CHAPTER 33
Rebecca
In spite of her worries about Devon, the day had ended up being great—she and Granny had found beautiful, swingy cocktail dresses at the little boutique next to Joe Mama’s, then got lattes and paninis for lunch.
Rev still hadn’t called back by the time Rebecca and Granny left for the gala, and Rebecca ordered herself to put it aside for the night.
Devon’s fine. You’re overreacting. Besides, she reminded herself, they had given it to God.
Didn’t they need to act like they believed it?
Now it was six, and they were pulling up to Dahlia Country Club.
A valet parked their car. As they stepped out, lightning lit the sky, causing the sparkles on Granny’s navy blue cocktail dress to shimmer in the twilight.
It wasn’t raining, but Rebecca could tell it was coming.
There was an electricity to the air, a low thrum warning them of what would be.
“Swanky for Dahlia,” Rebecca whispered to Granny as they strolled into the ornate entryway, high heels clicking on what looked like a marble floor. A camera dangled from Rebecca’s shoulder like a purse, and she clutched a tiny beaded pocketbook in the other hand.
“You can thank Victor Wennerman for that.” Granny gave an arch look.
“Erik’s dad? Let me guess—he financed this place, too, for all the richy-rich retirees living in his high-end retirement village?”
“Well, the renovation, anyway. It has brought needed tax dollars to the county, I will say that much. And they did do an absolutely beautiful job.”
Granny was right, Rebecca thought as they walked through the entryway—gleaming floors, elegant oil paintings, polished wood and chrome everywhere she looked. Wennerman seemed to bring a class act to everything he touched, sketchy media buyouts notwithstanding.
“I wonder if he’ll be here tonight,” she said to Granny. “I haven’t had the ‘pleasure’ of meeting him yet.”
Her stomach took a tumble then as she realized who else she might be seeing tonight.
Erik. The humane society schmoozefest was just the sort of place a marketing man like him would be.
Maybe he won’t be at the gala. Surely he was out with some beautiful woman in a bigger city tonight, not rubbing elbows here in Dahlia.
But to her dismay, the first person she saw when she walked into the main ballroom was Erik Wennerman himself, chatting and laughing with a group of other men.
He wore a black tuxedo, she noticed, and he stood out against the sea of other men, who all wore sports coats or nice suits.
Her stomach dropped as she realized once again how handsome he was, and how much he reminded her of Peter.
Before he could make eye contact, she steered Granny over to one of the hors d’oeuvres stations.
She crossed her fingers as she focused intently on the small appetizer plates directly in front of her.
Don’t notice me. Maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe their little confrontation in the coffee shop had been awkward enough for both of them for him to stop trying.
“Wendy Calhoun’s work,” Granny observed.
“Huh?”
“The ice.” Granny pointed, and Rebecca looked up at the hors d’oeuvres display they stood before.
To her wonder, someone had carved a rather ornate—and rather excellent—sculpture of two animals, a beagle and a kitten, frolicking in front of a giant DHS.
Dahlia Humane Society. Shrimp were artfully arranged all around.
“She’s Louise Calhoun’s daughter.” Granny snagged a shrimp. “Every year, she donates her services to the gala, produces a new creation.”
Rebecca gazed at the sculpture. “These things take hours. She must be a huge animal lover.”
She snapped a few photos of the ice sculpture, then some more of the crowd, making a mental note to assign Tiff a feature story on the sculptor.
Then again, she thought as she clicked away, maybe she’d do the story herself.
That was one thing she’d learned about coming to Dahlia—doing an occasional feature was good for her. Stretched her creativity in new ways.
She remembered the way Josh had complimented her piece on the landscape artist—and the way she’d felt when he’d said it. She had to admit, if only to herself, that she was starting to have feelings for her old friend. Real feelings. And she didn’t know what to do about them.
He said she’d been his first crush, but that didn’t mean he felt the same way about her now.
For all she knew, he was dating someone else, someone gorgeous and fun and without the suitcase load of baggage Rebecca brought along for the ride.
Well, it wasn’t as if she should be dating—let alone crushing on—anyone right now, anyway.
The music started again, and she and Granny found seats at a table next to two older sisters in embellished blazers and glittery jewelry and a middle-aged couple who told them all about their work fostering service dogs.
She lost sight of Erik, breathed a sigh of relief when he locked eyes with her once and gave a friendly nod-wave from across the room but made no move to come say hello.
At least we can be civil. Though she wondered how long it would take for him to pull back his advertising dollars.
“Now that’s a catch,” one of the sisters told her in a low voice, and Rebecca startled when she realized the woman was speaking to her, had noticed her watching Erik. A faint blush warmed Rebecca’s cheeks.
“Oh, no—I’m not interested in him. I just … know him from work.”
“Pity.” The older woman winked and leaned closer, the stones on her ears flashing brightly. “If I were your age, I’d be more than a little interested.”
The other sister leaned in. “You’re from the paper, right?”
Rebecca steeled herself and nodded, waiting for the criticism, but the woman smiled.
“Well, I bet you have an inside track on this storm.” The woman waved an arm, bracelets jangling. “You think a hurricane is really going to hit?”
“The one off the coast?” Rebecca cocked her head. “I doubt we have anything to worry about this far inland.”
The first sister sniffed. “Back during Hugo, they said the same thing. Lost my entire vegetable garden, and a tree fell on my husband’s car!”
“Oh, and that poor little child died over in Charlotte from that downed tree on the house. Who ever heard of a hurricane in Charlotte? You can bet anytime they call for a storm now, we sit up and take notice.”
Rebecca made a mental note to call the National Weather Service first thing Monday, rework her front-page lineup.
“Well, I haven’t heard of anything that dire in store for us, but I’ll certainly look into it.”
“That’s good, dear.”
Next to her, Granny was intently asking the foster-dog couple about their latest pack.
The sisters got up for dessert, and Rebecca tuned out, found herself people-watching.
The humane society had hired some sort of swing band, the musicians all in their twenties and decked out in crisp charcoal suits and bowties.
A few couples were on the dance floor, twirling and laughing in time to the beat.
Granny looked happy, relaxed. She wore a navy blue short-sleeved number with a lace overlay and a flouncy skirt, and the pearls at her neck and ears looked almost iridescent in the sparkling lights of the ballroom.
Rebecca smiled, watching Granny giggle with the couple, glad they’d done this tonight.
Granny seemed to read her mind, reached over and clasped her hand a moment.
Love you, she squeezed twice.
Love you back, Rebecca squeezed in reply.
She looked across the room to the buffet and blinked as she saw Josh Jamison, standing entirely too close to a woman with wavy red hair. Her heart did a flip-flop, and she swallowed, mouth suddenly very dry.
Josh. With a woman.
A pretty woman.
He wore a deep gray suit with a darker gray shirt, the collar unbuttoned and tie loosened a bit. His hair was tousled, and he was laughing at whatever the woman was saying.
Her heart began to thud. A flash of their almost-kiss came again, and she found her hands were now clenched. Found she couldn’t keep her eyes off him. He’s a single man, Rebecca. He has every right to date whoever he wishes.
And then, almost too late, she noticed he’d spotted her and was now making a beeline her way, the woman in tow.
Oh, you are kidding me. She had to get out of there. Now.
“Granny, I’ll be right back.” She stood, pocketbook in hand, scanned the room for a restroom.
“Becks!” She heard her name and pretended not to hear, but then he was there, and shaking hands with Granny, and she plastered a “hey buddy old pal” smile on and looked up at the woman to realize she was staring straight into the face of Josh’s older sister, Lissa.
“Becks, you remember Lissa?” Josh flashed a smile, and Rebecca swallowed back a blush. He wasn’t on a date. She recognized Lissa now, her thick hair and broad smile that matched her brother’s.
“Wow, it’s been a long time! You’re all grown up now!” Lissa’s smile was warm, genuine, and Rebecca found her heart thudding back to a normal rate. Josh was chatting with Granny in earnest now. “How nice to see you again! Josh told me you’re back in town.”
“He did?”
Lissa gave her another smile, one that seemed to see deeper than Rebecca wanted. “He certainly did.”
A tall, stocky blond man in a navy suit joined them, and Lissa pulled him close.
“Gary, this is Rebecca Chastain, Josh’s friend. Rebecca, this is my husband, Gary. He runs the car dealership out on the road to Aberville.”
“From the newspaper.” Gary had a booming, happy voice, and his handshake was big to match. “Nice to meet you. Josh told us about you.”
She giggled to dispel the awkwardness, realized no one seemed to feel it but her. Josh’s eyes were on her, and her palms began to itch. Air. Need some air.
“Excuse me a moment. I … I’ll be right back.”
Moments later, she was pushing through the French doors at the rear of the room, gulping deep breaths as she stepped into the evening. The door clicked shut behind her, and she walked quickly, grateful to have a moment alone to think, to collect herself.
She stepped to the edge of the patio, gripped the stone ledge, and forced her heart to settle. Behind her, the music was pulsing and peppy, and she squeezed her eyes shut, made herself count to thirty in her head. The straps on her cocktail dress felt too tight, prickly. What was going on with her?
It was too much—months of living like a relative hermit, her only entertainment reading or watching reruns with Granny, and now not one but two men interested in her, and at a swanky party to boot?
Memories of New York, of Peter, of Peter and Alyssa all rushed back, and she gritted her teeth, willed herself to rein in the flood of emotions threatening to spill.
Coming tonight was a mistake. She had no business playing socialite in a swingy gold cocktail dress, not after everything.
She had no business flirting, not when she had express no-dating orders from her therapist. Get it together, Rebecca.
Unexpectedly she thought about Devon, and with all her heart wished she were back home at Granny’s in her snuggliest PJs, reading the next chapter in her crime novel.
The breeze picked up, made her shiver, and in the distance, she could hear thunder rumble.
She wrapped her arms around herself, forcing herself to breathe in through her nose, out through her mouth.
The door to the patio opened, letting in whatever swing tune the band was playing. She turned, expecting to see Josh.
“Rebecca?”
But it wasn’t Josh’s voice she heard.
Instead it was Erik Wennerman standing there, glass in hand and smiling at her, beckoning to the room behind him.
“Come. Dance with me!”
It was the last thing in the world she wanted. Too late, she realized she was backing away, and now her spine was pressed tight against the stone wall overlooking the river beyond.
“You can’t escape that easily,” he quipped, a low chuckle. But that was exactly what she wanted to do—escape, run, hightail it out of there.
Instead, she forced a laugh. “I’m not much for dancing. Rain check?”
“Nope.” That dimple appeared in one cheek, and he set his glass down on the ledge, stepped closer. “I think you get to make it up to me for accusing me of being a lowlife scoundrel in cahoots with my father to take over your newspaper.”
“Ah, no, I—” She wanted to go. Get out. Be anywhere but there.
“Come on.” His voice was almost a purr. “One dance. You can’t deny you feel something for me.”
He was too close now, and she swallowed. Lightning flickered in the distance.
Erik stepped in close, took her hand, and started to tug her toward him.
“Erik, stop …” She put a hand flat on his chest, stepped decidedly back.
But he stepped even closer, yanked her hard to him, and before she knew what was happening his mouth was on hers.
Hot anger bubbled inside and she tried to wrench free, but he held on tight.
The music grew louder, and she wriggled away in time to see the patio door opening and someone stepping through.
“Hey, Becks, come on! There’s a … oh!” It was Josh who stood there. He had two lemonades in his hands, and as she watched, his face flashed from shocked to angry to hurt.
She finally broke free of Erik’s grip, had just opened her mouth to speak.
But Josh’s look said it all.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he muttered.
And then he was gone.
Erik raised a brow mischievously, reached for her arm again. In an instant, he reminded her of Peter—every false, smarmy, two-faced, upward-climbing ounce.
“So where were we?”
Rebecca shot him a glare, shoved him away.
“No thanks, Wennerman,” she said over her shoulder.
But try as she might, she couldn’t find Josh anywhere at the party, inside or out.
Forget it, she told herself. Focus on Granny. It’s Girls’ Night Out, remember?
Still, as she went to bed that night, she couldn’t stop thinking about the wounded expression on Josh’s face, the smile that had turned sour in an instant.