“They’re good,” he said quietly. An understatement.They’re the best work I’ve done in months. I managed to capture the way you soak up and reflect all that light, and for a moment today it felt like I’d finally captured reality.He didn’t say any of that. “They’re very good. You’re, euh, easy to photograph.”
Carly looked up at him, her hands full of knives, which a few days ago would have made him extremely nervous. She usually looked at him like she wished she had a knife or two handy. But now she was giving him that same shy smile, like she was testing the shape with her mouth.
“I think that’s the first nice thing you’ve said to me, asshole.”
“Probably the last, brat,” he volleyed back, but he was smiling, too.
An hour later the pavlova—just as spectacular as Alice had promised—had been demolished. Izzy had threatened to lick the crumbs of meringue and remaining blobs of cream off her plate, and then made good on the threat. After the chorus ofewws andcome ons had subsided, and Izzy had smacked her lips in defiant satisfaction, a warm, sated silence fell over the table.
“That was one of Will’s best, I reckon,” Marcus told Alice. “If the wedding cake’s anything like that, we’re going to eat the whole thing ourselves.”
“Oh, are we making this wedding BYOC, now?” Heather asked, amused.
“It’s not the worst idea in the world,” Marcus shrugged.
“No, it is,” Alice deadpanned, and everyone laughed. “You have to serve them cake. It’s basically the law.”
“All right, we’ll let them have a little,” Marcus conceded. “I hope Delphine knows what she’s missing by staying behind in Paris. The French are good at patisserie, but I bet they haven’t mastered the perfect pav. Nick’s girlfriend couldn’t make the trip,” he added for the benefit of Leanne and Davo.
Across the table, Carly’s head snapped towards him and Nick froze with the remnants of a laugh still curving his mouth, the mention of Delphine making his stomach lurch. He managed a noncommittal nod in Marcus’s direction, and the conversation moved on. He could feel Carly’s eyes on him, sharp and focused as Izzy regaled the table with how she’d been the first to know Marcus and Heather were sneaking around, because they’d made out in the fitting room in her shop.
He looked across the table at Carly. She was smiling, but it wasn’t that shy, genuine, teasing smile. It was the making-nice smile, wide and toothy and completely for show. Foreboding crept across the back of Nick’s neck as he met her eyes, which had gone cold and dead. She looked away, fixing her gaze on Izzy, who was dramatically demonstrating the way Marcus had snuck out of the fitting room, apparently totally unaware that Izzy was watching him and had definitely clocked his messed up hair and rumpled shirt. Heather had her face in her hands and was groaning in embarrassed amusement. Nick watched as Carly kept her eyes stubbornly on Izzy, even though he was sure she could feel him watching her. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, her posture rigid.
As the laughter died down and Izzy finished her performance—“All’s well that ends well, but you guys are the reason I hung PLEASEDON’TMAKEOUT INHEREsigns in all my fitting rooms”—Carly yawned widely.
“I’m beat. Do you mind if I call it a night?” she asked Heather, still studiously avoiding looking his way. He watched her, trying to catch her eye, but it was pointless. She didn’t look at him as she stood and said her goodbyes to Leane and hugged Alice and Izzy, and she didn’t glance his way as Heather stood and walked her to the front door.
What had just happened?
“Euh, back in a sec,” he muttered to the table, standing quickly. “I need to ask Carly something about tomorrow’s shoot.”
Carly leaned against the warm bricks of the front of the house, taking deep, calming breaths. In for five, out for five. In for five, out for—nope, not working. She was still fucking furious.
She didn’t even know why. All she knew was that Marcus had mentioned Nick’s girlfriend—because Nick had a girlfriend, apparently—and her stomach had dropped to her knees, and a series of unwelcome emotions had swept through her. Embarrassment, because she should have known. He was a hot, successful photographer who was occasionally funny and borderline bearable. Of course he had a girlfriend. Humiliation, because a small, stupid part of her had been starting to enjoy his company and had thought he was enjoying hers. Fear that he’d known that was what she was thinking—or worse, think she was attracted to him—and would look down on her even more now. And then, the fury.
This was what she got for letting herself forget, even for a second, that despite being enjoyable company when he was loose and goofy, Nick Jacobs was an asshole. She took one more pointless deep breath. She’d take a long, angry walk on the beach and try to clear her head. She was about to push herself off the wall when the front door opened, and she turned and found herself face-to-face with the loose, goofy, asshole himself.
“I was just going,” she said.
“Wait a sec. Can we talk?”
“I don’t want to talk to you right now. Ideally ever. But at least not until tomorrow.” They still had work to do, God help her. She still needed him. The thought only made her more furious, and she moved to leave.
“You’re upset,” he said. He said it like it was a matter of fact, like he was so sure, and she hated his certainty and hated that he was right.
“Yeah, that happens a lot around you,” she snapped.
“I’ve noticed,” he said slowly, observing her closely. Giving her his damn photographer look, like he was piecing together a whole picture together around her.
“I’m starting to think it’s not a coincidence,” she shot back.
He took a step toward her, and she wanted to step back, keep the space between them constant. Or better, put an entire beach between her and Nick Jacobs. An entire continent.
“Probably not. But you were fine back there, and then you weren’t. What’s wrong?”
“Just the usual, proximity to you.”
“Carly.” Again, it wasn’t a question. He took another step toward her, and she pressed her back against the hard, warm bricks. She wanted to run; she wanted to melt into the wall. She wanted him to stop looking at her like that.
