He heard Mickey’s “Hey, now, that’s not cool,” but Shelby gave Mickey a look over his shoulder that seemed to defuse him, and she stepped into Declan’s arms. Her heartbeat was up and her breath was a little short from the up-tempo dancing, and the heat of her skin released the light fragrance of the soap she used into the air around her.
She eased into him, swaying gently with the music, a folksy song about rivers and wiregrass and white sands that Shelby seemed to know. He could feel her mouth moving against his chest and the light breaths that proved she was singing softly along.
“Should I apologize to you—or Mickey, for that matter—for cutting in?”
He felt her shake her head. “No.”
“Good.” Because I wasn’t going to. Mickey could just go perfect his patience. “I guess I should have warned you that I’m not really a dancer.”
Shelby lifted her head and smiled at him. “I think you’re doing fine.”
Happy, he folded their hands against his chest as the chords changed into the chorus.
Oh my love, I’ve found you a thousand times,
And I let this weary world take from me everything that’s kind,
Oh my love, you hold heaven in your hand,
My heart’s down in Dixie, but my soul’s in Alabama.
Shelby wasn’t the only one singing along, and the whole bar seemed to be swaying, like this was some local version of the national anthem—which was kind of weird, but Shelby felt warm and right snuggled against him.
And because it felt good, he didn’t question it too much.
* * *
Shelby felt like the worst best friend alive.
The other night, when Charlotte’s hot post-doc from the lab had shown up at the Bait Box and Shelby had had absolutely no idea Charlotte was even seeing him, much less who he was, she’d felt like she deserved to lose her Best Friend Merit Badge.
Charlotte hadn’t been mad, and she’d given Shelby her permission at the beginning to be all but ignored while things with Declan were so hot and exciting, but that didn’t alleviate Shelby’s guilt. Guys might come and go, but BFFs were too important to take for granted.
So to salve her conscience, she needed to make an offering.
Which was why she was at her parents’ house baking cookies. Her one go-to recipe was snickerdoodles and was therefore the currency of all her apologies and overtures. She already had a dozen cooling on the table to drop by Charlotte’s this afternoon. While she was at it, she’d baked two dozen for Harvey to thank him for picking up her slack at the marina recently, and another dozen for her dad, just because he liked them.
And then she made a dozen for Declan, too. Just because.
After all, he was in the same position she was: lack of access to a proper kitchen. The Lady Jane had a basic galley, and she had a tiny kitchenette, and neither of them was good for serious cooking. Hell, at least she could come by here and scrounge a free home-cooked meal on occasion. She had no idea what Declan was eating when they weren’t together. Some home-baked cookies would be a nice change for him. Probably. Hopefully.
When she heard the back door open, she looked up at the clock. Four o’clock exactly. Her mother was a creature of habit. “Hey, Mom.”
Her mom hung her coat and purse on the hook behind the door and sniffed the air. “Oh, Shelby, honey, what did you do now?”
“What do you mean?”
“Snickerdoodles? You only make those when you’re in trouble. Or when you’re sucking up to someone.” After a long look around the kitchen—Shelby wasn’t exactly a tidy cook—she added, “And you will clean this up, whether or not you leave cookies for your father.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mom picked up a cookie and took a bite. “Hm . . . extra cinnamon? Definitely apology cookies. Who’s mad at you?”
“They’re for Charlotte.” At her mother’s surprised look, she quickly added, “She’s not mad at me or anything. We just haven’t gotten to spend much time together recently, and that’s what I’m sorry about.”
“That’s a lot of cookies for such a small transgression.”
“There’s some there for other people, too.”
“The other people you’re not spending as much time with as you probably should? Or someone you’re spending a lot of time with?”
Well, I did set myself up for that. “Mom . . .”
“Please don’t take that tone, Shelby. I’m not criticizing you. But you are spending a lot of time with this Declan—whom I have not met, by the way.”
“Er . . . um . . .” Thankfully, the timer dinged and she was able to busy herself with taking one sheet of cookies out of the oven and putting in the next.
But Mom was just warming up. She came to stand next to the stove. “From what I hear from Jamie and the others, he seems like a decent enough young man, well educated even if he is currently on a rather extended vacation, and definitely a step above some of the other boys you’ve dated.”
“We’re not really dating, Mom. We’re just . . . um . . .” Oh, God, there is no way to finish that sentence.
“I think everyone is quite aware of what you’re doing.”
The spatula slid out of her hand and clattered to the floor. Whether it was her mother’s words—which were enough to make her want to slide under the stove—or the completely conversational no-big-deal tone they were in, Shelby was completely stunned. The snort that followed those words, however, nearly did her in for real. “Mom!”
“You’re an adult. I can’t really sit here and lecture you on the choices you make.”
Since when? she thought, but wisely kept the words behind her teeth.
“But,” she continued, “I can encourage you to be very careful.”
Please don’t make this be a sex talk. She chose her words carefully in hopes she’d shut that down. “As you said, I am an adult”—hopefully that would be all she’d have to say about that—“and I realize I could have tried to be a little more discreet, but in all fairness, that’s not exactly easy to do here. Especially in the off-season.”
“If you have nothing to be ashamed of . . .”
“I’m not ashamed of myself. I may not have taken out an ad in the Clarion, but I wasn’t sneaking about, either. I just lived my life. And you’re right. Declan is a nice guy. I like spending time with him.”
“But to the exclusion of everyone else? Including Charlotte?”
Mom may have said “Charlotte” but she meant “the family.” “It’s not like we’ve been shacked up on his boat this whole time.” Her mother’s lips thinned in disapproval. Crap. Way to go, Shelby. Tell Mom more about your sex life. “We go places and do things—football games, the Bait Box . . . If you hadn’t skipped the Halloween Carnival again”—Mom hated the Halloween Carnival—“you’d have met him there. Anyway, he’ll be gone after the New Year.” Ouch. “Everything will go back to normal.”
“Well, I’ll be glad to see more of you when it does. Until then . . .” Mom leveled a look at her. “Be careful.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Is Declan going home for Thanksgiving? Do you know?”
As far as she could tell, Declan didn’t have a “home” to go to. He wasn’t close to his sister, so she doubted he’d go all the way to Colorado for the holiday. And while he had friends in Chicago, she didn’t know if he’d go to one of them or not. He hadn’t mentioned any plans, though, so she could honestly say, “I don’t know what his plans are.”
“Well, I hate to think of anyone being alone on Thanksgiving just because they’re far from home. There’s always room for one more at your grandmother’s. He’s welcome to join us.”
“Always room for one more” was debatable. They were bursting at the seams already. And jeez, was that the kind of thing she could invite Declan to? Would he want to come? Did she want him
to come?
Thankfully, Mom didn’t seem to want an immediate answer, as she grabbed another cookie. “And seriously, clean up this kitchen before you leave.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Once the kitchen was clean, she left a plate of cookies covered in plastic wrap on the table for Daddy, then boxed up the others. She drove by Charlotte’s, let herself in, and put the box on the kitchen table. Charlotte wouldn’t need an explanation.
She’d give Harvey his cookies tomorrow, but she could deliver Declan’s now. They hadn’t made any plans or anything, but Declan’s car was in the parking lot, and she could see lights on in the Lady Jane. He’d been almost as reclusive recently as he’d been in the beginning. She didn’t know what he was doing, but if it was something he didn’t want disturbed, she’d just drop off the cookies and leave.
Wasn’t that supposed to be the beauty of a friends-with-benefits thing? No expectations, no demands, the freedom to do your own thing?
Cupid’s nose went crazy over the scent of the cookies, so Shelby had to put Harvey’s box on top of a filing cabinet out of paw’s reach.
Cupid followed her part of the way down to the docks, only to lose interest and go back up to the building. She was getting older and didn’t seem to be handling the cold weather as well as she used to. If last year was any indication, Cupid was going to spend all winter curled up on her doggy bed in front of the space heater in the downstairs office.
“Declan?” She tried to give him space, always asking for permission to come aboard, but Declan seemed to be taking longer and longer to answer her hails these days. When he finally opened the door, he looked a little frazzled, his hair all messy and looking like he hadn’t shaved. Was that the same shirt he’d been wearing yesterday?
“Are you okay?”
“Of course,” he answered. “Come on in.”
“I was at my mom’s and made cookies. I brought you some.” The cabin of the Lady Jane was . . . well, not a mess, necessarily, but very untidy, which was odd for Declan.
“That’s sweet, Shelby. Thanks.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah. I just got caught up in something and well . . .” He ran a hand over his face. His eyes looked bloodshot, and tired lines were etched into his face as if he hadn’t slept since yesterday, either. It was worrisome, to say the least. “I’m starved, though. You want to go to the diner and get something to eat?”
“Sure. I guess.” That stack of papers with the laptop on top had been a staple of Declan’s table for a while now, but it had grown since the last time she was in here. He’d found something to occupy him beyond bingeing on old TV shows—which she would normally consider a good thing, except whatever this project he was working on was, he was crossing a line into unhealthy.
“Let me go wash my face real quick, and we’ll go.”
I should not snoop. A legal pad stuck out from the stack. It was a bulleted list of some sort, she could see that much, but Declan’s handwriting was too much of a disaster for her to even attempt to decipher it.
This was the kind of thing that made her feel dumb. The answer was probably right here in front of her, spelled out and everything, and yet it might as well not be. People didn’t need to hide information from her—all they had to do was write in cursive and it might as well be Japanese.
But something in the corner caught her eye. A doodle, retraced over and over again, like he’d been bored. It took a second longer than necessary for her to recognize it as the logo for the marina, simply because it was such an odd thing for him to be doodling.
What the . . .
Declan was still in the head, water splashing, and while her conscience told her to sit down and keep her hands to herself, her curiosity was not to be denied. She opened the laptop, bringing the screen back to life. The screen hadn’t locked yet, and Declan’s project popped back up.
At first glance, the design plan on the screen didn’t make sense.
But on second glance, it did. Because if there was anything she knew, it was the Bay Breeze Marina—in any incarnation.
“You weren’t supposed to see that yet.”
Declan, shirtless and holding a towel, stood in the doorway, a worried half smile on his face.
“What is this?”
He cleared his throat, then wrapped the towel around his neck to catch the drips off his hair. “Plans for rehabbing your marina.”
She started to say something, but he held up a hand.
“I know you said to let it go, that now wasn’t the time, but I wanted to do it. I wanted to show you what was possible and give you an idea of what it would take. You don’t have to do anything with the information if you don’t want to, but I wanted you to at least have it. For when you are ready.”
Declan’s enthusiasm for her ideas had warmed her and encouraged her, but it had still been a dream. She still had a lot to untangle—and not just whether her ideas were good. He wasn’t able to see the depth of the issue, because to him, the Bay Breeze Marina was just a business. Just a bunch of buildings. Intellectually, she knew that as well, but she still had all the emotional stuff and dealing with her family to sort out.
She knew his time and expertise were truly a gift. She couldn’t justify the expense of even meeting with a designer at this point, but having Declan actually work on it meant that her vague dreams could become reality. Here was an actual step in the direction of that reality, ready for her when she decided it was time.
It was proof that his earlier statements hadn’t just been pillow talk or empty flattery. This wasn’t just encouragement; it was validation. Declan really believed in it.
In her.
Something squeezed her heart and her eyes burned. “Thank you.”
“You’re not mad?”
“What? No.” She launched herself at him, wrapping her legs around his waist and hauling herself up for a kiss. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
Declan grunted as he caught her. “No one has ever been quite so pleased with my work before. I’m usually lucky to get a firm handshake. And maybe a fruit basket, if they’re really happy with the project.”
“Oh, I can do a lot better than a fruit basket,” she promised.
Because she didn’t know how else to show him how much this meant to her.
Chapter 13
Shelby had claimed to be related to half of Mobile County. Declan hadn’t doubted her claim, but he’d naively assumed all of them would not try to fit into her grandmother’s house for Thanksgiving dinner.
It seemed he was very wrong about that.
He still wasn’t entirely sure how many Tanners were packed into this place, and he’d quit trying to count. Aside from the fact there were a lot of them and they kept moving around, they all favored each other quite heavily, which made accuracy an issue. There was no way he could remember names—and Shelby had laughed at his wish for name tags—so he stuck with Mr. or Mrs. Tanner for anyone older than him and a friendly “Hey, pal” for the younger ones. So far that had worked.
When he was growing up, his mother had tried to make Thanksgiving something nicer than usual for their small family, but he’d never dealt with the abundance of food and family like this. In college, he’d always volunteered to work Thanksgiving Day, guaranteeing himself a little extra cash and brownie points with the folks who wanted or needed off. And while he’d gone with Suzanne to her family’s dinner for many years while they were dating, it was always a formal affair, catered and choreographed from the pre-dinner cocktails to the coffee served exactly two and a half hours later. He hadn’t experienced anything remotely close to the ideal family Thanksgiving picture he’d had in his head.
The Tanner family Thanksgiving didn’t match up, either, actually, but it was still fun. He’d never seen so much food in his life: multiple turkeys, hams, casseroles of every kind,
and a sideboard groaning under the weight of enough desserts to throw most of the town into a diabetic coma.
It was loud and crazy, with a game of touch football going on in the yard accompanied by all the family dogs—including Shelby’s Cupid, who had shown more energy in the last hour than he’d seen from her in the entirety of his residency at the marina—and people in huddles surreptitiously checking game scores on their phones while others tried to figure out where to put one last table and chairs to meet the need.
It was simply a madhouse.
And it was awesome. Jamie, Adam, and Eli had dropped their Guardian of the Maiden posturing, and none of the Mrs. Tanners had any problem assigning him chores with the others. One of Shelby’s uncles even taught him how to deep-fry a turkey. He felt like a part of it, not really a guest, which was a nice feeling—and a nice surprise.
One of many.
First had been the invitation itself. It had been a simple, almost offhand offer—“If you don’t have plans for Thanksgiving, you’d be welcome at ours”—that caught him off guard. Somehow it seemed like an important milestone, regardless of how informal the invitation had been. It was nice of her—and nice of her family—to think to include him, but meeting the family—not just the ones in her generation, but parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles, too—rather implied certain things—at least to other people.
Didn’t it?
That concern must have shown on his face because Shelby had burst out laughing at him. “Don’t look for the trap because there isn’t one. It’s totally safe and it’s totally worth coming for the food alone if you think you can deal with my family en masse. But there is a dress code, and my grandmother takes it seriously. Do you have a tie?”
He didn’t, but Shelby had asked Jamie to bring an extra. And because it seemed no one in the Tanner family was able to pass up the opportunity to annoy another, Jamie had unsurprisingly handed over the ugliest tie ever made—too wide, too bright, and completely awful. Shelby’s cousins had found this hysterical, but Jamie got scolded by the older generation every time one of them saw the tie, so Declan wore it with glee all day.
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