Page 46 of Single-Minded
“We would, but she’s busy with all her gentleman suitors,” Ms. Dotty said.
I glanced out to the dance floor, locating Presley easily. This time she was dancing with Ty Bishop, who was doing his best to dirty dance. I swallowed down a growl, reminded myself it was none of my business, and forced my attention back to the two women.
“You’ll know when the shop opens,” I assured them.
“But you don’t know when that is?” Ms. Rosy asked.
“I don’t know when that is. I’m just the contractor.”
“You’re no fun, West Aldridge,” she said, then elbowed Ms. Dotty and laughed sloppily enough I could tell she’d had her share of drinks.
I encouraged the two seniors to have a second dessert, which sidetracked them as I’d hoped, then escaped to the restroom.
When I returned to the ballroom, my gaze went to the dance floor first, without conscious thought, seeking out Presley. She wasn’t where she’d been five minutes ago, so I scanned the rest of the area, wondering who she was dancing with now.
Movement at the doors to the terrace caught my attention. I looked over in time to see Presley slipping outside by herself. I frowned, wondering if she was okay. From what I’d seen, she was content to be surrounded by people and churning through dance partners. What reason would she have for sneaking away by herself?
I casually made my way toward the windowed end of the ballroom that looked out on the terrace and the lake with the goal of spotting her through the glass, just to reassure myself she was okay. When I didn’t see her, I slipped out the door.
I didn’t see Presley anywhere. On the other side of the common area, several clusters of guests were gathered on private-room patios, but the only people on the terrace where the cocktail hour had taken place were two employees cleaning the area. I nodded at one of them as I walked to the steps that led down to the shore.
Presley was sitting on the bottom step a couple hundred feet below me, her fancy dress likely getting dirty from the ground, her elbows braced on her legs.
Concerned, I jogged down the steps. She didn’t move as I approached.
“Presley?”
She slowly turned her head to look up at me, still bracing it on her arms.
“Are you okay?”
She groaned quietly.
I sat next to her, my leg not quite touching hers. “What’s going on?”
She lifted her head, shaking it, then moaning again. “Overserved myself. Needed fresh air.”
“Is it helping?”
She inhaled a deep breath through her nose. “Maybe?”
“You feel dizzy?”
She nodded shallowly. “Little bit.”
She canted her head to the side and leaned it against my shoulder. I had to fight to keep my hands in my lap when what I wanted to do was take her in my arms and make her feel better.
“Did your date desert you?” I asked.
“He had a fire.”
We sat without talking for a few minutes, during which Presley dragged in deep, audible breaths.
“I want to go home,” she said eventually. “Where’s Chloe?”
“She was slow dancing with her husband. Why don’t I drive you home, and she can have her night out with Holden?”
“Sounds good.” She straightened and frowned, her hair tousled. “Or you prob’ly don’t wanna do that.”
