A Wedding at the Blue Moon Cafe Page 10

  He bent low to peer at her. “You can’t deny the chemistry between us.”

  She averted her gaze. “It’s too volatile.”

  “Maybe slightly combustible. But a little fire can be a good thing.”

  “I don’t like to get burned.” How strange. She hadn’t been afraid of any guy hurting her in so long. She never let herself fall for anyone because she always kept a certain distance. Dylan somehow invaded that space.

  “We wouldn’t. I’ll prove it to you if you’ll let me.”

  “Oh God, Dylan.” Why couldn’t he leave it alone? Why go there now? In a few days, he’d fly back to Pittsburgh.

  “Clarissa.” He drew her into his arms.

  All her resistance ebbed away in the warmth of his embrace. His breath ragged, he kissed her hair, whispering, “It’s gonna be good. I promise.”

  She drew back to search his face. The same thing Brad used to say. Had Dylan found out somehow? No, how could he, when she’d never told anyone?

  Applause erupted around them, startling her. She scanned the faces of clapping people. “Wonderful,” said one woman. “So powerful,” said a guy. Another guy tapped his watch. “But a little short of seven minutes.”

  Seven minutes? Oh good Lord, the theater festival. “They think it’s a play.” With overkill on the drama.

  Dylan chuckled. “Yeah, we’ll work on it.”

  She withdrew from him. “No problem. We have plenty of material.”

  An actor pointed. “What was that last little bit? I didn’t quite catch it.”

  “Yeah,” another said. “Project your voice louder for it. What did you say to her again?”

  No, she couldn’t let him repeat it. Not to them. “This is too much.” One last look at Dylan, and she fled.

  ***

  So close. Dylan had been so close to a breakthrough with Clarissa yesterday. He looped his tie around his neck, knotted it, and reached for his suit jacket before ducking past the yurt’s flap and striding toward the rental car. Driving toward Marfa, he cursed the faulty convertible mechanism. And for once, he wished Jeff and Amy hadn’t gone the traditional route. If Amy had opted for a sari and Jeff a Nehru jacket, it might have surprised him less than formal wear. In late summer Texas heat? Good thing the church and the café had air-conditioning.

  Enough to keep him cool near Clarissa? If only those actors hadn’t overheard their conversation. Why did she freak out when he told her everything would be fine? Who did that?

  And why couldn’t he let it go? Rather than lessening, the friction between them had multiplied. Which only made him want to see her more. Find out why he made her so nervous.

  After pulling up to the adobe church, he climbed out and strode inside. Cool air made him conscious of the sweat on his brow. A quick stop in the tiny restroom to splash water on his face helped. He slipped out inside again. At the front, a man played an acoustic version of “Stairway to Heaven.”

  Mr. Smiley approached. “Oh good, you’re here. Jeff’s been a little anxious.”

  “Has he?” Not like Jeff. Mr. Easygoing, Take-It-All-in-Stride.

  “The usual wedding jitters. He’s in the room behind the altar.” Mr. Smiley gestured and led the way.

  Dylan followed down the side aisle, down a narrow corridor, and into a small room.

  Jeff halted his pacing. “Dylan. Thank God.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  An apologetic smile crossed Jeff’s face so fast, it was almost nonexistent. “I worried you might be late or something.”

  “On your wedding day? No chance.”

  Jeff clasped his hands. “You remembered the rings?”

  “Got them right….” Dylan patted his pocket and feigned surprise but couldn’t go through with the prank when Jeff paled and looked like his knees might give out. “Right here, man. Take it easy.”

  Jeff’s suit seemed the only thing holding him together. “Not funny. Not today.”

  Dylan couldn’t help laughing. “It’s going to be fine. What are you worried about?”

  Pacing again, Jeff raked his hand through his hair. “I don’t know. Maybe Amy figured out I’m a schmuck. Maybe she decided marrying me would be a huge mistake.”

  Better let him walk it out. Talk it out. “Didn’t you see her this morning?”

  “Yeah.” Jeff’s long legs got him to the other side of the small room too fast. Four strides, and he did a one eighty.

  “Did she seem worried?” In the short time Dylan had known her, Amy always wore a smile, her gracious manner unwavering. Practically a female Jeff. No wonder they seemed so at ease around each other.

  Still walking, Jeff shook his head. “Not really.”

  “Then you shouldn’t either.” Dylan did his best to keep his tone upbeat.

  “I know. I just… love her so much.” Jeff slowed his pace. “She’s the best thing that ever happened to me. I don’t want to screw this up.” He stopped in front of Dylan, everything about him pleading.

  Dylan had never seen a guy so messed up. Or so in love. “Then go marry her.” He patted Jeff’s cheek a little harder than warranted.

  A knock at the door, and the minister poked her head in. “Ready?”

  Jeff broke from his stupor and nodded. “I am. I do.”

  The minister laughed. “Not yet. Wait for the prompt.” She crooked a finger. “Don’t keep your bride waiting.”

  Dylan clasped Jeff’s shoulder and guided him to the altar. When they took their positions, Jeff tugged down his jacket. Tossed his hair back. Cleared his throat.

  Dylan scanned the small church, only half-filled but all eyes were on them. He sent them a reassuring smile. Fake as hell, until the minister nodded to the guitarist, who began “Wedding March.”

  Movement behind the stained glass panels at the rear of the church caught Dylan’s attention. A statuesque blonde stepped to the center of the aisle. Black lace fitted to her torso, a ribbon of lilac silk wound around her small waist and down the knee-length skirt of lilac chiffon swishing as she sauntered forward. Demure, but sexy as hell. Blond waves fell in soft layers, a lilac flower tucked in her hair. Black outline made her blue-green eyes appear even larger.

  Clarissa. Holy shit. Each step stole Dylan’s breath. Contoured calves on long legs that stretched forever.

  Once she reached the front, she turned in what seemed like slow motion. Head bowed, she raised her gaze to meet Dylan’s.

  More powerful than her right hook. It hit him so hard, he had to shift his feet to remain standing. Dazzled, he couldn’t look away even after she angled to watch Amy’s walk down the aisle. Though she smiled, Clarissa’s eyes teared.

  He wished he could hug her, erase whatever sadness had overcome her. Sad, at a wedding?

  Finally, he glanced at Amy. Stunning in her sleek silk gown, the bride radiated happiness, her gaze riveted to Jeff, who’d apparently been stricken. Awestruck, hopefully not too dumbstruck to recite his vows, Jeff roused enough to offer Amy his hand when she reached his side. She beamed up at him and entwined her fingers with his. They looked like kids, innocent and happy. And freakishly tall.

  The ceremony, short and sweet, ended quickly. Jeff bumbled one line, but his sincerity more than made up for it. When the minister declared them married, Amy cupped her hands on Jeff’s face and kissed him.

  Dylan stole a look at Clarissa. Again, a strange mix of sadness and happiness complicated her expression, and he stared longer than he intended. Her face blanked when she noticed, and she squared her shoulders.

  The newlyweds swept down the aisle. Dylan extended his elbow to Clarissa. To his surprise, she slipped her hand around his arm. They stayed a distance behind Jeff and Amy while the photographer snapped away.

  “Nice ceremony.” Dylan risked a quick glance at her.

  “Yes.” Clarissa’s smile stayed the same magnitude, her gaze trained ahead.

  “Better save your smile muscles for the photos.”

  Her gaze flicked to him and away, its i
ntensity matching its briefness. A warning to shut up. He did. Even during the short ride to the reception at the café, though it nearly killed him. He smiled but remained silent as they entered the café, camera flashes blinding him momentarily. Then she broke away into the crowd.

  He trudged to the line at the bar.

  The girl in front of him turned. “Dylan!”

  “Bethany.” Fuck.

  “You clean up very well.” She practically groaned the words.

  The girl could imitate a fake orgasm on a sex tape. “You look nice, too.” Hopefully the seams of her lilac dress held through the night; already they looked stressed.

  He endured her recap of the ceremony, nodding when appropriate, all the while wishing the bartender would hurry the hell up. After they finally reached the counter, she asked for a white wine and before leaving, poked a finger into Dylan’s chest. “Save me a dance.”

  “You got it.” Tempted to ask for something stronger, he asked the bartender for a beer. He had to keep his head tonight. He tucked a few dollars into the tip jar and wandered away.

  Jeff’s mother waved him over. “We were just talking about you.”

  Oh shit. “Really?”

  Mr. Smiley nodded. “And Jeff. Your college days.”

  Not again. “A long time ago.” He swigged his beer.

  “It was, wasn’t it?” Mrs. Smiley sighed. “Are you married, Dylan?”

  Whoa, way to flash to the present. “Not even close.”

  “You must have a girlfriend?” Mr. Smiley nudged him.

  “Not currently.” The women he met were boring and predictable. He slept with them, wanted to like them better, but none interested him enough to stick around.

  Mrs. Smiley turned sympathetic. “No date tonight?”

  He glanced over at Clarissa, who listened more intently than Mrs. Smiley for his answer. “Unfortunately, no.” Unless his luck changed.

  Mrs. Smiley waved him off. “Don’t tell Brooke. She’s been sweet on you for a long time.”

  Not the change he’d hoped for. “She’s a wonderful kid.”

  Mr. Smiley grunted, his scrutiny suggesting Dylan should keep his distance. No problem there.

  A squeal, and arms looped around his neck. Brooke kissed his cheek. “Dylan, where have you been?”

  Wrong again. Big problem. “Right here. Hiding in plain sight.” Not well enough, apparently.

  The crowd shifted, and Clarissa came into view. Staring at him. Frowning.

  Jealous? Enough to give him hope. He brightened and laughed at Brooke’s reminiscences. Until Jeff and Amy seated themselves at the head table, her parents retreated, and they were alone.

  Brooke grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the door. “I have to show you something.”

  “Now? But it looks like they’re about to serve dinner.”

  A chuckle rumbled from deep within her. “Oh yeah. Now.” She dragged him outside and down the side alley.

  “Brooke, we really—”

  She shoved him against the building. “I need you, Dylan. I’ve been dreaming about you for years.” She kissed him hard, tongue probing.

  He tried to be gentle as he took hold of her shoulders and pushed. “Brooke….”

  “Fuck me, Dylan. Right now. I want you.”

  Panicked, he blurted, “No.”

  She glared. “What do you mean, no?”

  “I can’t. I’m sorry. I don’t think of you that way.” If anything, she’d killed any amorous feelings he’d had.

  “Son of a bitch asshole.” She stomped around the corner and back inside.

  “Great.” He leaned against the wall, waiting for Jeff or Mr. Smiley to come out and beat his ass. No one came. No shrieks, no sobs sounded from inside.

  Still, he had to avoid the impression they’d been outside together. He strode down the side path to the back door and inside. He said hello to the caterers and slipped into the main room, grateful people still were making their way to their tables.

  He slid onto the seat beside Jeff. “Congratulations, man.”

  Jeff lightly punched his shoulder. “Thanks.”

  Amy leaned around him. “Yes, we appreciate you taking time off to be here.”

  Dylan raised his champagne flute. “Best wishes to you both.”

  Silverware tapping glass made for a tinkling music throughout the room. Amy and Jeff obliged by kissing.

  Not at all nauseating. Rather sweet, in fact. Like Amy and Clarissa when they huddled to talk, their laughter piquing his curiosity throughout dinner. When most people had finished eating, Dylan rose. “Can I have a moment? I didn’t prepare a speech but would like to say a few words.”

  Conversations faded until the only sound left was the steady burble of the fountain.

  “I’ve known Jeff Smiley since college. Eleven years. He’s nothing like he used to be. Shy. A bit intense. Focused on his work single-mindedly.” Kind of like me.

  Clarissa shifted in her seat and frowned at him.

  “I used to think he had it made. A great career. Set for life. It puzzled me he’d left it behind. When I arrived here, I thought he’d gone bonkers.” Dylan smiled at her. “Someone pointed out to me that Jeff didn’t know what he wanted until he came to Marfa. Until he met Amy. She brought out the best in him, things he never dreamed of. She saw the real Jeff and fell in love. We spent years in school together but I don’t think I really knew Jeff until two weeks ago. He’s not bonkers. He’s lucky as hell. He found the secret of life and embraced it. He and Amy have a sort of magic that we all wish we had.”

  Clarissa’s frown had changed to something else. Admiration mixed with a little confusion, maybe a touch of surprise.

  “So Amy and Jeff, may you share a lifetime of laughter and love. Keep the magic alive.” He raised his glass.

  To applause and a chorus of “hear hear”s, he sat.

  The band began to play, and Amy pulled Jeff to his feet. “Our song.”

  Dylan twisted the base of the champagne flute atop the linen tablecloth while the newlyweds had their first dance. Next would come his dance with Clarissa. He found it difficult to wait for the singer to prompt them, and hoped the song would last a little longer than Jeff and Amy’s had. Already, they’d begun the rounds of visiting tables.

  The guy at the mic waved them up. “Let’s have the maid of honor and best man.”

  Dylan stood so fast, he bumped his leg. Rising more slowly, Clarissa shot him an indecipherable look and sauntered around the table. He tried not to stare, but the open back of her dress was so alluring, all he could think about was his hand on her bare skin. The black lace came together at her neck, spread across her shoulder blades to her sides, then plunged to a V at the small of her back.

  When she whirled to face him, he braced for a slap, then realized she was waiting for him to dance with her. He stepped close, and she rested her hands on his chest. Keeping me at a distance. He’d hoped for a warmer embrace. Awkward, with everyone watching.

  She stared over his shoulder. “Nice toast.”

  “I can’t take credit. You’re the one who opened my eyes about Jeff.”

  Her brow furrowed. “I thought you disagreed with me.”

  “You made me see the light.”

  “Oh.”

  Agreeing with her was even more fun than disagreeing. Yes, anger flushed her cheeks and brightened her eyes, but he liked this softer Clarissa better. So much that he wanted to invite her out later. Get to know her, finally, even if merely dancing with her ratcheted up his nerves. Every time he was lucky enough to get close to her, her wide eyes captivated him. She was nothing short of gorgeous, a classic beauty beneath her tough talk and tattoos. With the body of a goddess, she moved with surprising grace. He grew painfully aware that his limbs had turned rigid like some teenager at the prom. Hell, he hadn’t been this nervous at fourteen on his first official date. Or this excited. Who knew? Maybe they could find some real magic, too. “Hey—”

  “Thanks, Clarissa
and Dylan,” the band’s singer cut in. “Now Amy and Jeff will cut the cake.”

  Clarissa took the cue and practically ran with it. He surrendered, this time. Instead of returning to the table, she headed to the bar and struck up a conversation with Harvey. Dylan decided to wait for another opportunity.

  The clip of approaching heels and the swish of fabric sounded as Brooke plopped beside him.

  She pouted. “I’m giving you another chance.”

  “Brooke, come on.”

  “I’m not going to turn into a creepy stalker or anything. How can you say no? I’m offering to fuck your brains out.”

  He gulped and shook his head. “I appreciate it, but—”

  “Appreciate it?” She snorted and batted her lashes. “Oh. My. God.”

  “It wouldn’t be right.”

  Disgust twisted her mouth. “If I’d offered to fuck you three weeks ago, would you have said yes?”

  Would he have? Jesus. He might have. “No. I don’t think of you that way.”

  “Bullshit. That bitch”—Brooke pointed at Clarissa—“has screwed you over. She doesn’t want you, Dylan.” Her hard tone became a whine. “I do. So much.”

  “I can’t, Brooke. I won’t hurt you that way. Or Jeff.” Or myself, if not Clarissa.

  Her mouth gaped, jaw cocked, and she shook her head. A sob, and she shot to her feet and clomped away.

  Clarissa’s glances further aroused his interest. And his confidence.

  Confidence enough to stride up to her. “You owe me that dance.” Cake-cutting nonsense finished, the band had begun to play again.

  She studied the floor. “We already danced.”

  “The maid of honor/best man dance doesn’t count. This is the dance I want.” A nice slow one so he could hold her close.

  “Do you always twist the rules to your advantage?”

  “If I want something badly enough.” Admitting it made him uncomfortable. He did it all too often, but this time, it was worth it.

  She scrutinized him. “Fine.”

  Fine? She agreed. The surprise of it caused his mind to blank, and then he realized she already was making her way to the dance floor.