Barefoot at Sunset (Barefoot Bay Timeless Book 1) Page 7

  “Of course,” he agreed dryly, running a hand over his shiny dome. “You love your old, fat, bald husband.”

  “I do and—”

  Beth put her hand on the woman’s arm. “What did he say?”

  The woman glanced as if to check to be sure the center of her gossip was still out of hearing range. “He said his biggest regret was not having kids yet,” she said. “He said he’d love to have a family, and I told him he most certainly can.”

  The husband harrumphed. “With a much younger woman.”

  “Donald, that isn’t true anymore. Women have babies in their forties, right?”

  Beth didn’t answer, but her gaze drifted back to the man in question and softened to something akin to sadness. Then she looked down at the untouched plate of food in front of her.

  “Oh, here he comes,” the other woman said as Mark and Ken walked closer. But Beth didn’t look, Emma noticed. She was folding her napkin and pulling her phone out of her purse.

  “Your fiancé is pretty nice-looking, too, Emma,” the chatty woman said. “I think I heard the collective sound of single women’s hearts breaking all over the island when Lacey told us Mark is engaged.”

  Then mission accomplished, Emma thought as she laughed lightly. “I consider myself quite lucky,” she said, taking a sip of water and hoping that was suitably vague.

  Mark returned with the other man, the two of them laughing about something, but Emma noticed that the moment “Captain Cav” spotted Beth, his expression changed. Laughing with Mark morphed into…intensity.

  “Hey, Beth.”

  Like no one else was at the table.

  “Hello, Ken.” She suddenly looked at her phone, which had not buzzed, dinged, or vibrated. “Oh, I have a call. Excuse me.” She smiled at Ken. “This seat’s open.”

  His face fell with obvious disappointment, but he recovered instantly, letting Mark do a round of introductions, reminding Emma that the chatty woman’s name was Linda and her husband was Frank. They all kept up the small talk, but Ken was quieter than the others, except for a few jokes with Mark and answering Linda’s many questions about life at his fire station. The minute everyone was done eating, Ken excused himself and disappeared.

  “Dance of the Decade planning is next!” Linda announced, elbowing Mark’s side. “You two better win for the eighties!”

  “There’s a meeting about it?” Mark asked with a groan.

  “Can’t miss that,” Emma said, leaning back. “We promised Lacey.”

  He pushed up and pulled Emma’s chair back for her. As he did, he put a hand on her shoulder and leaned close to her ear. “You’re killing this, by the way,” he whispered, his breath warm and mouth wonderfully close.

  You’re killing me. “Thanks,” she whispered, standing up and out of his touch before he felt her shiver.

  Just then, Lacey came up to their table to invite them to the patio to talk about the dance program.

  “We’re on our way,” Emma assured her. “As soon as I swing by the ladies’ room.”

  Lacey sidled up to her and gestured her toward the house. “It’s through the family room, Emma,” she said. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

  “Thanks, I’m sure I can find it.”

  “I’m going that way.” Lacey stayed close as they walked across the patio and into the house, greeting guests as she passed, but as they reached the counter bar in the kitchen, Lacey stopped and put her hand on Emma’s arm. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

  “Oh, sure…” A sudden warmth rose up in Emma’s chest, somewhere between a full-on blush and a blast of liar’s fear. Was this going to be about Julia? A few questions about Emma’s engagement? She felt completely confident in the “game” when Mark was next to her, but didn’t want to blow it with a mistaken fact, even though Lacey was younger than Mark and not in his class. She still might have some kind of personal knowledge that could throw Emma’s game.

  “What is it?” Emma asked.

  Lacey’s golden eyes searched Emma’s face, all the sparkly warmth fading.

  “Can you explain why you were trying to check into the resort today for a reservation under another name that had been canceled?”

  Emma stared at her, that heat in her chest intensifying, knees weakening, and palms suddenly damp.

  “And when the clerk at the front desk told you the reservation was canceled, you started crying?”

  Emma blinked, speechless.

  “And that one of our security personnel reported you rolling your two suitcases to the villa, but when they went back to check, you were inside with Mark?”

  She felt like a stowaway discovered by the captain, dragged out of a storage closet, and thrown onto the deck for all to see.

  “You see,” Lacey continued, her voice very soft, private, but dead serious. “We have security cameras at the front desk, and I always review them at the end of the day so I know who our guests are.”

  “That is…smart.” And something she and Mark had never even thought of.

  Lacey lifted her brow, waiting. No accusation, but no sly grin of shared conspiracy, either. Could Emma trust her? Or would their little secret be blown, making things even worse for Mark?

  Considering she’d already lied openly to Lacey once, telling her the truth now would make them both look bad.

  “I was so confused,” Emma said quickly. “You know Mark and I have been traveling so much, all over the world as he does, and we flew in on separate flights because he was in…” She gathered a breath. “Somewhere I can’t even remember, but he told me the villa was Blue Casbah, and I saw that on the reservation list over the clerk’s shoulder, and I read the name… Chambers, was it? Anyway, I thought maybe Mark had registered under an alias, because he does that sometimes.”

  Oh Lord, only a copywriter could lie like that on demand.

  “That makes sense, sort of,” Lacey said. “But you were so upset.”

  “Oh, the wedding planning is killing me,” Emma said. “I’m so tense. It’s so close. We haven’t known each other that long, and you have no idea how much I’ve looked forward to this vacation. This resort! It’s fabulous.”

  “Thank you. We’re proud of it.”

  “You should be! Ever since Mark brought the brochure home, well, I’ve practically memorized it! ‘Sweeping views of soft sandy beaches and sunsets that will melt your heart and your stress.’”

  Lacey finally smiled. “You think we went overboard with that?”

  “Not one word. It’s genius.”

  “Oh my God, Lacey, you snagged her!” A woman came out from the hall, presumably leaving the bathroom, her eyes bright with just a touch too much wine. “You know that every woman here is dying to talk to the future Mrs. Solomon.”

  “Well, here I am,” Emma said quickly, insanely grateful for the diversion. “Emma DeWitt. What’s your name?”

  “Karen Stevenson, class of ’82. Congrats on getting the ungettable.”

  Emma felt her smile freeze and her unstoppable chatter suddenly dry up.

  “You know,” Karen said, lowering her voice and getting closer. “Mark spoke at Julia’s memorial service here on Mimosa Key and, honestly, the women were circling like hawks, but I knew he wouldn’t be one of those men who gets remarried in a year. Or ever. You know why?”

  “Karen,” Lacey said, putting her arm around the other woman’s shoulder. “I don’t think Emma needs to hear the details—”

  “Oh, she needs to hear,” Karen insisted with that slightly wrong emphasis fueled by an extra glass of wine, or three. “How else will she know what she’s up against?”

  “What am I up against?”

  “Karen,” Lacey said more firmly. “Go drink some coffee and get ready for our meeting. We’re discussing the dance contest over dessert, and I know you have opinions on…everything.”

  Karen shot her brows up, crinkling her forehead and spearing Lacey with a harsh look, but Lacey very subtly guided the other woman out of the kitch
en. “Now, please do me a huge favor and round up the wayward guests so we can have a quick discussion about the dance contest.”

  Karen glanced over her shoulder, taking the hint, but sending one last look at Emma. “He’ll never really be yours,” she whispered.

  “Karen!” Lacey scolded.

  “She ought to know the truth. I’d want someone to tell me if I were going to marry a man who—”

  Lacey gave her a solid nudge toward the sliders, just as her husband, Clay, was walking in. “Honey, help Karen pull together the schedules and possible playlists for the dance contest, will you?”

  They shared a look that only happily married people managed, somehow exchanging hours of dialogue and information with nothing but a quick gaze and flicked eyebrow.

  Clay guided Karen out with ease, leaving Emma standing with Lacey.

  “Well,” Emma said with a quick laugh. “That was awkward.”

  “Not at all,” Lacey assured her. “Karen’s so green with jealousy she blends into the grass.”

  “Does that mean you aren’t going to tell me what I’m…up against, as she put it?”

  “You’re not up against anything except the stress of a wedding,” Lacey said kindly. “If you want to spend a few minutes with our on-site wedding planners, just for a second opinion on things, I can arrange that for you.”

  The offer was so kind and sincere, it tweaked Emma’s conscience. “Maybe,” she said. “But I think I have things under control.”

  At Lacey’s dubious look, Emma added, “Kind of under control.”

  But she sure wanted to know what she was up against, fiancée or not.

  Chapter Seven

  They left the party with an address of a local dance studio and a schedule of rehearsals for the next week. Oh, Mark left with one more thing, too, he thought as he took Emma’s hand and led her to the beach instead of the path.

  The strongest desire to kiss his fiancée.

  “Where are we going?” Emma asked as they reached the sand and he stopped to kick off his shoes.

  “Back to the villa.”

  “The path is faster,” she said.

  He shot her a sideways look. “The beach is empty and the moon is full.”

  “Aren’t you a smooth talker?”

  “Hanging out with a copywriter,” he teased, scooping his shoes off the sand.

  But she didn’t make a move to slip off her sandals. “Makes me wonder…what I’m up against,” she said.

  “Not up against anything.” Yet. “Come on, kick off your shoes.”

  “And fall in love.”

  He inched back. “Or walk on the beach.”

  She gave him a playful tap. “It’s the resort slogan, big guy. No worries. I couldn’t fall in love again if someone paid me a billion bucks. Bought that load of hooey and had to clean up the mess with a shovel.”

  “It’s dangerous, you know.”

  “Love?”

  “Mixing those bitter pills with wine.”

  She smiled. “Nope, I switched to water when the meeting started. Wanted to have a clear head when we had to discuss whether to dance to How Will I Know or Caribbean Queen.” She added a playful elbow to his side. “Some horrific music you eighties kids had.”

  He gave her a look. “Beats the Macarena, nineties baby.”

  “But we had timeless classics like Livin’ La Vida Loca. And Believe by Cher.”

  “Case made,” he insisted, bending toward the sand to slide his hand over her calf, the thin material of her slacks giving him a chance to feel a feminine curve.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Taking off your sandals so you’ll walk on the beach and get sand between your toes. We have to come up with a list of songs for tomorrow that we can discuss with this choreographer guy.”

  She lifted her foot to help him slip one shoe off and toed the other one. “Did you get another sign from your late wife or something?” she asked.

  He stood slowly, shaking his head. “No, why would you ask?”

  “Because you’re all into the dance contest, like you really care about winning. Thought maybe they mentioned your song or something and you thought it was a woo-woo message.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her, fighting a smile. “I do believe you are mocking me again.”

  “I do believe I am. I don’t mean to be disrespectful, honest.” She took the sandals from him.

  “But you think it’s a—what would you call it?—a load of hooey.”

  She smiled at the echo of her own words. “What I think is that your signs are coincidences and wishful thinking brought on by warm memories of days gone by. It’s incredibly sweet that you think your late wife is whispering directions, but I honestly don’t think it works that way.”

  Not worth arguing with a jaded pragmatist. He knew when Julia sent him messages, and that was all that mattered. “To answer your question, there were no signs from beyond, but the whole committee is so excited about it, and it’s the highlight of the reunion.” He leaned his body into hers. “And I like my partner.

  So let’s count our blessings that I wasn’t in your decade, because then we’d be dancing to Britney Spears or Boyz II Men, whoever the hell they are.”

  “Whoever…” She choked and kicked the sand as they stepped on it. “God, now you sound old.”

  He took her hand, as much out of desire as habit now. No, mostly out of desire. Her fingers were strong but small, and so soft.

  “I may sound old, but I don’t feel it.” Not out here in the moonlight with a pretty woman and a warm buzz from a perfectly enjoyable evening. “And, by the way, compliments on your acting skills.”

  “So you said at dinner. And speaking of dinner,” she added, “what’s the deal with Beth and Ken? She was so interested in him and then ran off like a scared rabbit.”

  “I don’t know, but he can’t think straight where she’s involved.” A warm, comfortable feeling settled over Mark. It had been a long time since he did a post-mortem on party gossip with a woman.

  “Couldn’t help but notice. Did they go to high school together?”

  He laughed. “I think so. He doesn’t say much, but I can tell he’s amped when she’s around. That’s why I brought him over.”

  “He’s amped?” She jabbed him playfully with an elbow. “Hey, Mark, 1986 is calling. They want their expressions back.”

  “Nobody says that anymore?”

  She just laughed. “Not sure anyone did say it.”

  “Anyway, I was doing a good deed for a friend, like you’re doing a good deed for me. Which worked, by the way, since not one person cornered me, offered sympathy, tried to introduce me to a single woman, or slipped me a phone number.” He pulled her a little closer, fighting the temptation to kiss the top of her head in gratitude.

  “Well, lucky you, because I got cornered, and good.”

  “By who?”

  “Lacey Walker.”

  He slowed. “Why would Lacey corner you?”

  She didn’t answer right away but sighed softly. “She saw me check in. Knew I got turned away. And had some security guy check out your villa…and I was already inside.”

  “What?” He stopped walking. “Oh God, Emma. What did you say?”

  “I’m not sure exactly, but it was a big, fat cake of lies that I iced with butter cream bullshit and stuck in a candle of distracting suck up for good measure.”

  “Damn.” He lifted her hand and grabbed it between both of his. “Sorry for the embarrassment.”

  She gave a charming laugh, looking up at him so that the moonlight made her eyes look like sparkling topaz. “Are you always this kind and caring?”

  His brows furrowed at the compliment. “You’re doing me a huge favor and, honestly, I should have thought that through. Of course they have security cameras behind the front desk.”

  “I think we’re fine,” she assured him. “And we were interrupted by another member of the Mark Solomon Fan Club.”

  “
Stop,” he said. “There is no such thing.”

  “Don’t go all modest on me,” she teased. “I heard enough about the captain of the football team, valedictorian, most likely to succeed, and winner of a full scholarship to the University of Miami that I signed up to be the next president of that fan club.”

  He gave another grunt and looked at the night sky. “Let me put that all in perspective for you, Emma. The football team was three and eleven my senior year, the competition was not tough academically, I was a big mouth with a lot of friends who voted on those things, and the full scholarship was not free. It was ROTC, and I left college and went straight into Desert Storm.”

  “All that and he’s humble, ladies and gentleman.”

  The compliment, as subtle and slightly underhanded as most of those he got from her, warmed anyway. “Just honest,” he said.

  She leaned into him, silently telling him she liked that, too. “So you fought in…the first Gulf War?”

  “I went to Saudi Arabia after college graduation in 1991. Air Force. A captain when I left.” He looked out to the water, wondering if he should tell her the war might have been hell for a lot of soldiers, but being away from his young wife had been the worst part. “I didn’t see much action, so please don’t think of me as a hero. That was a quick war, and I worked in satellite communications. When I got out, I got a job with a small tech firm in Melbourne, Florida, over on the east coast. But the real fun was…” Working with Julia. Again, he hesitated to say it, though.

  “Being married?” she suggested for him.

  He couldn’t help stroking the slender, soft fingers he held. Talking to her was so easy. “Yeah, and building Seeking Soulmates. We were living in this crappy house, but it was on the beach, and every night I’d come home from work, and she’d read the letters that had come in from all these torn-up people with broken hearts, and we’d write the responses.” An old punch of grief hit him, not with much force, more like a soft tap on the shoulder from an old friend.

  “You would write them, too?” she asked, surprised.

  “No one knew, of course. But it was…fun.” Mostly because he and Julia would drink cheap beer and toast to what a solid, happy marriage they had compared to the rest of the world. “Anyway, my tech skills were building, and soon enough, I turned her business into something profitable on this little-known avenue of technology at the time called the Internet.”