A Wedding at the Blue Moon Cafe Page 4

  “Then count me in.”

  In between bites, Jeff laughed. “Unless you’d rather relax at the hammock grove at El Cosmico. Or one of its craft workshops, but those are probably filled now that the festival’s full tilt.”

  “Yeah, crafts aren’t my strong suit. As you well know.”

  Clarissa tuned in to the conversation. Dylan’s tried crafts? Is that why he’d asked about the candles? “What do you mean?”

  Jeff and Dylan turned in unison. Jeff recovered first. “Dylan built a bookshelf for our dorm room.”

  Dylan’s shoulders bounced with laughter. “It held about what, two books before it toppled into pieces?”

  The café phone rang. Clarissa leaped for it. “Blue Moon Café.” The caller asked for Amy, so she held it out. “For you, Amy.”

  After answering, it took about two seconds for Amy to gasp. “What? You’re kidding. No, we’ll be right over.” She hung up and turned to Jeff. “We have to get to the courthouse before they close in…ten minutes.”

  Jeff was already off the stool and at her side. “Why?”

  “We forgot to sign the papers. I can’t believe it.” She rubbed her temples.

  Jeff held her shoulders and bent to her eye level. “It’ll be okay, honey.”

  Amy’s panic ratcheted up. “But it’s Friday night, the festival’s about to start—”

  Dylan stood. “Whatever you need, just name it.”

  Jeff straightened. “The booth. We haven’t set it up.”

  “And,” Amy added, “we’ll need someone to work it until we get back.”

  Dylan shrugged. “No worries. We’ll take care of it.”

  We? How could such a simple word rattle her? Clarissa stepped toward them. “Right, I know where everything goes. Go take care of whatever you need to.”

  Amy heaved a breath too large for her small frame. “All right. Call my cell if you need anything. We shouldn’t be long.”

  Dylan waved them along. “No need to hurry. We have you covered.”

  Grr, that “we” again. Clarissa wanted to argue she and Dylan weren’t a “we,” but it would only upset Amy more. Her wedding jitters must be getting the best of her. Even Jeff seemed infected as he guided her toward the front.

  Clarissa glanced at the clock. Four fifteen. “Harvey, can you start warming up the food?” She pointed at Dylan. “We need to set up the booth. Well enough so it doesn’t topple into pieces.”

  He winced. “Funny. Where is it?”

  She led him outside to the shed and gestured while she dug out the dolly. “In the back. Those four wood-and-vinyl pieces. Once we get those set up, we’ll come back for these three tables.”

  Together, they loaded the four sides, and she nodded ahead. “Down the stone path to the street.”

  “The street?”

  “Yes, it’s shut down for tomorrow’s 5k run and the parade. That’s when we’ll be really busy. And it won’t let up till Sunday night. Well, Monday. Normally, we’re closed that day, but people like to eat before they leave town.” Stop babbling, you sound like an idiot.

  “Makes sense. Jeff showing his practical side.”

  “They’ve done it this way since opening the café. They decide everything together.”

  “Right. Just making conversation.”

  “Small talk.” The worst sort of conversations. Meaningless drivel.

  “Exactly.” He appeared pleased.

  She sighed. “Stop.”

  His pleasant expression turned to exasperation. “Come on, Clarissa. Cut me a break. I’m—”

  She pulled back on the dolly. “You’re going too far. Stop. Right here.”

  He glanced back. “Oh. You mean…here’s where you set up the booth.”

  She shot him a “duh” look and grabbed the end of the outer piece. “This one’s the right side. Facing the street.” Guess I better be more specific from now on.

  For once, he stayed silent as he worked and waited for her instructions before doing anything. Within minutes, they’d assembled the pieces into one unit.

  He circled around the front and set his hands on his hips as he inspected. “Nice. Great idea to use the same designs on the booth that are painted on some of the candles.”

  Oh good golly, the candles again. At least he’d noticed. Which set her on edge more? “We need to get the supplies.” She headed down the side path.

  He caught up to her. “You’re fast.”

  “We’re running low on time.” And it amused her to make him scurry around. “You forgot the dolly.”

  A snap of his fingers, and he did a one eighty. “Be right back.”

  Her conscience nagged as she reentered the kitchen. No slack for the newbie?

  Hey, he volunteered.

  As soon as he trundled the dolly to the back door, she stacked box after box on it. He followed suit until they’d overloaded it.

  “This will do for now.” If they ran short of anything, it would give her an excuse to get away from him for a bit. She jerked her thumb toward the café.

  He took the cue and wheeled it away.

  She couldn’t help but admire the view from the rear. Great tush despite the cell phone in the back pocket. Shoulders not too wide or bulky like a Mr. Universe wannabe but nice definition on his biceps. Bet he had a six-pack of abs, too.

  What do you care?

  I don’t. I can find plenty of cowboys just like him. Ones who wouldn’t talk her ear off. Ones she could leave before morning without a second thought.

  So why had Dylan suddenly taken up residence in her head? Barged in, unwanted, and tore up the place, rearranging it to suit himself. She could hardly think straight around him.

  He stopped behind the booth. “Everything okay?”

  “Of course. I was running through the details to be sure I hadn’t missed anything.”

  Dylan began unloading. “So tell me. How did Jeff and Amy meet?”

  Clarissa stopped and gaped. “You don’t know?”

  “The general stuff. That he met her here.” He’d skimmed the email and Facebook postings, thinking it took place so far away it seemed a bit unreal. Never had he guessed Jeff would stay, and hell, Dylan had definitely never expected him to settle down here.

  She slipped past him to arrange cups and other supplies inside the booth. “Jeff came to the festival eight years ago. Amy was here with some college friends. They ran into each other and stayed up all night, talking.”

  “And decided to start a restaurant together? Not something any of my dates ever inspired me to try, but hey, apparently it works for them.”

  “Obviously, more…discussions…led to other…things.” Damn, how did she become an immediate oaf around him? I’m normally very articulate, she wanted to argue. And this booth was getting too small. She circled to the front on the pretense of inspecting it. After dusting off the sign, she had no other excuse and headed back.

  “I still can’t see them as a viable couple,” he mused aloud.

  Fueled by irritation, she popped her head around the front again. “Viable? They’re not a goddamn experiment. They love each other.” Texting again. Work or play?

  He looked up from his cell phone and shrugged, innocent as a schoolboy. “I guess.”

  She pointed a packet of plastic utensils at him. “Amy saw in Jeff what no one else had—a guy who’d stifled his creative side, an unhappy soul stuck in a dead-end job.”

  “Whoa, what fairy tale did you hear? He had a six-digit salary.” He slid the phone into his back pocket.

  “Fairy tale? You think there has to be a fairy tale to have a happy ending?” She jabbed the utensils at him. “What did his salary matter if he hated getting up every morning? And going to work felt like a prison sentence?”

  “You think he’s in a better place in his life here? Now that he has to cook and clean and wait on customers?”

  “They’re more than customers to Jeff. He knows everyone in town. Cares about them.”

  “Oh, come
on.”

  “When was the last time you cared about your work?” How could he invest his soul in anything he had to put a new face on to make it more palatable to the public? According to Jeff, Dylan’s successful PR firm spun new images for people, things. In Clarissa’s experience, if people or things needed new images, they probably didn’t deserve them.

  “I….” His brow furrowed. He blinked, staring out at nothing.

  Gotcha. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.” So why did it come as a relief that he might have a soul buried beneath that slick facade?

  “I care. Plenty.”

  “And I bet you can’t wait to get back.”

  “I can’t.”

  Lightning might have struck her nerves. “Good.” She stomped around the booth.

  “Why do you hate me so much?” His voice drifted through the flimsy canvas.

  “You’re everything I ran away from.”

  A pause. “Stability? Success?”

  Smart ass. “Shallow, egotistical, so focused on work you’re missing out on life.”

  “I miss nothing.”

  “You’re so blind, you don’t even see what you’re missing.” Maybe if she took him to see the Marfa Lights, he’d understand. Appreciate more than what he could grasp using only his hands.

  “Oh, and I suppose if I gardened to get in touch with nature, maybe got a few tattoos to show how tough I am—”

  Anger sizzled through her blood stream. “You have no clue what you’re talking about.”

  “Enlighten me.” He reached for the feather on her shoulder. “Why’d you get this one?”

  His touch sent a jolt through her and she shrugged away his finger. “Don’t.”

  “Just asking. Don’t shoot the inquisitor.”

  “Then don’t poke your inquisition where it doesn’t belong. And nobody uses words like inquisitor.”

  He made a goofy face. “Apparently, I do.”

  “You’re an ass.”

  “Don’t speak to the customers like that.” Facing the front of the booth, he smiled. “Good evening, how are you?”

  She rushed to his side. “I wasn’t—there’s no one here.”

  He grinned. “I’m here.”

  Unfortunately. She slammed the box on the table. “If you think you can handle the crowds on your own for a minute, I’d like to go change.”

  He gave her the once-over. “Why? You look great.”

  Her breath billowed in her chest, and she restrained it from releasing as a screech.

  He held up his hands in surrender. “I’m not trying to provoke you, merely stating the obvious. But if you’d be more comfortable in something else, by all means. Go change.”

  She leaned out and peered past the counter, up and down the street. Some people milling around, nothing crazy yet. “All right. I’ll be back in a few.”

  “I’ll be here.” All sweetness, he smiled. “Waiting for you.”

  “Thanks.” As if she needed the reminder. His very presence rubbed her nerves raw. Not even stepping past the flap to the outside helped; she knew without looking he was peeking out, watching her. She wished she had time to take another route to the cottage so he wouldn’t see.

  Not until she’d closed the door behind her did she let out a breath of relief. Ducking past the strings of white capiz shells and the drape that separated the main room from her small closet, she sighed. She discarded the top she’d selected earlier for one less sheer, a sleeveless blouse of baby blue with tiny yellow flowers. No way could she endure a repeat of Frat Boy’s drooling, juvenile suggestions. Damn, which meant the red skirt didn’t match. Instead, she stepped into a clay-colored skirt that skimmed her knees. The faded red cowboy boots were a given, too comfy not to wear.

  The capiz shells tinkled as she headed for the main room and caught her reflection in the mirror. Frowning, she plucked at her blond layers. Hm, wouldn’t hurt to wear some makeup tonight. She had to look her best to work in the booth, didn’t she? A few strokes of the mascara wand did the trick. Not exactly a magic wand, but better, anyway.

  She stopped at the long table lining the wall to finger the half-painted candles. Was it stupid to waste her time like that? Applying designs to wax?

  Hell no. She loved it. Customers loved it. She lifted the box of finished candles she’d packed earlier. And she’d prove to Frat Boy that others loved it, too, when this batch sold out tonight.

  ***

  After serving the last two customers for the night, Jeff unlatched the vinyl flap, and it fell over the front of the booth. “Time to go have some fun.”

  Dylan nodded. If only that didn’t sound so impossible. And if only someone else had said it. Clarissa had already started her own party, dancing with some cowboy. Jesus, how could anyone move like that? An exotic dancer/angel? “Does she know that guy?”

  Jeff sent a startled frown to Amy. “I have no idea.”

  Amy tugged at Jeff. “Let’s dance.”

  “You two have enough energy to dance after working so hard?”

  Jeff shrugged. “What work?”

  “We’ve been waiting all day for this.” Amy shooed them out the back.

  Stepping outside, Dylan paused. “You’re going to leave all that stuff in the booth?”

  “Sure.” Jeff said.

  Amy fitted herself against Jeff. “It would take too long to set it all up again.”

  “What if someone steals it?”

  “No one ever has.” Jeff kissed Amy, then rubbed his sizable nose against her perky one.

  “Maybe not the cups or plates, but what about the candles?”

  “Clarissa leaves them overnight, too.” Amy sounded dreamy, staring into Jeff’s eyes.

  Ugh, nothing like being the third wheel. “Does she know the artist or something?”

  Jeff finally glanced over. For about half a second. “She is the artist.”

  “Oh.” Shit, how did he not see that? Of course she’s an artist. Which means you insulted her—again. Fuck.

  Jeff twirled Amy, and when she faced him again, laughing, she fell into his arms. Dylan should have been dog-tired, but still felt wired. He had to move. Skirting the outside of the area where others danced, his gaze kept returning to Clarissa, still swinging her hips in a maddening groove. The cowboy gyrated toward her in a dry hump, already making wincing sex faces like he was ready for the throw-down, the horizontal boogie.

  Clarissa danced as if no one else existed. Oblivious. Did she mean to tease all guys so cruelly? Dylan realized he’d walked a circle around her, as if he were tethered and she stood at the epicenter.

  When the band launched into a slow song, Dylan stepped in. “May I?” He tried to ignore the cowboy’s imitation of a mad bull, nostrils puffing.

  “No, thanks.”

  “Please?” He swept her into his arms. “I won’t embarrass you.”

  “You mean anymore than you already have?”

  The cowboy’s chest puffed out. “She said no. Get lost.”

  “It’s all right,” she told the guy.

  Elation bubbled through Dylan when the cowboy stalked away. “I was referring to my awful dancing.”

  “Ah. So you can’t promise not to embarrass me in other ways.”

  “Look, Clarissa—”

  “Do you wreak havoc everywhere you go, Frat Boy?”

  Ignore the taunt. He had it coming, after all, and still had to make up for his initial gross mistake. “No. Generally not. Normally I blend in. I arrive and depart in a seamless manner, almost anonymous sometimes.”

  She made a sad face. “How awful for you.”

  “How so?”

  “You might as well not exist.” Smug satisfaction tainted her deadpan tone.

  Okay, can’t ignore that one. “Or, I choose not to assault everyone with my presence. Literally or otherwise.”

  “You deserved that punch.”

  He wouldn’t argue with Miss High and Mighty and gave a nod. “I did. I’m sorry I offended you.”

&
nbsp; “Not that it will stop you from assuming in the future.”

  “If it helps, you made quite an impression on me. Literally and otherwise.” His jaw still ached.

  “Don’t tell me there’s actually hope for you.” Lips curled into a teasing smile, or possibly a smirk, she tilted her head in an adorable pose.

  Perfect kissing angle. “I like to think there is.” He’d like to try it sometime. Kiss that smirk right off her face. Probably too soon at the moment, but he couldn’t resist easing in a little closer. A faint scent of cherries and vanilla drifted up, inviting him to ease even closer. Taste her.

  She pointedly looked away. “You like to think women will strip for you because you’re a pretty Frat Boy.”

  Warmth flushed through him, and he couldn’t hold back a grin. “You think I’m pretty?”

  She sighed. “Pretty impossible.”

  “Jesus. I’ve been trying to apologize.” His frustration erupted in a laugh. Bad timing.

  Her muscles went rigid under his touch. “Kind of a roundabout way to do it, don’t you think?”

  “Didn’t I say it clear enough? I’m sorry, Clarissa. Very, very sorry. Sorry for insulting you when we first met, sorry for insulting your work. I beg your forgiveness. Is that better?”

  Her gaze sharpened. “What work?”

  “The candles.”

  With a huff, she stared over his shoulder.

  “I’m not surprised they sold out. You might want to consider charging more.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  So, apology not accepted? What the hell? “Why do you have to make everything so difficult?”

  “Are you sure my parents didn’t send you here? Because you sound just like them.”

  Interesting. Is that why she left home? “Never met them. Can we please just try to get along?”

  The moment before the song ended, she broke away. “I have to go.”

  He stepped toward her. “Do you?”

  “I said I did.” She stared at her fingers, twisting them in front of her.

  Maybe she needed a little incentive? “Just making sure. Because if you could stay a little while, I’d love to buy you a drink. Have another dance.” Especially if she moved like she did with that cowboy.

  She gave her head a slow shake. “I can’t.”