Page 7 of Before You Go
“True,” he mutters with a small smile, passing the bottle back to me before returning to his original position of leaning against the shelves with his arms crossed. “So, you’re divorced.”
“Yep.”
“And your ex-husband is here with another woman.”
“Yep.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“Also, yep,” I say, and he starts to laugh.
He has a great laugh; it’s rich and deep. It’s also genuine, which is a nice change.
“Okay,” he mutters, glancing around. “Then why are we hiding in here?”
“Did you not just meet Betsy Dawson?”
“No, I actually met Betsy Dawson earlier this evening when I arrived. I don’t know who that woman we just had an encounter with was.”
“Oh, honey,” I start in my thickest Southern accent. “That would be my mother, Betsy Dawson, Miss Alabama herself, circa 1989.”
“I see.” He grins.
“Don’t get me wrong. I love my mom from the bottom of my soul, but she can be…”
“A lot,” he finishes for me, and I nod.
“Yes, so I just needed a few minutes for her to get distracted by other people before I go back out there.” I put the lid back on the bottle and stand. “It’s probably safe now.”
“Probably?”
“It never takes her long to get distracted, and there are a lot of people here to distract her.” I turn around and start to climb back up onto the stool, but he steps up behind me, fitting his front to my back, takes the bottle from my hand once again, and easily places it on the higher shelf. He’s so close that the rich, crisp scent of his cologne wraps around me as his warmth seeps into my skin through the thin material of my dress.
So close that I can feel every inch of his hard body pressed up against mine.
It fills my head with thoughts I should not be having about a guy who is a total stranger.
“Thanks.” I clear my throat while trying to ignore the flutter in my lower belly. It’s not something I’ve experienced in a very long time, so it’s difficult to disregard.
“You’re welcome.” He steps out of my space, allowing me to breathe once again. “Ready?” His gaze finds mine, and I wonder if it’s the alcohol or him that is making me feel suddenly too warm. “Or should I check that the coast is clear first?” He grins, and I can’t help but smile at him.
“If she hasn’t shown up yet, she’s not going to.” I scoot by him out of the pantry and smile at the staff as we pass. Exiting the kitchen, I head toward the patio, where I know there is a bar and food. Two things I need desperately.
“How about I buy you a drink?” he asks, stepping ahead of me to get the door.
“It’s an open bar.”
“It’s the thought that counts,” he drawls, making me laugh as I step outside, but my laughter quickly dies off when everyone turns to look in our direction, including Matthew and the woman he has his arm wrapped around. She’s very pretty and very young—much younger than me. Even though at thirty-two, I wouldn’t consider myself old by any means. I know I told my mom that I’m glad he brought a date, but I honestly wasn’t sure how I would feel when I actually saw him with someone else. But as I take the two of them in, there is no jealousy… or any emotion, really.
“There’s my girl.” My dad appears with a smile on his face, cutting off my view of Matthew.
Where most people only see the politician that my father is, I see the guy who taught me how to ride a bike and the one who showed up to every single dance recital I had. He’s the man who used to tuck me into bed each night and read to me in funny voices, and the person who would make me hot cocoa or a bowl of ice cream when I had a bad day. The one man who had the power to make things better just by being there.
“Hey, Daddy.” I fall into his embrace, and his arms wrap around me tightly.
“Are you okay?” he asks, just loud enough for me to hear.
“Yeah.”
