“I understand.” Trent waved one hand. “I’d hoped to stay under the radar, but then I wouldn’t have had the honor of meeting your star here.” He smiled at Rosalyn. “I’ve always been very impressed with aerialists—it’s a unique talent.”
The praise washed over her, warm at first, then slowly icing over. More expectation. More pressure to make the show go well as a headliner.
A headliner trying to stay out of the news.
“Any town hosting a top-notch circus with professional aerialists is something to notice.” Trent took a last sip from his mug. Through the window, the sun reemerged from behind the clouds, warming Rosalyn’s hands clutching her nearly empty cup of tea. “A circus is a very creative idea for a fundraiser, by the way.”
“Thank you.” Cade nodded. “The entire week-long festival should be entertaining. Food trucks, vendor booths, carnival rides, face-painting…plus the three nights of the circus at the end.”
Rosalyn’s stomach tightened. She’d almost forgotten there werethreeseparate performances. Three attempts to shine, but nottoomuch. Three attempts to help save her hometown, but in a low-key way that wouldn’t bring nationwide attention.
Three attempts tonotfall from the silks—or fall for Cade.
“You guys have sold me. I’ll be back next week and do my best to make sure my boss tags along. Could mean good things.” Trent brushed off the sleeve of his blazer, then included them both in his grin as he started to stand. “At the end of the day, we’re all on the same team, looking for a win, right?”
“Right.” Cade nodded, shook his hand again. He shot Rosalyn a victory smile when Trent turned to pick up his cup.
Same team. Rosalyn smiled back, stood more slowly. Maybe that’s why things kept getting out of whack. She and Cade were used to being onoppositeteams. There was clearly a measure of safety in competing against each other, keeping that distance. Look what had happened when she’d crossed that invisible boundary line.
She lingered at their table, taking her time gathering her trash. Eyed Cade’s broad back following Trent toward the front door, absorbed his charming smile and charismatic laughter as he clapped the scout on the back and said goodbye. Watched as he turned and scanned the coffee shop with a slight frown, as if looking for where she’d gone.
Acknowledged the way his smile returned when he saw her—and what that smile did to her stomach.
For better or for worse, it looked like for the next few weeks she’d be working without a net once again.
sixteen
Standing on Village Lane, Cade unfolded the printed map of Magnolia Bay from his pocket and smoothed the wrinkles. The afternoon sun streamed over the sheet, and he squinted. Birds chirped overhead, and the scent of coffee still lingered in his nose. After their successful talk at Chug a Mug—thanks to Rosalyn—he’d finally felt inspired enough to quit putting off the inevitable.
Marking these blasted potholes.
“Mind some company?”
Cade turned, tucking his Sharpie behind one ear. Rosalyn stood on the sidewalk in front of him with her arms crossed self-consciously. She’d changed since Chug a Mug a few hours ago, trading workout clothes for linen shorts and a sleeveless top that highlighted her toned upper body. After the coffee meeting with Trent, they’d shared an awkward side-hug and went their separate ways—him to his office, and her, he assumed, to her home or the studio.
But the sight of her standing there wanting to help brought more joy than it should, considering her current situation.
Theircurrent situation.
Cade held up his map, risking a smile. “Only if you want to be put to work.”
“Physical or mental?” She raised her eyebrows.
“Bit of both.” He tried not to drink in the sight of her, despite his eyes feeling more than a little dehydrated. It seemed like she’d forgiven him for his overreaction in New Orleans, considering how she’d helped lasso Trent back into the game.
But why—for Cade’s sake? Or for the sake of the town in general? He knew better than to assume. And without Trent sitting at the table as a buffer, he had no idea how to interpret her body language. Her tone.
Rosalyn held out her open palm. The wind teased loose tendrils of her hair, ever escaping her ponytail. “Got another Sharpie?”
“Oh no. You have to earn Sharpie privileges.” He tapped the marker behind his ear, ignoring the way his heard thudded overtime in his chest. They could be friends. This would work. “I have to warn you, I have a very sophisticated rating system.”
“I’d expect nothing less.” She fell into step beside him as they ambled down the sidewalk. Two kids zoomed around them on bicycles. Down the street, the sprinkler system in front of the library kicked on, sending arcs of water across the lawn. Prisms of light sparkled in the drops.
He dared to relax. See, he could walk beside her without thinking about taking her into his arms again and—okay, maybe not yet. But he was trying.
“So, what are we rating?” Rosalyn asked.
“Potholes.”
