Grinning, she nodded. “Yep. The northern part of the state is Southern, though.”
He couldn’t help laughing. “Your logic is just twisted. So is your geography. Remind me not to let you draw me any maps.”
She ran her toes over his calf and lifted her head to kiss him. Then she gave him the sultriest, sexiest look he’d ever seen. The hand absently caressing his lower back shifted course, skimming over his butt and upper thigh. He hissed. “I don’t need a map,” she challenged. “Do you?”
The South wasn’t the only thing that wanted to rise again.
Chapter 11
Amazingly enough, things settled into a pretty good routine over the next week. Shelby couldn’t complain, and in fact, she’d developed an embarrassing habit of humming or whistling to herself for no reason. Both her mother and her grandmother had called her on it last Sunday—random humming and whistling not being good manners—much to the amusement of the peanut gallery she was related to, but aside from some ribbing, the boys had been rather circumspect in their comments.
It was odd, but it was a blessing she wasn’t going to question too closely.
Charlotte had been acting the strangest, making herself scarce unless Shelby tracked her down. “I’m always here. I’ll always be here. Declan won’t. Make the most of it, and tell me all the good stuff,” she’d said by way of explanation when Shelby had finally asked why her best friend was suddenly avoiding her.
She had to love Charlotte.
And Declan was practically the perfect friend-with-benefits. Although he was on an extended vacation, he seemed to understand that she wasn’t, and he didn’t cling or expect to monopolize her time.
Her days were spent doing her usual, and Declan’s days were spent doing . . . well, whatever it was he did with his days. Sometimes he’d go off on one of his day trips, and in the evenings he’d tell her, often in great detail, about the buildings he’d seen that day. It was like talking to a kid who wanted to be a vet after a trip to the zoo.
It was cute. Sweet, too.
But he was around a lot, and she’d catch glimpses of him as she went about her day. Lately, he seemed to have taken up the habit of sitting out on the deck of the Lady Jane in the late fall sunshine to read. She wasn’t sure if Declan had always been that visible or whether she was just noticing him now.
Or maybe it was a little of both. Even with all the screaming, toe-curling, world-rocking orgasms Declan was providing her, her hormones seemed to be constantly on alert, seeking him out like a junkie needing a fix.
It didn’t help that he was always happy to comply, which made staying focused on what she was doing at any given moment difficult at best. Daddy had been dropping hints she might need to check her meds, but it wasn’t like she could flat out tell him why she was so distractible these days.
And Declan was definitely growing out of his hermit ways, too. For someone who said he didn’t like people all that much, he was doing a good job of faking it, like today.
Not only was he helping assemble a dunking booth with Howie and Todd for the school’s Halloween Carnival, he’d volunteered to do it when Todd had mentioned it the other day at the Bait Box.
When she’d been left gape-jawed at overhearing that, he’d laughed and claimed that since he was between jobs at the moment, he had more time than most. He hadn’t realized that that statement was a beacon for every committee chair within the town limits in need of muscle-bound help, and he’d become very popular the past few days as everyone got ready for the carnival.
But she had to admit, not only was that the fanciest dunking booth Magnolia Beach had ever seen, it certainly seemed to be the sturdiest. Every year, Howie came up with a new design for the dunking booth, and every year, Howie’s contraptions looked unstable, if not downright dangerous, and only the foolhardiest people could be talked into climbing onto the seat. It was practically one of those rites of passage for teenage boys looking to prove their manhood.
Usually Ryan and Howie would be locking horns about now, with Ryan mumbling about safety, and Howie insisting it was fine, but with Declan in the mix, Ryan had given it a nod of approval and gone off to do something else.
Maybe having a genuine architect around wasn’t a bad thing.
“Shelby!”
Her head snapped up just as the balloon she was inflating popped in her hand. “Crap.”
“That’s the third one.” Helena tsked and shook her head as she fitted another orange balloon over the nozzle of the helium tank. “You seem to lack focus on this super important project we’ve been assigned. Not that I blame you, though. He is very pretty to look at.”
That was true. And Declan was proving quite the chameleon, too. From hippie to hipster to handyman in a snug T-shirt and work boots, he climbed ladders and pounded nails, flexing all those muscles in a way that had her mouth watering. “Yeah,” she said, hating the sigh in her voice and the smirk that sigh put on Helena’s face. But . . . “Hey, now, you’re engaged to my cousin, remember?”
“Yes, but I’m not dead. I can still appreciate the man candy. I’m glad he’s out and about more these days so we all can appreciate it often and fully.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s just not healthy, either, spending that much time alone. I’m not exactly a social butterfly and even I know that’s true. He was practically a step away from the beginning of a true crime show. You know, loner drifts into town, holes up off the grid until he snaps and bludgeons the townsfolk in their beds.”
“I said almost exactly the same thing.”
Helena laughed as she tied a ribbon to the balloon, then tied the other end to the weight behind them, where it joined the others in a black and orange pond. They probably still had at least fifty more to fill and not much time to do it. The carnival opened in three hours, and at this rate, she and Helena wouldn’t be finished before Christmas. Ugh. “And how about the Terrible Tanner Trio? Are they leaving you alone?”
“Yes, thank God. And thank you, too. It’s so annoying that you can scare them into behaving when I can’t, though.”
“At least my bad reputation is worth some good today. And anyway, as long as Jamie knows I still have copies of his foray into erotic fan fiction, he will never not be my bitch.” She smirked. “And I will never not enjoy that, either.”
“I so want to see that. Name your price.”
“Nah. Blackmail loses its threat when too many people have the goods.”
“You’d think, though, as family, I’d have more dirt on them to control them with.”
“Honey, you’ll never control them. And while I know it’s annoying, just try to remember they mean well— Damn it!” The balloon squirted off the end of the nozzle and flew into the other balloons with a pbbbffft.
“I know,” Shelby said, handing her another. And here was her opening. While things had been in an uneasy, if superficially pleasant, truce between her and Helena, she needed—wanted—to make things right. “So did I, you know.”
Helena’s eyes snapped up.
“Last fall, with you and Ryan.”
“I know you did. You were just trying to look out for him.”
“But I crossed a line. I know that. And I’m sorry, really. I was completely wrong to try to break you up. You two are great together, and he’s really happy. I’m glad I failed.”
“Thank you for saying that.” Helena’s smile seemed genuine, so Shelby had hope she might actually be forgiven for her meddling. “I must admit that Tanner family dynamics often leave me scratching my head, but it’s my first time being part of a big family, so it’s interesting, too.”
“Just try to remember we all mean well. But keep your powder dry,” she advised. “You never know when you’ll need to fire the shot.”
“Who’s in the line of fire?” Ryan asked as he snaked an arm around Helena’s waist and hauled her
up for a kiss. Declan was with him, and Shelby couldn’t help noticing his greeting for her was far less enthusiastic—a little side hug that would be considered chaste at church camp. But as much as she’d like more, it was probably better not to cause talk.
“Now, if I told you, that would ruin the surprise, Mayor Tanner,” Helena said sweetly.
“Be nice,” he warned.
“The dunking booth looks good,” Shelby told Declan.
“Well, it’s not the Willis Tower, but I’m pleased with how it turned out.”
“And it looks like less of a death trap, so I’m happy,” Ryan added. “I won’t have to sneak back in later while Howie’s distracted and shore the thing up. Adam can’t even look at Howie’s contraptions. He says they’re a lawsuit waiting to happen.”
“Then why let him build them?” Declan asked.
“Because Howie’s grandfather did it and so did Howie’s father,” Shelby explained. “It’s a family tradition. Sadly, Howie lacks the skills his daddy and papaw had, but because traditions must be respected, we let Howie do it anyway.”
Declan looked carefully at her project. “So you come from a long line of balloon inflators?”
Helena laughed. “The Tanners are a bunch of clowns.”
“The boys maybe,” Shelby corrected. “It’s definitely a Y chromosome thing.” She gave Helena a serious look. “If y’all procreate, hope for girls.”
Crissy Cassidy, the president of the Magnolia Beach PTA, came by with her clipboard. “Ryan, Declan, I could use your help getting the supplies into the concession stand.” Crissy frowned as she saw the condition of Shelby and Helena’s project. “And maybe y’all should quit bothering the ladies so that they can finish up.”
“We’ll be over in a second,” Ryan promised as Crissy left. Then he looked at Helena. “You slackers. Shame, shame.”
“Be gone from my sight,” Helena declared regally, but she lost the upper hand when Ryan hauled her up for another kiss.
Then Declan kissed her. It was quick and natural, and definitely not as chaste this time. She was left amused and a little giggly as Declan left with Ryan. Any talk would be worth it.
“Oh, my,” she heard Helena say from beside her.
Oh, my indeed.
* * *
The Magnolia Beach Halloween Carnival had been an experience—that was for sure. The people went all out for it. Not that he had anything to compare it to, of course. His neighborhood school had ten-year-old textbooks barely holding together at their spines, so there hadn’t been much of a budget for things like carnivals. His high school had done things like field trips to amusement parks that he couldn’t afford and hadn’t been included in his scholarship, so he’d stayed behind when the others went, claiming he didn’t want to go anyway.
There hadn’t been fancy rides or anything at this carnival, but the midway games and cake walks had been popular with both adults and kids alike. He’d eaten cotton candy and bobbed for apples, and no one had blinked twice at the sight of a thirty-two-year-old man in a bouncy castle.
That was a short-lived moment, though. He’d learned he was way too old for that—a lesson he was sure he was going to regret tomorrow. He was already sore.
And he’d gotten to soak young Kirby Peterson in the dunking booth—twice—to cheers from the assembled crowd. Even Kirby had seen the justice, however immature it might be.
Then, because he was an actual adult, he’d gotten to come back to the marina and have sugar-high-fueled sex with Shelby, who was now lying beside him bemoaning the three—or was it four?—cupcakes she’d had earlier.
“There’s a reason women substitute sugar for sex. Blech,” Shelby said. “Back-to-back cupcakes and sex are just too much. Pity me.”
“Poor baby. There, there.” He patted her head. The orange jack-o’-lantern she’d had painted on her cheek was smeared. He wiped a hand across his face and checked his palm. No orange paint. “I heard Helena warn you about eating that last one, though.”
“So I don’t often take good advice when it’s offered. Sue me.”
“Stubborn girl.” There was a scratching at the door. “Cupid wants in,” he told her.
Draping an arm dramatically over her eyes, she asked, “Would you mind? I’m going to lie here and moan a bit more.”
Rolling off the bed, he grabbed for his jeans, pausing and then grinning as he noticed an orange streak across his thigh. Well, that explained that. His jeans were inside out and half under the bed—how had that happened?—and they were hung on something, keeping him from extracting them. The scratching was becoming more insistent, though, so he left them there and went to let Cupid in.
Cupid ignored him completely and went directly to Shelby to determine she was okay—the dog did that every time they finished having sex. Shelby was noisy. Not that he really minded, but it was genuinely scaring the dog.
Crouching down, he gave his jeans a tug, and they slid out, pulling Shelby’s sketchbook with them. The button was caught in the spiral binding. The book was folded back, open to a page, and while he wasn’t being nosy, he couldn’t help looking.
Especially when he realized it was a drawing of a building.
It wasn’t what he’d expected to find in Shelby’s sketchbook—although he wouldn’t have been able to say what he had expected—but it was definitely a building.
She didn’t have the greatest artistic talent, but he could see what she was trying to achieve: a Mediterranean-style building with arches and wide breezeways.
Curious, he turned the page. That page was more like a scrapbook, with pictures of both Victorian and neo-Mediterranean buildings clipped from magazines and printed off the Internet glued side by side onto the paper, as if in comparison. Red circles called attention to some details; arrows with question marks at one end pointed to others. The third page was another sketch, this time an aerial view of buildings and a shaded area with wider lines extending out into it and little triangles attached to the lines . . . She was drawing a marina. Designing a marina.
Possibly the Bay Breeze Marina. He wasn’t expert enough on the layout to know for sure, but it was a possibility.
“Shelby, what’s this?”
Shelby had Cupid by the ears, nuzzling nose to nose and making kissy noises, but she rolled over at the sound of her name. When she saw him, she jumped up so quickly, Cupid barked in protest.
“That’s private.” She grabbed for the book, and he reflexively pulled it out of her reach. That earned him a killing look and a very serious “Give me that.”
Reluctantly, he handed it over. Shelby flipped the book closed and slid it between the bed and the nightstand. Then she went back to petting the dog, obviously choosing to pretend he hadn’t seen it at all.
But he was curious. “You’re designing a marina, right?”
“It’s nothing. Just doodles.”
“It looks like it could be this marina.”
She shrugged. Her cheeks were flushed pink from embarrassment.
“I think you’ve got some good ideas,” he said carefully. “The neo-Mediterranean is a really good choice because it gives that instant ‘welcome to your beach vacation’ feel. And a red roof really pops against a blue sky.” He tried to sound casual and professional, just like he would be when discussing a project with any other client, but she was shut down and stony-faced, so he knew he was going to have to coax information out of her. “There’s so much Victorian already up on the beach, you’d stand out instead of blend in. And I think this place could really use the face-lift.”
Her eyebrows pulled together. Crap, he shouldn’t have insulted her marina. It might be ugly, but she loved it—and hell, she might love it just the way it was. But the fact she’d been collecting ideas, sketching them . . . She didn’t love it exactly the way it was. He hurried on, trying to appeal to her business side. “You have a pri
me location here with a lot of potential. Improvements on the property would increase your traffic—bringing in more tourists, acting as a funnel into Magnolia Beach—”
“You think I don’t know that?” she snapped.
“Obviously you do. That’s why I think it’s great you’ve got so many ideas already.”
“They’re just ideas, though.”
“But you can turn them into—”
She held up a hand. “First off, I don’t have that kind of money, and secondly, what am I supposed to do? Close the marina down for a year while we build a new one?”
“Honey, you are talking to the right guy. I love a challenge.” He sat crossed-legged on the bed in front of her. “You just have to adjust your design around the structures you already have—then you build extensions, add false fronts, things like that to make the new design. It’ll cost less than an all-new building and be less disruptive to business. You might even be able to stay in part of the building for most of the time, only going to a trailer, which could be brought on-site, when absolutely necessary.”
“Whoa, there. Down, boy. You’re getting carried away.”
He was, but he wasn’t sure why she wasn’t. The marina had been in her family for at least three generations, so there was a good chance the land was paid off. That would be the guarantee for any loan she’d need to take out—it was valuable property, worth far more than a renovation on this place would cost. “It’s totally doable, Shelby.”
“And you’re forgetting the biggest issue.”
“And that is?”
“It’s not my place to make changes,” she said in the most resigned, yet reasonable, tone. “I don’t own the marina. I just run it. I can’t do anything like that, even if I wanted to.”
“But you want to.”
“Of course I do. If the Bay Breeze were mine, there are all kinds of changes I’d want to make. But this place still belongs to my parents, and they’re happy with it just the way it is.”
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