A Charmed Little Lie

by Sharla Lovelace

  Not that I ever really pictured it. But driving to a JP alone with a dog and all I needed to sustain life for ninety days—to marry a man I barely knew—was never a fantasy.

  “It’ll fly by, though,” Carmen said.

  “You think?” I said, cranking up the air to just short of blowing snowflakes.

  “Just stay busy, and remember the end goal,” she said. “It will be worth it in the end. And hey, as husbands go, you could definitely do worse. Believe me, I know.”

  Husbands.

  If I could have thrown my head between my legs at that moment, I would have.

  “God, Carmen, you’re gonna make me hurl again.”

  “No more hurling,” she said. “You have to kiss him soon.”

  My face went hotter, if that was possible. “It’s not that kind of wedding.”

  “Well, maybe not, but what are you gonna do, shake hands?” she asked. “Fist bump? Did you talk about sex?”

  The image of Nick and—whew. Everything went hotter. Even with the snowflakes. It might have been a while.

  “I don’t think you want us doing that in your office,” I said.

  “Ha-ha,” she said dryly. “So you think this guy is planning to live with a sexy woman for three months and not get a taste of it?”

  Okay, I was missing professional tightly-wound Carmen. Where did she go?

  “Whatever taste test happens on this little journey,” I said. “It’s like Pretty Woman. Sex is sex, kissing is personal. Personal leads to all kinds of intimate shit—”

  “And heaven forbid that any intimate shit happens in a marriage,” she said.

  “It’s not a marriage,” I said, banging the steering wheel. “It’s a business deal.”

  “True.”

  “Romance and love have no place in this,” I said. “We are doing this for three months and then it’s over.”

  “Okay, you were the one just puking on the side of the road, complaining that—”

  “I know,” I interrupted. “I’m trying to talk myself down, run with it,” I said, pulling back onto the road. There was only one exit left before tying the knot, and I was running out of time to avoid it.

  I blew out a slow calming breath. I’d already taken the exit. Carmen’s office was literally like a minute away.

  One minute. Till my life changed and then I was three months away from being a divorcee. Wasn’t that a hell of a thought? I’d be one of those people who said things like my first marriage…

  Carmen’s office loomed ahead, and my mouth went dry. What if he didn’t even show? What if he changed his mind? What if—

  An old blue truck attached to a low-boy trailer holding an older motorcycle was parked off to the side. I remembered both.

  “Okay, I’m here,” I said, the words feeling like they were pushed through hot sand. “See you in a minute.”

  I had an overwhelming feeling of fight-or-flight. And if he didn’t flee…

  I took Ralph on a quick walk, halfway hoping Nick would come out and calm my nerves and halfway wishing I didn’t have to face him at all. You’ll have to kiss him soon. Surely not, huh? Damn, I wished I had some gum.

  “Hey.”

  I spun around at the same time Ralph bolted past me, wiggling his way to Nick. And my skin prickled with goose bumps at the sight of him. He stood there in dark jeans and a long-sleeved white button-down shirt, hands shoved partially into his pockets. He looked positively edible.

  If one was supposed to be thinking like that.

  “Hey,” I responded, watching him divert Ralph from jumping on him and then scratching his neck.

  “You look nice,” he said, his gaze dropping to take it all in. “Really nice.”

  “Thanks,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t have to touch me and see how clammy I was. Or how my hair I’d worn down in soft waves was now sticking to my neck. Or find out that my breath probably rivaled Ralph’s.

  “You do too,” I said.

  “So, you ready for this?”

  Not even a little bit.

  “Sure,” I said. “You?”

  God, if the next three months were going to be this painful, I needed medication.

  “Ready as I’m gonna be,” he said, patting a pocket. “Brought my ring.”

  “Oh!” I spun around and reached in my car before pulling a small box from my bag. “I got you another one,” I said, holding it out to him.

  His brows furrowed together as he closed the space between us, his gaze meeting mine. “You bought me a ring?”

  “So you wouldn’t have to wear your old one,” I said. “I could tell it bothered you.”

  He opened the box to the silver ring inside. “You have no idea,” he said under his breath. “Thank you.”

  “It’s nothing fancy,” I said. “You might want to try it on. I guessed at the size.”

  He slipped it on and I blew out a sigh of relief.

  “It’ll work,” he said, handing it back to me. “Give me yours.” I pulled mine off and handed it over. “Let’s go get this done. My first shift at the diner starts in two hours.”

  * * *

  “Do you take this man as your lawfully wedded husband, for better or for worse, and promise to make this journey together side by side?”

  Carmen wrote custom vows and gave them to her judge friend, making the promises much more palatable. I was so grateful. I didn’t know how I was going to lie gracefully about the as long as you both shall live part.

  That, and she had an Altoid. Carmen was shaping up to be an excellent maid of honor.

  It’s a game. We’re playing it out. Yet it seemed like the more I said that, the more ridiculous it became.

  “I do,” I said, slipping the ring on Nick’s finger.

  The judge repeated the question for Nick, who looked down at our joined hands.

  “I do,” he said softly as Carmen handed him mine. He put it on my finger and blinked away.

  “By the power…” The judge rambled on, eventually getting to the pronounce you husband and wife part. “You may kiss your bride.”

  Our eyes met, and I wondered if mine looked as disturbed as his did as he leaned down and brushed a light kiss on my cheek. Yeah, that was every woman’s fantasy.

  It was done.

  I was Lanie Barrett McKane.

  Score one for Aunt Ruby.

  * * *

  We were just done signing the certificate when my phone buzzed from my bag on a chair. I didn’t recognize the number and almost let it go, but answered it at the last minute.

  “Is this Lanie Barrett?” a pleasant female voice asked.

  Well, up until a few minutes ago it was.

  “Who is asking?”

  “This is Kristina with Cali Dynamics,” she said. “I’m calling in response to a resume you turned in last year.”

  Oh. My. God.

  “Cali Dynamics?” I echoed, searching for my voice. “As in the advertising firm? In San Francisco?”

  “That’s the one,” Kristina said, chuckling melodically in my ear.

  “You got my—” I stumbled. “I mean, that job can’t still be open.”

  “No, it’s not,” she said. “But we are opening a new division and need a large headcount, so we’re tapping into the interest from the last round.”

  “For—” My voice kept going hoarse, and Carmen and Nick were both looking at me funny. “For what kind of job?”

  “Ad design,” she said. “In a pool, actually. We’ll have a pool of designers working on various projects, and the top performers will have a chance to move up.”

  I couldn’t breathe.

  “We see you’re in Louisiana,” she continued. “But your e-mail last year mentioned that you had no problem with moving? That nothing tied you to that area?”

  “Right,” I said, closing my eyes, feeling the ties circling my ankles as I spoke.

  “Well, if you’re still interested, we�
��d love to set up a phone interview,” she said. “Skype or Facetime if you have it.”

  “Um,” I managed. My tongue felt paralyzed. “I’m in my car right now,” I lied, feeling the eyes and the sudden silence in the room. “Can I call you back with that?”

  “Problem?” Nick asked when I hung up.

  “No.” I shook my head. “Come on, let’s go.”

  * * *

  My mind was spinning as we unloaded the vehicles and backed a dilapidated old motorcycle off the low-boy trailer. Was I interested? Of course! Five million times yes. But was I still available to move? Not exactly. Not right now. And not too many places waited three months for a position they could easily fill.

  “So what’s with the half-dead bike?” Carmen asked. She’d come with us to help.

  “I’ve been working on it,” he said. “Hoping to get it running one day. I’m a geek like that.”

  “You don’t strike me as ever being a geek,” I said.

  “Most definitely,” Nick said. “I wasn’t into sports and big spotlight stuff like other guys. Give me an old motor that can’t be fixed and I’d disappear for days.”

  “That’s a nice one,” said a voice behind us that hit me as familiar and oh shit at the same time.

  Nick straightened from his bent over stance, probably reacting on instinct to the shift of testosterone in the air.

  I turned as Alan Bowman, one of the cockiest, most arrogant people I’d ever met, strolled up wearing cargo shorts and a muscle shirt. He was also once my high school boyfriend.

  “Alan,” I said, surprised. “Where’d you come from?”

  “Down the road,” he said, thumbing behind him. “Bought the old Spivey place last year to set up hives.”

  He walked right up and hugged me. Tight. Finished it off with a wet kiss on the cheek.

  “I heard you were coming back.”

  “Just—not really back,” I said, wiping at my cheek. “We have to live here in my aunt’s house for ninety days as part of her will.”

  “Heard about that too,” he said, keeping one hand firmly planted on the small of my back as he reached out to shake Nick’s hand. “Alan Bowman.”

  “Nick McKane.”

  “You’ve heard about a lot,” I said.

  Alan did a sort of self-deprecating shrug as he smiled down at me. “What can I say? My ear’s to the ground.” He pointed back to the motorcycle. “Nice bike. What year?”

  I saw Nick’s eyes fall to Alan’s hand placement just above my ass, and I instinctively moved, picking up a random bag of clothes nearby. And instantly finding that weird in about forty different ways.

  “Nineteen sixty-nine,” Nick said.

  “Sweet.”

  “Alan and I went to high school together,” I said.

  “Hell, we were a foursome once,” Alan said, grinning at Nick. “Nothing quite like that. Me and Lanie, and Dean and Frosty here. We tore this town up at one time.”

  Oh, good grief, embellish much?

  “Well, I don’t recall much tearing,” I said on a laugh. “But we did hang out a lot.”

  “So I guess you heard about Lucky Hart Carnival, huh?” Alan asked, looking at Carmen. “Did Dean tell you?”

  I glanced at Carmen in time to see the color drain from her face and come back again.

  “Dean and I don’t really chat,” she said, smiling politely. “So no, probably not.”

  I could see the anxiety in her eyes, though. Damn Alan for needing to push buttons.

  Once upon a time, it was me and Alan, and Carmen and Dean Crestwell. Until the annual carnival came to town, sporting a new hot-shot carny. Sullivan Hart, the very hot and rebellious fireball son of the carnival line’s owner, set his eyes on Carmen Frost, and nothing was ever the same. Carmen and Dean’s on-again-off-again dance got more volatile every year at carnival time, becoming a famously rocky marriage and equally rocky divorce. Ending with poor what-could-he-ever-do-wrong pretty boy, Dean, being voted in as mayor, and Carmen avoiding Charmed social activity altogether.

  She and I had kind of lost touch over the last several years, and I’d gotten most of this from my aunt, but the look I just saw on her face told me that Sully Hart still had an effect on her.

  “The old man died,” Alan said. “It was in the news I think too. Sully’s in charge now.”

  Carmen nodded and licked her lips, looking away. “Hate to hear that,” she said.

  “So who knows what that means for the carnival coming here this summer after the Honey Festival,” Alan said. “He was never as aggressive as his old man. If he decides to skip Charmed, it could seriously affect honey sales.”

  “Why would he skip Charmed?” I asked. “It’s probably one of their more lucrative stops.”

  Alan chuckled. “Because his woman never shows up anymore.”

  “Screw you, Alan,” Carmen said, pulling her keys from her pocket and walking to her car.

  “Carmen, don’t leave,” I said.

  “I’ll catch up with you later, Lanie,” she said, cutting an apologetic glance in my direction.

  I let her go. In that look, my old friend peeked out. The one before controlling Dean and sexy Sully and a gossiping town took over. I remembered the push-pull she went through in the beginning. I’d never had a life-affirming, mind-blowing love like that, and watching her struggle back then was one of the reasons I hadn’t. It always looked painful.

  I turned to fix Alan with a what-the-fuck look as she drove away, but he wasn’t even on the same field anymore. He was studying Nick’s bike. As Nick sat on the tailgate of his truck, arms crossed over his chest, watching the whole show.

  Eyes on me.

  My stomach did a flutter.

  Really?

  Yes it did. Damn, the man definitely had sex appeal, I’d give him that.

  “So, you do bee hives?” Nick finally said, turning his gaze to Alan.

  “Do them?” Alan said, running a finger along the motor. “Yes. I guess you could say that. I’m not harvesting yet. I’m just working with Bash on increasing the local bee population.

  “You work for Bash?” I asked.

  “With,” he reiterated. “Not for. I’m a freelancer.”

  “You’re a bee pimp,” I said.

  Alan cut me a look. He was still okay-looking, or enough to get away with the tight muscle-shirt he had on. But too much sun over the years had weathered his face and bleached out his thin spiky hair to the point that his sun-reddened scalp glowed through.

  “Whatever,” he said.” “So, my wife and I are having a get together in a few weeks.” He tilted his head like it was no big deal. “We always have a few friends over for a little pool party right before the festival. Kind of kicks it off. Y’all should come, you’d enjoy it.”

  I couldn’t imagine anything I would enjoy less, but I just smiled.

  “Didn’t know you got married,” I said, moving to sit next to Nick on his tailgate. Strength in numbers and all.

  “Well, you know I couldn’t corner the market forever,” he said, winking at me.

  The reasons for dating him back in the day completely escaped me. I must have been hard up or starved for attention. Or the fact that a football player—the epitome of normal when that’s what I craved—wanted me made me turn a blind eye to how obnoxious he could be.

  “On that note,” Nick said, standing. “I have to get to work.”

  He tipped my chin and leaned down to kiss the area next to my lips before I knew what was happening. A little gasp escaped my chest. It was more intimate than the wedding kiss on the cheek, more believable. The look he gave me with it said he was trying to sell it, and hell, he almost sold me.

  And little lightbulbs flashed in my brain. He had the Pretty Woman thing, too. Well, he probably didn’t call it that, but it was the same thing. He wouldn’t kiss me, even if he wanted to. Because kissing was too personal, too dangerous, too real.

  I to
tally got it.

  “You gonna be okay, here?” he asked in a low voice.

  “Yeah.”

  Whew.

  Was I?

  “Find something to laugh about every day. A day is wasted if you don’t fall over laughing.”

  Chapter Seven

  I was sitting out back watching Ralph sniff the fence—or sniff rocks crammed into holes under the fence—when my husband came home from work.

  I’d been thinking things like that all day. Trying to wrap my head around the concept that I just got married. That morning. After puking my way there. Now that it was done, and I got over the lack of what I always pictured my wedding day to be—love and sex and googly eyes at each other instead of moving and talking shit with an ex-boyfriend—I was okay with it. I did sort of get kissed twice at least, even if it wasn’t much more than brotherly, and kind of offered an interview if I ever called them back, so hey it wasn’t just an ordinary day.

  Nick walked through the back door looking exhausted but pleased. Well, why not? He’d just been handed his dream job, without having to quit anything. Plus, he had two-hundred grand coming. I’d be pleased too.

  Not that I was feeling snippy at all. Or anxious.

  “How was your day, dear?” I asked. “Need a beer? Foot rub?”

  “A beer would be great, but you don’t want anywhere near my feet,” he said, collapsing in the chair across the patio table from me. The aroma of onions wafted over. “Do we actually have beer?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “Tease.”

  I chuckled. “Well? How was your first day as Chef Nick?”

  “Like being a bug under a magnifying glass,” he said. “With a beam of sunlight aimed at my head.”

  “I thought they liked you.”

  “They do, but Chef Benny hovers like a hawk. We don’t chop them that fine. We don’t season that much. We don’t use oil in the pasta. We don’t mix honey into the butter.”