Authors: Marina Adair
Cal pointed his chin to her makeshift workspace. “Can you put this on hold for a few hours?”
“Depends on what for.” She made a big show of studying the sample proposal. “This is pretty exciting stuff.”
The only thing exciting her right now was that Cal still hadn’t released her hand. Maybe that was because her brain had pretty much checked out an hour ago. But the idea of analyzing charts and spreadsheets was far less important than analyzing Cal and his whole “friend” speech.
He glanced over the documents and his lips twitched. “I can see that. But I think I can do you one better.”
“Better than tasks and timelines?”
“Sweetheart, tasks and timelines don’t even hold a candle to what I have planned.” He looked down at her scrubs, bright blue with tap-dancing ducks, and smiled. “You wouldn’t happen to have a change of clothes on you? Something that requires heels?”
Glory looked at their still linked hands and softly asked, “Since when do heels and holding hands equate to friends?”
“Since there’s a third person in the equation who happens to have access to a ballroom?”
She looked up and was at a complete loss for words. Or maybe this was what genuine excitement felt like. “Oh my God! You found us a place to host the pageant?”
“I found us
the
place for the pageant.” He smiled and it was so charming that she couldn’t help but smile back.
“Does a dress and boots work?”
Cal sat on the back deck of the Falcon’s Nest, the only cloth napkins and champagne brunch kind of place in the whole county, and realized that, for a guy who was so adamant about not dating, this was the closest he’d come to a real date in years.
Their knees kept accidentally sharing space under the intimate table for two as the sun gave way to an inky sky behind the town. And he was in a button-up. A goddamned button-up while Glory sat so close, the skirt of her sundress brushed back and forth across his leg with the breeze.
And her dress—
holy shit
, that dress—was silky, light blue with little white polka dots, and every time she breathed, it was like the dress was flirting with him.
Then there was the little belt that was about a half an inch thin and fastened right under her breasts, which made no sense at all because belts were made to go around the waist, but he wasn’t complaining. It accentuated her curves and inspired a hundred different situations where a belt like that would come in handy.
Like secured to the headboard of his bed. Or hers.
“Would you like to see a wine list? We have one of the largest cellars in the area,” the manager, Chuck, explained while offering Glory a wine list and a smile that was all male appreciation.
Glory waved off the wine list. “I was thinking of an alcohol-free menu. Maybe an offering of drinks that are fancy and sophisticated without the added temptation for teens to sneak a sip when the adults aren’t looking.”
Right. Because they weren’t on a date. They were here to check out the Sugar Country Club to see if it would be the perfect match for the pageant, not check out if they would be the perfect match in bed.
He looked at her belt and groaned. It wasn’t often that Cal allowed himself to play the what-if game, especially when it came to women, but he was seriously beginning to wonder
what
they would be doing right now
if
he’d just kept his mouth shut about the whole dating embargo. Not sitting here talking to fucking Chuck, who diligently catered to Glory’s every whim the second she said they were here to tour the grounds—as friends—that was for sure.
“Plus, I am not sure we can afford an open bar. We are working on a tight budget and we haven’t even discussed the rental cost for the back lot or the restaurant and ballroom. I mean, a bunch of tractors racing through the driving range will destroy it. Are the owners aware of that?”
“They are. The driving range I showed you is scheduled to be ripped out this spring to make way for the new clubhouse and indoor racquet ball courts, so that isn’t a problem.” Chuck made a big show of waving his hand as though he’d personally secured the range.
Glory smiled.
Cal rolled his eyes.
“As for the Falcon’s Nest and grand ballroom, I placed a price list in the booklet I gave you. Why don’t I give you a chance to look it over and see if it works with what you were thinking, while I go and see what the bartender can come up with for a fun but still sophisticated kid-appropriate drink list,” Chuck said—to Glory’s chest. “Can I get you anything from the menu to sample before I go?”
She studied the menu for a long and thoughtful moment, gently nibbling on that pinup girl mouth and—be still, his heart—ordered the chicken buffalo dip and sliders. Not the pan-seared abalone or the lobster bisque, like most women he knew. Nope, Glory sat at the only five-star restaurant this side of Atlanta and ordered a Shirley Temple and the most inexpensive items on the menu.
“Be right back.” Chuck gathered up the menus, leaning way over to place Glory’s napkin in her lap, cleverly peeking at Glory’s belt, and then disappeared.
“Out of everything on the menu, you ordered the chicken buffalo dip?” Cal asked.
“If they had wings, I’d have ordered those,” she said, primly draping a napkin across her lap, only to crack a smile. “Somehow ahi tuna tartar doesn’t scream teen-approved. I think that the sliders and buffalo dip will be a big hit, though. What do you think?”
“Judge Holden was right to put you in charge,” he said genuinely. “Moving the pageant to a neutral place is a great idea and I think once word spreads about the new look of Miss Peach, it will open the door to girls who normally wouldn’t enter.”
“That’s what I’m hoping,” she said, leaning in until she was so close he could smell her shampoo, until her hand was within holding distance. Until all he had to do was move his fingers just an inch and they’d tangle with hers. “Have you had a chance to look at the e-mail I sent you this morning?”
“Not yet,” he said and, well, shit, that was the wrong answer. Glory leaned back, hands in her lap, way out of holding distance, and looked out at the fading orange in the sky. “But since I haven’t had a chance to see your e-mail, and we finally have a moment to talk.”
Without Chuck staring at your breasts.
“Why don’t you give me the highlights?”
“It was just an outline about last night’s meeting, a list of volunteers and applicants, which there aren’t many…of either,” she said, her eyes imploring him to what—he didn’t have a clue. “That’s all.”
But that wasn’t all. Her expression said there was so much more.
Cal was fluent in she-speak. A master of subtext. He could decipher, down to the exact meaning, what each sigh, roll of the eyes, or huff translated into. Could even gauge within a point-one accuracy rate, where a specific gesture ranked on the doomed-for-meltdown scale.
Except with Glory. For whatever reason, with her, he couldn’t gauge a damn thing. It was as frustrating as it was intriguing.
“Anything important about the list?”
“Yes, which is why you should read it.” Questions were getting him nowhere, so he pulled a play from his single-dad handbook and let her fill the silence. And damn if it actually worked this time. “I guess what got to me was that the majority of the applicants were just who’d you expect.”
“Debutantes?”
She nodded. “Which is great. But I was hoping to get more girls this year, a different kind of contestant, but I think that so much emphasis has been placed on the crown and family lineage over the years that people forgot that Miss Peach is about honoring high-achieving girls and opening up doors to new opportunities outside of Sugar.
All
kids of girls.”
And suddenly it clicked. Cal had spent so much time focused on how pissed he was that
he
got sucked into co-commissioning, that he never stopped to think just how uncomfortable this must be for Glory. Ms. Kitty, the pageant, all of it would feel like one painful walk down memory lane.
“With the application deadline being over,” she eyed him expectantly, “I was thinking of asking the council to consider extending the deadline for another week or so, to give us time to announce the changes and give more girls, including ones who were too nervous before, time to sign up.”
“Then that’s what we’ll recommend,” he said, confident that was what she needed to hear. That he was on her side and she wouldn’t have to face down the Sugar Peaches and Ms. Kitty alone.
Her body visibly relaxed and,
bingo
, there it was. A smile—real and bright and just for him. If he’d known that was all it took, a reminder that he had her back, then he would have said it the second he showed up at the hospital. Because, hot damn, it was an incredible smile. Warm and genuine and so damn contagious, Smiling Glory was by far the sexiest thing he’d ever seen—and compared to the competition, that was saying a lot.
Cal slid the Sugar Country Club pamphlet across the table. “Now, are you going to open the price list or just keep pretending that it doesn’t exist?”
“I was hoping to enjoy the buffalo dip before the dream is shattered and I have to admit that we can’t afford this place, and we are stuck having the pageant at Duncan Plantation.”
With a sigh, she picked up the pamphlet and flicked it open and started on line one.
If it were him, he’d skip to the bottom, see the total cost, then backtrack and look at each itemized cost to see where he could trim. Not Glory. Nope, the woman took her sweet-ass time, looking ever so adorable as she carefully read each itemized cost and expense.
Cal sat back and took a sip of water.
He knew the moment she reached the grand total. Two wide green eyes met his over the top of the brochure. “They’re giving us the venue for free.”
“Are they?” he asked but already knew the answer. They were giving them the Falcon’s Nest, grand ballroom, and driving range free of charge. Something he’d negotiated before bringing Glory here.
“This has Brett written all over it,” Glory said, a little flustered, and damn if that didn’t hurt a little.
When you were a three-time Masters Champion like Brett, getting stuff for free was as easy as showing up. So he could see how she’d make that jump. But Cal didn’t trade on his brother’s name—ever. He’d made this happen on his own. Why, he wasn’t sure, but he’d done it all the same. Not that he was about to tell her that.
She set the pamphlet down. “We can’t have the pageant here.”
Whoa.
Not what he wanted to hear. He’d busted his ass and offered a ridiculous discount to get the owner to agree. “Why not?”
“Brett’s my friend, and in the end, this will cost him a whole lot more than the ten grand they’re donating,” she explained, shaking her head. “They probably made him promise to MC their annual Golf Ballers Gala or build the new clubhouse.”
Right barter, wrong brother.
“I wouldn’t feel comfortable using him like that.”
He didn’t see that coming. Strange how that kept happening around her.
Sure, Glory had a loyal quality about her that Cal had always admired. Soft and sure and so unwavering it was humbling. But the way she cared for her grandmother, for her friends, for the community? Yeah, that reached him on a level that surprised the shit out of him.
“Brett isn’t building the new clubhouse,” he finally admitted, a ridiculous amount of embarrassment filling his body. “I am. Well, McGraw Construction is.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Glory whispered as Cal walked her around to the passenger side of his truck. A gentle evening breeze cooled her skin and cleared her head. Too bad her body was still all hot and ready to go, and her heart—well, she didn’t want to go there.
Enjoying a romantic dinner for two at sunset with the sexiest friend on the planet could do that to a girl.
“Not that you’ve changed your mind, I hope,” Cal said, unlocking her door. “We’ve already signed on the dotted line and just think about how hard poor Chuck worked on that teen-approved menu for you. I don’t know if his delicate man feeling could handle that kind of rejection.”
“He’d recover.” Not that she cared. Guys like Chuck came into her bar nightly. Cocky, handsome, and looking for a fun, no-strings night, and for whatever reason they were always interested in Glory. But she wasn’t interested in no-strings or the Chucks of the world.
Nope, in true Glory fashion, she was interested in a guy who wanted to be her friend. “I’m more worried that I’ll never be able to repay you for making this happen.”
“Like I said earlier, I had already signed on to do the build,” Cal said, sounding so exasperated that Glory smiled. “I was running by some details with the owner this morning, I happened to mention the Harvest Fest, and he was gracious enough to offer his help. It was simple.”
Glory knew that there was more to it than that, but kept silent. What Cal had done was beyond sweet, beyond doing his part, and it went way beyond what a casual friend would do. And they both knew it.
“What are you smiling about?” he huffed.
“Nothing,” she said, smiling even bigger. “Absolutely nothing.”
Except that you’re getting all pissy about helping me.
“Just wanted to say thank you for a fun night. And for securing us the venue. Even though, like you said, it was no big deal.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, taking a step toward her, and with nowhere left to move, Glory found herself backed up against the side of his truck. He studied her mouth and then his eyes met hers and held. “You’re still smiling.”
“Okay.” She bit her lower lip to keep it from curving up.
“Not helping,” he said, the low gravel in his voice kicking her pulse into overdrive and her resolve to the curb. But then his eyes became intense and heated and, as usual, they gave away nothing of why he’d helped her or why he was so determined to keep it a secret.
Then again, Glory had a secret of her own. One that involved his daughter and an inappropriate dress. The new deadline gave Payton a second chance to come clean before submitting her application, but if Cal discovered Glory knew about it before him, she didn’t think he’d give her even a second to explain—let alone a second chance.