Authors: Erin Nicholas
Isabelle stared at him. Her heart was pounding, but she wasn’t sure why. She wasn’t even sure what he was talking about. Except, she kind of was. “We haven’t spent a lot of time talking, huh?”
He shook his head. “We’ve talked. Just not about…real stuff, I guess.”
She sighed. “You know my favorite drink.”
“And your favorite vibrator.”
“And my favorite flavor of lube.”
They stood looking at each other across the several feet that separated them.
“I swear, I feel like I know more than that,” Shane finally said. “I don’t, obviously. But I feel like I do. Is that stupid?”
Her heart gave a little squeeze. She knew what he meant. It was insane that she didn’t know if he’d been an A or a C student in high school, or if he followed major league baseball, or if he was allergic to any foods. Because she did feel like she
knew
him.
She approached where he stood, still near the door. “The great thing is, we can fix all of that.”
He reached for her as soon as she was close enough and pulled her in against his chest. “I’m sorry, Iz.”
She wrapped her arms around him tightly and mumbled against his chest, “For what?”
“For not letting you know I cared about what kind of pasta you like.”
She laughed and squeezed him. “I wasn’t asking you about macaroni either, big guy. And I was completely okay with finding out which vibrator was my favorite.” She felt the rumble of laughter against her cheek and felt her heart squeeze again. In a good way. “Want to stay up all night talking?”
He sighed. “Strangely enough, I do.”
She pulled back and looked up at him. “I have three sisters, you know.”
He gave her a suspicious look. “Yeah.”
“I’ve done more than my share of up-all-night talking. In fact, I’m kind of a pro.”
He smiled. “Then I’ll gladly follow your lead.”
“Okay, we need pajamas, popcorn and nail polish.”
His smile died. “Nail polish?”
She grinned. “If we’re not doing nails, we have to work on hair.”
He tipped his head, regarding her seriously. “Can you teach me to French braid?”
Surprised, she pulled back even further. “How do you know what a French braid is?”
“I had sisters too. And I knew how to get lost when the ponytail holders and hairspray came out.”
Oh, this was gonna be good.
“You get the popcorn and I’ll get the pajamas.”
“I don’t sleep in pajamas.”
She should have seen that coming. Heat coursed through her as she immediately imagined drizzling butter over Shane like he was a piece of popcorn. She licked her lips. “This is probably why you don’t know my favorite pasta.”
It was clear he felt the chemistry as well. His eyes were hot as he stared at her mouth. “I think this is
exactly
why I don’t know your favorite pasta.”
“You’re going to have to wear sweat pants.”
“Yeah. I can do that.” He let her go and stepped back, holding his hands up in surrender. “At least, I
think
I can do that.”
“Popcorn,” she said simply.
“Right. Popcorn.” He turned away and headed for the door. Then turned back. “Butter?”
For the popcorn, for the popcorn
. She cleared her throat. “Yes. Butter would be good.”
He cleared his throat too. “For the popcorn, right?”
She almost said something dirty. Very dirty. But she caught herself. She did want to know his favorite kind of pasta. And if he liked
Sherlock Holmes
. And if so, if he preferred the books, the Robert Downey Jr. movies or the TV show. And if he chose the TV show, which one.
But butter could be fun.
“Yes. For the popcorn. Of course.”
“Right. Great.” He turned away again. “For the popcorn.”
As he pulled the door open, she called out, “Rotini.”
He looked back with a smile. “That will save some time.”
“Right. Bring extra butter.”
Chapter Eleven
Twenty minutes later they had popcorn—from the extremely well-stocked pantry—and were in their pajamas. Or sweatpants, in Shane’s case. He also had a T-shirt on. He’d started to strip it off—that was how he slept after all—but Isabelle quickly made him put it back on.
They were lying on the bed, propped up on the softest pillows Isabelle had ever felt. The popcorn was almost gone and they’d avoided touching each other or even making any innuendos as they compared their favorite police television dramas. They were both quite proud of the accomplishment.
“There is no way a police department would let a novelist follow their detectives around full time,” Shane said.
She laughed. “But the mayor asked them to do it.”
“Oh, sure, well then—”
He broke off as a car horn sounded from outside. Though it didn’t sound like a simple car horn—for one thing, it was playing “La Cucaracha”.
They looked at each other, then quickly scrambled off the bed and to the window. There was a big, hot pink bus in front of the house. The side read
Dolly’s Party Bus
.
“What the hell?” Shane started for the door.
Isabelle opened the window and leaned out. “Oh, crap.”
“What?”
“It’s Emma.”
Shane turned back. “What?”
“Emma. She’s here.”
Shane looked at the party bus again. “Well of course she is.” Who else would show up in the middle of the night in a pink bus?
He glanced at the clock. It was just after midnight.
They started for the stairs together.
As they hit the top step, Emma burst through the door, a huge duffle bag over one shoulder. “We’re here!” She was followed immediately by another woman about her age that Shane had never met and a younger girl he judged to be about seventeen.
Isabelle stopped on the sixth step from the bottom, Shane one step above her. “Gee, no kidding. I think everyone in the county knows you’re here.”
“That’s the thing!” Emma exclaimed. “There is
no one
here. I mean, holy crap, this is isolated. Why would you build such a gorgeous place up where no one can see it?”
“I think the point is not having people see it,” Isabelle said. “It’s
private
and
quiet
.”
“Boooorrrring,” Emma said with an eye roll. “Right, Shane?”
He frowned at her. “I haven’t been bored.”
“Yet,” Emma said, dropping her duffle with a thump. “You just got here.”
“Who’s that?” Shane whispered to Isabelle about the woman and girl with Emma.
“Emma’s best friend Dena and her daughter Shannon.”
“That girl is her friend’s
daughter?
”
Isabelle gave him a little grin. “Dena had Shannon when she was sixteen.”
“Wow.”
Dena was beautiful and did not look old enough to have a teenage daughter. Shannon looked exactly like her mom. Shane sighed. As if the Dixon girls weren’t enough for mankind to deal with, they also had gorgeous friends with gorgeous daughters? It wasn’t fair.
Then things got
really
unfair. Women began coming through the front door, all talking and laughing and carrying suitcases.
Shane felt his mouth drop open.
There were more blondes, a few brunettes and even two redheads. They were all pretty, dressed in short skirts with high heels and they were
loud
.
There were nine total. In addition to Emma, Dena and Shannon.
“
What
the hell is going on?” Shane asked Isabelle. He didn’t even need to whisper. There was so much commotion in the foyer that he could barely hear Isabelle answer in her normal voice.
“I don’t know.”
He turned her to face him. “You don’t know?”
She frowned. “No. I have no idea why Emma’s here with a bus full of her friends.”
He looked over the top of her head at the gaggle of women. “Doesn’t Emma have any
un
attractive friends?” he asked.
Isabelle punched him lightly in the stomach.
He rubbed the spot. “So you had no idea that—”
The front door banged open again.
“For god’s sake,” Shane muttered. But he was pleasantly surprised to see that the new arrival was Amanda.
Olivia also stepped through the door behind Amanda. Both were looking around with shock.
“What is going on?” Amanda asked over the noise.
“What are you doing here?” Emma asked, pushing through the gathering of women and suitcases to get to her oldest sister.
“Ryan told me Isabelle needed me,” Amanda said. “What are
you
doing here?”
“I’d planned to come spend a few days with Isabelle while she was here,” Emma said. “We got on the bus this afternoon.”
“And you thought it would be quality sister-bonding time if you brought ten of your closest friends?” Amanda asked.
Isabelle started down the stairs and Shane followed right on her heels. He didn’t want to be left alone in this crowd anyway, and he needed to be closer to hear this exchange.
“It’s a gigantic mansion-cabin in the woods. I thought it would be a perfect yoga-spa-girlfriend-weekend spot,” Emma said.
“How did you know it’s a gigantic mansion-cabin in the woods?” Isabelle asked once she got close to her sisters.
“I Googled it,” Emma said. “The architect who built it is very proud of it. There are tons of exterior and interior shots online.”
“What do you mean a yoga-spa-girlfriend weekend?” Shane asked.
“I called up my friend who’s a masseuse.” She pointed to one of the blondes. “And my friend who does facials and mani-pedis.” She pointed to one of the redheads. “And asked if they wanted to do a spa getaway. Then we each called a few of our best clients and asked if they wanted to come to this fabulous cabin with the workout room and pool and hot tub for a few days and get away from it all. I’m going to do two yoga classes a day, they’ll have massages, a different facial every day…it’s going to be so fun.”
Shane knew he was staring. Isabelle must have been too—she wasn’t making a sound. He nudged her from behind. She coughed.
“Um, how long are you staying?” Isabelle asked.
“Oh, this place is huge,” Emma said, obviously noticing Isabelle’s hesitation. “If you need to rest, you won’t even know we’re here.”
Shane was absolutely positive that wasn’t true. The din in the foyer was only growing. He assumed there had been refreshments on the bus on the way up here. And it was a solid eight-hour drive without stops. That was a lot of refreshment time.
“You can’t just show up on someone’s doorstep, Em,” Amanda chided. “It isn’t like this is
Isabelle’s
cabin. And it would still be rude even if it was.”
“Yeah, what are you doing here again?” Emma asked, facing Amanda and crossing her arms.
“Ryan said that Shane said I needed to come up here to be with Isabelle,” Amanda told her.
“Is that right?” Emma turned to look at Isabelle. “If something’s going on, you could have called me.”
“It is true that a great mani-pedi can make everything all right,” Shane said dryly.
Emma frowned at him. “And why would Isabelle need
any
of her sisters if
you’re
here, Shane?”
“You realize that it’s possible that you don’t
always
know what you’re talking about, right?” Shane asked her.
“Then why did you come to me for advice?” Emma asked, taking a step closer to Shane. “I thought I was pretty straightforward with you.”
“Sure, I should absolutely take advice from the woman who shows up in a pink
party bus
with eleven people Isabelle doesn’t even know,” Shane said, feeling his blood pressure rising.
“She knows Dena and Shannon. And Brittany and Chloe,” Emma said.
Shane didn’t care who Brittany and Chloe were. “Seriously, Emma, if you understand
anything
about what’s going on with Isabelle you would see how asinine your little stunt here is. But you clearly don’t get it at all.”
“Are you kidding me?” she said, taking another step forward. “This plan is all about Isabelle. It’s why we’re here. It’s exactly what she needs. Exercise, massages, yoga, pampering.”
Shane stepped closer too. “With a few tequila shots and some pole dancing thrown in?”
Emma lifted her chin. “Pole dancing is an incredible exercise. It strengthens the core, works on flexibility and balance—”
Unbelievable. Emma Dixon was unbelievable. “You need to get your butt back on that bus and turn it around,” he said, pointing at the door.
“What?” Emma stared at him, her mouth open.
“Shane—” Isabelle started.
Amanda stepped up next to Emma and took her arm. “Emma, we need to give Shane and Isabelle a minute.”
“How did
you
get here anyway?” Emma asked Amanda. “Why didn’t you say anything about coming?”