Beth Andrews - What Happens Between Friends

As if to set her aside.

A crazy thought. James would never do that to her. He’d never be done with her. The mere idea of it was absurd. Irrational.

Inconceivable.

Still, panic tightened her chest, made it impossible to breathe. She squeezed him harder. He sighed heavily, his breath ruffling the damp hair at her temple, the exhalation seeming to shudder through him. He slowly shifted closer, slid his hands around to settle at the small of her back, his warmth seeping through her wet clothes.

A pebble of unnamed emotion lodged itself in her throat and she pressed her face into the crook of his neck and simply held on. She inhaled deeply, and his spicy cologne and the underlying scent of sawdust only made the urge to bawl stronger.

God, she must have hit her head harder than she’d thought. Sure, her life was in the crapper right now, but it was temporary. A rough spot, one she’d eventually get over. “This, too, shall pass” and all of that. Good times and bad times, successes and failures...they all came and went.

And eventually she’d get back to looking at the bright side—but right now the glare was giving her one hell of a headache.

“Hey,” James said, his soft, gruff voice causing goose bumps to rise on her arms. “What’s this about?”

“Nothing.” She cleared her throat and prayed she didn’t sound as needy and unsteady as she felt. “I’m just...I’m really happy to see you.”

She leaned back and studied him. His handsome face was as familiar to her as her own: soulful eyes the color of rich chocolate, heavy eyebrows and shaggy dark hair that had the tendency to curl at the ears and nape. His Roman nose bent slightly right, thanks to his taking an elbow to the face when he went up for a rebound during a basketball game their sophomore year.

Yes, he was the same. Same mouth with the full bottom lip. Same square jaw. But there was one difference....

“What’s this?” she asked, tapping his chin. She had the strangest, strongest urge to leave her fingertips there, to trail them across his dark whiskers, to rub the thick, triangular patch just below his lower lip.

She dropped her hand back to his shoulder.

He stroked his thumb and forefinger across his neatly trimmed mustache and goatee. “Chicks dig it.”

“No doubt.”

Then again, females of all ages dug the Montesano men. James may not have Leo’s panty-melting looks or Eddie’s sexy intensity, but he was handsome, kind and when you were with him, he listened—really listened—instead of patting your head or giving you unwanted advice. A woman could trust him—with her thoughts, her secrets and her heart. He was sweet. Safe.

A good catch, her mother had deemed him way back when he’d been fifteen.

She’d been right. Irene Ellison was always right. It was her third most-annoying trait.

“You’ve never had facial hair before,” Sadie said, musing aloud. “I mean, other than that scraggly thing you tried to pass off as a mustache when you turned eighteen.”

He smiled, one of his easy, warm grins. The whiskers may be new, somehow making him seem harder, edgier than he truly was, but inside, where it mattered, he hadn’t changed.

And thank God for that.

“It might have been a little...patchy.”

“Patchy? It looked like you’d taped a molting caterpillar to your upper lip.”

He shrugged, the movement causing his chest to rise and fall against her inner arms. Tingles of heat pricked her chilled skin.

She stepped back. “I sure missed you, pal o’ mine.”

“I missed you, too. Though I’d miss you more if you didn’t bring mayhem with you every time you came back to town.”

“You know what they say. One person’s mayhem is another’s good time.”

“No one says that.”

“They should. Think I could get it trademarked? I’d make a killing with needlepoint samplers.”

“I thought you were going to make a killing selling organic beauty products.”

Heat crawled up her neck. Thank goodness it was too dark for him to see her blush. “Surprisingly, there wasn’t as big a market for them as I’d hoped.”

And, if she was honest with herself—something she tried very hard to avoid—her products weren’t good enough to be competitive in an already very competitive market. It’d been a whim, one of many she’d followed through on.

“That is surprising,” James said mildly. Bless him, he never bad-mouthed her ideas or told her they wouldn’t work. “So, what brings you to town?”

“I didn’t want to miss your birthday.”

“You’ve missed plenty in the past fifteen years.”

“But I couldn’t miss this year. Such a special milestone.”

“Yes. Turning thirty-four is very significant for most people.” He crossed his arms, the movement pulling his shirt open at the neck, showing a sprinkling of dark chest hair, the strong line of his throat. “What’s wrong?”

“What makes you think anything’s wrong?”

“Because you’re standing in front of me, wet, muddy and bedraggled—”

“Ooh...breaking out the big-boy words. I’m so proud.”

“—which I’m going to guess means you’re flat broke, unemployed or without prospects. Or all of the above. No offense,” he added.

“None taken.”

How could she when he’d pretty much summed up her situation? And quite succinctly, too.

At least he wouldn’t hold any of those items against her.

“Actually,” she continued, “I prefer to think of it as financially challenged, between jobs and open to life’s many possibilities.”

“To each their own.” He stepped closer, gave her one of his searching looks, as if he could see inside her head. Too bad she didn’t let anyone, not even her best buddy, get that close to her. “What can I do to help?”

Those damn tears were back. Here she was, slinking into Shady Grove with her tail and her failure tucked firmly between her legs. But with James, there were no recriminations or smirky looks—oh, man, she really hated those smirky, I-expected-so-much-more-from-you looks.

Her mother was an ace at them.

He didn’t list all the many, and varied, ways Sadie had gone wrong in her life—conveniently forgetting the times she’d been successful. Didn’t insist she’d be happy and fulfilled only if she stopped chasing foolish dreams and married some dentist or lawyer, birthed two-point-five kids and spent the rest of her days locked in a three-thousand-square-foot Cape Cod house, complete with inground pool, gourmet kitchen and white picket fence. He didn’t expect her to stay in Shady Grove.

Didn’t expect her to follow in her mother’s footsteps.

Irene had given up her freedom for security. She’d traded in spontaneity and excitement for schedules and monotony, had tossed aside her independence for a life of entitlement, one she hadn’t even earned. She’d settled.

Sadie never would. She had too much of her father in her. Would rather die than to be...ordinary.

And James knew it. He knew her, better than anyone.

She squeezed his forearm. “Thanks, but right now, all I want to do is get into some dry clothes, have a huge piece of your birthday cake and then drown my sorrows with a bottle of wine.”

“I think we can manage that.”

“I’ll get my bag.” As she passed the passenger side, Elvis, previously lying across both front seats—the better to spread his muddy paw prints around—sat up, his ears perked. Sadie let him out and he raced to the front of the Jeep, his body vibrating. He barked three times, sounding like some vicious beast ready to tear a man’s arm off and use it as a chew toy, then sniffed the ground, lifted his leg and peed on her front tire.

James blinked. “There was a dog in your car.”