Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Crap! What the hell was happening? First she went and listened to her stupid brother and niece, then she went and told Carson she thought he was sexy, and now she was supposed to chaperone his ass around the festival?
What special hell was she living in?
Liz worked to get herself under control while Arnold rambled on about the Croonafellas.
“Croonafellas? Carson asked, after his uncle left the room.
“Yes. Croonafellas.” Liz collected her papers and shoved them back into their folders. “They’re fellas, and they croon.” Or tried to, at least.
Carson held his hands up in surrender. “Okay. Geez.”
Liz took in a deep breath and tried to bury her confusing swirl of emotions. “Look, it’s pretty obvious that we have different visions for this company, not to mention this town, and I know you think it’s all beneath you—”
Carson opened his mouth, but Liz held up her hand and barreled on.
“—but I respect your uncle, although now that I think about it, he might have a stake in all of this too…” Well, shit.
“Of course he has a stake in it. It’s his business.”
“No, not that.” Liz’s brain cells raced to fit the pieces into place. He wouldn’t. Would he? “Son of a bitch,” she muttered.
“What?”
Liz debated the wisdom of letting Carson in on her thoughts, then decided if she had to think about it, so did he. “Did you know there’s a betting pool?”
Carson’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What kind of betting pool?”
“A betting pool on us.”
“Us?”
“Yep.”
“And what exactly are the details of this pool?”
“I don’t know the specifics, but it has something to do with us either getting back together or killing each other.”
“Huh.”
“Huh? Really? I tell you there’s a whole conspiracy going on behind our backs, and all you have to say is ‘huh’?”
“Well, I mean, it’s not actually a conspiracy, is it?”
Liz felt her molars grinding together. It would be a wonder if she didn’t develop TMJ by the time Carson left town.
“I don’t know that a betting pool can be considered a conspiracy.”
“Fine. But what about the Major? And Davis’s oh-so-innocent request for his project? And now the whole festival thing?” Liz’s stress knot grew with each new question, and she absently massaged it.
The corners of Carson’s mouth angled down into a frown. “Well, I don’t think a ghost can count as a conspiracy. I mean, how would that even work? And I think Davis was just doing his job.”
“And your uncle?”
“He wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t he?” Liz saw the exact moment Carson thought that maybe he would.
“Crap.”
It was an odd kind of comfort to not only have her thoughts out in the open but to know she wasn’t the crazy one for having them.
Carson ran a hand though his hair. “I forgot how all up in everyone else’s business people get around here.”
Liz hadn’t. She’d just carefully kept herself out of the gossip cycles for the past decade.
“How bad is it?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have the details.”
Confusion clouded Carson’s features before he gestured at her. “No. I mean how bad is your neck?”
Liz automatically dropped her hand from the knot. “It’s fine. Why?”
Carson gave her a bland stare. “Liar. You’ve been poking at it like you’re trying to find the off switch. When was the last time you got a massage?”
“None of your damn business.” How sad was it that she couldn’t remember? Between her award, juggling her new businesses and old accounts, and her community commitments, she was way past due.
“Do you want me to work on it?”
“No!” There was nothing she wanted less. Just the thought of his hands on her neck and upper back was enough to fan the flames she was working to keep under control. He’d worked his magic on her knot many times during their years together. She knew what he was capable of.
And it might very well kill her.
“Fine. But don’t come bitching to me when your neck locks up and you can’t turn your head.” Carson huffed an exasperated sigh. “Any idea what the details of the betting pool are?”
Liz shook her head and rolled her shoulder at the resultant spasm. “No. I only found out about it last night. From Trent and Emily.”
“How are they?”
“Good. Aside from the whole betting-on-my-personal-life thing. Em is twelve.”
“Your niece is twelve?”
Liz nodded, barely managing to keep her hand from going back to her knot.
“Damn. How’d that happen?”
“I know, right? Face it, we’re old.”
“Speak for yourself.”
“Says the man with reading glasses.”
Carson smirked. “The man with sexy reading glasses.”
Liz felt her face heat. “Shut up.”
Carson lifted a shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. “Hey. I can’t help what floats your boat.”
Argh! Why did he have to be so infuriating?
“Would you please come over here?” Carson heaved himself to his feet and patted the empty seat next to him. “Before you make things worse?”
Worse? How could things possibly get worse? And how was her going over there going to make things better?
“If you’re not careful, you’re going to make that thing mad.” Carson pointed to where her hand was once again poking at her knot.
Dammit! Liz dropped her arm like she’d been caught doing something illegal.
“Now. Are you going to come over here? Or are you going to make me come over there?”
Liz mulled over her options, including fleeing the room, then felt a flash of guilt when he reached for his crutches. Shit. He was injured and still trying to help. The least she could do was go over there and let him.
With a sigh, Liz left the safety of her position across the table from Carson and took the seat he indicated.
Oh, damn. His aftershave smelled good. Hints of sage and cedar sent a pleasant thrum through her system. Maybe that would be enough. Maybe she didn’t really need him to work on her knot. Although how sad was it that the smell of his aftershave was relaxing in and of itself?
The brain cells making an argument for her to scuttle back to the other side of the table and buy whatever aftershave he used ceased their activity when warm hands landed on her shoulders.
Then they voiced their undying gratitude as his fingers worked their magic.
Gentle but firm. As opposed to her aggressive poking, Carson expertly worked her muscles.
Released the surrounding tissues. Stretched things Liz didn’t know needed stretching.
She let out a low moan.
Carson’s hands stilled momentarily. “What was that?”
Liz imagined she could fry an egg on her face at that moment. Shit. What was that? Had she really made that sound?
“You’re welcome, by the way.” Laughter laced Carson’s words as he resumed his massage.
“Shut up. And thank you.”
Carson chuckled again. “No problem.” Liz breathed through the discomfort as he focused directly on her knot. “Back to the betting pool.”
Shit. Right. The betting pool. “All I know is that my brother put money on us.”
“Good old Trent.” Carson’s fingers paused momentarily before resuming their activity. “Wait. On the getting back together part? Or the killing part?”
“Dating.”
“Hmmm.”
“Hmmm, what?”
Carson’s fingers moved to a smaller knot Liz hadn’t even known existed. “Do you want him to win?”
“What? No. Of course not.” She didn’t want anyone to win. She didn’t even want there to be a betting pool in the first place.
“I’m just saying, we hold all the power here.”
Huh. As much as it pained her to admit it, he was right. “I’m listening.” And melting. She felt the knot relaxing and her overall tension levels dropping. A woman could get used to his.
“We could totally throw the whole thing. Or mess with whoever’s involved. Play nice. Pretend we’re back together. Then play not nice. Royally screw things up for everyone.”
“Aren’t you leaving?”
“Absolutely.” Carson’s fingers stilled for a moment before he resumed his massage. “But my leg could probably use another day or two before hitting the highway. Might as well mess with people in the meantime.”
Interesting. Liz rolled his suggestions through her mind. Let them ping off every corner. She didn’t hate where they landed. Quite the opposite. It seemed evil enough to work. Petty and justifiable and a whole other level of diabolical.
She hated that she kind of admired Carson for coming up with it.
But given that she hated the thought of everyone trying to manipulate the two of them even more, she decided to go with the lesser of the two evils. She just hoped she wasn’t about to get into bed with the devil. “Okay. I’m in.”
Liz eyed The Percolation Station, her steps growing heavier the closer she got. It wasn’t too late to back out yet. Or change the plan. Something she thought about doing every single minute since the meeting with Carson earlier that morning.
But she hadn’t. And she couldn’t. Because no matter how hard she argued with herself, she kept coming back to the same answer—Carson was right.
People in small towns were definitely all up in everyone’s business.
If they didn’t nip the betting-pool issue in the bud, there was no telling what else might happen.
At least this way, she and Carson were controlling the narrative.
A narrative that was set to begin at the coffee shop.
Partly because Carson hadn’t been there yet and was excited to see what Gwen had done with the place, but more importantly because Liz knew that it served as one of the central hubs for the town’s gossip mongers.
And that when Gwen got a gander at the two of them, she wouldn’t be able to keep her big, romanticizing mouth shut.
A fact that gave Liz the occasional twinge of discomfort.
After all, as opposed to Maya, she wasn’t sure that Gwen was in on anything at this point.
But she was damn sure her friend was the biggest romance sap she knew, and that given any tiny bit of fuel, the fake Carson and Liz rumor flame would be a five-alarm fire by the end of the day.
Metaphorically speaking, of course.
There was no way in hell Liz was going to let herself get burned by Carson again. Would she play along with him and manipulate the town? Absolutely. But fall for the same guy who’d broken her heart once already? Definitely not.