A Wedding Worth Waiting For (4 page)

Why had she agreed to this?

Oh, yeah, because she didn't have a choice. She certainly hadn't made any inroads on her own. Having someone like Dylan along to smooth the way was her best chance. It was pretty ironic, really. She was the one who had grown up here. She should be the one helping him get to know people, not the other way around. But maybe it was best this way. Having him along would mean she could ease past that “Don't I know you?” stage that she kept getting stuck in. It seemed she was always on the edges of people's memories, enough to look familiar but not enough for them to actually remember who she was. And once they were reminded that she was actually an island native they invariably felt bad for not remembering her. Not exactly the best way to start a new friendship.

But Dylan's plan was going to work. It had to. She couldn't risk losing her job over it. She'd be humiliated, and her father would be so disappointed. How many times had he told her that she'd have to work extra hard to prove herself? Aside from fighting any suggestions of nepotism, she was a woman in what had traditionally been a man's job. The old-boy network hadn't died out yet and he'd warned her she'd have to prove herself every step of the way. And she had. No way was she going to let a little shyness keep her from doing what she'd always wanted to do. The woods and waterways of Florida were home to her, and she'd sworn to protect them. She just hadn't realized that the hardest part of the job wouldn't be the long hours, dangerous animals or ravenous insects. Somehow, in her rush to be the best, she'd missed the memo about the importance of community relations. At least she had someone on her side now.

And as crazy as it was, she was kind of looking forward to having dinner with him. Not that she expected anything from him other than moral support and some social introductions. But it would be nice if they could form a kind of friendship, as unlikely as that seemed, given how different their personalities were. But they both were dedicated to the wildlife of the area—maybe that would be enough?

More intimidating was the thought of the friends he was bringing. If this was any other kind of challenge, she'd know how to prepare, but she couldn't exactly study up on small talk. Could she? There probably wasn't an official guidebook, but the internet was a big place, and there might be something there that would help. Heck, if she could learn how to change her own oil from a YouTube video, anything was possible.

The driveway of her apartment building came into view, and she parked in front of her tiny unit. Grabbing her gear, she purposely avoided looking at the wilting plant in front of her door. An impulse buy, it was now a testament to her lack of a green thumb. Half the time she forgot to feed herself; a plant didn't stand a chance. Her cat, on the other hand, was in no danger of neglect, thanks to his in-your-face style of negotiation. She could hear him now, meowing impatiently as she unlocked and opened the door.

The angry meows became rumbling purrs as the fat orange feline wound his round body through her legs, greeting her the same way he did every evening. Careful not to trip over him, she made her way to the kitchen to boot up her laptop and feed her hungry pet. “Don't worry, Cheesy, I'm getting it. It's not like you couldn't stand to miss a meal.”

He meowed in protest, no doubt offended at the suggestion he could stand to lose a pound or ten. She really should put him on a diet. But not tonight. She'd add feline obesity to her list of things to look up online. For now she gave him fresh water and a small can of wet food, his nightly treat.

Cat duties finished, she slid onto a stool at the breakfast bar and pulled up a web browser. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard—was she really going to do this?

Yes.

Refusing to hesitate anymore, she typed “how to make a good first impression” into the search box and hit Enter.

Chapter Four

D
ylan checked the dashboard clock as he pulled his truck into one of the few vacant spots in front of Pete's Crab Shack. He was early and would have been earlier if he hadn't changed shirts three times before leaving the house. Since moving to Paradise, he'd happily let his wardrobe drift from business button-downs to beach casual, the laid-back dress code being one of the better perks of his job. But tonight his ingrained preference for comfort had been overridden by his desire to make a good impression, costing him both time and a good chunk of his masculine pride. The idea of getting “dressed up” had always seemed fussy to his ranch-raised way of thinking, but having dinner with Sam was enough of an occasion that he'd dug out a collared shirt from the back of his closet. He'd even ironed it, much to the amusement of the neighbor he'd had to borrow the iron from.

Even still, he seemed to have arrived before Sam and Dani. Hopefully, the two women would hit it off—he wanted Sam to feel comfortable in Paradise for reasons he wasn't going to begin to contemplate. Dani Post, like Sam, was a Paradise native, but there the similarities ended. Unlike Sam, Dani was outgoing and bold, characteristics that served her well in the courtroom. As a public defender, she had a soft spot for anyone she considered the underdog, and was on the board of pretty much every charity in town. And with her contacts she was the perfect person to help Sam. He'd first met her at a fund-raiser for a new fox enclosure at the rehab center, and they'd quickly become friends. Once or twice, he'd considered asking her out, but they didn't have that kind of chemistry and they both knew it.

A chime at his hip alerted him to an incoming call. Climbing out of the truck, he headed for the entrance as he answered. “Hello?”

“Hey, Dylan. It's Dani. I'm afraid I've got to back out of dinner. Mollie and Noah have dinner reservations to celebrate her newest gallery show and their babysitter called in sick.”

Dani's sister, Mollie, was a longtime volunteer at the rehab center and a gifted wildlife photographer. She'd recently married a sculptor from Atlanta and adopted his young son. Together they had a great little family, but for a pair of newlyweds they didn't get much alone time. “No problem. I know when I'm outclassed. I can't compete with your nephew.”

“Well, he is a lot cuter than you. But I still feel bad for ditching you.”

“You should. Now I'm going to have to dine all by my lonesome with a beautiful woman. How will I ever survive such a fate?”

Dani chuckled at his sarcasm. “Good point. My conscience is clear. But do give her my number, and tell her that I'm happy to help however I can.”

He'd made it to the front entrance and could see Sam's truck pulling into the parking lot a few rows back. “I will, don't worry. You're not totally off the hook. But she's here now, so let me go.”

Hanging up, he watched Sam hop down from her shiny pickup with the grace of a queen stepping down from her throne. She was wearing a long cotton skirt that clung to her legs as she walked and a slim, sleeveless shirt that was at once both modest and seductive. Of course, she'd been sexy in her bulky uniform, too, but this took it to a whole other level. Even her hair was different, loose and flowing in soft waves past her shoulders instead of in the no-nonsense ponytail he remembered. Sam in professional mode was hot. Sam in a skirt was heaven come to earth.

She spotted him and waved, her long legs skimming over the asphalt with the same athletic stride he'd seen in the field. He waved back, and sent up a prayer of thanks for sick babysitters.

She stopped a few feet away, rocking back on her heels to look up and meet his gaze. “So, where's our third?”

“Actually, it looks like it's just going to be us.”

Sam arched one perfect eyebrow, her arms crossed over her chest. “I thought the point of tonight was to introduce me to some of the community.”

“It was. And it is, I swear. But my friend—Dani—had to cancel. She just called, or I would have let you know sooner. She has to watch her nephew tonight.”

“Uh-huh.” What he'd come to think of as her work face locked in place, her gaze focused on his as she searched for any deception.

“You can call her if you don't believe me. In fact, she made me promise to give you her number. She really does want to help. But family comes first, it seems.”

Sam's expression softened. “I can't argue with that.”

“Good. Then you'll still have dinner with me?”

She shrugged. “I'm hungry, so sure. Why not?” She started up the wooden stairway that led to the restaurant's main deck. “But no more surprises, okay?”

He let out the breath he'd been holding and started up after her. He'd promise pretty much anything if it would get keep her from leaving. “No surprises. Scout's honor.”

* * *

Sam didn't doubt that the capable outdoorsman had been a Boy Scout, but she had a feeling the surprises weren't over yet. She certainly hadn't expected that little flutter of anticipation in her belly when she'd found out they'd be dining alone together. Or the outright relief that had flowed through her when she realized he wasn't going to cancel just because his friend couldn't come.

Pretty much every feeling she had around him was a surprise, and it wasn't likely that was going to change, no matter what he promised. Oddly, that was almost part of the excitement. Somehow he had a way of getting her out of her comfort zone, and she'd certainly worn quite a rut for herself there.

Dylan reached her side and gestured across the expanse of covered deck toward the smaller, enclosed dining room. “Inside or out?”

“Out, definitely.” From what she remembered, only a few elderly diners or tourists ever ate inside. Even on a hot day, fans and a sea breeze kept the patio from being stifling, and the view more than made up for the temperature. Beyond the patio railing, the ocean stretched as far as the eye could see, green in the shallows, then darker blue, with tufts of white foam where the waves collapsed on a hidden sandbar. Above, pelicans circled and dove, fishing for their dinner a few feet away from the wooden trestle tables where the diners enjoyed theirs. This place was exactly what she thought of when she'd lain awake homesick in boarding school. Sea, sky, food and people who cared more for who you really were rather than what brand of jeans you wore or car you drove. Here, there was no pretense. Here, everyone fit in. Everyone but her.

“Is this okay?” Dylan nodded to a table nestled in a corner of the deck, open to the water on two sides.

“Perfect.” And it was. Far enough away from the center of activity to allow them to converse without straining to hear each other and yet not too isolated.

He gestured for her to pick a side, then slid onto the bench across from her. Only a few feet of oilcloth-covered table separated them. They'd been much closer in the privacy of the rehab center the other night, but somehow this felt more intimate. More like a date. Which it wasn't—not even close. He was taking pity on her, not wooing her.

But it still was the closest she'd come to a social life since moving back to Paradise. And date or not, she'd be crazy not to enjoy having dinner with a good-looking man. And good-looking barely began to describe the level of hotness that was Dylan Turner. In a crisp, sea-green button-down shirt and khaki slacks, he was dressed more formally than the majority of patrons. Heck, he was more dressed up than most of the island, not counting Sunday services at All Saints' Church. But somehow he didn't seem out of place amongst the more casual shorts-and-T-shirt crowd. His laid-back attitude and general confidence made it impossible for him to look anything but comfortable in his own skin. She had no doubt he could handle whatever came his way.

Her own cotton skirt was hardly dressy, but she was glad she'd made the effort to put on something other than jeans.

“You look really nice. The skirt suits you.”

Sam smoothed a hand over the material, uncomfortable with how closely he'd read her thoughts. “Thanks. I'm not sure when the last time I wore one was.” She reached for one of the plastic-coated menus propped up by the salt and pepper shakers, needing something to do with her hands.

“A tomboy, huh?”

“Not exactly. At least, I didn't use to be.” Back when her mother was alive, they'd had fun shopping for pretty things together. She shook the memory off, forcing herself back to the here and now. “But when you spend all your time trying to fit in as one of the guys, it's easy to forget you aren't one.”

His cool blue eyes scanned up and down her body, heating her skin. “No offense, but I don't think you're ever going to be mistaken for one of the guys.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“No, thank you, for agreeing to dinner. If you hadn't, I'd be heating a frozen dinner instead of ordering shrimp tacos and key lime pie.”

“That does sound tragic.” Scanning the menu was like rereading a love letter from long ago that evoked equal parts nostalgia and longing. “I'm glad to see they kept a lot of the old favorites, but there are some new options here that look good, too. I think I could eat here every night for the rest of my life and not get tired of it.”

“Have you been here since you moved back?”

She shook her head, her gaze flicking back and forth between the various options. “Oh, wow, lobster and Brie grilled cheese? I used to always order the grouper sandwich, but I don't think I can turn down something as decadent as Brie and lobster.”

“So get it. As hard as you work, you deserve something wonderful.”

Sam swallowed hard before daring to look up at him. His smile was easy, his body language sincere. He seemed to have offered the compliment without thought, as if it was nothing. When was the last time someone had done that? “Thanks. I think I will.”

As if in response to her decision, a waitress appeared at her elbow, gray-streaked hair pulled back in a ponytail and a tired smile on her lips. “Have y'all had time to decide?”

“I think so, but you know me, I always get the same thing.” Dylan returned the waitress's smile with his own hundred-watt version. “Sally, I'd like you to meet Sam Finley. She used to live here, and is back in town, working with the Fish and Wildlife Commission.”

Sally turned to Sam, her green eyes widening. “That's why you looked so familiar! You're Tom Finley's little girl!”

* * *

Dylan watched Sam blink in surprise, obviously trying to place the middle-aged waitress in her memory.

“I can't believe you remember me...from back then, I mean. I've been gone so much...”

“Well, sure, I heard you were away at some fancy school or something, but you're still an islander, and I know everyone on the island.”

“Thanks. I guess I wasn't sure anyone still thought of me that way.”

The older woman's expression softened. “Of course we do. People were real fond of your family. It was tragic what happened to your mother. Maybe we should have done more to help afterward. But your father—”

“He wasn't very good at accepting help,” Sam finished for her.

“Well, yeah, he was just very independent.”

Sam's mouth tightened. “He still is. I guess you don't see him in here much”

“Not in years, honey. But I'm sure glad you're here. Good to see how nicely you've grown up. And following in your daddy's footsteps as a wildlife officer—he must be very proud of you.”

Sam nodded politely, but he could see the tension in her shoulders, tension hadn't been there before. Wanting to shift the focus to something more palatable, he tapped her menu. “Still want the lobster grilled cheese?”

Her smile returned. “Definitely. With a bowl of the conch chowder.”

Sally scribbled on her pad. “Anything else? An appetizer, maybe?”

Chewing her lip, Sam scrutinized the menu. “Are the conch fritters as good as I remember?”

Sally winked. “Better.”

Dylan took the menu from her and returned it to the side of the table. “Well, then, by all means, bring the lady some conch fritters.”

“I'll get the order in right away. And Sam, it's good to have you back in town.”

“Thanks, Sally. It's good to be back.”

Sally headed to the kitchen, leaving them alone again.

“There. That wasn't so bad, was it?”

Sam shrugged. “No, but she remembers me. That helped.”

“I think you are going to find a lot more people remember you than you think.”

A hint of worry furrowed her brow. “If so, then why doesn't anyone else mention it?”

“Did you ever think they might be waiting for you to say something? You're the one that left—maybe they think you're too good for them now.”

“That's crazy. I'm the same person I always was.”

“You grew up into a beautiful woman. That can be intimidating to some people. And for all they know, you liked the girls at your fancy prep school better than the people here.”

She shook her head, her dark hair mussing with the movement. “No way. I hated being away from here. And I never fit in at St. Anne's. I was too shy, from the wrong place, with the wrong accent. I was the odd girl out, complete with mousy hair and thick glasses.”

He reached out and smoothed a strand of hair back behind her ear. Soft as silk, just as he'd imagined. “Well, I have a hard time believing that, but if you ever were an ugly duckling you're certainly not now. Although I would like to see you in those glasses sometime.”

“So you can tease me, too?”

“Let's just say I like the sexy librarian look.”

Sam's mouth opened, then closed, her cheeks flushing at his innuendo. She really was as innocent as she seemed if something that mild could embarrass her. It was refreshing to know he could make a woman blush. But also a reminder to watch his step. He wanted to get to know her better, not scare her off. Luckily, Sally chose that moment to return with a plastic basket heaped with piping hot fritters, defusing the tension with the scent of fried food.