“And there’s a river in Africa called De-Nial.” Nina adjusted her big straw hat to keep her face covered from the sun. “Although I support you in your quest for a good time.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Bethany added. “Good for you, Erin.”
They spent the rest of the afternoon working on signs for the new store space in Last Chance Vintage. Her sisters-in-law Bethany and Nina didn’t mention Erin’s plan again, which she appreciated. She wasn’t sure why she’d confided in them when—as Bethany had pointed out—she usually kept her personal life very personal. Maybe it was because she was starting over, committing to her new life in Heartache rather than hoping she’d find happiness somewhere else. Or maybe it was because she felt like a bad friend for not sharing more about herself in the past.
Yet as the sun sank lower and the other women headed home, Erin realized it wasn’t for either of those reasons. The simple truth was, she was nervous about acting on what she felt for Remy, especially in light of the things he’d shared with her.
There was a very real chance he’d say no. She knew he was trying to avoid the attraction. But she recognized his pain, and it called to her on a deeper level than the surface chemistry. She knew what it felt like to be hurt. Lost. Struggling to stay afloat. And if they had the kind of chemistry that could distract him from all of that for even a few hours at a time? She would at least propose it.
Telling Nina and Bethany about it was just Erin’s way of making sure she didn’t lose her nerve. Now that she’d shared the plan with her friends? She’d damn well follow through on it if only for the sake of her pride.
Dumb or brilliant, she wasn’t sure. But she picked upthe phone to call the Heartache B and B and invite Remy Weldon for dinner.
Remy was inthe middle of laying out a digital storyboard with his director in a teleconference session when his cell phone rang. Sarah had gone out earlier. They’d had a good talk the night before about making better choices to stay in touch with him frequently. They had adjoining rooms at the B and B for the next few days while Remy finished scouting the area for locations. Remy had touched base with Sarah’s counselor who had told him she was encouraged that Sarah had reached out to him and that spending more time together could be a good thing for both of them.
Her comments had lifted some of the pressure off Remy to rush through this job and get back to Miami. Now he sat alone in his room working on the cramped desk overrun by knickknacks, staring down at the caller ID to see who was interrupting his meeting.
It wasn’t Sarah.
It was Erin Finley. He’d entered her contact information into his phone for reference’s sake. He never expected her to call him for any reason. Unless, maybe she had a question about the coverage for her Dress for Success event. Curious, he told his director they’d finish up later and Remy took the call.
“Hello?” He had no reason to feel uneasy, yet his senses hummed with a kind of wariness he didn’t normally experience around anyone, let alone a woman.
It must be the conversation they’d had last night that was messing with his head now. He’d let her get too close. Shared too much.
“Hi, Remy. It’s Erin.”
Her voice worked on him like a good song on the radio. He wanted to turn it up. Listen to more. And damn, that wasn’t a good thing.
“Hey.” He fought to keep things more professional this time. “I was just working on some ideas for shooting the episode with Last Chance Vintage. It’d be nice if we could work on some kind of preliminary event for your clothing drive so that we’re filming customers bringing in donations and you prepping the racks for the clients as you get ready for the show.”
“That would be great.” She spoke fast. “And we can talk about it more. But I called to invite you for dinner. At my house.”
His brain blanked.
“You are welcome to bring Sarah, of course. I know she wants to spend more time with you?—”
“I don’t understand.” He jabbed the button to turn off his computer screen, needing to focus on this call. On Erin and what she was suggesting.
“It’s dinner,” she repeated. “You know—a standard meal people eat every day. I’ll prepare food I hope you like. We’ll have some awkward conversation, but it could be a nice change from eating alone.”
He had to smile, which probably counted as a miracle given how much the invitation had rattled him.
“Right. I remember the meal.”
“I’m a passable cook. Nothing to write home about, but I keep an excellent wine stash, so there’s a chance you’ll enjoy the cabernet too much to notice if I overcook the steak.”
“Erin.” He closed his eyes, thinking about having a meal in her home. That she cooked for him. “I thought last night,when I told you…the things I did. I thought we were agreeing that the whole undercurrent between us was a bad idea.”
“Maybe I did agree at first.” She was quiet for a moment, and he tried to picture her. Where she was. What she was thinking. Damn, but whatwasshe thinking? “But I think that’s a mistake,” she continued finally. “I mean, putting the whole undercurrent between us aside, how long has it been since you had a dinner at a friend’s house? How long since someone cooked for you and you held a real conversation over a meal?”
He didn’t need to think about it. He could recall a date and time easily, but he tried like hell not to live in the past.
“I don’t know…”
“What are you doing tomorrow?” she pressed. “Is Sarah around?”
“Sarah wants to go to the drive-in with a bunch of her new friends tomorrow. Do you believe they have a drive-in theater in Heartache?”
