As they finished their meal, they headed back to the buffet table to admire the cake. It featured a stage and a woman in a beautiful dress holding an award. Apparently, the woman was Chelsea, and the dress was a copy of what Keira had designed. Several photos were taken of the cake before it was cut, and it struck him that it was the first time he'd seen anyone take a picture of food since he'd arrived in Whisper Lake. Whereas when he was in his real life, and especially when he was with Nikki, there were more photographs taken of the food they ordered than actual bites.
Of course, Nikki had to stay thin for her job, but she also looked at food as a photo op more than a pleasure or even a necessary sustenance. In fact, most of what they did was designed to provide a good post for one of her social media channels. He couldn't fault her for working her business, but sometimes he felt like a prop.
In fact, hanging out with Keira and her friends reminded him of when he was young, when he hadn't been a celebrity or a superstar, when his friends had felt more real. Back then, his friends weren't with him because he was picking up the tab or because he had connections. They were just friends.
"Okay, it's just about show time," Lizzie announced. "Get your dessert, coffee, whatever you need. The red carpet starts in a few minutes, and we need to see Chelsea in Keira's dress."
They took their cake into the living room. Keira had a seat of honor on the couch in front of the television, and he ended up next to her. As Hannah and Jake squeezed in, he found himself very close to Keira, so close he could smell the scent of her perfume, and every nerve in his body tingled.
"There's Chelsea," Lizzie said, waving her hand toward the TV.
He directed his attention to the screen. A stunning dark-blonde woman showed off a strapless gown, which seemed like a stunning cloud of turquoise and silver, the front shorter than the back, revealing a pair of what looked like diamond-studded boots.
"She looks amazing," Hannah said. "You got her exactly right, Keira."
"You did," Lizzie put in, others murmuring their agreement.
"I wanted her to be her bohemian self but also kind of fancy," Keira said. "But she's so beautiful, she looks good in anything. I just hope she wins."
"Well, her award won't be coming up for at least thirty minutes," Lizzie said. "We'll have to wait on that."
"I'm going to get another margarita," Keira said, getting to her feet.
"I'll join you." He was eager to get off the couch. He couldn't care less about the red carpet. It reminded him of Nikki, and he didn't want to think about her.
They moved to the bar and filled their glasses, and then Keira led him through the dining room and out the door to the patio, where white lights twinkled through the trees surrounding several tables and a fountain. Everyone was inside the inn, so they had the patio to themselves. They took a seat. It was a warm night, perfect to be outside.
Keira took a long sip of her margarita. "I feel so weird being the center of attention, everyone making such a big deal about a dress I designed. It's Chelsea's night, not mine."
"It can be about both of you."
"I guess, but I'm not big on being in the spotlight." She gave him a thoughtful look. "I bet you love the spotlight."
"You'd win that bet. Thirty thousand screaming fans, bottom of the ninth, two outs, one more batter to strike out for the win. That's the moment I live for."
"That sounds incredibly stressful."
"That's the best part of it."
"How do you stay calm enough to throw your best pitch?"
"I breathe deep. I shut out everything else in my head. It's just me and the hitter. It's a battle between the two of us. I want to get him out. He wants to hit a home run. Only one of us will come close to what we want."
"How many of those moments have you had?"
"A lot."
"Does one in particular stand out?"
"Yes. Last year in the final game of the World Series. I was the starting pitcher, and I was pitching a no-hitter, so the coach let me keep going past where he'd normally bring in a reliever. It was going to be the last game of the season. I'd have plenty of time to rest, and I wanted to pitch the whole game. We went into the ninth inning with a one-zero lead. I struck the first two batters out. But the third batter got on base with an error by the second baseman. On the next pitch, he stole a base. I lost my concentration for a split second, and I threw a wild pitch. That moved the runner to third. I had a full count. One more pitch. I could walk him. And it wouldn't be the end of the world. I could get the next guy. But I wanted to end it right there."
"What happened?" she asked, completely caught up in his story.
He could remember the moment so clearly, the feeling of purpose followed by triumph. "I struck him out. We won the World Series. It was the greatest moment of my life. My teammates were jumping on me. Fireworks were going off, or maybe that was just in my head. It was everything I ever dreamed of."
"Wow. That must have been an incredible feeling. I had no idea your team won the World Series, or that you pitched the final game and got the win. You really are a superstar, aren't you?"
"I was. I don't know what I am anymore." A somber feeling ran through him.
She gave him a searching look. "Because of your injury?"
"Yes. I don't know if I'll be able to come back. Even if I can come back, I don't know if I'll be able to regain the form I had."
"That must be scary."
"I don't like to admit that."
"Is that part of being a pitcher? Never let them see you sweat?"
"It is, but I learned to keep my feelings to myself when I was a kid. My dad didn't like whiners."
"Being in pain from an injury is not whining. Being worried about the end of your career doesn't make you weak."
"It would in his book. My dad always told my brothers and me that unless there was a broken bone or blood gushing from a wound, we were expected to pull ourselves together and get over it."
Her lips turned down in a frown, her gaze narrowing. "Okay, I'm not liking the sound of your dad."
"He's not a bad guy." He didn't know why the automatic defense sprang to his lips.
"Then what was he?"
"Distant and unemotional. He didn't know what to do with us after my mom died. She was in charge of the kids. He went to work. That was the way it was divided up. He didn't know how to be a father or a parent without her."
"I'm sorry. I don't think it excuses him, though. You were a kid. You needed a father to support you, not to tell you to toughen up or get over yourself."
He appreciated her fierce words. "I did, but it was what it was. My grandmother stepped in after my mom passed, and she helped balance things out. But my brothers and I basically raised ourselves."
"Are you close in age?"
"Within seven years. Danny is the oldest. He's thirty-three now. He's a builder and works for a construction firm in San Francisco, where I grew up. I'm thirty-two, Micah is thirty. He runs a food truck. Paul is the youngest. He's twenty-seven and works in finance. He's a numbers guy."
"Did any of them play sports like you?"
"Paul did not. Danny was a football player. Micah played some soccer. No one else was that serious about their sport."
"Interesting that you picked different sports."
"My dad was into football. I think Danny wanted to get close to him by playing the same sport."
"Did it work?"
"Not really."
"Are your brothers married?"
"All single and all in San Francisco."
"Is that where you think you'll end up?"
"I have no idea. I go where baseball takes me."
Keira sipped her margarita. "Tell me about your mom. What was she like?"
He couldn't remember the last time anyone had asked him about his mother. "She was…amazing. She always had a lot to say. She was very opinionated, but also kind and nurturing. She was a chef before she married. Micah says she taught him how to cook. I guess I was
hitting baseballs during those lessons."
"What does your dad do?"
"He worked for a package delivery service for thirty years. He retired last year."
"He must be proud of you."
"I don't know. Maybe. He doesn't say much. But last year when I won the World Series, he texted me, and he said he was impressed. That was it."
"Well, that's something."
"It was the first time he ever really said anything particularly complimentary. He was usually more ready to point out our mistakes than celebrate our successes. He's basically just a terrible communicator."
"Has he been supportive since your injury?"
"He's texted me. But he's a negative person, and I don't need that energy right now. I'm sure he thinks I'm done."
"I hope your brothers are more positive."
"They are, but I actually haven't talked much to anyone. I went to Colorado for the surgery and stayed in Denver for six weeks. I haven't been around my family, my friends, or my teammates, which is fine. No one knows what to say, and I don't really want them to say anything, because I don't need reassurances from people who have no idea if I will recover or not. I need results. I need my arm to work again, the way it did before." He paused, blowing out a breath. "I don't know how we got on this subject."
"I'm not sure, either, but it's nice to hear about your life, Dante. I feel like this is the first time you've really opened up."
"It must be Justin's very strong margaritas."
She laughed. "They are strong, aren't they?"
"They got me talking. What about you?"
"What about me?"
"Your friends mentioned a couple of times at dinner how you have so many businesses going that they're worried you're not pursuing your real dream."
"Well, they don't understand the big picture."
"Which is what?"
"I don't live in an ideal world; I live in the real world. Money and responsibilities factor into my decisions."
"Desire factors in, too. If you don't have it, you can't force it."
She frowned, giving him an annoyed look. "What does that mean?"
"If you're not going after the design business, maybe it's not really what you want."
"It is what I want," she argued. "It's what I've always wanted. I've been sketching and sewing since I was eight. I love creating clothes. I love dressing someone so that they feel their best, their most confident, their most creative, but it's a difficult business, and it's not easy to succeed. I'm sure you'd say, well, being a Major League Baseball player isn't easy, either. But it's not the same."
"I know it's not the same. I'm not judging you, Keira."
"It feels like you are."
"Or maybe I just said what you were thinking, and you didn't like it. I struck a nerve."
"You don't know me, Dante. You don't know what I want. Don't try to fix me." She got to her feet. "I'm going inside."
He stood up. "Wait. I'm sorry. You're right. It's your business, not mine."
"You just don't know what I've been through, what I'm still going through."
"Can I apologize again?"
She drew in a breath and let it out. "It's all right. I guess you hit a sore spot. I have a lot of balls in the air, and no one understands the pressure I'm under. It's not so easy to just go for what I want. I have to consider other people, too."
"Okay."
"You think I'm making excuses, don't you?"
He hesitated. She was already pissed at him. Did he want to answer that question? He couldn't seem to stop himself. "Are you?" he challenged. "In my experience, we make time for the things we really want unless we're afraid to want them, afraid to go for them, or we don't want them as much as we think we do. That's when all the distractions and excuses come in."
"I know what I want. I just haven't figured out the logistics yet."
"Then you're good."
"I am good," she said hotly.
The air between them sizzled. "I know what I want, too," he said.
"To get back to baseball."
"Yes, but I also want something else." His heart was suddenly thudding against his chest.
Sparks lit up her eyes as she read his expression. "Bad idea, Dante."
"You're thinking the same thing. You're wanting the same thing. Aren't you?"
"Maybe you were right. Maybe I don't know what I want."
"Now you're chickening out."
"Because it's…reckless."
"I thought you liked being reckless, going fast, taking chances…"
"I was talking about skiing."
"Were you?" He took a step closer, his arms sliding around her back as his body took over his brain. Bad idea or not, he wanted to kiss her. He gave her one second to pull away, but she didn't, so he covered her mouth with his.
She tasted hot, sweet, and a little salty from the margaritas they'd been drinking. But her lips were incredibly soft and seductive, and he didn't want to stop kissing her. He wanted to lose himself in her. And when she opened her mouth to his, when she kissed him back, the hunger only deepened.
Then a door clattered open, and they jumped apart, turning at the same time to face Hannah's surprised gaze.
"Sorry to interrupt," she said.
"You didn't." Keira stepped away from him as she ran her hand through her hair. "We were just getting some air."
"Sure," Hannah said with a knowing smile. "Chelsea's award is coming up. I didn't want you to miss it."
"We'll be right in," Keira said.
As Hannah left, she gave him a helpless look. "I don't know what that was, but it can't happen again. I need to go inside."
She was gone before he could say a word. It was just as well, because even though he knew it shouldn't happen again, he couldn't promise it wouldn't.
Chapter Eight
Keira spent most of Monday and Tuesday in a state of distraction. When she wasn't reliving the unexpected and incredibly good kisses she'd shared with Dante, she was worrying about her mom, whose friendship with Mark Langley continued to grow. Her mom had been giggling on the phone like a teenager. She couldn't remember when her mother had last had so many long phone chats. It was like she was reliving her high school years.
By late Wednesday afternoon, Keira was ready to snap out of her lethargy. She'd been working at the store all afternoon, but she'd barely accomplished anything, and it was almost five. She was tired of her lack of focus and concentration. She needed to get over it.
She hadn't seen Dante since they'd left the patio. Thankfully, he hadn't stayed for the rest of the awards show, and she'd left as soon as she'd seen Chelsea make her acceptance speech. Dante hadn't tried to contact her since then, and she had stayed away from the inn, so it looked like they were back to being strangers. It was for the best. There was an unmistakable attraction between them—not just physical, but also emotional. She'd liked kissing him, but she'd also liked talking to him. It had felt so easy, so natural. But Dante was taken, and that was that.
She was a little surprised that Hannah hadn't been in touch to ask her what was going on. It wasn't like Hannah to butt out; she usually liked to butt in. Maybe that's why she was also distracted; she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
But no more. She was moving on. She was getting her act together, and that started at six when she would show Mark Langley two houses. That would get her mother off her back and also give her another chance to talk to Mark. She hadn't dug any deeper into the fire at his house or any other part of his past. After telling Dante the story, she'd realized how far out on a limb she was getting. Hopefully, after spending more time with Mark tonight, she could put some of her doubts to rest.
She looked around the small boutique, which was currently empty. The last shopper had left ten minutes ago after trying on six dresses and not buying anything. But it had been a busy day before that and the racks needed straightening and the two dressing rooms needed to be cleared out. She should have had Daphne do it before
she left, but Daphne had just gotten home from college and had a family birthday party to get to. She smiled to herself, knowing she was way too easygoing with the four women who helped out in her store, but aside from Daphne, Connie, her assistant manager, was a middle-aged woman who helped take care of her elderly mother, Pamela was a young mom with two kids under six, and Laurel was a high school senior, whose dreams of a career in fashion were being replaced by dreams of the hot guy with the motorcycle who showed up to take her home after work. She'd known them all for years, and it wasn't always easy to separate being their friend from being their boss.
She straightened as the door opened. She should have switched the sign to Closed. But to her surprise, it wasn't a customer; it was Hannah. She wore denim cut-off shorts and a short-sleeve blouse, and her red hair was swept up in a ponytail.
"You look like summer," she said. "No work today?"
"I switched shifts when I worked Sunday. Today, I went to the beach with my sister and her kids. It was fun and not that crowded."
"How is Kelly doing?"
"Great. She's really a good mother, but she has her hands full, that's for sure." Hannah looked around the shop. "No customers? That's unusual."
"It was busy earlier. I was actually just about to close."
"That's good," Hannah said, an oddly hesitant look in her eyes.
As the silence lengthened between them, she said, "What?"
"What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean. You have something to say. I'm actually surprised you waited this long to say it."
"I was hoping you might call and tell me what's going on."
"There's nothing going on."
Hannah tilted her head to the side. "I saw what I saw, Keira."
"Did you tell anyone else?"
"No. I'm your friend. I can keep your secrets. I know you don't want anyone to know you were kissing Dante DeAngelis. But I am curious, and I am tired of waiting for you to spill, so here I am."
If We Never Met Page 7
