Chapter 2
two
C ade had planned to check at least four things off his endless Magnolia Days to-do list, but giving Rosalyn a post-hurricane tour of Magnolia Bay could still count as productive, right? Maybe it’d make her say yes.
He watched the afternoon sun reflect off her golden hair and decided yes, yes it could.
“Your chariot.” He pulled the used golf cart he’d convinced his father to buy last year up to the curb in front of his office building, where Rosalyn waited next to a clump of bushes that had recently been trimmed back. The wind stirred her hair, wafting citrus toward him as she settled into the seat beside him.
“Wow. Such service.” She smoothed one hand over the dash, slightly buckled from the heat. “Do you treat all the ladies in the Bay like this?”
“Just the gimpy ones.” He pointed to her knee. “Do you remember Delia? She had hip surgery a while back and already called dibs for Magnolia Days if she’s still using a cane by then.”
“Of course I remember Mama D.” Rosalyn grabbed the handle overhead as Cade released the brake and pressed the gas. “I’m sorry she needed surgery though.”
“It was a good thing. She’ll be getting around a lot better soon, and the whole ordeal led to Elisa taking over the Magnolia Blossom diner.” Cade slowed at the approaching stop sign. Sun glinted and he pulled his sunglasses from the neck of his button-down and slid them on. Maybe Rosalyn wouldn’t notice him noticing her emerald-green eyes. “You’ll have to check out her new recipes.”
She nodded. “I remember Elisa. We probably haven’t seen each other since graduation.”
Cade steered them onto Village Lane. A warm breeze ruffled the loose hem of Rosalyn’s top and stirred her hair into her eyes.
She tugged a tie from her wrist and scooped her long tresses into a high ponytail, sending more citrus his way. “Everything is the same but different, isn’t it?”
“I guess it would seem that way, coming back here after so long.” He risked another glance her direction. The same could be said of her. Same ol’ Rosalyn…though maybe a little more graceful, elegant, poised than in school. But always capable. Whether it was writing a thesis, working through pages of trigonometry, or hanging upside down from multicolored silks, the girl— woman —had always been able to handle herself.
But the way Cade’s eyes kept gravitating to the curve of her jaw and to how her top lip dipped in the middle, well, that was certainly different. Reminded him of that night in the alley at the Lazy Spoon, after the Harvard versus Yale football?—
Thunk .
His left tire dipped into a crater in the pavement, jarring them back onto the road with a force that shook his teeth. “That’s one more thing I need to get fixed from the hurricane.”
“Ah.” Rosalyn’s elbow swung as she gripped the overhead handle. “Hence the circus?”
“Yep. One of many hence s. It’s hard to believe it’s almost been a year since the storm.” He attempted to see Magnolia Bay’s main drag through Rosalyn’s eyes. At the rows of colorful shops lining Village Lane, the tulip beds with petals turning crisp in the summer heat. “I know what you mean, though, about everything being the same yet different. There are these pockets of town that look like nothing ever happened, and then you turn a corner and realize there’s still plenty of damage lingering around the edges.”
Missing fence planks. Torn awnings. Mismatched, patched roofs awaiting their final restoration—restoration many couldn’t afford, given their various insurance situations. Not to mention the potholes now creeping up like extras in a zombie movie.
The knot of pressure that frequently aggravated Cade’s stomach pulled tighter as they drove around the caving concrete in front of Chug a Mug. “Man, this one has gotten bad.” He gestured to the pothole, half-expecting to see Joseph standing in a coat of many colors. “Miley wasn’t exaggerating.”
“Miley?” Rosalyn asked.
“The Chug a Mug manager. Her dad is the owner, but she runs the place while he’s overseas on business.” He shot Rosalyn a sidelong glance. “Be sure to ask for weather reports before you order any coffee.”
“That’s a new one.” Rosalyn smiled. “I’ve heard of the weather affecting baked goods, but never coffee.”
“Not that kind of weather.” Cade chuckled. “You’ll see.” Ask her for coffee. The words stuck inside his mouth. But it wasn’t a date—he’d promised her a drink for the tour, right? “Do you want that coffee now? Or tea?”
“I’m actually okay—should probably lay off caffeine the rest of the day.” She smiled. “Thank you, though.”
See? That hadn’t been so hard.
Though technically he had gotten turned down.
A jaunty ringtone filled the sudden silence, and Rosalyn pulled her cell from her purse. Her brow pinched as she stared at the display. Then, she quickly hit the reject button and slid it back into the bag.
“So, the circus is to help get revenue for Magnolia Days?” Rosalyn folded her hands in her lap as they continued driving. Farmer Branson exited Chug a Mug juggling a pastry bag and a to-go cup, pausing to hold the door open with his overall-clad leg for Trish, one of the waitresses at the Magnolia Blossom.
Cade lifted one hand from the wheel to wave. “Yeah, we need Magnolia Days to be lucrative this year.” To put it mildly.
Rosalyn tilted her chin toward him. “Okay, I recognize that frown. It’s the same one you had senior year when they were tallying our GPAs.” She lightly elbowed his side. “You’re stressed.” She could tell that? He touched the brake as they pulled up in front of the fenced-in community park. “It’s stressful, sure. The city budget is tight, and there are so many things that haven’t received attention yet. Like the gazebo.” He pointed to the half-repaired structure. “It’s been tall and proud as long as I can remember—the most popular summer wedding spot, but it’s not safe right now to hold a ceremony.”
Rosalyn’s brow pinched. “I guess until lately, I’ve never realized how little things add up and get expensive.”
“And give an impression.” Cade nodded. “We need the rest of Louisiana and our neighboring states to recognize Magnolia Bay as a place still worthy of tourism dollars. But when everything is in a different state of repair, it doesn’t really scream ‘Southern getaway,’ does it?”
Rosalyn was too polite to agree, but he could see it in her expression. “You sound like you know your stuff.”
“I hope so. The town is counting on me.”
They drove past Magnolia Bank & Trust, where his buddy Owen Dubois worked—the same bank where Cade had sweet-talked the branch manager into sponsoring Magnolia Days. Their contribution would help pull off the event.
But the circus and surrounding events weren’t going to be enough by themselves. Even if he could add Rosalyn’s name to the roster. Which she hadn’t technically agreed to yet.
Maybe he needed to tell Owen to start practicing his stilts after all.
“You get that a lot, don’t you? People counting on you?” Rosalyn asked.
Astute as always. He dipped his head, flashed a smile to hide the weight of it all. “It’s not so bad. I assume out there somewhere, minstrels are writing songs about a gallant town director in coastal Louisiana.”
Rosalyn let out a little sigh. “I guess I only have one other question, then.”
“Shoot.”
Her emerald eyes locked on him. “Is there a theme I need to know about? Any particular music you want me to perform to?”
He sucked in a breath, looking at the road and then back to her, half afraid to hope. “Are you saying you’ll do it?”
“I’ll do it.” She hesitated. “I don’t know how long I’ll be in town, but I can at least get past the circus before leaving.”
“And your knee…” He glanced at her bandage.
She patted the wrapping. “I can scale, if I need to.” She worried her bottom lip. “It sounds like Magnolia Bay needs me.”
He exhaled a dozen concerns. “You’re a lifesaver, truly.”
“But no pressure.” She grinned—or was that a wince?
“I’m sure whatever routine you do will be amazing.” He started to tell her about the one time he’d seen her perform, then stopped. Might seem stalkerish? Still, he didn’t want her to feel the same pressure he carried.
“Oh, Second Story looks good.” Rosalyn gestured toward Sadie’s two-story, used-book shop, making the decision for him. “That was one of my favorite spots to study in high school. She had the best bean bag chairs.”
“Yeah, still does. Sadie gave the place a paintjob a few months ago.” The eggshell blue store front looked welcoming and charming. Next door, the Spin Shop held its own with a fresh coat of coral. “Both of these escaped a lot of damage compared to other shops on the strip.”
“I’m glad.” Rosalyn worked her lower lip, her brow furrowing.
Cade matched her frown. What was she thinking about? Probably not Sadie’s choice of paint colors.
And why was he suddenly so curious about Rosalyn’s flavor of lip gloss?
He glanced back at the road just in time to swerve and miss another pothole. Not in time, however, to prevent Rosalyn from sliding into him, her side brushing his driving arm. “Oops. So sorry.”
She grabbed the overhead bar. “Someone actually gave you a license to drive this thing?”
“Sure.” He winked. “The town director.”
“How convenient.”
“You’ll come to realize a lot of jobs around Magnolia Bay default to me.” Like—all of them, lately.
“So why aren’t you mayor, then?” She tilted her head toward him.
He tightened his grip on the wheel. “Maybe one day. When I’ve earned it.”
“Seems inevitable. You’ve always been the face of Magnolia Bay.” Rosalyn’s ponytail flipped over her shoulder as she twisted toward him. “Small-town boy.”
“And you were always destined for bigger and better things.”
She stared straight ahead, the wind funneling through their cart, carrying the scent of lilacs and stirring loose tendrils by her cheeks. “I don’t know about better.”
“Don’t tell me the world-famous aerialist has regrets?” Cade missed the next pothole with room to spare, thankfully.
But Rosalyn seemed to sink right into his verbal one. Her profile tightened. “I guess we all have a few, huh?”
“I’ve got one.” He took a chance, hurled a dumb question into the air. “Like why weren’t we ever actually friends?”
That snapped her out of it. She snorted. “Because you were always trying beat me?”
“And yet you somehow managed to always beat me .”
Rosalyn shook her head with a grin, the shadows on her face retreating. “Not always. There was that one mathletes competition, remember?”
He remembered. “Eh. I got lucky.” He’d also studied harder than he ever had before. Wanted to impress her—which had always been impossible. She was too smart. Too perfect.
She continued. “And you always beat my team at trivia when we had history questions.”
Cade shrugged as he slowed the cart at the upcoming intersection. “But you always got the English and science questions right. I still have no idea what elements do what to who.”
She shot him a sideways look. “Whom.”
“Oh, don’t even start, Ace.” He chuckled, loving the sound of hers when she laughed in return.
And maybe that was why they’d never been friends. Rosalyn would’ve burrowed under his skin much too quickly, camped out there. She’d been too busy with her girl group anyway, the ones who’d spouted man-hate and turned their nerdy noses up at Cade for four years because he liked to date cheerleaders and got along with the jocks and still managed to make good grades.
See? He hadn’t depended on Dad for everything .
“You aren’t lying about not knowing elements, by the way.” She squinted at him. “Or compounds, rather. Like how much vinegar is needed for a volcano.”
Ha. “I swear, you’re going to engrave that on my tombstone one day, aren’t you? It was one project.” One mistake.
But all his mistakes seemed to hover over him, didn’t they? Like the mist over the bay in the morning.
“Being forced to work together in sixth grade didn’t go very well, did it?” Rosalyn winced, her dimpled cheeks providing apology. “But hey, look at us now.”
“Yep. The small-town boy and the aerialist.” Two people who couldn’t have any more different goals.
They’d always been rivals. And even if they’d had a near-moment years ago in an alley, or even if her laughter felt like the best possible remedy for his stress, and even if she could give Blake Lively a run for her money in the beauty department…
That’s clearly all they were destined to be. She’d always seen him as a spoiled extension of his father. Besides, she’d be off and running to the next big performance out of town—probably out of the country—once her knee allowed her.
“The small-town boy and the aerialist?” Rosalyn repeated, tilting her head as Cade turned onto Bayou Boulevard. “Sounds like a book title.”
Cade snorted. “Maybe so.”
Just not a romance novel.
* * *
Maybe she’d agreed too quickly. But the small-town boy and the aerialist had a ring to it, didn’t it? Hard not to let the idea linger a little, the more they rode around town together. Unfortunately, staying to explore the idea wasn’t an option.
Her life didn’t have very many of those at the moment.
Cade parked on Bayou Boulevard, and nostalgia slammed Rosalyn harder than that pothole. “My old dance studio!”
The charming little brick building didn’t look like it’d taken a big hit from Hurricane Anastasia, save for a missing awning. Unless it’d been one of the lucky ones already repaired. She rushed past Cade and pulled on the handle of the heavy wooden door. It swung open with the same extended creak it always had, and she shot Cade an excited look over her shoulder.
Cade peered through the beveled window. “Are they open?”
“The door sure is.” Rosalyn stepped inside, eyes struggling to adjust to the shadows. “Come on. Madame Paulette won’t care.”
“Sheriff Rubart might,” Cade muttered. But he followed anyway, his presence behind her providing warmth that had nothing to do with her sunbaked skin.
The studio, though encased in silence, pulsed with life and memory. Shafts of sunlight shone through the wall of narrow vertical windows, sending tiny dust fairies dancing through the beams. The hardwood floor had been redone since she’d left and now offered a polished gleam.
Rosalyn drew a deep breath of the familiar air, filling her entire diaphragm like Madame Paulette had taught her. As if on autopilot, she gravitated toward the wooden barre lining the far wall of mirrors and rested her hand on the polished wood. Her feet slid into first position, then second, and she lifted on her toes.
Cade shoved his hands in his pockets, staying on the perimeter of the room. She felt his eyes on her, which she didn’t mind at all. Until her secret tapped the edges of her memory, a permanent sidekick these days. She lowered herself back to the floor.
“I didn’t know you took ballet.” Cade paused in front of a wall of framed photos, showing various group classes over the decades. He pointed to one of the pictures. “Blue tutu?”
“That’s me.” Rosalyn left the barre to join him, memories practically leaping in grand jetes from the frames. “Once a week for years, until I discovered aerial in the sixth grade.”
Cade tilted his head, his hands back in his pockets. “But there’s not an aerial studio in Magnolia Bay.”
“Trust me, I know.”
“So how did you train?” Cade genuinely seemed interested in the answer.
“See that hook up there?” She pointed toward the metal claw still protruding from the structural beam in the center of the high ceiling. “That’s there because of me.”
His gaze drifted upward. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Mom drove me to New Orleans for classes.” Reluctantly. “Until I got my license and took myself. But even after I quit ballet, Lettie allowed me to hang a practice rig in here for my silks, so I could train more often.”
Cade’s eyes met hers once again. “Lettie?”
“Madame Paulette. Only select people can call her that and live to tell about it.” Rosalyn smirked. “I’m certain you’re not one of them.”
Cade’s gaze roamed back to the photos. “I bet you were a star pupil.”
“I actually wasn’t that great.” She tapped the framed image of herself, snaggle-toothed and bun-headed. “Can’t you tell?”
“I don’t believe it.” He clicked his tongue. “You’re annoyingly good at anything you try, remember?”
“Oh, come on.” She squared off with him, her heart jumping with another jolt of pleasure. Why had their rivalry in high school never been this fun?
Probably because of Amber’s voice always in her head back then, reminding her that men were bad news.
Though in hindsight, maybe her jaded friend hadn’t been all wrong.
Cade faced her, his sculpted chin lifted in challenge. “Name one thing—other than this alleged ballet attempt—that you’re not good at.”
“I can’t cook. But I like trying new vegetarian recipes.”
“Which I’m sure taste amazing.” His eyes danced now, despite the faux resentment in his tone.
She planted her hands on her hips, noting how he’d inched a little closer to her. Or maybe she’d moved closer to him. “Do I have to invite you over for dinner and burn something to hush you up?”
“Sounds fun.” He was definitely standing closer, holding her gaze. The sunlight bathed his profile in gold, adding to the boy-next-door looks he had now fully grown into.
Her mouth went dry. Goodness, but he made her feel like an awkward freshman again. The gangly, not-quite-grown-into-her-height nerd in awe of the Cade Landry, trying to hide her crush on Mr. Popular by shoving her nose in yet another book. Trying to impress him with yet another A or with pushing the tabletop buzzer in debate first.
Funny how she always had all the answers until he was around.
He leaned in, so close the smell of cedar drifted lazily into her senses. Someone needed to tell his cologne’s marketing team they had a winner. In fact, they could put Cade himself on the ad and sell out.
His voice dipped an octave, husky and warm. “Do you want to know a secret?”
She had a doozy of her own. But yes. Anything he wanted to tell her. “What?” The word caught on her lips, finally escaping to hover in the ever-decreasing space between them. Her skin flushed on high alert.
His face drew down to hers. She swallowed, waiting for the inevitable whisper. Cade Landry, telling her secrets?
His words tickled her ear. “I really did read more books than you in fifth grade.”
She recoiled as if drenched in cold water, adrenaline soaking her veins. “Cade Landry!”
He offered a cheeky grin as he backed up a step, dodging her playful slap and looking more like the schoolboy she’d easily recognize. “I’m just saying.”
“Well, I’m just saying you should learn to count.” Her heart raced and she straightened her shoulders. “I beat you fair and square.”
“Why you so worked up, Ace?” His teasing gaze arrested hers. “You don’t have to compete with me anymore, you know.”
“I know.” She crossed her arms, hoping it hid the way her hands still shook. “No point anyway—you already think you won everything.”
A shadow flickered across his face, dimming his smile. He paused a heartbeat. “Not everything.”
Her shaking stilled. He didn’t mean…her? No. This small-town nostalgia had gone to her head, that was all. She was home for the first time in years, and vulnerable, and?—
A door banged open. “Rosalyn, darling!” Madame Paulette’s deep, raspy voice echoed through the studio. “I thought that was you.” She swept toward Rosalyn in a tidal wave of patchouli oil and earth-toned scarves.
Rosalyn returned her hug, losing sight of Cade as her face was buried in the woman’s bottle-red hair. “Yep, it’s me, Lettie.” She fought the urge to cough against the hint of cigarette smoke hidden behind the essential oils and smiled. Some things never changed. The woman could stop a train on its tracks, but she also knew the world of dance—and show business in general.
“Back to save the day, are we?” Madame pulled free, turning her attention toward Cade. “I’ve heard about this circus fundraiser. The show must go on!” She pumped one plump fist into the air. Gold bracelets jangled down her arm.
“Something like that.” His easy smile was back now, no evidence of that passing regret. Cade had had his entire life to ask Rosalyn out and never tried—why would he now? She’d never been good enough for him. Too nerdy compared to the cheerleaders he usually ran around with, too invested in aerial to waste time trying to befriend the jock circles. Plus, Amber would’ve killed her if she’d ever tried.
“I don’t believe we’ve formerly met.” Cade extended his palm to Madame Paulette, who clamped it eagerly in both hands. “Cade Landry.”
“Oh I know who you are, honey. Charmed, I’m sure.” She shot him a wink. “I tried to get your mother to put you in my dance classes when you were younger. She humored me a little but your father never would go for it.”
Cade shot Rosalyn a wide-eyed look. She hid a smile behind her hand, then realized Cade’s were still clamped in Madame Paulette’s.
She tugged on Madame’s arm, redirecting her attention. “Since I’m going to be in the Cajun Circus, could I possibly hang a rig in here to practice? For old times’ sake.”
“I’m only as old as I feel, honey—which is roughly thirty-two these days.” She winked at Cade, who had subtly maneuvered a safe distance away. “But yes, of course.” She raised one ring-filled hand and patted Rosalyn’s cheek. “My little insurance nightmare.”
Rosalyn concealed her smile. “Thanks, Lettie.”
With a dramatic swirl of her scarf, Madame Paulette drifted toward Cade. “I let her hang her silks in here back in those days, despite not being insured for it.” Her smoky eyes widened. “Oh, I probably shouldn’t tell the mayor’s son that.” She let out a deep belly-laugh.
Cade dipped his head. “Your secret’s safe with me, ma’am.”
“Call me Lettie, Cade.” Madame jerked one thumb toward Rosalyn, missing Cade’s triumphant grin. “I always wished the dancing bug had bitten this one a little harder. That potential! Those legs !”
Cade rocked back and forth on his heels, not even attempting to mask his smirk. “I agree, ma’am. I mean, Lettie.”
Rosalyn narrowed her eyes at him.
“But you found your calling, dear. Look at you!” Madame raised Rosalyn’s arm high over her head and spun her in a quick pirouette. “You were born to fly.”
She’d always thought so. Honestly, the fact her mother let her take aerial lessons after she failed so miserably at ballet, well…God had to have been involved in that miracle.
But lately? He’d seemed absent for a while.
And who could blame Him?
Madame continued to gush over her while Cade continued to listen, so Rosalyn tugged her performance smile in place. The one she wore when the show really did have to go on—despite heartache or menstrual cramps or any other interruption life threw at her.
Born to fly? Once upon a time, sure.
Now, after Saudi Arabia, she seemed much more destined to crash and burn.