Some Sort of Happy (Skylar and Sebastian): A Happy Crazy Love Novel (9 page)

I have no choice but to

keep my distance

“My God, you’re soaked.” I looked him up and down, taking in the dark jeans and the light brown jacket, although it was dripping wet, as was his hair. “Can I get you a towel or something?”

“No, that’s OK.”

“How about a cup of coffee then?” I glanced behind me to make sure we still had some in the pot.

“No, thanks. I didn’t come for coffee. I was just running an errand downtown and saw you through the window. I didn’t realize you worked here.”

I smiled. So talkative today—almost friendly. “It’s my first day.” Lowering my voice to a whisper, I leaned toward him and spoke behind one hand. “But you just caught me napping on the job.”

He smiled at me, a slow, sly grin that made my knees go weak. “I won’t tell.”

“Thanks.” I waited for him to tell me why he was there but he said nothing for a moment, his eyes running over my hair and face, lingering on my mouth.

but your beauty is gravity

I licked my lips. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything to drink? The kitchen just closed, or I’d offer you something to eat.”

“I’m sure. I’m not hungry. I just came in to talk to you.”

and terrestrial bodies will always fall

“You did?” I rocked forward onto the balls of my feet.

“Yes. I owe you an apology.”

A blush warmed my cheeks. “It’s OK.”

“No, it isn’t. I shouldn’t have rushed off yesterday. I feel bad about it.”

“Well, I shouldn’t have come in here screaming like a banshee either.”

He shrugged. “It’s all right.”

God, he was so damn cute, all wet and sheepish. “Sure I can’t get you some coffee? I hate to send you back out into the rain so fast. I’ll sit with you.”
Come on, let’s get you out of those wet clothes.

His lips tipped up again, and my heart ka-banged like a sixth grader’s with her first crush. I loved how one of his eyebrows sort of cocked up higher than the other when he smiled. “No, thank you. I should go.” He turned and pushed the door open, then looked back over his shoulder. “But it’s good to see you again.”

When he was gone, I stood there staring out the window at the rain for a solid five minutes, suddenly wide awake and more curious about him than ever.

• • •

Coffee Darling was only open until mid-afternoon, so I had plenty of time left over in the following weeks to help my mother finish the guest houses. I’d get up at five, work at the shop until the lunch crowd left, and then head back home to paint, put up window treatments and light fixtures, and make up beds with beautiful linens in soft, neutral colors. On my days off, I’d go hunting at antique shops for old chairs I could recover, tables my dad could help me refinish, or just pretty things that would look nice hanging on the walls or sitting on a shelf.

In the evenings, I helped my mother tweak their website, which was dated and busy. I also convinced her to hire a photographer to take some professional photos of the houses and grounds, and found a graphic designer to work on a new logo.

I can’t say I was any closer to figuring what to do with my life, but I felt good about helping out my family, and staying busy made it easy to put off worrying about the future. My most immediate concern was that damn reunion—could I show my humiliated face? My final episode of Save a Horse had aired, (no, I did not watch) but I still felt the disgusted stares and heard the angry whispers of locals here and there. Perhaps if I hadn’t thrown that cosmo in fan favorite Whiney Whitney’s face, I’d have come off a bit more sympathetic, but I just couldn’t take one more of her tearful meltdowns. Besides, I let her push me in the ranch’s pool in an evening gown and stilettos. Ratings for that episode were sky high!

If only I had someone to go to the reunion
with
. But my two closest girlfriends from school lived out of town and weren’t attending, and Natalie said showing up with her as my date would be worse than going alone. If Sebastian had come into the shop again, I would’ve asked him about it, but he never did. I asked Natalie about him once, and she said he was kind of like that—he might come in every day for a week and then not at all for two. Then she teased me about the crestfallen look on my face so much that I didn’t ask again.

I was starting to think I’d imagined his poetic words about me when I ran into him at the hardware store one night in late May.

I was in aisle four looking for screws for these cool cast iron bin pulls I’d just bought at an old barn-turned-antiques store, and I was having trouble finding the right size. Frowning again at the vast selection in front of me, I was thinking of asking for help when I heard a voice behind me.

“Skylar?”

I turned, and there he was. “Oh! Hi.” Suddenly I remembered my hair was in a ponytail and quickly tugged the elastic out before he could notice my Nixon ears. Slipping it over one wrist, I tried to shake out my hair, fluff it a little.

“Hi.” He smiled and my heart thumped hard at the slow stretch of those full lips and the arched brow. Why on earth had he hidden that face for so long? “How are you?”

“Good. I’m just looking for a screw.” My eyes went panicky wide as I realized what I said. “For some screws, I mean. Not
a
screw.”

He laughed then, a warm, genuine chuckle that sent joy spiraling up inside me. “Do you need some help?”

“I do, actually.” I held up one bin pull. “I bought this antique hardware but I can’t find the right fit for the hole.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“I hate when the fit is wrong for the hole.” With an easy grin on his face, Sebastian took the pull from me and examined it. “Hmm. Let’s see.” He hunted around for a moment, during which I covertly studied him from the corner of my eye. He was tall and trim, with a nice round ass which I may or may not have leaned backward to check out while he tested a few different size screws. “Aha.” He faced me and held one out. “This should work.”

“Great. If they have eight of them, I can get this job done tonight.”

“You need eight screws to get the job done?” That brow cocked even higher. “That happens to be my favorite number.”

Now
this
guy I could flirt with.

I rolled my eyes and pushed gently on his chest, which was broad and thick. He wore a dark gray track-style jacket which fit his upper body much better than the old baggy sweatshirts he used to wear in high school. “Very funny. So you’re talking to me today, huh?”

The smile slid off his face, and immediately I was sorry I’d mentioned anything about our previous meeting. “Yeah. Sorry again about… that one day. I was just…” He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, his muscular chest rising and falling. “I don’t know. I was having a bad day.”

“Me too. God.” My shoulders shuddered at the memory. “An awful day.”

He looked at me sideways. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I got fired. And then I fell on my face in front of you at the beach. And then the Cherry Pageant people took my crown away.” At the time, it had seemed like such a serious personal insult—now it just sounded silly, like I was a child whose favorite toy had been taken away.

“Why?”

I sighed, closing my eyes. “It’s a long and embarrassing story.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “We all have those.”

I thought about what Natalie had said about his recent past.
What do you know, Sebastian Pryce and I have something in common.
It gave me an idea. “Hey. Want to trade long and embarrassing stories over a drink?”

His expression immediately went from sympathetic to scared, and I wondered if I’d gone too far.

“I’m sorry.” I glanced around. “You came here for something, and the store’s about to close. I shouldn’t keep you. It was just a thought. Maybe some other time.”

“No, no. It’s OK.” He paused. “Actually, I think I’d like that.”

I cocked my head. “You don’t sound too sure about it.”

“I’m sure.” He tapped my nose, an affectionate gesture that surprised me. “Listen. It’s not every day that
the
Skylar Nixon asks me for a drink. You have to give me a minute.” Lifting an arm in between us, he pinched the skin on his wrist.

“Oh, stop.” Flustered, I pushed his hand down. “Don’t be silly.”

He grinned. “I need to grab some chairs, though. Should we meet out front?”

“Chairs? You’re shopping for furniture at the hardware store?”

“For my patio. They’ve got some on sale here this week.”

“Where do you live?”

“On Old Mission. I built a cabin.”

“Really? I live on Old Mission too. I mean, my parents do, and I’m—” I shook my head. “Never mind. That’s another embarrassing story. Anyway, that’s awesome about the cabin. I love cabins. So much charm.”

He shrugged. “I’m not sure you’d call it charming yet, but it’s working for me.”

“I’d love to see it. Maybe I can help.” He looked at me sort of oddly, and again I wondered if I was being too forward. “Sorry—it was just a thought. I tend to say anything that comes into my head. I should really learn to think before speaking.”

“No, it was a nice thought. I just—haven’t had many visitors.”

I decided to drop it. “Well, I’m going to pay for my screws”—I sighed, squeezing my eyes shut. “Don’t even make a joke, please—and then I will meet you out front. Sound good?”

He nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. I liked the way the bottom one was fuller than the top. “Sounds good.”

He brushed by me, and I pretended to occupy myself counting out eight screws, but really I watched him as he walked away, enjoying the fluttery feeling in my stomach. I admired the round ass, the trim waist, the V of his torso to his shoulders. I imagined what he’d look naked, and the flutter moved lower.

Whoa, there, Skylar. Just calm down. Yes, it’s been a while since you were in the saddle, but that is no mechanical bull you’re looking at. And if what Natalie said was true, he probably needs a friend.

Still.

I tilted my head to get a better view.

I could go seven seconds on that body. I could go seven seconds on that body all. night. long.

The fact that I ran into Skylar again on a good day was the most mercy I’d been granted in a long time. It’s not that the obsessive thoughts weren’t there, but they didn’t feel so huge or compelling. I was able to consciously file them in a compartment of my brain I thought of as the Fuck You I Don’t Care folder and be myself. On my good days, I could do that.

It felt so easy to talk to her, and she was so sweetly embarrassed about her unintentionally dirty remarks.

But I’d had an unintentional twitch in my pants when she put her hands on my chest, and I’d faltered when she mentioned my behavior from two weeks ago. I had no decent explanation. The truth was, not a day had gone by that I hadn’t thought about her.

And then there she was. Chatting me up. Asking me for a drink. Expressing interest in where I lived. Wanting to come over and see it.

And I’d handled myself just fine.

I could have said no to the drink. I could have gone home, crossed Talk to Skylar Nixon off my list, called today one of my best days yet, and allowed myself a celebratory beer on the deck in one of my new chairs, most likely followed by celebratory jerking off to the memory of her ass in those yoga pants. (Twice, of course.)