Sweet Talk Me (15 page)

“She’s kind of scary,” True said.

“But you obviously want Dubose.”

“Right,” she said, and felt embarrassed for some reason.

Harrison gave her a little push from behind, and her feet left the ground. The swing had a long, low arc, and for a second all her cares dissolved.

“Why do you want him?” he asked. “And you can’t tell me because your parents wanted the match. This isn’t the olden days. Modern women just say no to arranged marriages.”

Swinging through space was giving her some sort of courage. “I was alone,” she said, remembering the misery she felt for so long, “and he showed up and gave me hope again.”

Harrison gave her another push. This one was big, and she went soaring. “What else?” he called up to her. “I’m not letting you down until you tell me everything.”

“I’ll just jump.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Sure I would.” She laughed and pulled some hair out of her mouth. “But I’m not ready to stop swinging. I’ll think about talking if you keep going.”

“How did you get control of the situation so fast? You’d make a great publicist. Or dictator of a small country.” He pushed her so high, the swing went over his head, and he had to run out from under it in front of her.

Wow. The feeling of flying so high was awesome. And he was strong. She tried not to notice how tight his T-shirt was over his upper arms. He stood there watching her, his sunglasses hiding his eyes.

She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and it made her nervous. So she decided to talk. “After Mama and Daddy died, I finally figured out that all those old, stuffy rules they taught me about the importance of tradition and being a Maybank and never quitting were to get me through life’s hard times. Dubose was brought up the same way. We understand each other.”

“The way Charles and Diana understood each other.”

“That’s mean.”

“But it’s the same idea. Same stratosphere of society. Same rules.”

“You do the same thing in Nashville. How come you never date a woman not in the business? It’s always another celebrity.”

“Hey, you’re the one trapped on the swing, not me. I don’t have to answer any hard questions.”

Her feet came within a foot of him, and he made a pretend grab. She pulled her shoes in and laughed, realizing that she’d really needed a silly, carefree moment like this for a long time. She swung up close to him again.

What you really need is some good loving.

Damn. She wished she could leave the sexy thought hanging in the ether while she swooped backward, but it came with her, stuck on hard to her brain with invisible sex superglue.

She knew very well it wasn’t Dubose but Harrison who’d inspired that notion. He looked like he was posing for an album cover wherever he was—leaning on her kitchen counter, driving his car, or standing there with his thumbs hooked into his jeans pockets and staring at her as if—

As if he wanted to give her some good loving, too.

Good Lord, she needed to jump.

“Get out of the way,” she called in a take-no-prisoners voice.

“No.” He grinned. “We can’t have the dictator—I mean, the bride—breaking her ankle before the big day.”

She kind of liked when he called her a dictator. But a secret part of her hated when he called her a bride. Was he making fun of her? Was he glad she was going to be off the market soon?

She was swinging low enough now that she could scrape her feet on the grass and stop herself.

“Aww.” He sounded truly disappointed.

She was, too. “I wonder who put this swing up?”

“I did.”

She was shocked. “But you haven’t been back—”

“I did it before Mom died. She used it a few months. Swinging always made her happier than anything else.”

True’s heart nearly broke at that. “I’m so sorry.”

They’d never talked about it. When she died, True told him she was sorry on the blacktop at lunch. He’d shrugged and said, “Thanks.” There’d been no funeral, or she would have gone to it. When he’d come over to mow the grass a week later, she’d tried to give him a basket of cookies, but he wouldn’t turn off the mower—he indicated she could leave them on the porch, which she did.

And then they’d never talked again, not until prom night—

Best not to think of that night right now.

He looked at his watch. “Yeah, well, shit happens. You know about that.”

“I sure do.” She looked down at her feet as the swing ropes dangled.

“Ready to go meet the construction team?” he asked.

“Sure.”

He pulled her out of the swing, and she landed against his chest. A heavy tension hung between them.

Must control
, her head told her.
Must control
. She pushed away from him. “Ten minutes be enough time?”

“That should do it.”

They strode—not walked—toward the construction site, not saying a word to each other. Someone had moved Gage’s trailer from its original site to the new one.

“It’s Vince’s office for now,” Harrison said, “and when he’s done, it’s going to the Great Mobile Home Park in the Sky. By the way, Vince—the guy drawing up the house plans—is a dude in a dress. He’s tried working in guy’s clothes, but he’s not nearly as inspired.”

“Whatever it takes,” True said.

Harrison threw her a sideways glance. “Spoken like an artist. You still doing your collages?”

She shook her head. “That was … a phase.”

“Oh.” He didn’t sound disappointed or curious to hear why, maybe because Vince came out of the trailer.

True guessed he was somewhere in his mid-forties, and he looked like a runner: whip-thin and tanned. His hair was a bit wild—sandy brown and unkempt, as if he’d just finished jogging across a bridge. He wore a gray paisley-print short-sleeved shift dress that looked like something from the Athleta catalog, the belt smartly wrapped around his trim waist, and black gladiator-meets-huarache leather sandals. If the guy was going to wear a dress, at least this one seemed to complement his athletic build and the way he moved, with lithe confidence.

He came toward her, a look of utter fascination on his face. “Oh my God, is that an Yves Saint Laurent? The Mondrian-inspired dress from the ’sixties that made the cover of
Vogue
?”

True smiled. “Yes. It belonged to my great-aunt.”

He came over for a better look, then noticed Harrison. “Everything’s under control, Mr. Country. I just need to show you a few sample house photos before I start getting really serious about the blueprints.”

“Good,” Harrison said. “Trip uneventful?”

“It’s never uneventful,” he replied. “TSAs love me.” Like a laser, his gaze returned to True. “Now back to
you
. Do you have any idea how much that dress is worth?”

“No idea. But I love it. And I didn’t want it to waste away in a closet.”

“You are one lucky girl.” Vince cocked his head to one side. “Pretty, too.”

“Thank you.” She liked him. He had energy, and he was himself.

The way Weezie is herself.

It wasn’t lost upon True that she spent a lot of her waking hours trying to make Weezie like everyone else so she wouldn’t get hurt. So she’d be able to find a job someday and live independently. And let’s face it—so she’d toe the Maybank line. But it was that very same line that had kept True afloat the past ten years. So she didn’t feel guilty.

Even so, Vince intrigued her.

Harrison made the introductions. When they were inside the trailer—which looked like Andy Griffith’s backwoods cousin’s man cave—True hung back and watched the two guys get into discussing the house plans. They were debating whether the media room should go on the first or second floor when she finally got a text from Dubose.

These NYC DAs run a mile a minute
, Dubose wrote.
Early mornings and late nights every day. Now I know why they call it the city that never sleeps. I’m loving the work, but it doesn’t leave any time for myself. And that makes me feel bad for you, sweetcakes.

Ugh. Sweetcakes. The old-timey term of affection made her feel like Betty Boop with no brain. But she wouldn’t nag him about it. Not now.

Don’t worry about me!
Her thumbs flew across her iPhone’s surface.
You just do what you have to do. I miss you, but I’m staying busy, too. I’m going to get everything done before you get home.

She wouldn’t dare tell him that she needed to find a new caterer and reception site.

Great
, he said.
I hear Mom is going to England. You sure you can handle any last-minute wedding details alone?

Of course
. Her heart was pounding.

I’m so proud of you
, he wrote back immediately.
Okay, back to work.

Love you
she texted.

XOXO,
Dubose texted back.

Harrison looked up at her from the blueprints Vince was beginning to assemble on the kitchen table and smiled at her like Harrison-the-kid used to. True felt suddenly ill.

His eyes clouded. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” She stuffed her phone into her purse. “I need to make a phone call.” She got outside and inhaled a deep breath of pine-scented air.

Harrison came right after her. “I knew you didn’t have to make a call. You went pale as a ghost in there. Is it happening again? The airport thing?”

“No.” She swallowed. “I just accidentally forgot to breathe. I was thinking about not having a caterer.”

Not really. She didn’t know what she’d been thinking about. One second, she’d been texting Dubose that she loved him, and then she felt as if she were a being sucked into a giant whirlpool.

“I can get you a caterer,” Harrison said. “We can fly someone in if we have to.”

True shook her head. “Thanks a lot, but I have to do this myself. My mother-in-law is testing me, I think. I have to prove to her that I’m capable.”

“You already know you are.”

“I know. But I have to prove to
her
.”

“Why?”

“Because if she thinks I’m not, she’ll tell Dubose, and—”

“And what? If he believes her over you, then he’s a fool. Was that him you were texting?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Nothing.” His lips thinned and his eyes narrowed slightly.

“It’s not nothing.” Nothing felt like nothing around Harrison. Life was big and Technicolor, and she was never bored, and he needed to leave town. He needed to leave soon. Before the wedding. And she was stupid to come with him today, but he was a giant magnet and she was a paper clip wearing a very old dress. “I can tell you’re dying to say something.”

“Fine.” He was casual. “Just that I’d never text the woman I love. It’s a phone call or nothing.”

True’s face went hot all over. “What’s that supposed to mean? What if you’re in a meeting and you can’t talk on the phone, but you need to tell your wife that you’re going to be late? You wouldn’t text her?”

“I’d get up and say,
Meeting over. I can’t be late to see my wife.
”

“What if the meeting was really important and you couldn’t leave?”

“I’d say,
Shut up, everyone. I need to call my wife and tell her I’ll be late.
”

“You don’t live in the real world,” said True. “You’re in your Famous Man world, where women and doughnuts appear like magic, and your bathroom contains little gold statues. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with texting.”

“Oh, yeah, there is. It’s not romantic. It says,
We’re buddies, not lovers.
”

“You’re the only person in the entire world I’ve ever heard say that.”

He shrugged. “I’m ahead of my time.”

“Or maybe twenty years behind it. What do you know about romance anyway? Have you ever had to woo a woman, Harrison? Or do they all fall into your lap, one Taylor Swift look-alike after the other?”

His eyes looked dangerously black. “My love life really isn’t your business anymore. You gave up rights to me a long time ago.”

“I never had them.” Her heart knocked against her ribs.

“You damned well did—” He paused, raked her up and down with a searing gaze. “—and you know it.”

Her entire body vibrated with heat and misery. And there was lust and longing in the mix, too, especially when he turned his back on her and walked back toward the trailer, his jeans sagging just the right amount, his shoulders flexing in that ridiculous white T-shirt that lent him a combination of James Dean and Danny Zuko charm.

But she’d never let him know.

“Harrison?” It was Vince, poking his head out the door. “I think I’ve got a preliminary sketch of both floors. Sorry, True. We need five more minutes.”

She forced herself to smile brightly. “No problem, Vince. I’ll go look at the dock.”

Harrison turned, and she caught a glimpse of something raw and hurt in the way he stood, his hands loose and open, and in his gaze, which projected no judgment of her at all. Only vulnerability. Suddenly he was that boy she knew, the one whose daddy died in prison, whose overworked mother succumbed to cancer, and whose big brother had issues that weighed heavily on his heart and still did, obviously.

But the impression was gone the next second.

The clamoring need to get to Charleston to talk to some caterers could be held at bay awhile longer. It was important, yes, but so was Gage’s house. So was the price of gas and world peace, for that matter. Who was she to get so worked up about something she knew she could fix if she’d only keep anxiety at arm’s length?

“Hey, why don’t you come, too?” Vince called after her. “I’d love your opinion.”

“Sure,” she said. “Thanks.” She’d see the dock another time.

At the trailer, Harrison held the door open for her and walked in behind her. Guilt made her tense. She’d been really rude with that Taylor Swift comment. But it was only because he’d hurt her, too, by implying that Dubose wasn’t romantic because he’d texted her.

He’s
not
romantic
, a small inner voice said. Dubose did all the right things—sending her roses on Valentine’s Day and taking her out to fancy dinners—but real romance was unpredictable. Not forced. Sometimes it didn’t make sense to anyone else but the two people involved.