. But Charlotte had to be high to think Declan could be interested in her. Not when Charlotte was also standing there, all dimples and shiny hair. “Have you thought that maybe he was trying to flirt with you and you just brushed him off instead?”
“I wish.” Charlotte’s heartfelt sigh was almost funny. “Honey, he could not have given less of a damn about me. It was painfully obvious exactly why he was there and who he wanted to see. Why do you think Eli was so bowed up about it? I’m surprised the poor boy didn’t strain something.”
It was flattering to think that Charlotte might be right. But then, Charlotte was also on her third glass of wine. “Even if he was—and I’m not saying I think he was—Declan’s a tourist.”
“So?”
“So, why start something with an expiration date on it?”
“Everything has an expiration date on it. That’s just life. Hell, even life has an expiration date. You take your opportunities when you can.”
“Don’t try to be philosophical.”
“Okay. Then let me remind you that that’s the joy of tourist boys. They leave. No muss, no fuss. A good time is had by all, and there’s nothing awkward afterward.”
“But most tourists leave in a couple of weeks. He’s here for a couple of months.”
“All the better to enjoy that lovely piece of man candy nice and slow.”
“You know he’s unemployed, right?” That should deter Lottie. She didn’t like freeloaders of any sort.
“Again I say ‘so’? I’m not saying you should marry him or anything.”
Charlotte could be a little too tenacious sometimes. “He’s a tenant at the marina.”
“So? There’s nothing unethical about sleeping with a tenant as long as you’re not trading it for rent.”
“It’s not professional behavior. I have a hard enough time getting people to take me seriously as a businesswoman without giving them an actual reason to grasp on to.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Then don’t stand in the middle of Front Street and announce who you’re sleeping with. Be discreet. Keep it on the down low.”
Shelby snorted. “Because that always works. No one ever knows anything about anyone else’s private business around here.” Chester jumped back up on the coffee table, and Shelby shooed him away. “We have nothing in common.”
“Talking is highly overrated. There are much better things to do with your tongue.”
“Lottie!” She could feel the flush rising up her chest, but Charlotte only smirked. She cleared her throat and tried to sound serious. “You’re operating under a huge assumption anyway.”
“That he wants you? That’s not an assumption. I read that news off the flashing neon sign over his head. I mean, really, Shel. Why else would he decide now, after all this time playing hermit, to wander into the Bait Box? It’s some kind of coincidence that he decides to do that just a couple of days after meeting you for the first time?”
“Maybe he was just lonely and bored.” She decided to skip over the fact that she’d practically badgered him into getting out to meet people.
“Then you’re doing a good deed. Showing kindness and charity to a stranger who’s alone. Hell, it’s practically your Christian duty.”
Shelby nearly choked. “My what?”
Charlotte just smirked and shrugged.
“Okay, you need a remedial Sunday school class. And I’m cutting you off.” Shelby reached over to take her wineglass.
Charlotte moved it out of her reach. “And when was your last date? I don’t mean hanging out, either. I mean an actual date.”
Shelby had to think. Colby Bryce had asked her out . . . jeez, had it really been a year ago? How depressing. “A while.”
“You’ve had a chance to look over every eligible male Magnolia Beach has to offer, so don’t tell me you’re holding out for one of them.”
“No, but . . . You never know, we might get a sudden influx of eligible men.”
“How?”
S
he thought for a moment. “Shipwreck?”
Charlotte laughed. “Fingers crossed. But until then, Hot Dude wants you. Take advantage of that.” She started to take another drink, but stopped and gave Shelby a questioning look. “Unless there’s something you’re not telling me about Declan? Has he done something skeevy I need to know about?”
“No,” Shelby assured her. “But I know he just broke up with someone. He told me. He downplayed it, but he could be rebounding.” Plus, she’s some rich, gorgeous, supermodel art curator. Talk about not even in the same league . . .
“And?” Charlotte rolled her eyes. “I’m still not seeing the problem, Shelby. He’s gorgeous and funny and totally into you. Go for it.”
Maybe playing dumb would work. “Go for what?”
“Declan. You should be rockin’ his boat right now, not hanging out with me and Chester.”
Guess not. “Can we talk about something else, please?” Her face was growing warm. It wasn’t like she hadn’t thought about it. In fact, she had thought about it a little too much last night, at the expense of a decent night’s sleep and some vivid dreams.
“You’re blushing.”
She felt her face get even hotter, and she reached for her glass. “Hush.”
“You are.” Charlotte’s grin was both smug and mocking. “That means you’re attracted to him.”
There was no sense denying it. “I’m not blind. He’s quite pretty.”
“Then what is the problem?”
All Shelby could do was shrug.
“You’re young and beautiful and unattached. So is he. You’re attracted to each other. He seems nice. There’s no bad here.”
“How do I know that anything he’s telling me is true? I don’t actually know for certain that he really is anything he says he is. He could be on the run from the law, or trying to avoid child support, or . . .”
Charlotte waved that off. “You know as well as I do that Rusty has at least run his tags and checked him out, if not run a complete background check on him by now. If there was something sketchy, you’d know. He’s obviously educated and has some form of financial support. It all adds up to ‘yum.’ He’s perfect fling material.”
That much was true. “I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t think too long. You said yourself that there’s an expiration date. He’s going to leave, and you’ll be kicking yourself that you didn’t take the chance while you had it.”
“The chance for what?”
“To have sex with him,” Charlotte said bluntly. “To have hot, sweaty, toe-curling sex with the hot guy living in your marina. Not only do you need it, you deserve it.”
Oh, just the thought . . . “And what if he’s not interested?” She’d die of embarrassment if she made a move and found out she’d been right all along and Declan wasn’t interested in her.
“I’m solid in my faith that he is, but on the off chance he’s not, so what? You lose nothing. And look what there might be to gain,” she said with a smile.
“I’ll take it under consideration. Now get to work.”
“Go. Now. I’ll finish this.”
Like she was just going to go run to the marina, get naked, and climb onto his boat. She wasn’t that desperate.
But boy, it was tempting. “Stick and seal, Lottie, stick and seal.”
“You know, sometimes I think you were a lot more fun unmedicated.”
“Seriously, are you high? Because I can’t believe you just said that.”
At least Charlotte had the decency to look abashed. “Sorry. That came out all wrong. You know I didn’t mean it.”
Shelby grabbed another stack of envelopes. “That’s what I thought.”
“It’s just . . .” She stopped and took a deep breath. “You’ve just swung so far in the other direction, trying to prove to everyone that you’re a responsible adult, that you’re sucking all the joy out of your life. I mean, have you heard yourself tonight? You’re trying to talk yourself out of having any fun at all with this guy with a whole list of reasons that are nothing but weak, lame excuses. You let everyone beat you up until you finally believed it, and now you’re second-guessing and overanalyzing every decision you make. Don’t let people shame you out of enjoying your life, Shel.”
Ouch. “That’s not it, Lottie.” Or at least not all of it. “It just takes forever for people to change their opinions. Look at Helena Wheeler. She left town for ten years and is now a responsible, tax-paying adult dating the freakin’ mayor, and my brother still accused her of setting Declan’s boat loose.”
“Your brother is a dork.”
“True, but that’s neither here nor there.”
“Well, I’ve got a newsflash for you. Not sleeping with Declan Hyde isn’t going to make anyone suddenly realize that you’re not the same screwup you were at fifteen. So if you want him, go for it. The absolute worst thing that could happen is that the sex might not be great, but something tells me that’s not going to be a problem.”
“Like I said, I’ll take it under consideration. Now, can we please just finish this?”
Charlotte pursed her lips, but remained silent. Since both of them had made their point, the topic was dropped for the moment, but Shelby knew it wouldn’t be forgotten that easily. Charlotte would bring it up again and again until Shelby had some sort of satisfactory answer to give her.
She just wasn’t sure what that answer would be.
When the last envelope was stamped and sealed and she was on her way home, only then did Shelby let her mind drift back to Charlotte’s idea.
There were far worse ideas floating around out there—she had to admit that much. And Charlotte was right; dying of embarrassment aside, she didn’t have all that much to lose.
And she wasn’t a prude, unable to consider the idea of a fling. Growing up, she’d had many a good time with tourist boys and even a couple of discreet, slightly inappropriate relationships as an adult before without regrets. It was one of the few benefits of living in a town that got a lot of out-of-town visitors on a regular basis.
The rush, the excitement, the chemistry of a new relationship was addictive. There wasn’t time to get bored with someone because they left long before the newness could fade. And God knew it was pretty much impossible to find “new” in Magnolia Beach otherwise. She knew everyone so well that the chemical rush was never there, able to get anything off the ground.
She was living in a town of broken-in comfy shoes, and Declan was a flashy, sparkly, expensive pair, the kind of which she didn’t see in Magnolia Beach very often.
So what was holding her back?
* * *
Less than a hundred and fifty miles separated New Orleans from Magnolia Beach, but Declan felt he’d traveled a lot farther than that.
It wasn’t really fair to compare the two—New Orleans was a much larger city, a multicultural and esoteric experience, while Magnolia Beach was just a small town. The things that attracted people to places like Magnolia Beach would keep them out of New Orleans, and while New Orleans had history, Magnolia Beach felt trapped in time.
But New Orleans felt small compared to Chicago, so it was a matter of perspective, really, and personal taste.
He loved the architecture, though, especially in the French Quarter and the Garden District, the mishmash of styles and eras that somehow still seemed to work.
And New Orleans came with the bonus of a really late lunch with his college roommate, Eric, which in addition to the nostalgia and camaraderie such things always entailed, had the added bonus of proving both Suzanne and Shelby wrong: he knew people, he had friends. So there.
Although they kept in touch on social media and the occasional e-mail, Declan hadn’t seen Eric since his studies had taken him to Atlanta for graduate school and then to Duke for a tenure-track position in their English Department. Luck had him
in New Orleans today for a conference on the Harlem Renaissance, and Eric looked every inch the cool young professor. Declan felt rather scruffy in comparison. Eric called him on it almost instantly over their muffalettas and beers. “You need a haircut.”
Since Eric’s head was completely shaved . . . “And you need some hair.”
“Nah, this is much easier.” He grinned. “And the ladies love it. Trust me.”
“If there was a chance I’d look like Shemar Moore instead of Charlie Brown, I might consider it. But I might as well enjoy the freedom while I can.”
Eric shook his head. “I still can’t believe you’re living on a boat in South Alabama.”
“No one can. Not even me, most of the time.”
“And you thought architecture was a safer major. I told you that you should have majored in English with me instead of just minoring.”
“I think that would have substantially increased my chances of living on a boat in genteel homelessness. At least this is only temporary.” He meant it to be funny, but Declan could see the look of doubt and concern creeping across Eric’s face. “Seriously, it’s a vacation of sorts. I’m not homeless and broke, trying to put on a brave face while I lie about it on Facebook.”
“Honestly?”
“I swear. I can even buy your lunch today.”
Eric seemed relieved, if not fully convinced. “Well, if you’d majored in English, you could be writing a book right now. You’d be able to call it a ‘sabbatical,’ and no one would question it.”
Except for Shelby, who seemed to have a healthy skepticism of writers.
“Who?”
Declan didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud. “Shelby. She runs the marina I’m living at.”
“And she doesn’t like writers.”
“It’s a beach town. I imagine they get a lot of those. I see her point.”
“So what are you doing instead on your sabbatical?”
“Reading. Watching TV. Day-tripping. Sleeping.”
Eric, whose work ethic and energy levels shamed the Energizer Bunny, couldn’t hide his distaste. “Until January? That’s more than just a vacation.”
More Than Anything Page 10
