“OH, LOOK! There’s Harper and Kyle,” Anne chirped brightly, pointing across the restaurant. “This is going to be super fun. I hope the salsa is good. You know how salsa can make or break the entire Mexican food experience for me.” Hooking an arm around Rhys’s elbow, she urged him forward.
Rhys didn’t budge. Anne’s overly enthusiastic tone was chiming in his brain like a warning bell. Yet another sound to synthesize with the already-grating restaurant noises scraping against the inside of his skull. Excessive was the word that came to mind as he surveyed La Playa Bonita’s interior. The wall to his left sported a mural of jungle animals scattered among a canopy of foliage. Cheeky monkeys swung from vines and a snake coiled around a tree limb. A toucan-shaped piñata hung from the ceiling above. Along the far wall, fish and sea creatures frolicked against a background of bright blue. It was there, amid the equally eye-catchingly bright ocean, that Rhys spotted Kyle and Harper seated at a large table. Several tables, technically, pushed together end to end. Enough to seat the—Rhys quickly counted—eight other people congregated there. There were still empty seats, as well.
Allowing himself a moment to process the situation, he attempted to adjust to the uncomfortable acceleration of his pulse and accompanying pressure building smack-dab in the center of his chest. Despite his distress, he kept his tone level. “I thought you said we were having dinner with Kyle and Harper and a few of their friends.”
“We are,” Anne said, only a little less brightly.
“Eight is not a few.”
“Close enough.”
“Hardly. In this context, eight is much closer to numerous, several, or even a bunch than a few.”
Anne muttered something under her breath while reaching out with one hand to grip his wrist lightly. “Come here,” she said, pulling him sideways behind a large, square pillar. In a low voice, she added, “See what you did right there? Don’t do that at dinner, okay? We’re trying to get people to like you.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Don’t be...argumentative.”
Rhys stared at her, perplexed. “I’m never argumentative.”
“Yes. You are. I said there were a few other people and you corrected me.”
“Well, you were wrong.”
“Rhys!” she hissed. “You’re arguing with me right now.”
“No, I’m not. I’m simply pointing out an indisputable fact.”
Anne scowled up at him. “It comes across as disagreeable. I know that you know what I’m talking about.”
He did. It was not the first time she’d pointed out this tendency of his. Nor was she the first person to do so. But it was also inaccurate. “Correcting misinformation is not arguing.”
“Rhys, this desire you have to be right all the time is annoying. It rubs people the wrong way.”
It wasn’t that he wanted to be right all the time. Not at all. He simply couldn’t abide anything other than accuracy. And the truth. He shrugged a shoulder. “People should get their facts straight before they speak.”
Expression earnest, her eyes searched his for a few seconds before she gave her head a little shake. “Sometimes I think you truly do not care what people think about you.”
Rhys managed a small smile at that. “Then sometimes you would be correct.”
CAMILE SAT WITH her back toward the wall, her position allowing her a view of a large section of the restaurant. She predicted good things for the eatery’s future based on the atmosphere the owners had created. The decor was jungle-tropical themed—fun and festive and inviting. The upbeat Latin pop music wasn’t too loud and called to mind soft sand and warm beaches. She’d just dipped another chip into the excellent salsa which, in her opinion, was another huge indicator of the establishment’s potential success, when she noticed a striking couple standing across the room.
Specifically, what she noticed first was the woman’s gorgeous red hair. A quick assessment revealed that the rest of her was equally as pretty. Her attention shifted to the man standing by her side. Causing her heart to slam sideways against her rib cage. Hard.
No... It couldn’t be, could it?
Morbid curiosity overrode her latent humiliation and had her squinting for a better look. The chip in her hand remained suspended in midair between the salsa bowl and her mouth, as she realized that his hair drew attention, too. Was that irony? She imagined it like a slapstick skit, two beautiful, stunning-haired people triggering double takes wherever they went. Unfortunately, it wasn’t funny in this case. Not at all. Because it helped confirm his identity.
Rhys McGrath’s hair wasn’t red, but it was the most striking shade of blond. About a hundred different sun-kissed shades all woven together and falling nearly to his shoulders in thick golden waves. She’d recognize that hair anywhere because when she’d first laid eyes on it, on him, she’d been struck with a series of thoughts. The first was that he looked like a surfer, which was silly because she’d never actually known any surfers. But she was pretty sure they would look like him. If he’d been wearing board shorts instead of an expensive suit. The second had been less of a thought and more of a desire. Her fingers had tingled from wanting to run them through those loose, luxurious curls. She just knew they would feel all velvety soft. The third was that a guy who’d not only been blessed with such beautiful hair but also wore it in that laid-back, hip kind of style would probably have a personality to match.
Exhilaration had left her almost giddy as she’d slid into the seat across from him in the swanky downtown Portland restaurant for what felt like a truly promising blind date with a brilliant engineer. And for a brief moment, she’d believed that Rhys McGrath was exactly the kind of beach-bum-meets-handsome-professor she’d pegged him for.
How wrong she’d been.
That was when the right-here-right-now Rhys McGrath turned and looked in her direction. A rush of adrenaline surged through her bloodstream, prickling her skin and scattering her thoughts. Did he recognize her? What should she do? Pretend not to recognize him? Hide? One thing she would not do was give him the satisfaction of knowing how badly he’d humiliated her. That meant hiding was out. She didn’t like that option anyway; Camile was not a hider by nature. She could throw her margarita in his face. Tempting. But a bit too clichéd for her, and too overt. Drink tossing would suggest anger on her part. Was she angry? Yes, of course, she was. No one deserved to be treated the way he’d treated her. Many times, she’d fantasized about tracking him down and giving him a piece of her mind. And yet, she hadn’t wanted to humiliate herself further. Just like she didn’t want to do so now. It had happened a long time ago. She was over it. Ideally, she’d want him to think that it hadn’t bothered her in the first place. So her approach should probably reside somewhere in the middle of the two extremes. More of a cold-shouldered recognition.
Bracing herself, she prepared to meet the intensity of those blue eyes. Yep, she remembered those, too. Because for the brief time they’d been focused on her—over the appetizer he’d ordered and left untouched—she’d felt interesting and listened to and attractive and... And then he’d bolted like a cowardly jackal. Why did this still bother her?
He shifted back toward his companion, and Camile realized that maybe he hadn’t been looking at her, per se, but just gazing in her general direction. From the look of their heated conversation, he had other things on his mind. Camile exhaled the breath she’d been holding and forced fresh air into her lungs. No reason to think that he’d even noticed her, let alone recognized her. The date had been a long-ago occurrence that was short in duration; two years ago and twenty-three minutes long, respectively. She’d grown her hair out since then, changed the color as she tended to do. On the date, she’d worn it down and curled. There’d been makeup, a fancy dress and no glasses. Pretty much the opposite of how she looked this evening.
“Camile?” Her sister Nina’s voice broke through her reverie. “Sweetie, are you okay?”
“What?” she answered, slow-blinking in Nina’s general vicinity.
“Are you all right? I lost you there for a minute. You’re a little pale. Is something wrong with the salsa?”
Camile glanced down at the chip still held rigidly in her fingers. Her mouth was way too dry to eat it now. With her other hand, she reached for her margarita and took a sip. She ate the chip, washing it down with another sip. Which she then chased with a nice healthy gulp.
“Yes. No. Sorry. Salsa is yummy. I’m fine. Just a little tired. Long day.”
Nina shifted her tone to an exaggeratedly loud whisper. “You’re not going to pass out again, are you?”
Camile gaped at her eldest sister before letting out a groan of frustration. Middle sister, Aubrey, who was seated on the opposite side of the table and had been engaging in conversation with her friend and former Coast Guard teammate Jay, swiveled toward them.
Like a lighthouse beacon, Aubrey homed in on Nina. “Passed out? And what do you mean, again?” She peered at Nina and then Camile before demanding, “What is she talking about, Camile? When did you pass out?”
Sighing, Camile gave her head a little shake. She frowned at Nina. “I thought we agreed we weren’t going to say anything. How is this not telling Aubrey?”
“I didn’t tell her. She eavesdropped.” Nina added an innocent shrug as if this were a valid explanation for her obvious intent to let Aubrey know about the episode.
“Why would we not tell Aubrey?” Aubrey asked, their statements overlapping. “What happened?”
“A minor bout of heatstroke. It was nothing. I’m fine.”
“If you consider dehydration nothing,” Nina added. “Then sure, yeah, it was nothing.”
“Nina,” Camile groaned, “why are you doing this to me?”
“You were dehydrated?” Aubrey scowled. “When did this happen?”
“Last weekend, at that pet store opening. I worked a double because Becca got sick. The owner offered me double time. It was very good money.” Or it would have been if she’d been able to finish the job.
“Camile, we’ve talked about this—”
Camile scooped up another chip and pointed it at Aubrey. “Exactly! Which is why I didn’t mention it.” When working in costume, Camile limited her fluid consumption to minimize bathroom breaks. It was a pain to get the suits off and on. Aubrey knew this. She disliked it and had warned Camile that something “serious” might happen. Her sister could be so annoying when she was right, and she was right an annoying amount of the time. Precisely why Camile hadn’t wanted her to know. Aubrey had it all together, had always had it all together, and as such, enjoyed favored status with their parents, especially their father. Nina’s recent berry farm success had elevated her up the ladder, as well. Unlike Camile, whose life seemed to be unraveling faster and faster every day.
But apart from the taco fiasco, the pet store job had been great. Mostly great. Exhausting yes, but she’d enjoyed mingling with the dogs and their owners. Sure, the suit was old, making it hotter and stuffier than newer styles. And yes, she’d been, um, mistaken for a fire hydrant. Twice. But all in all, it was worth it. Until she’d accidentally turned off the “water alarm” on her phone, which resulted in a couple of missed hydration breaks. That, and skipping breakfast, and then lunch, had resulted in her passing out in a heap of fur-covered humiliation. She couldn’t think of much that was more embarrassing than being rushed to the hospital while wearing a giant foam dog suit. Except for maybe being abandoned at a table for two during the first act of a first date. Her gaze strayed back to where she’d last seen Rhys... Gone. She exhaled a loud sigh of relief.
Nina answered Camile’s question. “Because you work too hard. And too much. Both. And if you’d just take the job on my farm, then you would never end up in the hospital hooked up to IV fluids.”
“The hospital? My baby sister was in the hospital, and I didn’t know about it?” Aubrey asked the questions in a voice as smooth and sweet as chilled cream, effectively telling Camile that she was fuming. Not that she needed confirmation on that score. Aubrey did not like being out of the loop. “Do Mom and Dad know?”
“Of course not!” Camile exclaimed, horrified by the notion.
The three sisters were quiet for a beat. They all knew there was no way their parents, Brian and Susannah, would ever keep a major family incident like that from Aubrey. A rescue swimmer for the Coast Guard, Aubrey was like the self-appointed captain of the Wynn family safety squad. And as Aubrey was practically a clone of their father, a retired Coast Guard captain, father and daughter’s type-A personalities united to form an overwhelmingly bossy benevolence that, while well-meaning, could also feel smothering. Resulting in Camile’s tendency to sometimes be less than completely forthcoming. She counted on Nina to be her ally in this. Or at least, she used to.
“Aubrey, please, don’t tell them. It was nothing.” Thankfully, their retired parents were spending the summer touring the country’s national parks in their RV.
“I won’t.”
“Thank you.”
“If you promise to cut back on your schedule.”
She barely managed to stifle a scoff. How in the world am I supposed to do that and pay my bills? The question burned hotter than salsa on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it down. Because saying it would only result in unwanted and unneeded help and advice. “Done,” she said instead.
“Really?”
“Sure.” Camile added an easy shrug. “I was fired from the taco-truck job today, so I have an entire day off tomorrow.” She also had the following five weekends free, but she wasn’t going to mention those. The hours would easily be filled with one of her other part-time jobs. Hal had already asked her if she could squeeze in more time at the bowling alley.
“Camile, that’s not what I meant.”
She sighed. “Aubrey, I appreciate your concern. I do. But I am fine. And I can’t just—” Before Camile could finish her thought, she was interrupted with a cheerful, “Hey, guys!”
“Harper, hi!” Nina greeted the smiling woman who approached them.
“Sorry to interrupt, but I want to introduce you ladies to my friends.”
Professional photographer Harper Jansen and her fiancé Kyle Frasier were recent additions to their social group. Kyle was former military and Jay’s brother-in-law, so he was already an acquaintance. But Camile and Harper had recently struck up their own friendship when Camile had been hired to teach ballroom dance classes at the local studio along with Harper, who taught ballet.
The two women had hit it off immediately, and normally Camile would be thrilled to meet her friends. But not now. Because Harper’s friends were none other than Rhys McGrath and his red-haired companion who, Camile couldn’t help but notice, was even prettier up close. A perfect match to his own dazzling good looks. Camile hated that she’d wondered if it was the way she looked that had been so off-putting to him. Even though no woman in her right mind would want a man who would judge a woman based on that alone. Right? Ugh, why was that so much easier to say than to believe?
Harper gestured toward the couple and began introductions. “This is Anne McGrath and her brother, Rhys.” Then she swung an arm toward the table. “These are the Wynn sisters. Nina, she owns the organic berry farm I was telling you about. She makes the best marionberry pies in the world and also has the best dog in the world, a border collie—also named Marion. Adorable, right?”
Placing a hand on the back of Aubrey’s chair, she said, “This is Aubrey, who I think you’ve met before, Rhys? Aubrey’s married name is Pelletier, but I think it’s fun to introduce them as the Wynn sisters. You just met her husband, Eli, the helicopter pilot. Aubrey is a rescue swimmer for the Coast Guard. Like Kyle, Rhys is also a former navy SEAL, so that gives you military people all kinds of things to talk about...”
More chatty details followed. Camile vaguely registered the greetings exchanged—“Wonderful to meet you,” “So glad you could join us,” “How’s the salsa?”—while furtively watching for some hint that Rhys recognized her. Examining the siblings, she realized that the resemblance between them was glaring. The reason she hadn’t immediately spotted it was the difference in their coloring; Anne had a creamy pale complexion while Rhys sported golden skin tones, the kind that would tan easily in the sun. Like a surfer, she noted acerbically. Genetics had been kind with their matching features: the same defined cheekbones, squared jaws with cleft chins and astonishingly blue eyes. But where Rhys’s expression was flat and cold, Anne’s was animated and warm.
“And this is Camile. We work at the same dance studio, which is beyond awesome for me. She’s just finishing up her graduate degree and shares my passions for yoga, cats, muffins and salsa.”
“Me, too!” Anne gushed. “About the salsa, anyway. And Rhys is thinking about adopting a cat.” After a chuckle and a quick glance in his direction, she added, “I was just mentioning the salsa thing to Rhys. It’s a deal breaker for me. I will literally choose which Mexican restaurant I eat at according to the salsa.”
Camile hung on to a tight smile and mumbled something favorable about the salsa. Harper, bless her and her endless supply of trivia, began a conversation about the health benefits of capsaicin and the varying amounts found in different varieties of peppers.
Camile snuck another glance at Rhys. Nothing even remotely close to embarrassment, regret, horror or recognition registered on his face. There was nothing much there at all other than cool reserve and chiseled beauty. Now that her initial shock had run its course, she wasn’t sure if that was better or worse. She thought it might be worse, because that was how forgettable she was.
A waitress appeared at the other end of the table.
“Hey,” Kyle called from where he was already seated and chatting with Eli. “You guys know what you want to drink?”
The trio migrated toward Kyle and settled in some empty seats. For a moment, Camile was relieved. Aubrey seemed to be sidetracked from their previous conversation regarding Camile’s propensity to work too hard. (Ironic, considering Aubrey’s profession as a Coast Guard rescue swimmer who also ran an extensive swimming program for kids in her spare time.)
Drinks were served. Another member of the waitstaff replenished the chips and salsa.
Camile’s relief soon began to crumble as the situation played out like some sort of tragicomedy. Because while Rhys had settled a couple spots away, his seat faced hers, and she couldn’t converse with anyone at that end of the table without looking toward him, which somehow kept ending up being at him. And that was where Harper was, across the table from Camile and next to Rhys, and she kept chatting with Camile about the dance studio. They both loved dancing and talking about dancing, and Camile kept getting caught up and inadvertently prolonging the discussion.
Rhys barely spoke at all, to anyone. She kept feeling his eyes on her, though, and at one point, her gaze collided with his. He smiled. It appeared forced and stilted. She returned it, albeit tentatively, and thought she saw a spark of awareness that might have been recognition. But it was so fleeting and followed by more nothing that she finally decided she must have imagined it. She did her level best to ignore him and eke out what enjoyment she could from the rest of the evening.
RHYS CHECKED THE time on his watch. They’d been here nearly two hours. He wondered how much longer Anne would insist they stay. Their plates had been cleared ages ago. He was out of small talk, not that he’d had much to begin with. Chitchatting was not in his wheelhouse. To make matters worse, one of the Wynns he’d met earlier kept distracting him. The pretty one.
He couldn’t remember her name, but he did recall from Harper’s introductory bio that she was the youngest sister, and newly graduated from college. A simple calculation suggested, if she’d attended straight through, that she was in her early twenties. Probably too young for his thirty-two. Not that he was interested. In fact, he was trying not to look at her for fear he’d give her that impression. But he knew he was failing miserably. Seated where he was, he couldn’t help but overhear the conversation between her and Harper. And like Harper, she was bright and witty and sociable to a point that he found attractive and intriguing and enviable and exhausting all at the same time.
At the other end of the restaurant, in the bar, a band began to play. It sounded similar to the upbeat Latin music that had been previously playing in the background, except even louder. A man’s voice announced that it was time to “Bailamos!” Rhys nudged Anne, hoping they could vámanos.
“Oh, that reminds me!” Anne said to Harper. “I need to ask a favor.”
“Sure, what’s up?”
“Can you teach Rhys how to dance?”
Harper’s eyebrows inched upward as she grinned at Rhys. “You want to learn ballet?”
Rhys felt his gut twist at the mention of the dancing. He knew he needed to do this, but just the thought of it left him vaguely nauseated. But Harper was so engaging and completely nonjudgmental; he knew that if anyone could help mitigate this dancing fiasco, it would be her.
“No, he has an event coming up, and he needs to learn how to waltz. He wants private lessons.”
“Oh...” Harper drawled. “Like ballroom stuff. Well, you don’t want me. You need—”
At that moment, the pretty one stood. Rhys watched her, noting that she was roughly a foot shorter than his six-foot-three-inch height. She was petite but curvy and fit. He admired the cut of her arm muscles in her sleeveless dress.
“Wait, Camile, you’re not leaving yet, are you?” Harper asked.
Camile. How could he forget such a lovely name? It made him think of cobblestoned streets and vintage Paris, and it suited her perfectly.
Camile stepped around the table and came closer until she was standing by Harper’s chair. Rhys turned and enjoyed a better view of all of her. She was very pretty, and in a unique way that he liked.
“I am. I’ve had more than enough of tacos for one day if you get my meaning.” She added a wink, and she and Harper shared a laugh, clearly enjoying a private joke.
Camile removed her glasses and tucked them into her bag. Then, smile in place, she leveled her gaze right on him. And for a moment, Rhys couldn’t move. The color of her eyes was such a pure green that it made it difficult to label them. But it was the way she looked at him that held him spellbound. With this challenging glint. What was that about? His eyes traveled over her face and lingered on her mouth where he encountered...that smile. Confident and bold with a little mischief thrown in, her smile trained on him was the best thing Rhys had ever seen, and it felt both fiery and cryptic. He knew that whatever mystery it conveyed wasn’t for him, not really, because she didn’t know him. But at that moment, he wanted it to be; private jokes and secret smiles with lovely Camile—his new fantasy.
Harper placed a hand on her elbow. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” Camile said, putting an end to their eye contact. Rhys wanted to protest. Like when the power unexpectedly goes out, stealing all the light, and makes you resent the dark in a whole new way.
“Are you still looking for extra work?”
What! Rhys thought fast as he finally understood where this was headed. He knew from their dinner conversation that she was a dancer, too. Harper was going to ask Camile to give him lessons. No. That could not happen. He’d thought, hoped, that Harper would agree to teach him. And if not her, then maybe an elderly woman with a sweet nature and a husband she adored. Someone without a paralyzing smile he wasn’t attracted to and who wasn’t attracted to him for the wrong reasons. Someone who wouldn’t get to know him and quickly tire of him. For the second time in one day, he desperately wished he was normal in a way that he hadn’t in years.
“Always, Harper, you know that. In fact, I have a gaping hole in my schedule right now. Maybe Gia will add that swing class to the schedule. It would be so fun to teach it together.”
“That would be super fun. I’m working on her. But I may have a related job for you. Rhys here happens to be in need of a private dance instructor.”
And just like that, the smile vanished. Technically, it was still there in the curve of her mouth, but Rhys saw the light dim in her electric green eyes. She was not pleased with this idea. He wasn’t sure what to make of that based on what had transpired between them a moment ago. Sure, it had only been a look, but he’d felt something. He’d assumed... The truth was, it wasn’t uncommon for women to be physically attracted to him, and he’d believed that was the case. Apparently not. That revelation should have been a relief. It was not. Still, he wasn’t keen on the idea of paying her to watch his dancing-induced humiliation. Although, if Harper thought she was the best person to teach him, she undoubtedly was.
Anne explained, “Rhys needs to learn how to dance.”
“What kind of dancing?” Camile asked.
“Simple ballroom stuff. The waltz, for sure, and maybe a fox-trot?” She looked to a nodding Anne for confirmation.
Rhys wanted to protest, to let them both off the hook. But then he looked at Camile again and felt that same pull—and that same resistance on her part. Why, if she needed the work, did she not want the job? Instead of putting him off, it made him curious. And determined.