I invite you to come along for the ride! I think you’re going to enjoy it.
All my best,
Beverly
My thanks to my good friend Margaret O’Connor Govett at Girls in Pearls Boutique for all things boutique related. Any errors are solely mine.
Contents
Seth Pike had two child-size teddy bears wrapped in clear plastic under one arm and a twelve-year-old bottle of scotch under the other. What he didn’t have was an umbrella, which meant he was going to get wet.
The rain, a welcome relief from the heat, was falling hard, practically bouncing up when it hit. Vegas, a mass of concrete and hard-baked earth in August, was unreceptive to Mother Earth’s goodness.
He had four blocks to go and it would be a damn miracle if he didn’t get his eye poked out by some fool who couldn’t control his umbrella in the strong wind that had come along with the rain. He spied the big green awning of one of his favorite pizza places and made a run for it.
He slid the last couple feet, almost ramming into the back of a woman who hadn’t been there a second before. “Sorry,” he mumbled, managing to stay upright and not drop the scotch or the bears.
“No problem,” she said, turning. “I perhaps should have taken the warning about monsoon season a little more seriously.”
She talked fast and her very blue eyes sparkled. She wore a short black dress and black heels. Her bare legs were toned and tanned and he told himself it wasn’t nice to stare. With effort, he shifted his gaze upward. A brightly colored scarf was hanging off one shoulder, secured with some kind of fancy knot that only women seemed to know how to do. Her damp hair was a dark brown and hung below her shoulders. She was in the process of gathering it up into a ponytail and then wadding said ponytail into a bun on the top of her head. On one wrist was an oversize gold watch and on the other, at least five gold bracelets, in varying shapes and sizes. There were rings on three of her fingers. None of them looked like the wedding type.
“Whew,” she said, giving the bun a pat. “That’s better.”
With her three-inch heels, they were almost at eye level. She had the darkest eyelashes he’d ever seen.
She smiled at him and for the first time, looked at the things he was carrying. “So the bears enjoy scotch?”
He pointed at their pirate suits. “Strictly rum drinkers.”
“Of course. Love a good piña colada myself.”
He inclined his head toward the dark window behind them. “There’s a nice bar twenty feet behind you. Unfortunately, they’re only open for dinner.”
“I’m free later. Maybe I’ll come back,” she added, her tone unconcerned. “Congrats on being much smarter and carrying your alcohol with you.”
He shook his head. “The bears are for my business partner who is expecting a set of twins in a couple months and the scotch is...”
“To