Chapter Eight
On Saturday evening, Emma stared into his soulful eyes and whispered, “If I’m not careful, I could fall in love with you.”
The puppy licked her face and wagged his crooked tail. All day he had been with Mrs. Mooney and Bonbon next door. For the most part, he slept in his cozy basket, occasionally venturing out to wander the perimeter of the baby gate area Mrs. Mooney had set up in the back of her shop. Things seemed to be going well, and the biggest surprise of all was that Bonbon didn’t hate him. The older dog just ignored him, which was so much better than Emma had expected. It was really too bad she couldn’t keep the little guy.
She set him back in the basket and glanced at the clock. Almost six. Hunter would be arriving in thirty minutes. “Thanks again for letting him hang out with you guys tonight.”
Mrs. Mooney nodded. “He’s a good boy. Not very refined, of course, but that can’t be helped. It’s the poor breeding. The American Kennel Club doesn’t even recognize Labradoodles, don’t you know?”
“Mmm.”
“But we won’t hold it against him.” The older woman smiled fondly at the puppy.
“You’re so great to help out with him, Mrs. Mooney. I can’t thank you enough.”
“Well, I’m staying late to do inventory, so we’re happy to have him. Aren’t we, Bonbon? Yes, we are.” Bonbon was reclining on his pink princess bed in the corner. He yawned and looked away. “Have a good time on your date, dear.”
“Oh, it’s not a date,” Emma said a bit too loudly. “We’re just getting together to discuss the plans for the festival.”
“Of course, dear. Oh, and make sure you lock your shop up good when you leave. Tommy Jenkins reported a burglary in his garage the other night, did you know? Someone stole his watering can. Can you even believe it? Never can tell what hooligans are roaming the streets these days.”
By hooligans, Emma wasn’t quite sure what Mrs. Mooney meant. Pine Cove Island was just about the quietest, most laid-back town in the world. The only time it ever got rowdy was during the summer when tourist season was in full swing.
Back at Fairy Cakes, Emma poured herself a cup of tea and checked her appearance in the kitchen mirror for the third time. She looked casual in jeans and a simple black top, but her messy bun was like a ratty tumbleweed on top of her head. Lovely. She tried to smooth it out, then forced herself to stop. What did it matter? It was just a business meeting, anyway.
“Halloo,” a chirpy voice called. Gertie Fraser pushed through the back door with her usual enormous tote bag. She was the top hair stylist at Dazzle, and one of Juliette’s and Emma’s closest friends. In her late forties, Gertie had the kind of vivacious energy that always made her seem younger than her age. It was hard to believe she had two sons in college and a firefighting husband in his fifties. With her petite frame and spiky hair dyed varying shades of red, she looked like an autumn wood sprite.
“The girls are right behind me,” Gertie said. “We just wanted to pop in before—whoa. Have you been drinking?”
Emma frowned. “No.”
“Well, you might not be drunk, but your hair definitely is.” Gertie gave Emma a quick hug and pulled a stool in front of the mirror, pointing. “Sit.”
Emma sat. No one argued with Gertie Fraser when it came to hair. She was a natural at what she did, and she always seemed to know exactly what a person needed.
Gertie dug around in her bag and whipped out a brush, a large-toothed comb, a can of hair mousse, two different bottles of gel, and a small pot of some sort of pomade. Emma half expected her to do the Mary Poppins thing and pull out a large table lamp.
“I can’t believe you carry all of that in your purse,” Emma said, shaking her head.
Gertie gave her a pained expression. “Have we met?”
“I don’t even own that many hair products, let alone carry them wherever I go.”
“Which is why you’re lucky you have me. Now turn your head so I can fix this”—she waved her hand over Emma’s head—“thing you’ve got going on here. What do you call this, bird’s-nest chic?”
Emma rolled her eyes as Gertie worked some papaya-scented mousse through her hair. “I was busy all day. And it’s not like I’m going anywhere special tonight.”
“That’s not what Juliette said,” Gertie sang back.
“What did I say?” Juliette bustled through the back door followed by Molly Owens, a curvy woman with shoulder-length dark hair.
“You said Emma had a big date tonight.”
Emma sighed loudly. “For the last time, you guys, it’s not a date. We are just meeting to discuss the summer festival.”
“A Saturday night dinner sounds like a date to me.” Molly braced an ample hip against the kitchen counter. “And I should know, believe me. I’ve been in the dating trenches for a while now.” At thirty-two, Molly was desperately seeking Mr. Right and had recently gathered the courage to put up a profile on Match.com.
Emma grinned as Gertie worked the comb through her tangled hair. “How’d your coffee date go yesterday?”
“It was meh-kay,” Molly said. “He talked about his mom the whole time.”
“Sounds like a great guy,” Gertie said firmly. Her two sons had done the unthinkable and abandoned their poor mother to attend colleges on the East Coast. She often wrote letters threatening to disown them if they didn’t call their mama or come home for regular visits. These letters were usually mailed in boxes with other serious threats like homemade chocolate chip cookies and packages of socks.
“I don’t know,” Molly sighed. “Blind dates are so disappointing. He just wasn’t right for me.”
“Why not?” Emma asked.
Molly’s gaze slid sideways. “Well . . . Okay, I’m not trying to be mean, or anything? It’s just, he kind of looked like a troll, you know? But in a good way,” she rushed to add.
Gertie stopped combing Emma’s hair. “How is that good?”
Molly held up her thumb and forefinger. “You know those little troll dolls from the sixties? Smiley, with potbellies and spiky hair? That kind. Not the kind who hang out under bridges and stuff.”
Gertie’s eyes shot wide. “How nice for him.”
“It’s just a bummer.” Molly rummaged in her purse. “Pine Cove Island isn’t exactly overflowing with a plethora of eligible men.”
“Preach it, sister.” Juliette took another sip of tea.
“I know, right? And after I rule out any guy who has the number 69—please—or 007 in his online profile name? It’s slim pickings, for sure.”
“What’s wrong with 007?” Gertie asked. “James Bond is cool.”
“On paper, maybe. But Bond girls have garbage luck.” Molly pulled some lip balm out of her purse. “They think they’ve met this nice hot guy, and then”—she applied the lip balm rapidly and smacked her lips together—“they wake up dead. Sprayed gold and stuff.”
Gertie waved a hand. “That’s just in the movies. You shouldn’t be so discriminating with the online names. Most guys aren’t creative like we are. Walter doesn’t have a creative bone in his body, but he’s a good husband to me, and a good father to our sons.”
“Walter is a firefighter,” Juliette said matter-of-factly. “He saves lives and rescues kittens. He basically walks away from explosions in slow motion, so he’s cool by default. It wouldn’t matter what online name he used.”
“I’m just saying that Molly could be missing out,” Gertie said. “She shouldn’t judge guys based on their screen names.”
Molly rolled her eyes. “Fine. Maybe I’ll give PussyPleaser35 a chance.”
Juliette choked on her tea. “No way.”
“Yes way,” Molly said. “PussyPleaser35, you guys. I can’t make this stuff up.”
“Well, it’s a relief to know there are at least thirty-five of them out there,” Gertie said. “And I think I speak for all women on Pine Cove Island when I ask, is Hunter Kane one of them? Because he certainly looks like he could be.”
Emma threw Gertie a look over her shoulder. “You know you’re married, right? To that fireman we just talked about?”
“Married, not buried, honey.” Gertie caught the tip of her tongue between her teeth, smiling. “And Hunter Kane is some serious eye candy.”
“He really is,” Molly said wistfully.
“So much candy,” Juliette agreed.
Gertie misted finishing spray over Emma’s hair, scrunching it at the roots. “You’re done. Go look in the mirror.”
Emma checked her reflection above the kitchen sink. Her hair was smooth and glossy, with soft waves falling around her shoulders. “I love it, Gertie. How do you do it?”
Gertie waved the hairbrush in the air like a magic wand. “You Holloway girls aren’t the only ones with special abilities.”
“That’s for sure,” Juliette said. “You look hot, Em. Now you’re ready for your business meeting.”
“And can you please go wild, for a change?” Molly asked. “I mean, we all know he’s the enemy and stuff. We haven’t forgotten that, all right? But at least one of us should be having some fun.”
“And then you can come back and give us all the slutty details,” Gertie said.
“Yes.” Juliette nodded. “We want all the details, so make sure to take notes.”
Emma pointed to the door. “Out.” She tried to look stern, but failed.
Juliette gave her a hug and laughed. “You know you love us.”
“Come on, ladies. Let’s go.” Molly adjusted her miniskirt, frowning as she yanked at the waistband. She was always on a diet, even though she was adorably curvy and had been for years. “There’s dancing at the Siren tonight and I have to kill some calories. I stuck a French fry in my mouth and pulled the trigger at lunch today. Ended up eating the whole basket.”
Gertie tossed the arsenal of hair products back into her tote. “Well, I’m with you girls. Walter’s at the fire station tonight, so let’s go whoop it up.”
They said good-bye and left out the back door just as the dragonfly wind chimes in the front of the shop announced Hunter’s arrival. Emma took a deep breath.
Showtime.
* * *
Emma gripped her tote bag like a security blanket as they walked toward the wharf. She let her gaze wander over the scenic street, trying her best to appear casual and relaxed. But she wasn’t. How could she be? She stole a glance at Hunter, who seemed completely at ease in his white linen shirt and jeans. Who wore white linen, anyway? Nobody, that’s who. Unless they were posing for some yacht club magazine ad. It was stupid. He was stupid.
She turned her attention to the trellis of flowers near the pier. Lovely shade of purple, those. She was not in the least bit attracted to his swarthy, sun-kissed face and wind-blown hair, or the woodsy, pine-soap scent of him tonight. It wasn’t intriguing at all. Nope.
Near the pier, she stopped and pointed out some of the favorite landmarks. There was the bronze statue of Coco, the ancient, one-eyed harbor seal who had made a home in the waters surrounding the pier. She showed him the paved alcove where local musicians set up amateur bands, and the gazebo covered in lilacs near the water’s edge where weddings took place during the spring and summer. Soft strains of guitar music from the corner pub wafted through the air, and the streetlamps cast puddles of warm light along the edge of the water.
“It’s beautiful out here,” Hunter mused.
She turned to him. “You say that like it’s a surprise.”
“It is, a little. Usually you think of these old places as being kind of backwater, or run-down.” He glanced in her direction and added, “But not this place. It’s different. It has sort of a . . . timeless feel to it.”
“I’ve always thought so.” Emma watched the evening breeze ruffle his glossy hair, and wondered if he was for real. Was he just spinning it to make her like him, or did he really think of the place as being timeless? “The Holloways have lived here for over a hundred years. My grandmother told me they originally came over from Ireland, searching for a more peaceful existence, away from the famines and land wars. They wanted to find a place they could live in harmony, so they went as far west as they could go and eventually settled here. They were fishermen and farmers; important to the island’s growing community. The Holloway women became known as healers and bearers of good fortune. They helped people.”
Emma stopped at the edge of the grass and glanced at him. “There used to be more of us.” The familiar ache of losing her grandmother surged up and she shoved it down again. “But now it’s just me and Juliette. Things are a lot different now.”
“But you’re happy here?” he asked.
“Yes, of course,” she said in surprise. “It’s home. There’s something peaceful about this place that doesn’t change, not even when the rest of the world does. It’s what I love most about it. You might think all small towns are the same, but this place is special.”
His bright green gaze was fixed on her in admiration. “I can see that.”
A rush of warmth gathered in the pit of her stomach, and she glanced away before she grinned at him like a fool. It was really hard to stay focused when he looked at her like that.
They strolled along the grassy slope that led down to water’s edge. Seagulls called to one another on the wind as the sun began sinking on the horizon.
She pointed to a weathered picket fence that lined the grassy area near a small park. “Every summer before the festival we all get together to paint that fence bright white again. It spruces up the park area. And over there”—she pointed to the rope railing that looped down the pier—“we hang a few flower baskets. Mostly we concentrate on this pier and Front Street. The budget doesn’t really allow for any fixing up beyond that.”
“This year it will.” Hunter studied the street that ran adjacent to his new waterfront café. “I’ve donated a bit of money so we can really make things shine.”
“Shine?” Emma felt a twinge of apprehension. She never was one for change. It made her feel unsettled.
“Yeah, you know”—he spread his arms out—“all of this. It’s going to look like a movie set by the time we’re finished.”
She didn’t like the sound of it. Pine Cove Island wasn’t a movie set. Who was he to go changing things? “I’m not sure what you mean by that.”
“Well, I think we should repaint all the shop fronts. Some of the signs are so old, they look too dangerous to walk under. They need to be replaced for safety, if nothing else.”
Emma felt a prickle of unease. “Maybe the store owners like their old signs. They’re vintage.”
He frowned, nodding. “That, they are.”
She didn’t like the way he said it, as if he had judged her town and found it lacking.
“But upgrading signage will affect everyone’s businesses in a positive way,” he continued. “The public loves nostalgia, as long as it’s whitewashed and safe. People want things to look shiny and clean, you know what I mean?”
Emma bristled. Now her town was dirty? “You’re very opinionated for someone who just moved here and isn’t even familiar with the island culture. What makes you so sure people will agree with your ideas?”
“They already have.” He looked so energized, like he was embarking on an exciting new project. “That’s what Sam Norton was getting at during the chamber of commerce meeting. They gave me carte blanche to fix up Front Street and the wharf for the festival.”
Her stomach churned. “Why would they do something like that?” It was uncharacteristic of the town committee to just hand over that much decision-making to a newcomer.
“It may have something to do with the fact that I’ve increased this year’s cleanup budget by, let’s say . . . two hundred percent?”
Emma stumbled over a paving stone near a bench. She grabbed the back of the bench to steady herself. Two hundred percent? He had to be joking. “You donated that much money just to decorate the waterfront for the festival?”
“I think it’s a sound investment. I’ve always wanted to expand onto these smaller islands. This seemed like the perfect place to start. And as you say, there’s something special about it.” He gave her a slow, melted-caramel smile. It did warm, fluttery things to her insides, but her common sense wasn’t having any of it.
“But you’re talking about making a lot of changes,” she said. “This place has its own special charm. You’ll ruin all that if you commercialize everything.” Emma sat down on the bench, blinking rapidly. Disturbing visions of the waterfront wafted through her mind, complete with typical chain stores, flashing neon lights, and fast-food restaurants on every corner.
Hunter settled beside her. “I just want the festival to be a success, and I think cleaning up the waterfront and painting the shop fronts, maybe getting a crew out to do better landscaping, will make a difference. I don’t plan on drastically changing anything. You want more tourism for the festival, don’t you? And for the rest of the summer?”
She thought of her stack of unpaid bills at home in her office and tried to steady her whirlwind emotions. She needed the tourist season to be as big as it could be. If he wanted to throw his money into something that would benefit her, maybe that was a good thing. “What else do you propose?”
He relaxed back on the bench, hooking a foot over one knee. “I was thinking about live music.”
“We have live music. The junior college band always plays for the festival.”
“Okay, but I was thinking of hiring more seasoned professionals from Seattle. I’d like to have a rotating lineup of musicians. We could set up different venues throughout the wharf.” He pointed from one end of the street to the other, his gaze so intent that Emma could almost visualize what he was imagining. “We’ll have different bands playing at scheduled times to appeal to a wider audience. Acoustic guitar, jazz, that sort of thing.”
Emma considered it. He really seemed genuinely interested. Maybe the town committee was right. Let him make a few changes and do some renovations. What did it matter, as long as she reached her quota of sales? Besides, if things worked out the way they were supposed to, he would soon be gone, anyway. If he wanted to clean up the waterfront with his money for the time being, let him.
She stood up, hugging herself. The sun was still up, but the breeze floating in off the ocean had grown cooler. “We should probably wrap this up. I’ve got things to do at home.”
He rose from the bench and she had to crane her neck to look at him. At five feet four, the top of her head didn’t even reach his shoulders. Emma took a step back and tried to ignore the soft flush of warmth that spread through her limbs. No matter how cool she acted, her body was definitely on high alert.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“Sure.” She was starving. Her stomach had been in knots all day and she hadn’t eaten much. If only her cupcake charms worked on herself, she would have eaten something to make her feel calm and confident.
“What’s good around here?” He scanned the wharf and Emma tried not to stare. He had such a strong, masculine face and the thickest, longest eyelashes on a guy she had ever seen. So unfair. Against the backdrop of the ocean, he looked more like a rogue pirate than ever.
She pointed to O’Malley’s Pub on the corner. “They have good burgers. And seafood, if you’re into that.” It was close, and the service was quick. Better to get this over with before she started fantasizing about him any further. Really, it was pure stupidity. How was it possible for her to get all dreamy-eyed over someone whose very presence was such a threat to her livelihood?
They crossed the street in silence, and Hunter held the door for her as they entered O’Malley’s. When they were seated in a corner booth, Emma scanned the bar crowd.
James Sullivan waved from behind the bar as he mixed a drink. He had the easygoing attitude and self-assurance that seemed a prerequisite for all bartenders. Emma and Juliette had known him growing up, even though he was several years older and, therefore, too busy to pay them much attention. For a while when they were in high school, James seemed to be fascinated by Juliette, but so was every boy between the ages of nine and ninety-nine. Eventually he left for college, and had only recently moved back.
James gave her a questioning look, indicating the back of Hunter’s head. Emma shook her own head and mouthed business. She was not on a date. Let’s make that very clear.
Hunter relaxed back in the booth, his face darkly alluring in the low light. He smiled at the waitress as she filled their water glasses. The girl had to be just out of high school, but she blushed furiously and Emma knew exactly why. Hunter’s smile was like a loaded weapon. If you happened to be on the receiving end, you had no hope of surviving.
Emma ran her fingers self-consciously through her hair. She knew from experience that the evening humidity was making it frizz. So much for Gertie’s hair mousse. She searched for a topic. Anything to break the uneasy silence. “So where are you staying?”
“The bed and breakfast a couple of blocks away.”
“The Marina?”
“Yes, I checked in a few days ago.”
Poor man. Emma would bet the entire contents of her cash register—which wasn’t much, admittedly—that Bethany Andrews already had her crosshairs locked on Hunter. She had seen that woman in action, and most guys didn’t know what hit them. Bethany was like Jessica Rabbit coming at you full speed in a Mack truck. No stopping her.
“How do you like it?” she asked, careful to keep her expression neutral.
He shrugged. “I’m hoping to find a house.”
“Maybe you should hold off on that. A house is kind of permanent, don’t you think?”
He tilted his head, bright green eyes studying her.
“What?”
A slight frown. “I just have this feeling you don’t like me, and I’m trying to figure out why. I can understand your concern about my café, but is that the only reason?”
Emma fidgeted with the napkin in her lap. “No, of course I like you. I mean, I don’t like like you.” D’oh! “I barely know you.” She gave a nervous laugh. “Look, you’re fine. It just seems odd to me that someone like you would consider living here. It doesn’t fit.”
The young waitress showed up again, all smiles. She had refreshed her lipstick, and barely even glanced in Emma’s direction as she placed a small tray of bread and cheese on the table before taking their orders and floating away.
Hunter placed a napkin on his lap and picked up a slice of French bread. “You don’t think I fit in here?”
Emma tried not to laugh, but failed. “Oh, come on. It’s obvious you don’t fit in. I mean, look around you.” She gestured to the restaurant crowd, most of whom were swigging beers in old T-shirts and ball caps. A couple of guys were yelling at a Mariners game on TV, and AC/DC’s “Back in Black” played on the antique jukebox in the corner.
Hunter sat back, amusement creasing the corners of his eyes. “So my clothes are the problem?”
Your clothes, your sexy smile, your seize-the-world attitude. “I don’t know, you just seem more like someone who’d be happier in a big city. I mean, what allure does this place have for someone like you?”
“‘Someone like you.’ You keep saying that, as if you have me all figured out.”
Emma took a sip of her water, ignoring his piercing gaze. “Well, I know from what you’ve already said that you’re a big real estate investor. I know you’re from Seattle and that you plan to expand your business onto the islands. But aside from opening your café, it just seems weird to me that you’d suddenly want to live here.”
“Maybe I’m tired of the big city and just want a change of scenery.”
Emma didn’t miss the weariness in his gaze, and something else. Something sharper. “But why? What are you escaping from?”
Hunter’s gaze flicked to the bar, his mouth drawing into a hard line.
She wished she hadn’t said it. It was no business of hers. She barely knew him. But it was clear he wasn’t happy about something. If she had to assess him right now, she’d probably prescribe one of her “Lavender Bliss” cupcakes. Something to impart peace and contentment. He needed it. She could feel it.
A muscle clenched in his jaw, but his emerald eyes gave nothing away. He was the master of his emotions. “I’m just focused on this new expansion project. What better way to understand the island culture than to live here? Besides, whether you believe me or not, I find this place very—”
A roar erupted at the bar as the Mariners hit a home run on TV. Someone dropped a beer glass and it shattered on the floor.
“—charming,” Hunter finished.
Right. He was totally hiding something. But that suited her just fine. He could be all Mr. Secretive if he wanted to be. She thought of Juliette and their plan to gather night-blooming jasmine for the infamous “Go Away” cupcake. Yeah, she had her own secrets.
Emma shrugged. “Whatever you say.”
Throughout the rest of dinner, she filled him in on local business traditions, including the Spring Fling dance coming up in a couple of weeks. Every year, the people in town got together for a huge party to celebrate the beginning of summer.
By the time dessert came, she was feeling relaxed and a little fuzzy around the edges from her third glass of wine. The strawberry shortcake with homemade whipped cream was delicious, and befriending the devil was turning out to be a piece of cake.
He was so easy to talk to that she almost forgot she was putting on an act. All she had to do was play nice for a few more weeks, and the magic spell on the summer solstice would take care of everything. A glowing sense of optimism settled over her. Or it could have just been the wine. Either way, she’d take it.
She grinned and ate another bite of shortcake. “You know, whatever your plans are.” Were her words a little slurry? Nah. “I bet you’ll be long gone before autumn hits.”
He took a sip of his beer. “Is that right?”
“Uh-huh. I’m positive. Once the rain comes, there’s going to be nothing here you find charming.” She sucked whipped cream off the tip of her finger and sat back with a brilliant smile.
He studied her from beneath dark lashes. “Nothing?”
“Nope.” Emma shook her head. “It’s going to be cold and rainy and gray. And you’re going to want something hot and sunny and”—a lock of hair fell over her eyes and she swiped at it—“golden.”
Hunter’s mouth kicked up at the corner. “I won’t argue with that.” His voice was low-pitched and a little whiskey-rough around the edges. It made her skin flush and her knees feel all rubbery.
He started to reach out, then stopped. “You have a little bit”—he pointed to the corner of her mouth—“just there.”
Her comfortable wine haze evaporated as heat burned across her face. She wiped the back of her hand across her bottom lip. Her hair had to be a frizzing mop, by now. What time was it, anyway? Time to go. And the puppy! She still needed to pick him up.
“Well,” she said as brightly as she could. “This was nice, but I really have to get going.” She stood up fast and fumbled in her purse for some cash.
“No, allow me.” He signaled the waitress and handed her a card. “Are you sure you don’t want another drink?”
“No, thanks.” Emma settled her bag on her shoulder. “I have to go. He’s waiting for me.” She thought of the puppy at Mrs. Mooney’s. Was he snuggled up in bed by now? He had to be. She never realized how much puppies slept. And he made the funniest noises sometimes when he was sleeping. Dreaming, maybe. Such a sweet thing. Too bad she couldn’t keep him.
“Who’s ‘he’?” Hunter asked.
“He doesn’t have a name yet,” she said absently. He was probably missing her, poor little guy. Maybe she’d bring his puppy crate into her bedroom tonight.
Hunter gave her a puzzled look. She was so preoccupied, it took her a moment to realize she wasn’t making any sense. “Oh, he’s my puppy. Well, he’s not really mine. I’m just watching him until I can find him a suitable home.”
Hunter signed the check and stood. “I’ll walk you back.”
“No need.” Emma waved a hand. It was far too “datey” for him to walk her back to the shop, anyway. What then? A kiss at the door? Ha! Her face flamed. It was definitely time to go.
“I’m heading in that direction, anyway,” Hunter said.
Oh, right. Bethany’s Bed & Breakfast. Poor Hunter. He had no idea what he was in for, with that woman. Or maybe he’d go for it. He wouldn’t be the first man dazzled by her hubcaps.
Just as they made it to the entrance, Ms. Mack Truck herself rolled through the door.
“Oh my God, hi!” Bethany gushed. She stood inside the threshold in skintight iridescent yoga pants and a matching halter top. Her hair was expertly curled and her perfect makeup looked airbrushed, which kind of ruined the whole “I just did yoga” look. On either side of Bethany, her two friends, Starla and Cherie, beamed like matching headlights.
Emma remembered them well, since they were all popular girls back in high school. For the year that Emma dated Rodney, her ex, they pretended to be nice. But it didn’t last long. They were the cattiest women Emma had ever known, and age hadn’t changed them much.
“Oh, Hunter, you didn’t tell me you knew Emma.” Bethany smiled like a piranha, her lululemon scales glistening in the halogen light above the entrance. “We all went to high school together.”
“We’ve been discussing plans for the summer festival,” Hunter said.
“Oh, that sounds like a whole lot of boring work for a Saturday night.” Bethany laughed. “You should stay and hang out with us.”
“Yes, stay.” Starla smoothed her sleek black hair. As a recently divorced real estate agent, she looked stylish in slacks and matching jewelry, but she still chewed her gum like it owed her money.
“It’ll be super fun.” Cherie giggled.
Yep. It was high school all over again.
“You can try the new drink James made us last time,” Starla added.
Bethany leaned closer to Hunter. “It’s kind of a girly drink, but I have a feeling you’d just love it.” She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and let it out slowly.
Emma had to give Bethany credit. The woman knew how to cast a lure. If Bimbo Basics had been a class back in high school, she’d have aced it without even studying.
Bethany fiddled with the decorative laces on her halter top, drawing attention to her very large, very fake boobs.
Forget acing the test, Emma thought in annoyance. Bethany could’ve taught the class. “I have to get going,” she said. “See you guys later.”
To her own—and no doubt, Bethany’s—complete shock, Hunter lightly placed his hand on Emma’s back. “Sorry, ladies, but we have to go. Maybe next time.”
Emma walked briskly down Front Street with Hunter beside her. He followed her out. She couldn’t believe it. He followed her out! Olympic-sized cleavage and expert hair flipping, and he turned it all down, just like that.
She glanced at him from beneath her lashes. It made sense, given that he looked the way he did. Being fawned over was probably no big deal. Just another day in the life.
Back at her shop, Emma closed up and brought the puppy outside to meet him. He ran circles around Hunter’s legs, tail wagging in pure joy.
“Juliette gave him to me last night,” Emma said. “I guess he’s going to live at my place for a little while, until I find a family for him.”
“Hey, buddy.” Hunter dropped down to pet the puppy. The expression on his face was so full of genuine admiration that Emma caught her breath. God, he was gorgeous. And he liked her dog! And you’re being a complete idiot right now, she reminded herself. It’s not even your dog, remember?
“You need a name, buddy. What’s your name?” He scratched the puppy behind the ears and scooped him up.
Emma tried to ignore the deep sense of pleasure that spiraled through her at the sight of them together. It was like her body was sending out alert signals. Attention: girl parts! Hot guy holding a puppy!
She shoved the feeling aside. “He doesn’t have a name yet. I haven’t come up with anything.”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something.” Hunter set the puppy back down. “I better get going.”
She crossed her arms, hugging herself. “Thanks for dinner. I’ll see you next week.”
“How’s three o’clock on Wednesday?”
Emma nodded. Molly would be working that shift, so she’d have time to show him the files. That was almost four days away. Plenty of time for his hotness factor to fade. No problems there.
He leaned down and ruffled the puppy’s fur. “Bye, buddy.”
Emma watched as he crossed the street and headed toward the B&B. She heaved a sigh. “What am I going to do about him, buddy?”
The puppy let out a joyful bark and thumped his tail.
She peered down at him. “Buddy?”
He wagged his tail so hard, it spun in circles.
“No way. That can’t be your name. It’s so basic. Like something a little kid would come up with.”
Buddy wasn’t interested in being sophisticated. He was, however, interested in chasing the tip of his tail.
Emma scooped him up and rubbed her face against his soft fur. “All right, Buddy,” she whispered. “You picked it. You live with it.”