Fall Into Me (4 page)

“So that’s how it is.” Why wasn’t he surprised? With a soft swat on her butt, he released her. “You only want me because I can cook.”

“Well, someone has to do it.” An impish expression wrinkled her nose. “And you don’t want it to be me.”

“This is true.” He wrapped an arm around her neck and pulled her with him toward the kitchen, completely secure that all was right with them and feeling better that things were straight with him and Angel. “So I cook, you dance…sounds like a good trade to me.”

She had lost her mind.

Angel flicked her new layers into place around her face. The haircut had been a great idea. Agreeing to go out with Troy Lee? Maybe not so great. In the two days since Wednesday night, she’d picked up her cell more than once with the intention of canceling, but each time she’d put the phone away without doing so. Last night she’d even found herself unable to sleep, like when she’d been a little girl and it had been the night before a trip to Six Flags in Atlanta.

She was making way more of this than it was. He’d said just for fun, just for a good time. He was the epitome of “not serious”, so why was she so keyed up?

“Oh, you know why.” She addressed her reflection, finger-combing the long layers once more. “You just don’t want to admit it.”

She was wound up over what it had felt like to be pressed close to that tall, muscular body. Muscular being the key word, since he definitely had muscles in all the right places, from a hard chest to firm biceps and nicely toned forearms. She sighed and lifted her arm, flexing her own biceps. Yep, a good thing they weren’t getting naked together. She wasn’t flabby, thanks to the lifting she did to stock the bar and working in her yard, but she wasn’t Ms. Universe by any stretch of the imagination.

But she would like to know if his abs were as tight and hard as the rest of him.

A solid rap at the front door set off a ripple of blended apprehension and anticipation. With one last fluff of the still unfamiliar hair, she scooted out of the tiny bathroom and hurried to the front door. Smoothing her skirt, she pulled up a bright smile and swung it open. “Hey.”

“Morning.” His dimples deepened as he talked, and oh Lord, her knees actually tried to go weak as she looked at him. He was casually dressed, all good-looking and yummy in a long-sleeved sage green T-shirt and khaki cargo shorts that revealed calf muscles as perfect as his biceps. His short dark hair was adorably mussed, in a way several local men paid her sister big bucks to maintain.

Positive she was staring and probably on the verge of drooling, she dropped her gaze and stepped back. “Come on in.”

He strode inside and cast a quick glance around the living room before his attention fell on her. His lips twitched and he chuckled. “What are you wearing?”

“Um, clothes.” She looked down at the white dress with its empire waist and silver sequin trim that gave it a flirty, Grecian air. Sure it was a little summery for November, but the weather forecast was calling for temperatures in the high seventies and she’d planned to add her short denim jacket. “Why?”

“It’s a little dressy for hiking out to the river.” He lowered his eyes to her boots. “And you’re just asking to twist an ankle, wearing those on that terrain.”

“Hiking? To the river?” She shook her head, really taking in for the first time his own footwear, sturdy boots made for trekking. “You said breakfast, Troy Lee. Not woods and bugs and snakes.”

“Snakes aren’t moving right now.” He made a
pfft
sound at the idea. “I figured we’d grab breakfast to go and head for the Outpost. There’s a great place about a half-mile up where we could sit and eat.”

He was serious. She’d envisioned a nice leisurely breakfast at the diner or maybe even brunch at Coney Hall, and his idea of an enjoyable outing involved slogging through the woods. Oh, it was a very good thing they weren’t in this for more than fun.

He passed a hand through his hair, mussing it further. “I guess I should have explained what I had in mind or asked what you wanted to do, huh?”

He looked crushed, darn it, like a little boy who’d crafted some hideous homemade valentine only to have it spurned by the cutest girl in the class.

“No, that’s okay. A walk would be nice.” What was she saying?

Relief chased some of the tension from his features. “How about a compromise? We pick up breakfast and take it up to Riverfront Park? The nature trail is paved if you’re serious about a walk.”

Pavement? Now that she could handle. “It’s a deal. Let me grab my jacket.”

He held the door for her, then waited, glancing around the porch while she locked up. As they went down the concrete pathway to where his green Wrangler waited outside the fence, he took her hand easily.

“You look great, by the way.” He opened the door and helped her with the slight climb. “I really do like the new hairstyle. The color too. It suits you.”

“Thank you.” Flustered, she tucked her billowy skirt around her thighs. “I’ll tell my sister you approve. It was all her idea.”

“Well, it was a fantastic one.” He shut the door and strode around the hood. Once behind the wheel, he grinned. “Ready?”

“Yes.” Maybe. Unless she was getting in over her head, which she already feared she was. He made her feel too good, too special, with his easygoing admiration and friendly attention.

The fresh morning air, already holding a promise of the unseasonal warmth to come, rushed in through the open vehicle, tousling her hair, kissing her cheeks.

He drove easily, one hand on the wheel, the other resting atop the gearshift, at an ambling speed that said he was in no hurry to get where he was going. She was so accustomed to always being five minutes behind and hurrying to catch up that the sensation of slowness made her skin itch.

She eyed the instrument cluster. “You’re not even driving the speed limit.”

He slanted an ironic glance in her direction. “You mean you know what one is?”

“Oh, you’re funny.”

“Angel baby, I’ve worked here for nearly three years. Do you know how many times I’ve stopped you for speeding in that time?”

More than she could count. She squirmed in the seat. “I don’t know.”

He lifted his hand from the gearshift, flashed five fingers, made a fist, flashed all five once more, then held aloft a single digit.

“Eleven? No way you’ve stopped me eleven times.”

“Yes way. I can pull out the logs to prove it, and that’s just me, Ms. Speedy Gonzales. That doesn’t count Chris or Steve or Cookie—” He bit the name off and grimaced. “Sorry. You probably don’t want to talk about him.”

“It’s okay.” She tucked her tangling hair behind her ear, only to have it tossed free by the playful wind once more. Oddly enough, it was okay. She hadn’t thought about Cookie, not really, since Thursday night, as all her brain cells seemed intent on fixating on the male body in the Jeep next to her. She hadn’t thought of him at all this morning, her attention captured by Troy Lee’s sweet teasing. Being free of the hurt bitterness felt good and she patted Troy Lee’s thigh. “Really. I mean it. It’s okay.”

“I’m glad.” He covered her hand with his, heat traveling up her nerve endings from the dual contact of hard thigh under her palm and warm male skin atop her wrist and hand. He grinned at her but didn’t let go. “So what sounds good for breakfast?”

She made a valiant effort not to flex her fingers around the tight muscles beneath them. Was wanting to touch, to explore just a little such a bad thing? “Lisa’s is good and they do takeout. Or there’s the diner on the courthouse square.”

“Lisa’s,” he said with a decisive tone. Lifting his hand, he downshifted for the looming red light. “I eat enough of the diner’s food during the week.”

Her hand felt lonely and bare with his gone, and what was she supposed to do now? Leave it? Move it? As casually as she could, she raised both hands to smooth her hair behind her ears now that the wind rush wasn’t as severe.

He made a left onto 19, heading south from town to where Lisa’s Café sat in a refurbished farmhouse in the middle of a pecan grove. He parked and came to open her door. Again, he folded his fingers around hers on the short walk to the wraparound porch and the restaurant’s entrance.

Lord, he was such a sweetheart. Why hadn’t some smart girl snapped him up before now?

He propped the authentic screen door open with his hip and reached for the doorknob on the hundred-year-old oak slab. The door swung inward as he did so and Angel stepped closer to him to allow the departing patrons to pass.

He rested a hand on her shoulder. “What do you like here—”

“Excuse us. Oh.” Jim’s voice reeked of discomfort and Angel’s simple pleasure in the morning evaporated. “Angel, hey.”

Angel closed her eyes. Great. A nice Saturday run-in with her ex-fiancé and his new wife.

Just what she needed.

Rhonda’s mouth stretched, but Angel wasn’t sure the expression could be called friendly. “Good, thanks. You?”

“Fine, thank you.” My, how polite they all were, as if this wasn’t the single most awkward situation Angel had ever encountered.

Troy Lee rested his hand at her waist in a light nudge. “I hate to rush you, honey, but if we don’t get a move on, we’re going to be late.”

Bless his heart, he was sweet
and
smart. She nodded and laid her hand over his, letting him direct her toward the door. “You’re right. Y’all excuse us.”

Jim mumbled something and ushered his bride toward the parking area. With Troy Lee’s palm still warm on her waist, Angel slipped inside. The heavy door closed behind them.

“I’ll be with you in a minute,” Lisa called from the dining room, her voice harried.

“I could hug your neck,” Angel whispered as they approached the glass case, filled with luscious desserts, which served as the ordering and checkout counter in the large foyer.

“Later.” His resonant murmur, close to her ear, sent a ripple of awareness through her, creating a flutter of attraction deep in her belly. “We have that whole kissing thing to try out.”

She turned her head, meeting devilish blue eyes, intensely conscious that he still hadn’t dropped his hand, each finger a warm imprint through the thin cotton of her dress. “Don’t push it.”

With a laugh, he reached for two of the laminated menus available for take-out customers. Against her, his fingertips moved in an absent rhythm while he perused the menu. It took her a moment to decipher the motions. Rolling her eyes, she prodded his hand aside. “I’m not a guitar, Troy Lee.”

“What?” He looked up, blinking as though she’d pulled him from a daze. This time sheepishness tinged his wonderful grin. “Was I playing frets again? Sorry. It’s a habit. I do it unconsciously when I’m thinking.”

Sweet, smart and endearingly goofy. Dropping her gaze, she picked up her own menu. “What looks good?”

“You.”

“Troy Lee. Behave.”

“If you insist.” His long-suffering sigh stirred the ruffled hair at her temple. “I’m getting the grilled PBJ.”

“Oh, that sounds fantastic. I think I want one too.”

“I’m sorry y’all had to wait.” Lisa Johnson appeared from the dining area. “I’m short a waitress this morning and it’s killing us. Are you ready to order? Oh my God, Angel, I love your hair. You should have cut it a long time ago.”

“Thanks.” She fingered the ends and glanced up at Troy Lee and his I-told-you-so eyes. “Are we ready?”

“Yeah.” He laid the menus aside. “Couple of grilled PBJs. Some fruit?” He looked at Angel in inquiry and she nodded. “The fruit sampler and a large coffee for me.”

“And Angel wants our strawberry tea, right?” Lisa’s red lips showcased sparkly white teeth.

“Exactly.”

“All right then.” Lisa scribbled the order on a pad and shooed them toward a couple of plush chairs near the tall windows facing the porch. “Give me about ten minutes and we’ll have you good to go.”

Angel sank onto one, tucking her skirt about her legs and crossing one ankle over the other. Troy Lee took the second chair, his body half-turned toward her, his arm resting along the back and his fingers close to her arm.

“You handled that well.” His voice quiet, he jerked his head toward the door.

“Yes, well, it’s not like I can be ugly about it, you know?” Heat flushed her cheeks. For the second time in three days, he’d been privy to the mess she’d made with some other man. “I see her at the bank almost every day and his parents go to church with mine.”

Troy Lee’s gaze trailed over her face. “He’s an idiot.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“It’s the only explanation for his letting you go.”

Keep it light. Keep it fun
. Repeating the mantra, she tapped his knee. “You’re a sweetheart. I think I like hanging out with you.”

She’d expected a deep chuckle and more of his cheerful teasing. Instead, a frown brought his brows together. “I wish you wouldn’t—”

“Here are your drinks anyway. Bill’s putting a rush on your order, but it’ll be a couple more minutes.” Lisa’s breezy voice shattered the sudden tension hanging around them. “Troy Lee, you want me to go ahead and ring you up?”

Troy Lee held Angel’s gaze a moment longer, the intensity of his regard making it hard not to squirm. Then he pushed up and tugged his wallet free, the moment with its weird crackling awareness sliding away as he crossed to pay for their food. Whatever he’d been about to say disappeared in the busyness of collecting their breakfast once it arrived and returning to the Jeep.

Somehow, the shining promise of the morning seemed tarnished, although she wasn’t sure how so. Because of Jim? Because of her own reaction to Troy Lee’s disparagement of Jim’s choices? Whatever it was, she stared out at the passing townscape and found herself wishing for those moments when he’d held her hand against his leg or teased about kissing her. That made absolutely no sense, because they were simply in this to spend the day together as friends, to enjoy themselves. So why this sudden urge to mourn for something lost?

Once they arrived at Riverfront Park, he jockeyed the Wrangler into a spot near the fountain, its myriad jets sending random spouts of water sparkling into the air. Determined to put them back on the same old footing, Angel pinned on a bright smile as he came around to open her door. And if he didn’t take her hand this time…well, he was carrying the bag holding their breakfast. Even if he did have it hooked over his wrist, coffee in the same hand, and his right one free.

Below the sidewalk and the landscaped seating areas, a sloping bank of grass fell away toward the murmuring river, edged now with a wide concrete walkway. He gestured toward the covered gazebo next to the playground then toward the benches that lined the waterfront. “Where do you want to sit?”

Lord, why did it all feel so awkward between them now? She lifted her shoulders in an exaggerated nonchalant shrug and sipped at the warm tea, laden with strawberry sweetness. “The gazebo’s fine.”

He swept a hand in that direction, ushering her to precede him. There, she slid onto a bench at one of the small tables dotting the cedar floor and shivered a little, the warmth of the sunlight dissipating under the heavy roof. Silently, his face devoid of expression, he set out their food and took the seat opposite hers, his attention turned out over the sluggish brown water.

She unwrapped her sandwich, the crusty golden bread dusted with powdered sugar. The idea of choking it down tightened her throat. “So what are your plans for the rest of the day?”

His blue gaze darted in her direction. “Not much. I may go for a run with Chris. Band practice this afternoon before we play your place tonight.”

Nodding, she reached for a piece of kiwi. Still seeking a way to take them back where they’d been, she wrinkled her nose in a cheeky moue. “I love when y’all play the club. The local girls hear you’re on stage and show up in droves.”

His brows twisted in a long-suffering grimace. “Yeah.”

She nudged his foot with hers. “Oh, what’s the matter, Troy Lee? Most guys would love to be in your place.”

He unfolded the wax paper around his sandwich. “What place is that?”

“Being the county heartthrob.” She tore off a small bite of toasty crust. “I mean, come on. We both know you have your pick of the local women.”

He looked up then, a sharp gleam in his eyes. “You think?”

The heavy irony in his voice didn’t make sense. She swiped her finger across the white dusting on her sandwich before licking the sweet substance from her fingertip. “What is wrong with you?”

His gaze dropped to her finger and mouth, then lifted to her eyes. “Nothing.”

“That’s my line, boy.” She reached for her tea. “Women own that word, remember?”

He didn’t rise to her teasing, his gaze locked on hers. “Don’t call me boy. I’m at least eight years beyond that, Angel.”

“You”—she pointed at him—“are in a weird mood.”

For a long moment, he watched her before the lingering tension drained from his features. “Yeah.” He glanced away toward the water once more. “Something like that.”

She eyed his profile. A muscle flicked in his jaw. She picked up her sandwich, took a bite she didn’t really taste, chewed, swallowed. “So what are y’all playing tonight?”

“Probably the usual.” He turned his attention back to her, or at least his food, reaching for his own PBJ. “Don’t worry, we’ll keep the dance floor hopping.”

With the shift in topic, the awkwardness diminished somewhat and they spent the following minutes eating, sharing more silence than conversation. When they’d finished, he collected the wrappers and bag and dropped them in a nearby trashcan. Turning, he dusted his hands. “Ready for that walk?”

“Oh Mark, no.”

At Tori’s exaggerated groan, Mark slanted a look at her while he put the Blazer in park. “What?”

She cast a glum appraisal around the lot belonging to Uncle Robert’s Used Cars. “I despise car shopping.”

“We’re not shopping. We’re looking.” The door creaked as he pushed it open and came around to open hers. She turned sideways in her seat but didn’t slide from the truck.

“It’s not like you’re going to part with the Blazer, so this is pointless.” She perked up, a smile curving her mouth, and she ran a teasing finger down the center of his chest. “There is, however, a little vintage shop just around the corner. That, my dear love, is the way to spend Saturday morning. Antiquing. Not car shopping.”

“No.” He kissed her. “No antiques. Not today.”

“But you’re going to make me look at cars you have no intention of buying.” She pouted but let him pull her from the cab. “At least I purchase things when I go shopping.”

He turned her to face the massive offering of vehicles. “What do you want to look at?”

“Iron bedsteads.” On a sigh, he gave her a look and she shrugged, completely unapologetic. “You asked what I wanted to look at.”

“Tick’s right. You can be a brat when you want to.” He squinted at a gleaming Volvo SUV with low miles. “Doesn’t your brother Del have one of these?”

“Yes.” Complete boredom dripped from the monosyllable.

If an insurance salesman drove one, it had to be safe, right? He looked down the first row of vehicles, trying to remember what he’d read or heard about safety ratings, mentally checking off the models he’d seen crumpled and twisted with major injuries or fatalities involved.

“Tor, have you ever thought about trading in that tin can of yours?”

She groaned. “So that’s what this is about. Mark, I like my car and it’s only four years old. Besides, it’s paid for.”

“Honey, all I’m asking you to do is look at something a little bigger and maybe safer.” He cupped her chin and rubbed his thumb across her jaw. “Seeing what that pickup did to Kaydee Davis’s Miata the other day scared the hell out of me.”

She scowled at him for a long moment. “Fine, I’ll look. But no promises.”

“Deal.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and tucked her close to his side. “So, what do you want to look at?”

“Well, nothing my brother the insurance salesman would drive.”

They spent fifteen minutes wandering up and down the rows, deflecting an overeager salesperson, stopping to inspect a vehicle that caught her eye or his. They agreed on little concerning the cars, but Mark could think of few things better than simply being with her, their fingers intertwined, and catching a glimpse of her beautiful smile every so often.

“Hey, this is cute.” She stopped at the end of one line, peering into a lime green Beetle. He paused at the trunk and frowned, his attention captured by what was transpiring one row over. Well, didn’t that just beat all?

“Mark?” She joined him, laying gentle fingers on his arm. “Isn’t that Bubba Bostick?”

“Yeah.” Mark’s mouth firmed. Bubba stood deep in conversation with a salesman while Paul circled the performance package F-150. “And that kid does not need that truck, not the way he drives.”

Tori slid her hand down to entwine their fingers. “Maybe Scott Barlow will suspend his license after this last citation.”

“Maybe. Might be the best thing.” Obviously, Bubba didn’t intend to stop the kid driving or even slow him down, not if he was buying that vehicle for the boy. Troy Lee’s insistence that Paul was a fatality waiting to happen echoed in Mark’s head. Man, he hoped the kid didn’t end up dead in an accident.

“Mark?” Tori pulled him from the musings. “What do you think of the Beetle?”

He eyed the nearly neon paint job. “I think I don’t get why someone would want a green car.”

She wrapped her arm about his waist. “Come on, then. Let’s go look at more cars until I expire from boredom.”