Chapter Nine #3
“My mother’s a big flower lover,” he said as they slowly ambled toward the sound of steel drums and keyboards. “Says they always brighten up any room they’re in. She’s not wrong.”
Charity glanced up at him. “My mama says the same. She’s always got a vase of fresh-picked roses or wildflowers in the house, straight from her garden. I miss my parents,” she added after a moment.
“When was the last time you saw them?”
“Christmas. This is the longest I’ve gone without bein’ back home since I left f'college.”
That drawl was definitely getting thicker, he mused.
“Do you miss your brothers, too?” he asked, his lips lifting in the corners.
Her sigh was long and deep. “God help me, but I do.”
She glanced up at him again and asked, “Did you have a good visit with your mama when she came to town?”
Good wasn’t the word he’d have used. More like emotional and exhausting. But he nodded.
They’d come to the bend in the trail that opened to the pool bar area.
A white canopy that mimicked a sheet flowing in the balmy breeze sat above the bar, the steel drum band playing next to it.
The pool was packed with guests clad in bathing suits, seated on the stools propped in the water and surrounding the bar.
Tables and chairs lined the outside perimeter as well, the small dance floor occupied.
“The brochure didn’t lie,” Kolby said. “This place is hopping.”
Charity nodded and walked toward an open table for two with a great view of the band. Almost the moment they were seated, a sarong-clad waitress made her way to them. Her bright smile lit on them both as she asked for their drink order.
“Soda?” Kolby asked Charity. She nodded.
“A Diet Pepsi and a decaf coffee if you’ve got it. Black is fine.”
When they were alone again, Charity’s face registered her surprise. Shrugging, Kolby said, “I want a good night’s sleep ‘cuz I know we’re gonna be busy for the next few days. I’ve got arrival shots lined up, and I know we need to meet with the bridal couple as soon as they check in.”
“I can’t imagine I won’t sleep well tonight with this tropical air and the lull of the ocean coming through the windows. Besides, I’m tired. Travel always knocks me out.”
He leaned his elbows on the table and considered her. “And yet you look as fresh as you did when I picked you up at six this morning.” He pulled out his phone and read the screen. “Fourteen hours ago.”
“That’s not fresh,” she quipped, shooting him a fast, lopsided grin. “That’s excellent makeup covering all the tired.”
Kolby shook his head. “You forget what I do for a living, Charity. I’m a trained observer. I see things most people breeze over without a second, much less first, glance.”
Her brows pinched together. “What does that mean?”
He thrust his chin toward her. “You haven’t got a lick of makeup on your face right now.
Maybe some moisturizer, ‘cuz you’re a girl and I don’t know any girl who doesn’t go out of the house without it slathered all over her.
But that glow on your cheeks is your own.
I’ve seen you with mascara when you’re working an event.
You don’t have any on and my guess is you didn’t when you had your little dip in the pool, either. ”
She slanted him a speaking glance. “For all you know, I could have been wearing waterproof mascara.”
He shook his head, then pointed to his chest. “Trained observer. I’ve been around models and women my entire career. I’ve photographed all kinds of faces. I know the difference. You, Charity Quinlan, have natural beauty.”
Shock, he’d witnessed countless times, took many forms on a person’s face.
For the woman sitting across from him, the one he was coming to think about more and more and not in any kind of professional way, wore hers like a mask of unbelievability.
Eyes widened, the baby blue now stark against the evening light as confusion crossed them; lips slightly parted, and shoulders dropped, fingers knotting and unknotting.
She slammed her mouth closed after a moment, and then shook her head, her gaze darting to the side. When she looked back over at him she shook it again.
Understanding bolted through him about her reaction. “You don’t believe that, do you? You really don’t see yourself as beautiful?”
“Stop,” she said abruptly, her relaxed mood changing. With her mouth pulled into a thin line, she told him, “I don’t know what your game here is, O’Brian, but it won’t work. Not on me. I know what I look like. So just stop.”
He’d give anything to know why she couldn’t see herself the way he did. Anything.
“No game,” he said. “Just stating facts like I see’em.”
Another head shake. “I know my strengths,” she said. “I’m hyper-organized, an active listener, and smart. Plus, I’m a darn good martial artist.”
She’d named everything he admired about her aside from her beauty, and in that instant realized she defined herself by the person she was, not what she looked like.
His admiration grew substantially when that registered. A woman who looked like she did – all American down-home, blue eyed, blonde-haired beauty – and she disregarded her physical appearance, centering on the person she was inside and the facets of her personality she excelled at.
Admiration didn’t even come close to what was coursing through his mind right now.
“You are all those things,” he said. “That’s the plain and simple truth, Charity.
” She seemed mollified by that. “But,” he added and watched her eyes roll, a tick that had his heart rate tripping whenever she made it.
What that said about him, he didn’t want to consider. “You’re also a very beautiful woman.”
She was stopped from replying when their drink order arrived.
Kolby thanked the waitress, then preempted whatever comment Charity was about to make by asking, “What time is the wedding party due to arrive tomorrow?”
If she was confused about the abrupt change in the topic of conversation, she kept it to herself, saying instead, “Their flights are all scattered now that the original earlier one they were all on was canceled. They should all arrive between two and four. Bag retrieval and transport should put them here an hour later.”
He nodded after sipping his coffee. “Okay. I know you’ll want to greet them, so I’ll be ready to leave the cottage whenever you want to head up to the hotel. Let’s run over the schedule for the rehearsal and the dinner."
And just like that, she switched into that hyper-organized professional wedding planner assistant again.
Once all the details were worked out they sat, silently, just enjoying the music, the atmosphere, and in his case at least, the company.
When the band switched gears and began a slow series of musical tunes, Kolby placed his empty cup down and stood.
When he held his hand held out he watched that confusion drift over her face again.
“Dance with me,” he said.
“What? No.” She shook her head. “The last time I danced with you...” Another head shake. “Nope. Not happening.”
Patience was his only virtue, and he pulled it out now as he stood, rooted, his hand out, a crooked smile crossing his mouth.
“Come on, Charity. This is different. We haven’t been working for sixteen straight hours; you’ve eaten, you haven’t had any alcohol, and I’m asking you, not the other way around. Come on. Dance with me. One dance. Then we can turn in for the night.”
He couldn’t begin to guess what was running through her mind, but he imagined it was fifty ways she could say no, including the notion to just run from the place without another word.
As she continued to stare up at him, her bottom lip caught between her top and bottom teeth, he told himself not to push, just stand his ground gently and solidly.
If she was any other woman who’d refused his offer, he would have smiled and turned away.
With Charity, all bets were off.
After what seemed like a decade, she rolled her eyes – he had to suppress the pleasure that elicited in him – and pushed up from the table.
“One dance,” she said, her voice brokering no argument, as she slid her hand into his. “And only because I like this song.”
He kept his grin contained and led her to the dancefloor.