by Jean Oram
“And do you still have your impeccable, ingrained cowboy compass?”
“Yup.”
“Quick! Which way’s north?”
He raised a brow questioningly.
“Okay, fine,” she said, with a laugh that reached her eyes. “I wouldn’t know if you were right or not.” She leaned toward him, pressing her palm against his bare arm before pushing off again.
He cleared his throat and nodded toward the Atlantic. “With the ocean there you know north’s gotta be that way.” He tipped his head toward Charleston, which wasn’t a particularly long drive away. At least by rural Texas standards.
Polly gave him an impish smile that made him feel as though he’d been granted access to a secret club. To prevent himself from acting on the way her touch made him feel, he flagged down the bartender, Kelso. He nearly ordered Polly’s childhood favorite, an ice-cold root beer, before she interrupted to order a vodka martini.
Nick winced, and she immediately snapped out a defensive, “What?”
“Why don’t you just order a can of paint thinner?”
How had she changed this much? She’d once found his love of Sprite to be boring and lacking in adventure, and he’d found her love of root beer immature. Sweetly so, although he’d never admitted it to her face. And now she was drinking high octane cocktails.
Her eyebrows were somewhere around Mars and her cheeks had pinked.
She’d forgotten their game where they’d mock each other’s drinks.
“Are you judging my martini?” she asked.
“I haven’t changed in that regard,” he said, starting to think that meeting up hadn’t been such a smart idea. Then again, he could finally discard her from the what-if thoughts that followed him across the pastures back in Texas.
Her eyes narrowed. “Judgment from the cowboy drinking his stereotypical beer. Shall we put up a memorial for creativity and spontaneity?”
He scoffed and ordered a second, trying to hide his smile. She did recall the game, after all.
Kelso passed him a new bottle and Nick held up the local craft beer, turning the label toward Polly. “For the record, this is creative.”
She was still giving him that narrow-eyed look. “I bet you buy your clothes in the same store you buy your dog food and cattle tags.” She shook her head, rolling her eyes in a way that turned up both the heat inside him and his frustration over the push-pull attraction muddling his thoughts.
“So what if I do?” he retorted. “Your drink says you’re looking to get sloppy.”
She appeared so affronted he laughed.
“My drink says I’m sophisticated,” she said haughtily.
“Okay.”
“It does,” she insisted. Her lips disappeared as she sucked them between her teeth.
“I didn’t expect you to be drinking something so strong. I expected…” That she hadn’t grown up? That she wouldn’t develop a slightly jaded, defensive edge like everyone else? “…something with an umbrella.”
“Umbrella drinks are a bit too girlie for me.”
“Says the woman whose shirt matches her nail polish.” He took a closer look, noticing the polish was chipped. She hadn’t applied the shade recently, making her maybe not so high maintenance, after all.
The idea shouldn’t delight him nearly as much as it did.
Polly glanced down at her top, then held her left hand out in front of her, her head jerking in surprise. “Oh,” she said softly, her lips curving into a pleased smile.
“What do you drink at home?” he asked.
“Wine. Usually.”
“But a martini today because…flights suck?” He was probing, curious to find out more about who she was currently and how much of that old Polly was still in existence.
“Nope. It was good.”
“Your boyfriend said no to the trip, and now you have all this new lingerie with nobody to model it for?” He held his breath, hoping that she was indeed fully single. Not that it mattered to him—he was just looking to make her smile again.
“Ha,” she said flatly, her martini glass paused in front of her lips.
“It’s that bad, hanging out with me, then?”
A small giggle escaped against the rim. For a moment he saw that vibrant spark of youthfulness and life he’d expected to see sooner, and it nearly took his breath away. There was no hint of that sad, uncertain glimmer he’d seen earlier, meaning it was entirely possible to chase it away.
“You’re funny.” Polly bumped his shoulder with her own and he relaxed, knowing everything was good, everything was cool. At her core, she was still the friend he knew.
“I’ve missed picking on you,” he said.
“You’re nowhere close to picking on me.”
But he was close. She wasn’t as tough as she used to be. It was as though she was a book that had been dropped too many times, the edges softened and the cover not quite as sturdy as it had once been, not quite as able to protect the vulnerable pages inside. There was also the small fact that he was a little harsher, a little more jaded than he’d once been, too.
“What are you thinking?” Polly asked.
“I’m wondering how long you’re going to stick around once that drink is done.” He swiveled on his stool to face her more fully. There was a guy one stool over who kept casting surreptitious glances at Polly’s figure. Nick could tell he wanted to chat her up if given the chance.
Without thinking, Nick found himself subtly scooting his stool closer to Polly’s.
“You have a hot date waiting for you?” she asked, pulling her small handbag into her lap as she leaned forward to take another swallow of her drink.
“Five, actually. So if you could hurry it up…”
Polly sat expressionless for a split second before whispering, “Liar.” Her eyes were twinkling with humor. She was trying to act unaffected, but he could see she wanted to laugh, to let her guard down and play.
Why didn’t she?
They sat in silence for a few beats, the ocean washing the shores and filling the air with a soundtrack that made his entire being relax.
“So you’re single?” he asked, immediately wishing he hadn’t.
She was quiet for half a breath, then pushed back her shoulders, saying, “Let’s not talk about the past.”
“Not even about what a good kisser I am?”
“I’m not in the market for a man, and if you’re offering, I’ll bet your skills have likely atrophied.” She lowered her chin, looking at him from beneath her eyelashes with a hint of primness that made his body awaken and want to join the game—any game as long as it was with her. “And if you recall…you’re just not that memorable.”
Her insult was delivered in a playful, low tone that felt far too sensual. Or maybe it was how she’d said the words slowly, her pink lips carefully forming each one in a way that hit him with a powerful twist of longing. Polly was everything he wanted in a woman.
He leaned closer. “And why do you think my abilities may have faded?”
“Your social skills are lacking, as is your charm. So chances are you’re not kissing anyone, and those abilities are similar to second-language skills—use ’em or lose ’em.”
She was sitting up now, her body language as perky as her ponytail. He wanted to reach over and give it an affectionate tug to see if she’d turn his way again. She took another sip of her drink, as though trying to fortify herself. Or maybe shield herself from something. Maybe him.
“Do you want to help me revive those old skills?” he asked, propping his arms on the bar so he could lean closer to her. “See if they can be resuscitated?”
She allowed a flicker of a wry smile, but didn’t change the direction of her gaze.
“How about this?” He leaned even closer, placing a warm kiss on her cheek that lingered a telling second too long.
She inhaled slowly, but didn’t face him, didn’t say a thing.
“Was that passable? Does it need reviving? More practi
ce?” He lowered his voice. “Better aim?”
He was asking for trouble. He truly was, and despite that knowledge, he couldn’t pull back on the reins. He didn’t want to.
“Cowboys don’t do cheek kisses.”
“I did.”
She turned to him, her expression curious. “Why?”
He knew she wasn’t asking why he, a cowboy, had cheek kissed her. She wanted to know why he’d made that move, and why he was flirting and pushing against the line.
He lifted one shoulder and tipped his head thoughtfully. “Women find cowboys sexy.”
“I’m sure many of them do.” Her long fingers played with the stem of her glass.
“But you don’t?”
“I like them just fine. Horses, too.”
“But?”
By not replying, she was baiting him. He could feel it. And like a moth drawn to a porch light, he was unable to resist being pulled in.
She finally turned to him, and the glimmer in her eyes was neither challenge nor amusement. It was something else. Something born of determination, as though she was wrangling with something personal and private.
She slid off her stool. “Thank you for the drink. It was lovely to see you again. I’ll see you at the wedding on Saturday.”
“Whoa! Wait, wait. Was it something I said?” Nick’s brows were pinched together and he had one large hand resting on her bare forearm as though trying to prevent her from sprinting away.
He wasn’t that far off. If she kept bantering and flirting, as well as letting him touch her or kiss her cheek a little too long, she’d surely end up spending the week with him instead of with her fix-your-messed-up-life books.
“I’m sorry. Jet lag.”
“You’re in the same time zone.” He was watching her with concern. “I’m sorry if I crossed a line.”
Polly’s need to run waned. He was genuine, worried he’d pushed his flirting too far. But she also knew he had that ability to convince her to go his way even when it wasn’t always in her best interests.
She pushed her bangs off her forehead and, still standing, rested her elbows on the tall, slightly gritty bar, debating her next move. She stared at the bottles lined up and ready in the middle of the Tiki Hut’s inner sanctum, where two bartenders moved in tandem, serving customers. To her right a surfer laughed loudly.
“I’m… I’m…” She shifted to face Nick more fully, struggling for words that wouldn’t hurt his feelings, but also wouldn’t give him the wrong idea. One that would let her off the hook to go do her own thing for the week instead of getting sucked into his orbit.
Nick’s cell phone started ringing, but he didn’t even flinch, his focus solely on her. That was new. He’d been a good listener as a teen, but distractible, and his intensity now was unnerving.
His phone continued to play what sounded like a parody of a famous country-and-western song. Dolly Parton?
“Are you going to get that?” she asked.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You’re talking to me.” The phone fell silent and he smiled. “Now what were you saying?”
“Nothing vital.”
Nick waited for her to give in, but his cell began to ring again.
“It must be important,” she said.
“Family first,” he said quietly.
“I’m not family.”
“Right here, right now, you are.”
Polly hated the way her heart betrayed her by softening. A lot. It wanted to let him in despite how that would undoubtedly throw her off track.
When Nick didn’t pick up his phone, she made a grab for it even though it was in his shorts pocket and beyond her reach. “You need to answer that.”
He retrieved the device, keeping one eye on Polly. He darted a glance at the screen and frowned, a mix of emotions clouding his expression.
“Well?” She reached for it again, but Nick connected the call, slowly moving the phone to his right ear.
“Nick here,” he said, his voice deep and slightly cool. He let out a series of murmurs of understanding before he closed his eyes and sighed. “Me? Why?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Now?”
“What? What is it?” Polly asked as she edged back onto the stool she’d abandoned earlier. It didn’t seem like an emergency, more like an inconvenience. An interruption. An ex, maybe? “Who is it?”
“Hang on a second. I’m having a drink with Polly Morgan. She wants to know what’s going on.” He paused, listening, then lifted his chin to say to Polly, “Roy says hi.”
“Hi! Is he here already?”
Nick shook his head. “Later in the week.” He said into the phone, “She says hi.” He returned his attention to Polly again. “The wedding planner broke contract and ditched.”
“No!” she gasped. It was only five days until the wedding—and that included what was left of today, as well as the actual wedding day. In other words, three days to find a way to pull up on this matrimonial nosedive. Not easy. Not in the middle of the wedding season.
“There’s a wedding coordinator here at the resort,” Nick said. “Zoe Ward—”
“I think she checked me in.”
“—came recommended by my cousin Alexa McTavish. She worked with her on a Christmas wedding for her old boss, Luke Cohen.”
“And? Can she help?” Polly asked.
“Roy’s talked to her, with no luck. He’s hoping I’ll go schmooze her into it, since he can’t convince anyone in Charleston to take this on. It’s the wedding season, apparently.” His voice got a little louder as, obviously hoping his uncle would hear how unimpressed he was with the idea, he added, “He hasn’t had any luck over the phone, but thinks my good looks will be able to persuade the unsuspecting, hapless victim.” There was a firmness to the set of Nick’s jaw that hadn’t been there earlier. Wait. His jaw. It was smooth. He’d shaved for her. Aw, that was so sweet. And somehow just as sexy as the stubble had been.
Nick was watching her, as though expecting her to provide him with an excuse not to help.
“You have to,” Polly insisted. Otherwise how would there be a wedding?
Nick returned his attention to the phone. “Roy, I know nothing about weddings.” He was silent, his grip tight on his empty beer bottle as his uncle talked.
“You don’t have to know anything to ask,” Polly urged. “Be helpful.”
“I’m being used for my body,” he grumbled to her.
She held his gaze and his shoulders drooped. “Fine,” he said into the phone. “I’ll ask Zoe. But that’s all I’m doing.” He shook his head as he listened some more. The tension coming off the man was impressive. “Right now?” The disbelief and surprise in his tone made Polly chuckle.
Another shake of his head and another “fine,” before he ended the call. “Looks like I have to unleash the charm. Immediately.”
Polly tried to hide her amusement over how put out he looked. “Have fun with that.” She swung her knees back under the bar. She still had a sip or two left in her drink and didn’t plan on wasting it.
“You’re not coming with me?”
“Nope.”
“Will you be here when I come back?”
She wrinkled her nose in thought. “Probably not. I need to go wash my hair.”
She giggled at his surly scowl, but he grabbed her hand, pulling her off the stool as she downed the last gulp of her martini. “Your hair looks fine. I need female help.”
“It’s too hot out. And charming this poor, innocent woman with me standing over your shoulder is going to cramp your style. She’s going to say no.”
“I’ll buy you an ice cream. Chocolate with chunks of good stuff in it.”
“Really?” She perked up, falling into step beside him, a bit in love with how he’d quoted her ice cream preference from earlier. She never did get as far as indulging, and it was perfect weather for a cold treat. “Do I get it before or after you fail?”
“I’m not going to fa
il. But more to the point, ice cream isn’t supposed to work on grown women.”
“Well, some people don’t change,” she said, even though she had in so many ways. As had Nick, most likely. He still had that heart of gold under his playful side, but he was different, too. And she was curious to find out just how much he’d changed over the years.
She’d find out as she tagged along to watch him save the day—because who could say no to a cutie like him? Then she’d head back to her cottage, mystery solved and curiosity satiated, and go about fixing her life.
“No?” Nick forced himself to remain casual, to continue leaning against Zoe’s guest services desk in the resort lobby. If he kept smiling, if he didn’t accept “no,” then maybe she would change her mind. Then he’d be able to show Roy that he was indeed someone who appreciated him and would be there for him when he needed it most.
Realizing he was still wearing his tan cowboy hat, Nick snatched it off and lowered it to his side. “I’m sure that my uncle’s bride-to-be has almost everything set up. We just need someone to liaison between the vendors and the resort.” And basically order everything Sophia wanted.
Which would be Zoe.
He tried for a bigger smile and nudged a partially eaten cinnamon bun out of his way so he could perch his left hip on the edge of her desk. “Maybe you have an assistant who could help us?”
Zoe gave him a patient, sympathetic look. “My old assistant, Hope Ryan, is now creating art full-time. The woman I hired to replace her just got scooped up by a wedding planner in Charleston last week and I’ve yet to refill the position.”
Nick plopped his hat onto his left knee. He needed to compliment Zoe. Now. Especially since he could practically hear Polly behind him—between the licks of her scoop of double chocolate from The Trixie Cone—chuckling over how he was striking out.
“That’s a nice golf shirt. A lovely blue. Can guests buy them in the gift shop?”
“They’re just for staff.” While Zoe was still polite, she was tougher than a piece of bread left out in the Texas sun.
He was definitely striking out. It was probably due to that fresh-looking wedding band on her finger.
