Meant to Be (19 page)

“Abby told me you were here,” Randy said, reaching out to help Joe wrap his right hand. “You scared the girl half to death.”

Joe passed the gauze and looked up. “I didn’t do anything to her.”

“I’m guessing it was the growl and that demon look in your eye. What’s up with you, man?” Randy cut the material and grabbed the tape off the bench.

“Client canceled last-minute, that’s all.” Joe tested the grip on his right hand as Randy moved to the left. “Tell the kid I’m sorry.”

“Tell her yourself on the way out. I’m not your messenger.” Silence fell between the men while Randy finished wrapping Joe’s other hand. Then the big man stepped back
and crossed his arms. “Now let’s talk about what’s really going on. I saw your run-in with Wilson last night.”

Joe’s hands balled into fists, stretching the newly applied tape. “He was being an ass. Nothing new.”

“He was being an ass with your future sister-in-law, and what should have been a simple heads-up for him to step back looked more like you wanted to rip his head off. You’re dancing close to a bad line, my friend.”

Joe turned his back on Randy, unwilling to lie to his friend’s face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do.”

Joe turned back around, thinking if the man weren’t so damn big, he’d forget the bag and start throwing punches now. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I can see that.” Randy relaxed, taking a seat on the bench. Clearly he wasn’t worried about a punch coming his way. “When you first told me about this Miss Chandler, you warned me she was off-limits. I assumed that meant she belonged to you. And I think you knew that.”

Joe paced along the lockers. “I never said she belonged to me.”

“But you never said she belonged to Lucas either.” Randy sighed. “This is complicated shit, bro.”

“Complicated” didn’t begin to describe the mess he was in. And if his head weren’t halfway up his ass, he might be able to figure it out. “I came here to work out. That’s what I’m going to do. I just need to let off some steam.” Swiping a towel from a shelf at the end of the lockers, Joe headed for the door.

Before he reached the exit, Randy’s words stopped him. “You can beat the hell out of that bag. You can try beating
the hell out of me if you don’t straighten your ass out. But she’ll still be there when you’re done.”

Randy had seen Joe at his worst, being the one who’d scraped him off the pavement when the Cassie situation blew up in his face. Joe owed him. “I’m not moving in on my brother’s girl. I wouldn’t do that.” He tried running a hand through his hair and remembered the tape. “I just have to make it one more week, right? Then she’ll be gone and everything can get back to normal.”

Randy joined him near the exit. “Not the best plan you’ve ever had, but it’s a start. Can I give you a piece of advice?”

“Can I stop you?” Joe asked.

“Don’t be a martyr.”

“What does that mean?”

“Exactly what it says. If the look on her face last night meant anything, you’re not the only one hunting for solid ground.” Grabbing a basket full of used towels, Randy moved into the doorway, shoulders filling the frame. “Maybe she isn’t as off-limits as you think.”

Beth pulled into the drive of the last house on Tuttles Lane, hoping she had the right place. She’d wanted to verify Sid’s address and the directions with Joe, but he’d disappeared before she poured her first cup of coffee. Which was probably for the best, since she had no idea how to act around him.

Should she mention the almost kiss? What if it was her imagination and there was no almost anything? Then she’d
not only feel guilty about wanting to kiss Joe, she’d feel like a moron if Joe never intended to kiss her. Though his intention had seemed pretty obvious on the porch in the dark with nothing but crickets and moths for company.

In the light of day, lack of sleep made the entire situation unclear, and the dream that had jarred her upright in bed took guilt to new levels. She’d been walking down an aisle to the wedding march, the tulle of the veil blurring her surroundings. Shapes hovered on both sides, faces and details obscured.

When she reached the end and turned to the man on her right, the veil lifted. Blue eyes danced before her, and a sexy smile, revealing that unmistakable dimple, turned her brain to butter.

Beth had bolted awake, covered in sweat. A long hot shower took care of the sweat, but couldn’t wash away the memory of how right she’d felt in the dream. How, in the moment before her brain thrust back to reality, she’d felt a wave of happiness like she’d never known.

“You getting out or what?” Sid’s voice jarred Beth out of dreamland.

“For future reference, if I help you catch the eye of this guy you’re lusting after, promise me you won’t greet him that way on the first date.”

“I’ll try not to reveal my true self until date three or four.” As Sid walked away, she mumbled something under her breath that Beth couldn’t hear. Probably for the best.

She followed Sid into a large garage that looked more like a hardware store that had been tossed by burglars. Workbenches, covered in piles of trash and what Beth assumed to be engine parts, lined three walls. Several small paths ran
between various tools she couldn’t begin to identify. Her grandfather spent a great deal of time in his work shed when Beth was little, but he’d never welcomed her into his little man cave, nor taught her any skill that involved power tools.

“You know how to use all this stuff?” she asked. Crossing into the darker interior, she blinked several times, waiting for her eyes to adjust.

“Why would I own all this shit if I didn’t know how to use it?”

Beth shrugged. Sid’s belligerent expression grew clearer. “I don’t know. Maybe you inherited it from your dad?”

Sid had been wiping her hands on a greasy rag that didn’t look up to the task of cleaning anything. The rag flew past Beth’s nose, landing on one of the cluttered countertops. “Let’s get something straight. This is my house and my garage and my shit. Knowing a drill bit from a buzz saw does not make me any less of a woman.”

First nerve hit. Beth tilted her head to one side, debating how to approach her subject. Straightforward had worked the night before, and sticking to what worked was always the best choice.

“You’ve clearly dealt with some real assholes in your time, and I’m sure they’ve all regretted whatever insult they dealt you. Some probably still bear the scars. But any intelligent human being can look at you and know there’s a woman under all that grease and…is that camouflage?”

Sid looked ready to defend her fashion choice, but Beth waved the words away. “Forget I asked. Today is just a simple makeover where we find you a few more…feminine looks and let your natural beauty shine through.”

What Sid did next took Beth completely by surprise. She smiled. The change was like watching the sun burst through a thundercloud. Beth could have sworn the birds chirped in celebration as if Cinderella had just emerged from the ashes with a broom and a team of dancing mice.

This scenario put Beth in the position of fairy godmother, which should have felt overwhelming, especially with such a large task looming before her. Oddly enough, she found it kind of fun.

As if the smile wasn’t enough, Sid’s next question had Beth looking around for hidden cameras. “You think I’m beautiful?” When Beth didn’t answer, as that would require once again picking her jaw up off the floor, Sid added, “We’re not back to that lesbian shit again, are we?”

“No,” Beth said, shaking her head once, then a second time to clear it. “Don’t you own a mirror?”

Sid turned to a fridge on her right and pulled out two bottles of beer. “Of course I own a mirror. Doesn’t mean I have to spend all day staring at it. I’m not out to impress anybody.”

As it was barely noon, Beth declined the offered beer with a quiet “No, thank you.”

“Suit yourself.” Sid put the beer back in the fridge and Beth realized what she’d said. Their little makeover was happening because Sid supposedly did have someone to impress.

“I’m a little confused here.”

“About what?” Sid twisted off the beer cap, hurling it across the room to ding off some invisible metal can.

“You just said you’re not out to impress anyone, but isn’t that why I’m here? To help you impress someone?”

Sid took a large swallow of the beer. If Beth didn’t know better, she’d swear the minidynamo was stalling. “I meant up until now. I wasn’t out to impress anybody until now.”

“Right.” The answer was less than believable, but then Beth couldn’t think of any other reason Sid would willingly spend a day with her. Or allow herself to be dressed in anything other than work boots and grease-stained T-shirts. “Why don’t we start with your closet then? You must have something in there we can build on.”

Sid went from looking nervous to doubtful. “You can look. I have some of my mom’s old stuff, but I don’t think it’ll fit since she was several inches taller than I am.”

Beth followed Sid to a side door that led into the house, stopping when she spotted the calendar next to the door frame. A bare-chested man with bright blue eyes and a wicked bad-boy smile stared back at her. One black lock curled over his forehead as if encouraging her to reach up and smooth it back.

If the eyes were hazel, the shoulders slightly broader, Mr. May would bear a striking resemblance to Lucas. Clearly Sid had a type.

“Isn’t this guy an actor?”

Sid followed Beth’s gaze and shared a less innocent-looking smile. “Good eye. British. It’s a whole calendar full of them.” A flip of her wrist revealed several other lanky men smiling from the pages, not a shirt in the bunch.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I expected you to be more the blue-collar type,” Beth said.

The scowl returned briefly, but then Sid glanced back at the garage and nodded. “I can see where you’d think that,
but no. I like my men lanky and charming with that touch of intensity and passion. The Brits fit the bill perfectly.” She shrugged. “The accent is a bonus.”

Crossing into the house, Beth was once again surprised. They’d stepped into an immaculately clean kitchen, which stood in stark contrast to the chaos that was the garage. “Does that description fit this crush of yours? Lanky and charming?”

The look on Sid’s face told Beth there was definitely a man, and not just on the calendar. “That describes him.” Setting her beer on the counter and leaning down to untie her boots, Sid pointed toward the doorway. “Bedroom is the second door on the right. I’ll be there as soon as I get these off.”

Ignoring the fact that “lanky and charming” described Lucas, Beth did as ordered, exploring Sid’s home on her way to the bedroom. Whitewashed paneling gave the perfect beach cottage look to the living room. A large well-worn area rug enveloped the plank wood floor and brought warmth to the cool interior. Picture frames of varying sizes occupied the few surfaces available with more mounted on the wall behind the couch.

There was no mistaking this little house belonged to a woman. A very feminine woman. Sidney Ann Navarro was turning out to be a walking conundrum.

B
y the time Beth reached the hallway, Sid caught up and followed her into the bedroom.

In contrast to the living room, Sid’s sleeping quarters sported soft lavender walls and solid sky-blue bedding. A white wrought-iron headboard stood between two matching white wicker nightstands, each of which held a simple yet feminine lamp in a shape reminiscent of the Anchor Lighthouse.

Beth wondered where she could find herself a pair. “Did you get those lamps here on the island?”

“Nah. Brought those with me from Florida. They were my mom’s, but I don’t know where she got them.”

Maybe if she described them to Lola, she’d know where to find something similar.

Sid’s bedroom held no frills, but contained several feminine accents. It was clean like the rest of the house. Beth felt a twinge of guilt that she’d expected the room to resemble something she’d seen in a frat house during college.

“Nice room.” Trying not to sound doubtful, she asked, “Did you decorate this yourself?”

“It’s all me. Don’t bother trying to hide your surprise. You’d make a terrible poker player.” Sid crossed the
room and opened a set of levered doors. “I’m tough. I dig through engines for a living and know my way around a tackle box. But I also like soft colors, pretty undies, and the occasional romance novel.” Legs apart and arms crossed, she warned, “If you ever blab that last bit to the guys, I’ll turn you into fish food faster than a shark hits chum.”

Beth smiled. “I prefer historicals, mostly medievals. Nothing like a Highland warrior to keep a girl warm at night.”

Sid’s smile returned. “A kilt is always good, but hot FBI agents are my first choice.”

Common ground achieved, mission makeover got underway.