Sandpiper Cove

by Irene Hannon

  “Over there.” He vaulted to his feet and stood on tiptoes, pointing in the direction of the cake. “I don’t see him now. He was with Mr. Luis.”

  “You mean Mr. Dominguez?”

  “Yeah—but I can’t say that name good, so he told me to call him Mr. Luis. See . . . there they are again!”

  Keeping a tight grip on her cup, Lexie took a cautious peek over her shoulder. If the man was here, she didn’t want him to think she was spying on him.

  No need for concern on that front. She couldn’t see either of the men through the crowd on the dance floor. How had Matt managed to spot them?

  Then again . . . perhaps he hadn’t. The light was dim. Or romantic, as Marci would no doubt describe it.

  “Honey, I don’t think you . . .”

  Wait.

  Luis was over there, talking to some woman she didn’t recognize.

  “Do you see them?” Matt knelt on his chair.

  “Sit down or you’ll drop your book.” She resettled him in his seat and peered through the crowd until she found Luis again. “I see Mr. Dominguez, but I don’t think Mr. Stone is with . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  There was a guy standing a couple of feet behind Luis, his back to her. Tall, wearing a suit jacket that emphasized his broad shoulders, dark hair neatly trimmed. She squinted. It was too dim to get a clear view, and dancers kept blocking her line of sight, but it could be Adam—if he’d made a major image adjustment.

  Had he?

  “Is it Mr. Stone, Mom?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Me neither. He looks different.”

  No kidding—assuming it was him.

  “Can we go say hi?”

  “No.” She swiveled back to the table.

  “Why not?”

  Why not, indeed? Hadn’t she wanted Adam to see her in her new dress? What was with the sudden case of cold feet?

  “He might, uh, be with some friends.”

  “We’re his friends too, aren’t we?”

  “Yes. Maybe later. Read your book for now.”

  “I don’t wanna read my book. I wanna go see Mr. Stone.” He clamped his arms over his chest and stuck out his chin.

  “You keep that up, young man, and we’ll be going home instead.”

  “Everything okay?” Her mother interrupted her chat with her neighbor to join the conversation.

  “The natives are getting restless.” She grabbed the book before it slid off Matt’s lap.

  “Weddings aren’t much fun for young ones.” Her mom tousled his hair. “We don’t have to stay late.”

  “I don’t want to leave until I say hi to Mr. Stone.”

  “Is he here?” Her mother searched the crowd, interest sparking in her eyes.

  “We’re not certain. Matt thinks he . . .”

  “Good evening, folks.” Charley appeared beside their table, his standard jeans replaced with an elegant dark suit and string tie. “Lexie, may I have this dance?”

  She did a double take. Never in a million years would she have pegged Charley as a dancer.

  “Um . . . I haven’t danced in ages—and I was never very adept at it. I’d probably step all over your feet.”

  “I don’t think so. Those routines you cheerleaders did at the high school during games were impressive.”

  “That was years ago—and they were choreographed. Making it up as you go along on a dance floor is a lot harder.”

  “You don’t have to make it up. That’s my job. Just follow where I lead.” He held out his hand. “This music is too superb to waste.”

  Hard as she tried, she couldn’t think of another reason to refuse.

  “Okay . . . but you may regret this.” She stood and took his hand.

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  He led her to the dance floor, assumed the classic dance position—and before she knew it, they were moving in time to the music, her feet following his with nary a blunder.

  By a dozen measures in, she’d relaxed and was enjoying herself. “You’re a great dancer—and you lead well.”

  “You follow well. Now, if we were both trying to lead, this might be awkward. But as long as people are clear on their roles—in dancing or any other endeavor—they can usually find their rhythm without stumbling or missing a beat.”

  When the music at last wound down, Lexie smiled up at him. “Thank you. That was fun.”

  “It was my pleasure. I’ll walk you back to your table, but give me a minute to say hello to a few friends while we’re close.”

  Taking her arm, he guided her off the dance floor, toward a nearby table.

  Luis rose as they approached . . . as did the broad-shouldered man she’d spotted from across the room.

  Her step faltered . . . but Charley kept walking, urging her along with him.

  It was Adam—but a new and improved version . . . in the looks department, anyway.

  Gone was the bandana

  Gone were the shaggy locks.

  Gone was the bad-boy stubble.

  The clean-shaven man in the suit and tie standing a few feet away could be a model for GQ.

  Her breath hitched.

  If the old version had rattled her, the new one sent her pulse off the charts.

  Somewhere in the background she heard a conversation taking place between Charley and the two men. On autopilot, she returned Eleanor Cooper’s greeting and asked about Methuselah. Responded to Charley’s comment about the dance they’d shared. Sidestepped a waiter bearing down on her with a loaded tray of empty cake plates.

  But 99.9 percent of her focus was on Adam.

  And her tunnel vision appeared to be mutual.

  No longer did she have to speculate about his reaction to her Cinderella dress. It was all there in his eyes. Locked on her, they consumed. Darkened. And communicated one word.

  Wow.

  No question about it—the splurge had been worth every penny.

  “. . . find a new partner for this next dance?”

  As the last part of Charley’s question registered, she tore her gaze away from Adam. “What?”

  “I said, I’ll walk you back to your table—unless you want to find a new partner for the next dance.” He motioned toward Adam. “It’s a great song. Old but timeless.”

  She tuned in to the music. The strains of “Unforgettable” floated through the tent, prompting a rush to the dance floor.

  Once more she homed in on the tall man inches away. Interesting that Charley had put the ball in her court, rather than Adam’s, for initiating a dance. As if he too believed what her mother had implied the day of their shopping trip—that Adam might not think himself worthy of her.

  That was baloney.

  And how better to prove it than by asking him to dance?

  Yet if she did that, she’d better be prepared for the consequences. The Hope Harbor residents present tonight might be shocked to see their police chief in the arms of a felon. Adam could follow up with a request for a date. Was she ready to deal with those possible outcomes?

  If the answer to both of those questions was yes . . . another important one loomed.

  Was she ready to let go of the past and take a chance on a future that could be fraught with challenges—and change?

  The music swelled. Seconds ticked by. Her heart began to race.

  What should she do?

  Lexie had no idea.

  But she knew what her mom would suggest. Adam too, given all he’d shared with her over coffee at the cove. And in the face of no other options, it wasn’t bad advice.

  So in desperation, Lexie did something she hadn’t done in a very long while.

  She prayed for guidance.

  Adam could read the conflict in Lexie’s eyes.

  She didn’t want to ask him to dance—yet she didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

  He needed to give her a way out now that Charley had put her on the spot.

  He also needed to save himself. Despite the potent appeal of
holding her close and swaying to that romantic tune, he’d be in over his head. What passed for dancing at the bars he’d once frequented had been more clutch and grind, while the moves Charley and Lexie had been doing were Dancing with the Stars caliber.

  It would be a disaster if he got out on the dance floor.

  “I’m afraid I could never live up to you, Charley. Where’d you learn to dance like that? I saw some fancy footwork out there.” He tried for a teasing tone as he broke the charged silence.

  “There’s no secret to dancing. If you can hear the rhythm, you can move with the music.”

  “That is correct.” Luis put a hand on his shoulder. “I was never much of a dancer until I met my wife, Elena. But she said if I listened with my heart to the music, my feet would know what to do. She said that was true about many things—and she was right. The key in any situation is to listen with the heart . . . and follow where it leads.”

  “While all of you are standing here talking, you’re missing a wonderful tune.” Eleanor swayed with the music in her seat. “Why, if I didn’t have that stupid walker, I’d be out there myself.”

  Adam rejoined the conversation, trying to silently communicate to Lexie that he didn’t expect her to follow up on Charley’s ridiculous suggestion. “Don’t worry about it. I wouldn’t want to have to run you to the emergency room with a broken toe.” He managed to hike up one side of his mouth. “Would anyone like a refill on coffee? I can try to round up the waiter and—”

  “I’m not much of a dancer, either. Charley made me seem better than I am. But if you want to try and struggle through this song together, I’m game.” Lexie wrapped her fingers around the back of the empty chair beside her, her voice a bit breathless.

  The air whooshed out of Adam’s lungs . . . and panic set in.

  “Um . . . I haven’t had a lot of opportunity to learn how to dance.”

  “Join the club. No one does much more than shuffle around these days . . .”—she motioned toward the dance floor—“except Charley. He can actually dance. I may end up stepping on your feet.”

  “Go on. Dance with the lady.” Luis gave him a tiny shove.

  “By all means,” Eleanor seconded. “I’d claim a dance myself if I could manage it. There’s nothing like dancing to a romantic tune with a handsome man.”

  “You have nothing to lose . . . and much to gain.” Charley smiled at him.

  Four against one.

  He was doomed.

  “I’ll give it a shot—but don’t say I didn’t warn you. And it’s not too late to change your mind.” He directed the latter comment to Lexie, hoping . . . he had no idea what. Part of him yearned to hold her in his arms, part of him was terrified he’d fall on his face on the dance floor.

  Perhaps literally.

  “I’m not letting you off the hook at this stage.” Lexie sounded more confident now.

  Then she held out her hand.

  It took another nudge from Luis to prod him into action.

  Instead of trying to speak, he simply took her hand and let her lead him to the dance floor.

  When she turned into his arms, it felt like the most natural thing in the world to rest his hand at her waist and wrap her fingers in his.

  “Ready?” She looked up at him, her throat working as she swallowed.

  And was that a tremor in her fingers?

  Was she as nervous about this as he was?

  For some reason, the notion that he wasn’t alone in his terror helped calm him.

  “Or not. Do you mind the audience? I assume they’re watching.” He tipped his head toward the threesome on the sidelines.

  She spared the trio a quick peek. “They are—but we can blend into the crowd once we’re dancing.”

  “I wasn’t kidding about being a rookie at this.” Some of his nerves returned.

  “It’s not rocket science. All you have to do is sway to the music.” She did so, taking him along with her. “Then just lift your feet and set them down somewhere else in time to the beat. I’ll follow.”

  She made it sound easy.

  Too easy.

  Yet strangely enough . . . it was. Everyone around them was doing the very kind of maneuver she’d described, and it wasn’t at all difficult to imitate.

  In fact, it was almost as easy as watching Luis for cues on which fork to use at dinner and how to pace his intake.

  “See? It’s not that hard, is it?” Lexie squeezed his fingers.

  “No. I guess not.”

  “So get rid of that frown, relax, and let’s enjoy the music.”

  Great advice.

  Except now that he had his sea legs—or dance legs—he was going to enjoy more than the music.

  He was going to enjoy the woman in his arms.

  Inching his hand farther around her waist, he splayed his fingers against the smooth fabric of her dress and urged her a hair closer.

  She came without protest.

  He dipped his chin until her soft, silky hair brushed his jaw, inhaling her enticing fresh scent.

  She rested her cheek against his shoulder.

  He brushed his thumb over the soft skin on the back of her hand.

  She squeezed his fingers.

  No one could have scored the scene better—for these few unforgettable minutes with Lexie in his arms would be indelibly etched on his mind. Forever.

  When the last, lingering notes died away, Adam forced himself to release her. “Thank you for the dance. I’m sorry Charley put you on the spot like that.”

  Her gaze caught—and held—his. “I’m not.”

  Couples brushed past them, clearing the floor for the next dance, but Adam didn’t budge. The husky note in Lexie’s voice, the intensity of her blue irises, locked him in place.

  Was she glad Charley had pushed them together—or was his imagination working overtime?

  The band launched into the next song. A Gershwin classic.

  There was one way to find out.

  “Would you like to dance again?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.” Without further ado, she stepped back into his arms.

  Adam lost track of how many dances they shared. Only after the band upped the tempo with a swing number did the magic spell come to an end.

  “This one’s beyond me.” Lexie watched a nearby couple execute some intricate footwork and twirls.

  “I’m with you. Let me walk you back to your table.”

  He fell in beside her, one hand instinctively moving to the small of her back as he guided her around an exuberant couple whose arms were extending beyond the edges of the dance floor with every spin.

  It was simple to spot her table, because Annette stood up and waved at them as they approached.

  “There you are! I’ve been trying to spot you for . . .” Her mother blinked. “Stone?”

  “Yes.”

  “My. I didn’t recognize you. I like the new image.” Lexie’s mother shifted her attention to her daughter. “Were you two together?”

  “We were dancing.” Lexie took control of the conversation. “Why were you looking for me?”

  Her mother blinked. “Oh. Right. It’s Matt.” She eased aside to reveal the little boy, whose head was propped on his arms on the table. “He says his stomach hurts.”

  Lexie edged past her mother, dropped into the chair beside her son, and felt his forehead.

  “I already did that. Cool as a cucumber.” Annette seemed more interested in her daughter’s dance partner than in her grandson’s upset stomach, based on the speculative gleam in her eye.

  “What did he eat while I was gone?” When Annette didn’t respond, Lexie tried again. “Mom!”

  The older woman refocused on her daughter. “What?”

  “What did he eat while I was gone?”

  “I gave him the rest of my wedding cake.”

  “Uh-oh.” A guilty flush spread over Marci’s cheeks. “I gave him some of mine too. I didn’t realize he’d also had part of your mom’s.”


  “And mine.” Lexie tapped an empty plate at her place. “That’s a glass and a half of soda and three pieces of cake. I think I know what the problem is.”

  “I wanna go home.” Matt lifted his head.

  The poor kid looked like he was going to puke.

  “That’s your next stop. But you are in big trouble, young man. We’ll discuss that tomorrow, after you recover from your sugar orgy.” Lexie stood. “Let me say good-bye to the bride and—”

  “No need for you to leave. I’m winding down myself. I’ll take Matt home.” Annette circled around behind the youngster and picked up her purse.

  “That won’t work, Mom. We all rode together.”

  “Oh.” The older woman’s face fell . . . but brightened again as she turned to him. “Unless you could get a ride with someone.”

  Adam wasted no time picking up her cue—even if it carried another risk of rejection.

  “I’d be glad to take you home later, if you’d like to stay awhile.”

  Lexie caught her lower lip between her teeth. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”

  “I don’t mind.” He tried for a smile. “The band probably has a few slow dances left, and it would be a shame to let them go to waste.”

  There. He’d taken the leap and laid his cards on the table. The ball was in her court. All clichés—but all true.

  “Why don’t you stay, Lexie?” Her mother helped Matt to his feet. “I can handle a cake-stuffed kid.”

  “Hi, Mr. Stone.” Matt leaned against his grandmother’s leg and held onto his stomach. “I don’t feel so good.”

  “That’s what I heard.” He hunkered down in front of the boy, who was a tad green around the gills, buying Lexie a few seconds to consider his invitation—and come up with an excuse to leave, if that was her choice. “Too much cake, huh?”

  “I ’spose. How’s Clyde?”

  “Feeling much better.”

  “I wish I could see him again. Do you think I could?”

  How did you say no to a hurting little kid with big, beseeching blue eyes?

  “We might be able to arrange that.”

  “Awesome. Were you dancing with my mom?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You gonna dance some more?”

  “That’s up to her.”

  “Let’s go, young man.” The older woman took his hand.