| |
Andie caught up to Whit moments before the reception started. She slipped a memory card in the front pocket of his tuxedo jacket. “I have to go,” she said breathlessly. “I’m going to Africa tomorrow! Can you believe it?”
“Yes.” He grabbed her hand. “Please stay. I can’t leave. It’s Grayson’s wedding reception. I have to make a speech, dance a dance...”
“I know. Of course, you have to stay here, but I don’t, and I have a hundred and one things to do!”
She saw Jeremy watching her from across the lawn, and she smiled and waved at him, surprised that seeing him no longer hurt.
Whit took her hand and raised it to his lips. “I need to talk to you. I want to dance with you. I want to kiss you while I still can.”
Andie wavered. Her gaze fell on her mom, nibbling on chocolate covered strawberries and laughing with Grammy Dean and Lou-Lou. Carver Neilson lurked in a corner, his expression grim and dark.
Whit must have followed her gaze, because he whispered, “Doesn’t it bother you to have your nemesis paying your ticket?”
Whit’s breath tickled her neck and sent jiggling warnings down her spine. He was dangerous, maybe even more dangerous than Carver, but tomorrow she was leaving, and he was leaving, and that was the end. That thought caused a rising tide of emotions she didn’t want to define.
“Are you asking if I’m worried about my grammy’s orchard? That maybe Carver thinks if I’m out of the way he can woo my mom into selling the orchard?”
Whit didn’t nod. His lips didn’t twitch. His gaze remained earnest and concerned. Oh, he was good. Very good. She promised herself that she would never play poker or enter into any sort of business arrangement with him ever again.
“Carver underestimates my mom and overestimates his charms.” She took a sip of champagne and felt it tingle on her lips. “Not everyone and everything can be bought.”
Whit flinched. “You told me that before.”
She lifted a shoulder and hoped she looked nonchalant.
“So, it doesn’t bother you that a man you hate is paying for your trip?”
“I don’t hate Carver. I don’t trust him. There’s a difference.”
“Do you trust me?”
“No.”
He caught one lip between his teeth and looked away.
She worried that may have hurt his feelings, and put her hand on his arm. “Do you want to dance?”
“I thought you had a million things to do.”
She nodded and the laundry list of everything she needed to accomplish ran through her head. “I do...I just don’t want to leave...” She sighed, not knowing how to share her feelings. “I want us to be friends.”
“Friends.” He pulled her against his chest and whispered in her ear. “You’ve paid for my glasses. You don’t owe me anything. I know I’ll see you again. I just want to see you as much as I can.”
And so she stayed. And danced. And wondered if she would ever feel as at home as she did in that very moment in Whit’s arms. She told herself that he couldn’t be trusted, that he was a weasel of the Carver Neilson variety, but at that moment, beneath the silvery moon and a million shining stars, she didn’t care.