Barefoot in the Sand (6 page)

“Truth hurts, Mom.”

Lacey searched her daughter’s pale green eyes, exactly the color of David’s.

“That’s not why I don’t date,” Lacey said after a long, awkward pause. “I just haven’t met anyone interesting.”

“Which is why we’re going to the Toasted Pelican for dinner.”

“Zoe!” Lacey switched her attention to the other wayward child in the car. “I’m telling you, the food, the atmosphere—it’s not our kind of place.”

Zoe just lifted one eyebrow. “You might change your mind.”

Lacey was still too shaken by Ashley’s comment about David—which had happened a few other times recently—to argue over where they were eating. Silent, she took the next left and made her way to Meagan’s house, where three teenage girls were hanging out in the front, waiting for Ashley.

“Who are those other girls, Ashley?”

“Meagan’s friends.”

Lacey took a breath. “I mean, what are their names?”

“Oh my God, Mom. You’ve known Meagan since I
was, like, in preschool. Bye, you guys. Have fun!” She was out before another question could be asked.

Lacey eyed the group but Tessa gave her shoulder a tap. “She’s fine, Mom. Anyway, they remind me of us at Tolbert Hall.”

“That’s the problem,” Lacey said. “I know what we did in college.”

“She’s in ninth grade. Don’t worry.” The girls were headed toward the house, heads close, giggling. “Nothing like a foursome,” Tessa added wistfully.

Lacey glanced over her shoulder. “Hey, you want to drive to the mainland and surprise Jocelyn? I hate that she’s alone tonight.”

“She doesn’t,” Tessa said. “You know solitude is like air to Jocelyn. She needs it to survive.”

“Anyway, we’re going to the Toasted Pelican now,” Zoe said again, this time with little humor and plenty of determination.

“What is with you?” Lacey demanded. “That place is a dive, the food is greasy, and the wine is watered down.”

“And an extremely sexy architect who may or may not be officially licensed but definitely appears to have some kind of magic drafting tool just walked in the front door. So move your ass, Armstrong. You got work to do.”

Lacey’s jaw dropped. She’d told her friends about meeting Clay on the beach and the story he’d given about his experience in the field, but clearly they weren’t dismayed by his lack of qualifications.

Tessa gave Lacey’s shoulder a nudge from the backseat. “C’mon, Lace. You know you want to.”

“That’s not how I want to talk to him, in some bar. I’ll… call him. After I hear back from his father. And
check out his credentials. I don’t know anything about him and…”

Her voice faded, met by dead silence and “get real” stares.

“C’mon, you guys. Tonight’s for us. This is our reunion, a chance to catch up and talk, not worry about him and—”

“Lacey.” The warning came in unison and hit a bull’s-eye. They were right, damn it.

“You know, girls, sometimes nothing beats a watered-down wine.”

Zoe held up her fist for celebratory knuckles. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

Clay looked from one woman to the other, still having a hard time remembering who was Gloria and who was Grace.

The two had flanked him fairly quickly at the bar. They were not-unattractive MILF-y types, late thirties or early forties. Both looked vaguely familiar, but Mimosa Key was small enough that even in his few days here he’d gotten to know some local faces.

Gloria was the dark-haired one, with thick bangs and big brown eyes, a little younger and more reserved than the other. Grace had frosted hair, a spray-on tan—which struck him as odd in Florida—and, despite the thick gold band on her left ring finger, seemed far more physically aggressive.

Grace’s first question was where was he staying.

“Hibiscus Court near the harbor,” he replied, sipping a lukewarm draft and fighting the urge to check out the bar for anyone else he might recognize. Not that he expected Lacey Armstrong to show up in a place like this. He’d come to grill the locals and find out what he could about her, so he forced himself to focus on the women who’d zeroed in on him as soon as he’d arrived.

“You planning to stay awhile?” Grace asked. “That’s a furnished rental, but I know Chuck Mueller wouldn’t let you sign less than a three-month lease.”

“I’m still deciding, but I wanted to keep my options open.” He’d signed that three-month lease, but he was optimistic like that. “And there aren’t a lot of other places to stay around here unless I go to the mainland.”

Grace’s smile widened as she exchanged a look with Gloria. “You just aren’t talking to the right people, hon. I’m the owner of the Fourway Motel.”

“There was no vacancy.”

She lifted an eyebrow and gave him a deliberate once-over. “Then my husband must have been working the front desk, and he’s easily intimidated by big, handsome men.”

He laughed off the compliment. “The Fourway, huh? Interesting name.”

“If you’re in Mimosa Key long enough, you’ll know what a Fourway is.” She gave him a teasing wink. “My cousin, Gloria, and I will teach you.”

“You’re going to scare the life out of him, Grace,” the other woman said, giving a dismissive wave. “The Fourway is the intersection of Center Street and Harbor Drive, the historic site of the first traffic light on the island.” She added a shy smile. “There’s a long history on Mimosa Key, you know. Our mothers are the daughters of the first pastor when the island was founded back in the 1940s.”

“Which explains your names.”

“And theirs,” Gloria said. “My mother is Charity and Grace’s mom is Patience, and they own the Shell Gas Station and Super Mini Mart Convenience Store, also known as the Super Min, located at—”

“The Fourway,” he finished for her.

“You’re catching on,” Grace said as she leaned in close. “There might be a town council, a mayor, and few influential big mouths on this island, but the fact is, we practically run the place.” She trailed a long, white-tipped nail over his knuckles and held his gaze. “So you’d be smart to keep us on your good side if you’re looking for business.” Her finger continued to his bicep. “I assume you’re in construction.”

“Are you?” Gloria asked. “Because Beachside Beauty, where I work, lost a few windows and the guy who was supposed to install them never showed.”

“I don’t do windows. I do full buildings.” At their questioning look he added, “I’m an architect.”

“Whoa.” Grace backed up an inch. “Who’s hiring an architect?”

No one yet. “Some of the places in Barefoot Bay were demolished and need a full rebuild.”

“Like what places?” Grace asked. “It’s mostly wilderness, scrub, and mangroves up there and only a couple of old houses.”

Here was the perfect opening to get some information on Lacey Armstrong. “Maybe not for long,” he told her. “Could be a bed-and-breakfast going up.”

Grace’s jaw dropped and all the friendliness went out of her eyes “I don’t fucking think so.”

Clay blinked at the unexpected profanity. “Why’s that?”

“Zoning ordinances,” she said, shifting her gaze to her cousin to share silent communication. “Nobody can build a hotel, motel, inn, resort, B and B, nothing. Won’t happen. Better look for work elsewhere, Frank Lloyd Wright.”

Everything in her body language changed; her back stiffened, her nostrils flared, and she downed half a glass
of wine in a single gulp. Then she stared at him, all the friendliness gone.

“Who’s building it?” she asked.

As much as he wanted to know more about Lacey, instinct told him to keep her name out of it. “One of the residents up there.”

“Everham? Tomlinson? Who?” Grace asked, her brows knitting as she thought about it. “Surely Lacey Armstrong isn’t going to try to put me—try and build some kind of motel.”

“But why wouldn’t she?”

“I just told you.” Grace moved in to make her point, a whiff of bitter Chardonnay on her breath. “Ordinances. Changing them would require approval from the town council, which is controlled by the mayor.” She angled her head and gave him a smug smile. “Who is controlled by my mother.”

“Really?” Ah, the intricacies of small-town politics.

“Really.” Grace signaled the bartender. “Need my bill, Ronny.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Clay said.

But the woman’s look was cold. “Trying to bribe me?”

“Trying to buy a lady a drink.”

“We’re done here, Glo,” she said, standing up. “Let’s book.”

“I’m not ready to leave, Grace.” Gloria gave her some not-so-subtle wide eyes.

“Yes, you are.”

Gloria smiled apologetically at Clay. “Listen, if you do stick around and you ever need a haircut, stop by Beachside Beauty. We do men.” She laughed self-consciously at the double entendre. “You know what I mean. Anyway,
I’ll cut your hair, but”—she reached up to flutter a lock on his neck—“it’d be kind of a shame to cut this off.”

Just as she tugged some of the hair he hadn’t cut since the day he’d quit working for his dad, the front door opened.

Gloria leaned over and whispered in his ear. “Don’t get on Grace’s bad side.”

At the door, three women walked in, one with copper curls cascading to bare shoulders and a yellow dress cut low enough to steal a man’s breath.

Well, holy hell. Look what the wind blew in.

Then all the sounds and smells and sights of the neighborhood bar faded into gray silence as Lacey and Clay’s eyes connected for the space of four, five, six rapid heartbeats.

It took a nudge from the blonde he recognized as the Jeep driver, but Lacey slowly made her way toward him. God
damn
, she looked good. Shiny, curvy, bright, and beautiful.

When she reached him she bit her lower lip hard enough to wear away the gloss and leave a little white spot and took a breath deep enough to strain some soft flesh against the scooped neck of her sundress.

He let his gaze drop there for just a moment before standing and reaching out a hand. “Of all the gin joints in all Mimosa Key…”

Her glossy lips lifted in a smile that rivaled the blistering sun he’d spent the day under. “You walk into mine,” she finished.

Oh, man. He’d just met his match.

L
acey couldn’t let go of his hand. Not just because his fingers were strong and calloused, or because just the sight of him made her knees a little wobbly, but because…

Of all the gin joints
.

He’d quoted her number-one all-time favorite movie.
Her
movie. “You’ve seen
Casablanca
?”

“A dozen times.” He guided her to the stool next to him, empty now that Gloria Vail had scooted away.

“Really?” She glanced over her shoulder, but Zoe and Tessa had found a table on the other side of the bar, as planned. Lacey was only supposed to get the drinks and casually “bump into” Clay Walker.

Not sit on a bar stool next to him exchanging movie quotes.

“Why are you surprised? It’s a great movie.” His leg brushed hers as he sat down and settled too close, sending
an electric jolt through her. “At least it would be if they’d changed the ending.”

“Change the ending? Of
Casablanca
? Why ruin perfection?”

“Perfection?” Bone-meltingly blue eyes lingered one more time on the sweetheart neckline of her dress, which seemed summery and safe for a night out with the girls but suddenly felt really sexy.

“The wrong guy gets the girl,” he said softly. “So that’s not perfection.”

“The wrong guy?”

“Rick gave up too easily, if you ask me.” Almost imperceptibly, he moved closer. “I would never give up that easily.”

For a world-tilting second she forgot what they were talking about. Forgot why she’d come to the bar or what she wanted to say to him. Might have forgotten her own name.

“So, this is a really nice surprise,” he said. “You a regular here?”

“I just popped in with some friends.”
To tell you I love your sketches
.

“Can you forgive me?” he asked.