Page 104 of Beat of Love
But fuck, hemissedher.
To add to his misery, his mother had taken up matchmaking like it was a full-time job. Subtlety had never been her strong suit, and it annoyed him to no end, because his heart, whether she liked it or not, already belonged to a russet-haired woman.
The new accountant — quiet, competent, and clearly uncomfortable — had been persuaded to stay for dinner twice under the pretense of “not eating alone.” Then Aunt Marlene and Uncle Fred showed up with their niece in tow, a perky divorcée freshly returned to help run the diner, her eyes bright with interest and zero understanding of the brick wall she was about to hit. And of course, there were the not-so-subtle mentions of Maggie, Siobhan’s hairdresser friend, a single mom in her early thirties who “just needed a good man and a fresh start.” He endured it all with gritted teeth and tight smiles, counting the minutes until he could excuse himself.
Because none of them were her.
*
The sun was warm on her skin. Not too hot to burn — just enough to ease the tension from her muscles and lull her into a state of relaxed surrender. And loosen her tongue. Of course, the mojito helped. Brandy-Lyn turned her head to look at her friend stretched out on the next lounger. “Tell me I’m crazy.”
The lazy ocean breeze stirred a few stray tendrils across her cheek, catching on the slick of lip balm. She lifted her hand to brush them away.
“You’re crazy, love,” Jackie replied dutifully, not even opening her eyes.
Brandy sighed. “Thank you.”
She brought the cocktail to her lips, the glass damp with condensation, and took a slow sip. The lime and mint cooled her throat, and the rum gave a little kick. And she closed her eyes. Since pushing her away just before Thanksgiving, Rafferty had been avoiding her. Like crossing to the other side of the road to avoid bumping into her.
No kidding. It happened just last week in town.
She’d been on her way to Decadence to celebrate picking up her new Yukon — miracle of miracles, the insurance hadfinallysettled her claim — when she caught sight of his bike, parked just a few spots down …
Her pulse jumped, recognizing the Ducati. She slowed, scanning the sidewalk like a woman looking for something she’d lost — a slow three-sixty, heart hammering, hope clawing its way up her throat.
Then he stepped out of the bakery.
A paper bag in one hand, he was dressed in black with a beanie pulled low over his forehead. He looked good — too good.
And for a breathless second, their eyes locked.
And then, just as quickly, he turned.
Not toward her. Not even toward the damn motorbike.
He spun on his heel and walked away. Deliberate, like he had somewhere else to be.
Anywhere else.
Brandy stood frozen on the sidewalk, her face burning like he’d slapped her.
He left his bike behind.
Left her behind.
And yeah, that hurt like hell.
She told herself that kind of avoidance had to mean something. Because if she didn’t matter, he wouldn’t be going out of his way to not interact with her.
Brandy opened her eyes to find Jackie swinging her legs to the sand, elbows on knees as she peered at her over the top of her sunglasses.
“Why exactly am I calling you crazy?”
She gave her friend the stink-eye.
Jackie raised an unimpressed brow. “Because in my humble opinion, it could be one of two reasons. One, you’re on a tropical island mooning over a man who basically told you to fuck off. Or two, you turned down the chance to dance with that absolute Adonis of a man last night. You know, the one with the abs and the accent?”
Brandy groaned and sat up. “The first. Definitely the first.” She had no desire to dance with some random man. She wanted to dance with Rafferty freaking Lawson.
