A Wedding at the Blue Moon Cafe Page 7

  “Are you all right?”

  He gulped. “You look amazing.”

  A rose tinge along her cheeks made her even lovelier. “Oh. Thanks.”

  If he wasn’t holding these damn containers, he’d grab her instead.

  She turned too fast and smacked her head on the freezer door.

  He hastily set down the dishes. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” A plate smashed to the floor. “Oh fuck.”

  The café phone rang like an alarm.

  “Want me to get that?” Bad timing. Dylan wished whoever called could have waited until he’d comforted Clarissa.

  Rubbing the side of her head, Clarissa hurried to the wall phone. “No, I will.” She lifted the receiver. “Blue Moon Café.” She nodded. “Almost.”

  Dylan set to work cleaning up the dropped platter. Not a complete goner. The plate had cracked, but the food was intact. He carried it to the counter.

  She looked over at Dylan. “Yes, Dylan’s here helping me. But stall her a little longer. Everyone’s supposed to be here in about twenty minutes.”

  Only twenty minutes? He’d hoped for a longer time with her alone.

  She hung up. “Guess we better hurry. Amy wants to take her mom and sister out and Jeff’s freaking.”

  “Do you have another serving dish? We can salvage this food.”

  “Great.” She pulled one from an upper cabinet, set it beside the damaged one, and began to transfer the canapés.

  He’d never before noticed how slender and long her fingers were, delicate but deft in their movement. When some filling smeared on her fingertip, he watched as she brought it to her lips and sucked it. Her cheeks hollowed and mouth puckered. He imagined her tongue darting along her finger. The sweetest sensation rolled over him like a drug, then concentrated in his groin.

  She stilled, only her eyes moving as she looked up at him.

  One of those magical moments that only happened in the movies. So perfect for a kiss.

  Banging at the front door made them start.

  “Someone’s here.” She slipped away and was gone. Voices mingled, lilting tones of welcome and surprise.

  Aaaand kiss the magic good-bye. Dylan gathered up the stacked containers again and carried them out. A quick, “Hey,” and a smile at the newcomers, and then he went back for more. On his third trip, Clarissa joined him in the kitchen again.

  She lifted the last of the containers. “I really appreciate you doing all this.”

  “No problem.”

  “Now all I need is to set out the drinks and join the party.”

  “Let’s do it.” He winced, then realized he’d given himself away. Real suave.

  Her face flushed again. She hastened away. “The wine and beer’s in the other fridge.”

  Soft yet huskier than usual, her voice hit him harder than her punch had. “Got it.”

  ***

  Clarissa’s head felt light. Almost airy. Probably because it’s empty. What the hell was wrong with her? She cursed her strappy sandals as she hurried into the outer room and switched on the coffee urn, then mindlessly rearranged the cups.

  Bethany Jackson, one of Amy’s friends from college, wandered over. “Can I help with anything?”

  “Nope, it’s all under control.” Except for me, apparently. One glance over at Dylan and she flushed again. She really had to get it together before Amy arrived.

  Bethany watched Dylan with similar intensity. “So Amy has no clue about the shower?”

  For once, thank goodness for banal conversation, or Clarissa might have told the girl hands off Dylan. Why? She had no claim on him. “Oh probably. She didn’t want a traditional shower, so Jeff thought it would be nice to throw a party and include everyone.” Would he have kissed her in the kitchen, or had she imagined it? And why couldn’t Bethany keep her fucking eyes off him?

  “Who’s that guy?” Bethany practically purred.

  “What guy?” Stupid question. At Bethany’s tilted head and furrowed brow, Clarissa nodded. “Oh, you mean Dylan. Sorry. He’s Jeff’s best man. Dylan Wall.” Currently schmoozing with Jeff’s parents. Of course, he’d know them from college, wouldn’t he?

  “Are you two….” Lips pursed, Bethany crossed her fingers.

  “Us?” Clarissa started to shake her head but couldn’t quite manage to finish. “Noooo.”

  Bethany arched a brow as if taking aim. “He. Is. Hot.”

  Oh yeah, there they were—arrows of lust shooting from Bethany’s eyes, lids half-closed as if already in the throes of passion.

  Yeah, she’s probably a screamer. The type who let everyone within earshot know when she was screwing someone, when she was just about ready to come, and when she’d hit the finish line with a bang. Clarissa wrinkled her nose. “You think?”

  “You don’t?” Playgirl-like, Bethany’s smiling lips parted.

  If she bites a long nail and bends over to expose her cleavage, I’m going to puke. Clarissa shrugged. “Mm. I’ve been too busy.” At the ring of the café phone, she rushed for it but it stopped midway through the second ring. “The signal! They’re almost here. Everyone ready?”

  Great excuse to ditch Bethany. Clarissa made one last inspection of the gift and food tables, noting how nicely Dylan had arranged the tin tub of beer and wine coolers, the glasses set beside the larger wine bottles atop the tablecloth.

  Another quick scan of the room, and she located Dylan still speaking with Jeff’s mother and father. And Bethany sashaying into the mix. Dylan gave Bethany the once-over, and then his gaze connected with Clarissa’s.

  Shit. Caught staring. Spurred by her nerves, she walked aimlessly but halted when the door opened and Amy stood there. Double shit! In all the drama with Dylan, she’d lost sight of the most important thing: Amy’s shower.

  Amy’s mother and sister nudged her forward. Immediately after, Jeff ushered in his sister, Brooke, and their parents.

  Amy’s smile became a gape. “You guys! I don’t believe it.” A gentle poke at Jeff, and she hugged him, then reached out for Clarissa.

  Clarissa crossed the room. “Surprise,” she said against Amy’s ear.

  “I didn’t want you to fuss like this.”

  “Hey, it’s the only wedding you’ll have, so we’re going to celebrate as much as possible.”

  “Exactly.” Dylan leaned in for a quick embrace. “You guys deserve the best.”

  “Dylan!” Brooke looped her arm around his neck and lavished a kiss on his cheek. “You look amazing!”

  “No way. Brooke?” He swung in for a hug. “Man, it’s been years. You look fantastic.”

  It’s like a frat train wreck. Clarissa felt compelled to stare until she realized she was intruding on their little reunion. Her stomach tightened. She laid a hand across it and eased away. Time to disappear. Or throw up. The kitchen seemed a great hiding place.

  Once she got there, she opened and closed the fridge and a few cabinets. Nothing left to do. No excuse not to return to the party.

  The door swung open and Dylan strode in. “Can I help with anything?”

  “No, it’s all done. I was just….” Hiding. Her face heated. “I have to get back out there.”

  His confused-sounding, “Okay,” doubled her guilt, but if she tried to explain herself, it would come out all muddled. Instead, she escaped into the main room and focused on Amy.

  Or tried to. Hard not to notice that Brooke hung on Dylan’s every word, hung on his arm, laughed too loud at anything he said.

  Clarissa’s stomach churned. Ginger ale might help. She started for the refreshment table and cursed when Dylan began to follow. He stopped abruptly and she saw why—Brooke, hot on her heels.

  Brooke poured wine into a cup. “You’re so lucky.”

  “Really?” Jeff never mentioned his sister suffered delusions, and the few times Clarissa had met her, she’d seemed normal enough.

  “Of course. You have Dylan.”

  Ginger ale down the wrong way made Clariss
a cough. “You have the wrong impression.” Her hoarse wheeze might have given Brooke another false idea, except the girl hadn’t noticed.

  Brooke stayed riveted to Dylan’s every move. “God, he drove me crazy all through school. I would have done anything for him.”

  “Yeah, he drives me crazy, too.” Not in a good way.

  “See? I knew it. So lucky!”

  What made Jeff’s sister think luck would have anything to do with it? What if Dylan had fallen for her because he liked her? Found her irresistible? Not that she and Dylan had anything real.

  Brooke sighed. “Such a sweet guy. When I turned thirteen, I was boy crazy.”

  “No kidding.” Not hard to imagine.

  “Freshman year of high school, I fell in love with this kid in my class and made it plain I’d do anything for him.” Brooke lowered her voice. “He took advantage. I mean, full advantage. And after two dates—which consisted of making out in the backseat of his father’s car—he dumped me. Just like that.”

  How to answer? The same sob story of most every hormone-engorged teenaged girl. Clarissa simply nodded.

  “I cried my eyes out for days. Refused to come out of my room. Guess who knocked on my bedroom door?”

  Oh please. Shoot. Me. Now. “Dylan.”

  “Yes.” Brooke sounded surprised Clarissa guessed correctly. “And do you know what he did?”

  Took full advantage of you, too? Palms up, ready to stuff her fingers in her ears, Clarissa shrugged.

  “He sat on my bed, rubbed my back, and said the kid was a jerk. Not only that, he told me all guys were jerks. They all had sex on the brain and I had to be careful.” On a sigh, Brooke clucked her tongue. “Wish I could meet a guy so sweet.”

  “That actually was sweet. Unless he used it as an excuse to come on to you.”

  “I wish! He healed my broken heart, but then, of course, I fell in love with him.” Brooke eyeballed her. “Sorry. I can’t help myself around him.”

  “Why are you sorry?”

  “Aren’t you seeing him?”

  One weird encounter—or two—and everyone could tell? “No.”

  “But he gets that dreamy look in his eyes when he watches you.”

  He did? Clarissa wrinkled her nose. “Probably the alcohol.”

  “I thought the same thing at first. But he hasn’t been drinking. Which is not at all like Dylan.”

  So flattering. “Mm. Excuse me, I should—”

  Brooke grabbed her arm. “Are you sure you’re not involved?”

  Are you sure you’re not insane? She wriggled from Brooke’s hold. “Positive.”

  “You wouldn’t mind if I….” Brooke glanced left and right. “Tried again?”

  Wedding fever strikes again. “I….” Clarissa glanced over at Dylan. He turned at almost the same moment, gave a nod, and smiled.

  “God,” Brooke said in what must’ve been a reprisal of her teenage self. “I knew it. You guys are obsessed.”

  “No, I told you. We’re not.” Clarissa didn’t let herself become obsessed, infatuated, or any similar act of emotional irrationality. “If you want him, go for it.”

  The crazy-bridesmaid gleam in Brooke’s eyes returned. “Seriously? Because you totally just made my day. My week. Maybe my year.” After a small squeal, she crossed the room on a mission, Dylan the bull’s-eye. She caught him faster than the bouquet and latched on tight.

  He shot Clarissa a questioning glance. When she ducked her head, the silent question became an unspoken accusation. Traitor.

  Fuck. Why had she unleashed the bridal hound of Hell on him?

  ***

  An hour of listening to Brooke’s sharp laughter, her reminiscing—and romanticizing—the past left Dylan with a headache. He’d edged away from her a few times, but she never let more than a few feet come between them. She talked the entire time he and Mario texted; they shared the same something’s-off suspicion about the new guy. Dylan ended by asking Mario to keep a sharper eye, and ear, out for anything strange. Brooke still yapped, though he had no idea what she’d said.

  Time for a new tactic. “You know, I think it’s time for a toast to the happy couple.” And a break. Didn’t she want to catch up on old times with her brother?

  Brooke’s smile faltered, then returned full strength. “Great idea. I’ll be right here.”

  Guess not. “I should probably mingle with guests more. I don’t want to appear rude.”

  “Oh. Right.” She sipped from her wineglass and stared across the room.

  Except to her? Subtlety didn’t always cushion rudeness, but better to stop this now, whatever this was. Maybe nothing more than a sweet kid latching onto a familiar face in a roomful of strangers, but Brooke didn’t seem the wallflower type. Not unless the years had changed her. A lot.

  “Excuse me.” He rose from the table and wended his way closer to Amy and Jeff. Raising his glass, he asked for everyone’s attention. “When I came to Marfa, I had a little trouble imagining Jeff happy in such a small town. Then I met his fiancée Amy. She’s smart, generous, kind, and has brought out the best in Jeff. What she sees in him, I have no idea.” He let the quiet laughter die away, then stole a look at Clarissa. Unreadable, but attentive. He went on. “I can honestly say I’ve never met a couple more in love. After a week here”—had it only been a week—“I can’t see Jeff anywhere else, or with anyone else besides Amy. Guys, here’s to a long, happy life.” He sipped warm beer from his nearly full cup and realized he’d been carrying it around all night.

  Jeff strode over and caught Dylan in his gangly embrace. “Thanks, man.”

  Amy hugged him next. “You’re so sweet. Thank you for coming all this way to be part of our wedding.”

  Jeff grinned. “Glad to hear Marfa’s gotten to you, too.”

  “Hey, I wouldn’t miss it.” Marfa, he wasn’t so sure about. Clarissa, though…she’d gotten to him. Why, and how deep, he had to find out before the wedding ended. Before he got on a plane for home. Where’d she go?

  When Brooke appeared beside him, the room closed in. He excused himself and went to the kitchen. No Clarissa. He shouldn’t keep after her. Worse than Brooke. Needing some air, he continued outside to the patio and threw back his head. Yeah, just what he needed. Those stars. So clear and dazzling. Incredible. He inhaled a deep breath and let his thoughts drift off. Scents filled the air, tomatoes and herbs in the vegetable garden.

  A pebble scraped the stone walkway and drew his attention down the path. Clarissa strolled toward him.

  “Hey. I wondered where you disappeared to.”

  She toed a stone with her shoe. “Too many people inside.”

  “Yeah. Much nicer out here.” Alone with her.

  She hugged herself. “At least you’re better acquainted with most of them than me.”

  “I guess. It’s been years since I’ve seen them.” Even Jeff.

  “But you used to be close. Jeff’s family seems to love you.”

  “I hung out there some weekends in college. They’re good people.” He chanced a look at her. “Brooke asked if we were in love.”

  Nervous laughter. “I know. So ridiculous.”

  He wasn’t laughing. “Why’s that?”

  “Where do you want me to start? Um, we met last week.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe we fell in love at first sight. It happens.”

  She shook her head too vehemently. “We have zero in common.”

  Protesting too much? Oh, this was fun. He innocently batted his eyelashes. “Opposites attract.”

  “You’re an ass.” Somehow it lacked her normal oomph.

  Good sign. He nodded. “All men are.”

  She picked at the rim of her glass. “I don’t fall in love.”

  He winced. “What? I’ve never heard anything so absurd. Why?”

  She shifted her stance. “Because I don’t.” The words came out clipped.

  “Bullshit.”

  Her oomph returning, she glared at him. “How dare you.�
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  “Come on, you’re shitting me, right?”

  “Why would I?”

  Damn. She really believed it. “What, because you haven’t found Mr. Right?”

  Emotion drained from her face. “I haven’t bothered to look. He doesn’t exist.”

  Nice try. “Ha. Oh, I get it. You’re the essence of bohemian. It doesn’t fit your lifestyle.”

  Something like nausea crossed her face. “Exactly.”

  “You’re using it as an excuse.”

  “I don’t need one.” Her tone took on a childish, taunting quality.

  “Then you’re hiding from something.”

  “Oh shut up.”

  Bingo. “That’s it. You’re hiding from love.”

  An incredulous laugh escaped her. “Oh my God. Are you writing a soap opera? Or a country song?”

  “Admit it.”

  “Don’t try and analyze me.”

  “Right. You’re too complex to understand. If I tried, my head would explode.”

  “It’s very possible it already has.”

  He wouldn’t argue that particular point. “You can’t keep running away, Clarissa.”

  “Who says I’m running? I have no need to run anywhere. I’m exactly where I want to be.”

  “Alone?”

  Guilt slammed into him at her pained expression.

  “I have plenty of friends.” Strength edged her soft voice. “And lovers, when I choose to.”

  As if he needed the reminder. “But not love.”

  “You never stop pushing, do you, Frat Boy?”

  “I do, actually. After I strike the vein of truth.”

  He expected her to bolt, run away like she usually did. But she stayed. A fact that urged him on. “I haven’t dug deep enough yet.” Narrow-eyed, he scrutinized her. “But I’m getting close. Very close.”

  “You’ll end up disappointed, but mine away all you want.”

  “I have your permission?”

  She gave half a shrug. “Why not.”

  “What about strip mining?” Now that held definite possibilities.

  Sweet and sour never looked so delectable. “Oh no, you need a special permit for that.”

  An invitation? “How do I get one?”

  She assessed him head to toe. “Sorry. You don’t meet the requirements.”