Barefoot by the Sea (22 page)

“So? What’s wrong with that?” Lacey asked.

“What’s right with that?” she shot back.

Jocelyn came closer. “Better question, Tess: What’s right with
him
? Obviously, there are things you like a lot.”

“Of course. He listens to me, he makes me laugh, he’s sexy, he’s smart, he’s kind, he’s…” Freaking perfect.

Three sets of wide eyes stared at her, stone silent.

“Well, don’t you see? It’s too fast, it’s too much, it’s too right to be real.”

“You’re too stupid to be real,” Zoe said.

“She’s not stupid.” Of course Lacey jumped to her defense. “She’s cautious and I understand that. And, for God’s sake, we don’t expect you to really marry him.”

“Thank you.” Tessa puffed out the words with true gratitude. “And I’m not so stupid that I’m not interested, Zoe,” she fired at the other woman. “I’m interested. But when I bring up my desire to have a—” A sudden punch of pain hit her chest.

The phone call. The surrogate. The disappointment. “Shit,” she murmured. “I forgot about that call from the clinic.”

“See?” Zoe said, her voice softening. “He’s good for you like that.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I have to get used to this wedding idea. It feels like a farce.”

“It is a farce,” they all said in unison.

And that was what hurt, but she couldn’t possibly make them understand that.

“I know you’re all hung up on things happening just so,” Jocelyn said, moving from the sofa to get closer to Tessa. “And since you think you can’t get pregnant the standard way—”

“I can’t.”

“—you have to do it this scientific, surrogate way or not at all.”

True enough.

“And now,” Zoe said, coming around to get down next to Jocelyn so they could all three be in her face. “You meet this guy and he’s ‘perfect’ and that upsets your apple cart.”

She looked from one to another, a little jolt of love swelling in spite of how much they could frustrate her. “I like apples,” she said with a laugh. “And I like my cart to be organized.”

“Yes, you do.” Lacey squeezed Tessa’s knee. “But sometimes that cart has to be turned over, spilled out, and stripped bare.”

“Oooh.” Zoe moaned. “And he’s just the man for that job.”

“Listen,” Lacey said. “All kidding aside, we really do have to have a wedding on this property that weekend or we won’t be considered. If it really makes you uncomfortable, Tess, or you feel we’ve snowed you, I’ll call more potential couples—from a list of people who’ve made inquiries, or maybe in town—and see if I could offer someone a free wedding if they’d hold it that weekend.” She didn’t sound too promising, but Tessa appreciated the offer.

“Then what?”

“Well, if that works, you’re off the hook. If it doesn’t, you gotta take one for the team.”

Tessa’s heart slowed as she realized how much of this important weekend fell on her shoulders. And what it would feel like to walk across the beach at Barefoot Bay and stand in front of an official next to John Brown and—

And
lie
.

“You know, I already got married once, and you were all there. You”—she pointed to Jocelyn—“made a toast that brought me to tears. And you”—her finger moved to Lacey—“caught my bouquet. And you—”

“Made out with that really cute guy from Boston.” Zoe grinned. “
And
went the lowest under the limbo stick.”

They all laughed, except Tessa, who could barely swallow the lump in her throat.

“Tessa.” Lacey, of course, noticed. “What’s wrong?”

“I wanted the next time to be forever.” Hot, hated tears stung her lids. “Not an…act.”

For a long moment, no one said a word. Then Lacey leaned closer, squeezing Tessa’s arm. “You still have two weeks. By then maybe it won’t feel like pretend. Maybe it’ll feel like practice.”

“Stranger things have happened,” Jocelyn said.

“Right here in Barefoot Bay, as a matter of fact.” Lacey laughed. “I didn’t even know I was at my own wedding, remember?”

“I’m not going to be thinking about marriage in two weeks.” Tessa closed her eyes, her head and heart going back to John. “I still think he’s hiding something.”

“Oh my God.” Zoe shot up, disgusted.

“You might be looking for trouble where there isn’t any,” Lacey agreed.

“Maybe he really does know something you don’t,” Jocelyn said. “Like the fact that you two are meant to be together.”

Tessa didn’t answer any of them, pressing her hands to her temples as confusion ricocheted around and gave her a headache. “I’m going to find out what it is.”

“In other words, you’re going to doom this relationship.” Zoe folded her arms and gave Tessa her darkest look.

“No, I’m not. I’m going to dig a little deeper and not let him derail me with…kisses and promises and all that certainty.”

Before she got “married”—even if it was a charade—she intended to know the answers.

We done here?” Marcus already had the first two buttons of his chef’s jacket open, one eye on the clock. “Everything’s cleaned, dining room is ready for tomorrow, and the cooler’s organized.”

Ian glanced around the kitchen, satisfied that they were finished, even though it was only ten-thirty. “I suppose,” he said. “But don’t get used to being through with dinner service this early. Once we get this place up to speed…”

What was he thinking? He wasn’t going to be around that long, was he?

The sickening feeling that had been eating away at him all evening settled low in his belly. He shook it off and settled his attention on the young man in front of him, who’d done a great job that night. He still reminded Ian a little of Kate’s brother, but he couldn’t hold that against the kid.

“You got a date, Marcus?”

He gave a hesitant smile and nod.

“The boss’s daughter, by any chance?” Ian pressed.

Another nod. “That’s cool, isn’t it?”

“Depends.” Ian unbuttoned his own coat, eyeing Marcus as he shook out of it. “Ever hear the expression ‘You don’t get your meat where you get your bread’?”

He laughed softly. “No, and neither have you, based on the news that you’re going to marry Ms. Galloway.”

“Not exactly,” he corrected, pushing away the bad feeling that gnawed.

“Yeah, but everyone’s starting to say it could be real. Waitstaff placed bets already.”

He smiled. Which side would he bet, if he were a gambling man?

“They’re telling the customers, too.”

Oh, man. Tessa would hate that. “Probably best if we keep the whole thing quiet.” That way, when it was all over, he could slip away with his kids and this would be a memory. And Tessa would still have her pride.

“Sorry, but Marcia had to do something, otherwise you’d have had unwanted company back here.”

Ian frowned, not following. Marcia was the head server, but who was this company? A quick stab of a worry pinched. “Someone was asking for me?”

“Grace Hartgrave.”

It took a second, but then he placed the name. “From the Fourway Motel?”

“Dude, you could totally do her.”

“No, thanks.”

“Well, yeah, that’s what Marcia figured, so she told Grace and her buddy that you’d gotten engaged this afternoon.”

He had no idea how to respond to that.

“Not that Mrs. G. ever let a man’s wife stop her. Or her own husband.” Marcus grinned. “Man, you got it goin’ on in the sack, don’t you?”

A little irritation flared at the disrespectful comment. “Not your business, Marc.”

He held up his hand. “Just talkin’ man to man, Chef. It’s cool. When you’re getting a piece, it’s nice to talk about it.”

The irritation did more than flare now; it sparked, and Ian took a step forward, eyes narrowing. “First of all, it’s not nice to talk about it. Second of all, you better not be getting a piece of Ashley Armstrong.”

“Dude.” Marcus laughed. “She’s hot.”

Ian raised an eyebrow. “You think that’s enough?”

“I dig her.” He put a hand on Ian’s shoulder and squeezed. “It’s all good, man. We’ll take care of business, if you know what I mean. Everything’s cool and there’s no reason not to take what the chick is offering.”

Ian fisted his hand, and only the soft echo of Henry’s warning kept him from taking a swing. “You want a reason? I’ll give you three. You work for her mother, she’s barely seventeen, and if you lay a fucking hand on her, I’ll kill you.”

Marcus backed up a little. “What’s your deal, man? Why does it matter?”

Because it mattered to Tessa. The thought scared him almost as much as his fisted hand.

“It just does. So fly straight.” Ian gave him a solid push out the back door. “I’m watching you, kid.”

With a nervous and pissed-off look over his shoulder, Marcus left. Still fuming over the conversation, Ian finished one last pass at the kitchen and grabbed the to-go box of the last two orders of stone crabs he’d kept in the cooler. He dug through the bag for his regular phone since the one he kept in his pocket could only call Henry. When he had it, he tapped in Tessa’s number to text a message, as he promised he would when he was on his way over for the late dinner they had planned.

Leaving the restaurant.
His finger hovered over the screen, considering how to close the message.
Can’t wait,
he typed.

But how would these words on her phone make her feel when he was finished with this charade? Hollow and hurt.

He deleted those last two words, stepping outside, still debating how to sign off the text, if at all. Oh, hell, how to sign off a text was the last thing he should be worried about. As the evening had worn on and his outrageous plan took hold, he’d battled hope and guilt.

Hope that he’d somehow found an answer for Henry’s request that he have proof of marriage when he went to Canada to get his kids. But guilt pounded harder, because signing that piece of paper would mean something to Tessa Galloway. So how would he make that happen?

He still didn’t know, but he hadn’t talked to Henry yet. Maybe Henry would give him the go-ahead to be straight with her.

His finger still over the screen, he sucked in some of the cooler evening air, hoping for a clear head in the salty breeze but getting a douse of cloying perfume instead.

“I thought you’d never come out.”

Blinking into the darkness, he spied a woman standing next to his bike. Oh, hell. Apparently “He’s engaged” really didn’t mean anything to Grace Hartgrave.

“I had dinner with a girlfriend,” she said as he crossed the parking lot. “We asked the server to send our compliments to the chef.”

He reached the bike, averting his gaze from hers. “I got them, thanks.”

“We also asked that you visit the table.”

“It was the middle of a rush.” He shifted from foot to foot, keeping the bike between them. “Kinda late to be hanging out in the parking lot, Mrs.…” He pretended to search for a name he knew. “Sorry, I can’t remember your
husband’s
last name,” he added deliberately.

She gave a slow smile. “Don’t worry. I can’t remember his first name half the time.” She rounded the bike. “Want to walk the beach?”

“No.”

She peered up flirtatiously. “Want to take me for a ride?”

“No.”

She smiled, undeterred. “Want to skip the preliminaries and go back to your place for a nightcap and a—?”

He put his hand over her mouth. “No, Mrs. Hartgrave, I don’t want to do anything with you.”

Under his palm, her smile faltered. He dropped his hand and cocked his head toward the bike. “’Scuze me…”

She stepped closer, the perfume as offensively strong as she was. “I think you’re hot.”

“I think you’re married.”

That made her grin. “Nothin’ wrong with a little fun on the side.”

“Yes there is,” he said simply. “I need you to step out of the way so I can get on this bike.”

“I need you to think about what you’re missing.” She arched her back to press her breasts to his chest. “’Kay?”

He shifted to the side, smelling trouble as much as the cheap fragrance. Even if he was the least bit interested—which he wasn’t—he knew bad news when it batted over-made-up eyes at him. For years he’d trained himself to avoid anyone or anything like this.

“Bet your husband is worried about you,” he said, attempting for diplomacy.

“Bet my husband is on his ninth beer.” She splayed her fingers on his chest, hissing in a breath as she pressed against his pecs.

He closed his hand over her wrist and removed her hand.

She circled the other around his neck, pulling him down. “One kiss. I made a bet I could get one.” Up on her toes, she smashed her mouth against his the very second bright lights of a golf cart bathed them in yellow.

He jerked away, blinded by the lights and unable to see the driver. Instantly, the golf cart whirled around to head back up the path, and the moonlight shown on dark hair spread over narrow and familiar shoulders.

Damn it! “Tessa!” he called, practically tossing the woman in front of him to the side. “Wait!”

But she barreled the cart back up the path without even glancing back.

“Come on.” Grace put both arms around his waist. “Let’s—”

He gave her a gentle but solid push back, still watching the retreating golf cart. “Get the hell off me, lady.”

She stepped back, wiping the corner of her mouth, her eyes transforming from sultry to icy in an instant. But he barely noticed, his entire focus on that golf cart disappearing into the darkness of a winding path.

The second he had space, he threw one leg over the bike. He twisted the key and revved hard, not even looking at Grace as she dramatically threw herself backward.

He turned the wheel and shot out of the lot, his engine not quite loud enough to drown out Grace’s parting shot. “Fuck you, asshole!”