Page 121 of Banter & Blushes

“You okay over there?” he asked.

“What makes you ask?”

“Because you’re holding your highlighter like a weapon.”

She blinked, looked down at the neon-yellow marker clutched in her hand, and slowly set it aside.

“It’s this gala,” she admitted. “There’s a lot riding on it.”

“You don’t say.”

Scowling, she tapped her fingers on her desk. “The town needs a win, Beckett.”

He put the cup down and leaned back into the seat, arms crossed, eyes softening. “You need a win.”

She didn’t answer, but her fingers brushed the edge of the binder like she needed the anchor.

“So.” He cleared his throat. “What’s first?”

Caroline perked up, flipping the page with renewed purpose.

“Branding. Messaging. A cohesive online presence. And a revised town motto which doesn’t rhyme ‘clam bake’ with ‘land quake.’”

“You’re kidding.”

“I am absolutely not.”

He chuckled and shook his head.

“Alright, Hollis. Let’s get to work.”

Five hours later, the binder was half the size it had been (thanks to a ruthless purge), and Beck had contributed twelve sarcastic sticky notes and one potential tagline which made her snort coffee out of her nose.

“Bluebell Bay: We’ve Got Good Vibes and Adequate Parking.You think that’s the slogan we need, Beck?”

He flashed her a mischievous smile. “Tell me that wouldn’t bring in millennials.”

“You’re deranged.”

“You’re welcome.”

She had slipped off her heels, and they rested carelessly beneath the desk. He enjoyed seeing Caroline like this. Her hair cascaded from its bun, a pen gently tapping her cheek, her cheeks flushed a soft pink from their spirited debate about fonts. She was the perfect blend of passion, elegance, and chaos wrapped in a blazer.

He was getting in way deeper than he planned.

As she flexed her toes, it stirred something in him he hadn’t felt in a long time.Something deeply inconvenient.Beck, in a split second, found himself unreasonably distracted. The delicate arch, the polished red nails, the way her foot moved as if keeping tempo with her ambition. He shifted, uncomfortable with the sudden tension in the room and what it stirred in him.

“Get to the good stuff,” he said, turning his attention to the binder instead of the ridiculous and distracting effect of her toes.

“Focus,” she quipped, as if reading his mind.

“Trying,” he muttered. His head should not be spinning, and he shouldn’t be trying to catch glimpses under her desk.

It was exhaustion,he told himself.

From a long afternoon.

And a woman who was more infuriating and more fascinating than he’d ever considered.

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