“What time?”
“Six.” That ought to have her sitting through Nashville rush hour. The idea, after all, was to push her to her limits.
“Perfect.”
Perfect? Ha. She was probably ready to gnaw on wood. And just to thoroughly piss her off…“And don’t be late. I’d hate for us to get behind schedule because you’re not punctual.”
He could all but feel her kiss-my-ass radiating over the phone line. Perversely, he was looking forward to 6:00 p.m.
AT PRECISELY four-thirty, Natalie pulled into a parking spot on Dahlia’s picturesque town square. There was no way she was going to sit through rush-hour traffic heading out of the city. Plus, she’d seen Beau’s face when Scooter told her to replace her outfit at Stillwell Motors Racing’s expense. Two could play his game, and she was more than willing to hit below the belt…at least, that’s where she assumed he kept his wallet.
She slung her purse over her shoulder and locked the minivan. Was it her imagination or did the air smell sweeter, fresher here? With its refurbished store fronts around a parklike square anchored by a Confederate soldier monument, Dahlia was a refreshing step back in time—especially after the urban sprawl that had become Nashville.
She’d driven through with Caitlyn once before on their way out to Belle Terre and Caitlyn had pointed out the green and white striped awning that marked Beverly’s Closet, but they hadn’t stopped. Now Natalie strolled along the sidewalk, enchanted.
Early on, she and Caitlyn had discussed whether to use local businesses in the wedding or Natalie’s tried-and-true Nashville contacts. Now that Caitlyn had made up her mind, Natalie needed to set up appointments to meet with the business owners. True, she could just drop in, but that seemed disrespectful of their time—and thank you, Beau Stillwell, she knew all about how it felt to have someone disregard your time.
Plus, she wouldn’t mind an opportunity to “window-shop” anonymously. One of her concerns was whether the small hometown businesses in Dahlia could deliver and pull off an event like Caitlyn and Cash’s wedding. Not that she didn’t want every wedding to be perfect, but the way this one would be covered by the media, Natalie’s already narrow margin of error had narrowed even further. This, the career catalyst that had been handed to her like a gift, had to be as close to perfect as possible.
She’d noted the bakery’s location on the outskirts of town, a pink cinder block building with white lace curtains gracing the display windows of Pammy’s Petals. She paused now in front of Christa’s Florals and breathed a small sigh of relief. Several elegant floral arrangements on a velvet runner filled the front window. Whew! It was always a bad sign when a florist presented funeral wreaths and cemetery flowers as their primary offering.
She passed a small gallery showing several stainedglass pieces, lace and beadwork and a lovely wedding-knot quilt in shades of lavender, yellow and pink that sent a wave of nostalgia washing over her. She could almost smell the signature scent of gardenia her grandmother had favored and feel her warmth as they’d shared a similar quilt on Memaw’s front porch swing when Natalie had been a young girl. She blinked. It would be beyond crazy to burst into tears on the Dahlia sidewalk because some exquisitely crafted artwork had pulled an emotional rug out from under her feet.
She walked on. Dahlia Hair and Nails. Hmm. Hard to tell, but selling Caitlyn on another stylist would be a real challenge. Apparently the owner, Lila, was Caitlyn’s mother’s best friend.
She paused on the sidewalk outside Beverly’s Closet, ostensibly admiring the ivy topiaries and spring-mix flowers in oversized planters flanking the glass door. She realized she was nervous. As the mother of the bride, Beverly had been part of the preplanning with Natalie and Caitlyn, and Natalie liked the older woman, but she was suddenly self-consciously aware that Beverly was also the mother of Natalie’s new object of full-blown lust.
And like it or not, Beau hadn’t just slipped into that spot, he’d commandeered it. Dear god, even when he was being manipulative and arrogant and every other unpleasant adjective she could throw his way, damn him to hell, he tripped her trigger.
And that was highly, impossibly problematic. He was everything she didn’t want in a man, wasn’t he? Relationships weren’t supposed to shake you up and make you feel unsettled and as if you were too much for your own skin. And that was an equally crazy thought. What she and Beau had wasn’t even close to a relationship. It was a…she didn’t even know what it was. Wanting to strip a man naked and work her way up, or down, his body didn’t qualify as a relationship.
As if that wasn’t the craziest thing. She shrugged away the silly thought and stepped into Beverly’s Closet.
At the tinkle of the bell, Beverly looked up from where she was plumping a cushion in an armchair upholstered in apple-green velvet. “Can I help you…” Recognition kicked in. “Natalie, it’s so good to see you again. Come on in, sugar.” Beverly’s genuine smile encompassed her. Somewhere in her midfifties, with porcelain skin, moss-green eyes and shoulder-length hair dyed a soft, flattering shade of blond, Caitlyn’s mother struck Natalie as the quintessential middle-aged Southern beauty.
Beverly hugged her, engulfing her in a cloud of perfume. “What a nice surprise. Well, not a total surprise because Milton called and explained the ruined outfit.” A delicate blush tinged Beverly’s porcelain cheeks.
“Milton?” Natalie didn’t know anyone named Milton.
“Milton Lewis.”
Lewis? That sounded familiar but it wouldn’t click into place. And obviously she still looked perplexed.
“Beau’s crew chief.”
Right. “Oh. That Mr. Lewis.” Natalie laughed. She’d really liked Scooter, née Milton, Lewis. “I didn’t think his mother named him Scooter.”
Beverly rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Isn’t that the most ridiculous thing you ever heard to call a grown man? He picked up that name in high school when he and my late husband started tinkering with cars. Since Milton was the shortest, he’d scoot underneath the car to work on it.”
Natalie personally preferred Scooter to Milton, but she kept her own counsel. She’d quickly learned in this business when to hold her tongue. Well, most of the time. When she was around Beau, however, she didn’t manage nearly as well. “Hmm.” She, however, found Beverly’s blush sweet. “So, Mr. Lewis called you?”
Color rose in the older woman’s cheeks again. “To tell me you might come by.”
“Uh-huh,” Natalie responded with a knowing smile. Beverly was a beautiful woman and, well, bottom line, Scooter or Milton or whatever they called him was a man.
Another delicate stain of pink blossomed. “We talked for a while. I think he’s lonely since Emma Jean died.”
“And I think you’re a beautiful woman.”
“Well…why…thank you. That’s what he said, too,” Beverly told her in a sudden rush. She buried her hands in her face momentarily and then looked up, equal measures of excitement and mortification in her green eyes. “Oh, Lord, he asked me to go to dinner.”
Natalie had the distinct impression she’d just wandered into something intensely personal but was enough of a stranger to qualify as a confidante. And for whatever reason, people seemed to confide in her. “What did you say?”
“I said I’d let him know.”
Absence of a flat-out no meant yes. “Do you want to go?”
Beverly fluttered her hand nervously along her hairline. “I don’t know…it’s been so long…What if he tries to kiss me when he brings me home?”
Natalie pushed aside the memory of Beau’s mouth on her lips and breast that seemed seared into her brain. This