Page 6 of The Worst Best Man
“I literally just walked through customs, Ma. They don’t let you chit chat on your cell phones while you’re in there.”
Her mother scoffed. The idea that anyone could keep her from a safety report on one of her children was ridiculous to May.
“Tell me all about your flight,” May demanded. Frankie blamed herself. She liked her parents, liked talking to them, and somehow that had evolved into almost daily calls “just to check in” or “catch up.” Hell, half the time she was the one doing the dialing. Her mom was a fount of information on old neighborhood and family gossip.
“It was crowded and long,” Frankie said, squinting at the taxi sign. It listed island destinations and their rates, but she needed to check what parish the resort was in again.
“Your father and I went to the Florida Keys for our honeymoon forty-one years ago,” May announced. “Is it as nice as the Keys?”
Frankie had never been to the Florida Keys, nor had she seen anything of Barbados beyond the tarmac and the cab line. “I’m sure the Keys are beautiful,” she told her mother. “Look, Ma. I gotta go. Can I call you tomorrow?”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I just have to grab a cab.”
“Why didn’t Pru send a car for you?” her mother squawked. “You’re just going to get in a car with a stranger?”
“A driver Pru sent would still be a stranger.” Frankie made the point in vain.
“I forbid you to get mugged or molested!”
Frankie bumped into someone and turned to apologize.
“There you are. I was worried that we were star-crossed lovers, destined never to meet again.” The Australian was adjusting the backpack she’d nearly knocked off his shoulder.
“I gotta go, Ma.”
“What now?”
“There’s a cute guy looking at me.”
The Aussie grinned.
“Hang up and flirt with him! Come back engaged!” Her mother disconnected the call to start planning the overdue wedding of her only daughter.
“Sorry,” Frankie said with a soft smile. “I wasn’t paying attention to what I was doing.”
“You can bump into me anytime you want.” He wasn’t devastatingly handsome. Not like Satan-in-a-Suit Kilbourn. But he was cute and charming and very, very tan. His hair was a bleached-out blond that was in need of a cut. His clothes were wrinkled and comfortable.
“Tell me you’re an Australian surfer,” Frankie sighed. It had been a while since she’d had a second-party-induced orgasm. She’d been lazy in the dating field, and working two jobs hadn’t left her much time for naked fun. Maybe a tropical fling with a sexy surfer would cure her sex blahs?
“As a matter of fact, I am. Tell me you’re into Australian surfers and that we can share a cab so I can charm my way into a date.”
Frankie laughed. Easy, charming, funny. Perfect.
She lowered her lashes. “I’ve never had an Australian surfer before, so I can’t vouch for my preferences in the area.”
His blue eyes, the same color as the sea they’d flown over, widened in appreciation. “Where are you staying?”
“Rockley Sands Resort.”
“Bugger me.” His face fell. “That’s north of Bridgetown. I’m on the other side of the island.”
“Franchesca.”
A good stiff breeze could have knocked Frankie over. It had to be a mirage. She was certain of it. That was not Aiden Kilbourn leaning against a Jeep in shorts and a sexy short-sleeved button down. Boat shoes and Ray-bans. His beard looked a little scruffier than the last time she’d seen him.
“What the f—”
