The third is the shortest and stockiest. He’s got cropped gray hair and a bushy gray-and-white mustache. He’s also wearing bright green cargo shorts and green boat shoes. The green doesn’t exactly clash with the gray and black hockey jersey—everything goes with black and gray, right?—but wow, that green is hard to miss.
I don’t think they’re texting me. They appear to be arguing about something and not paying any attention to anyone else, which is fortunate for me.
I’m probably fifty years younger than they are. Surely, I can outrun them if they notice me, right?
I need to find the car Astrid sent for me.
And I need my bags.
I look around. Does someone need to check me out? Do I have to at least prove the bags I’m taking are mine? What keeps people from just walking off with any old bag? This is ridiculously hectic.
The carousel with my flight number above it gives a jerk, then a groan, then starts turning. I step in that direction, but suddenly I see a flash of yellow and hear, “Alex! Baby!”
Then a woman is launching herself at me.
So, of course, I catch her.
CHAPTER 2
NORA
Wow,he just caught me. With one arm. He just scooped it right under my ass while still holding onto the duffel bag he has over his other shoulder.
I mean, I’m glad he did. If he hadn’t, I would’ve bounced off his broad, hard chest, and that would’ve been embarrassing.
Still, this whole move was poorly thought out by me, so I’m very glad Alex Olsen has impeccable athletic reflexes.
Plus, damn, he smells good.
Keeping up with my I’m-here-to-greet-my-boyfriend ruse, I press my cheek to his. “You have to come with me. They’re going to take you to a cabin on the bayou and leave you there,” I say near his ear.
He rears back and stares at me. “Who are?”
“The guys waiting around the corner with the big sign.”
His expression goes from alarmed tooh, you’re nuts.
He lets me go, and I slide down his body. I’m five-seven so it’s not too far before my feet touch the floor, but it’s a nice few inches of contact, I’m not gonna lie.
“I take it you’re the one who’s been texting me?”
“Yes! You got my messages? I was sure I typed in the wrong number!” Then I think about that. I plant my hands on my hips. “Why didn’t you answer me?”
“Because I don’t know you. Or your number.”
His gaze sweeps over me from head to toe. Then back up again. Hmmm. Tingles. I like that. That’s weird. I don’t usually like being ogled.
But…am I being ogled? Or is he checking for weapons? Because now I’m very aware that I’m in yellow overalls, my flower-covered Converse tennis shoes, and…my hands fly up and pull the floppy pink straw hat with the big yellow flower on the front off my head.
I didn’t have time to go home and change between the text from Andi sayingL, B and W picking up *hockey stick emoji* taking him to the cabinand me jumping in my truck and driving like a bat out of hell to get here.
I glance down and see the glob of dried mud on the brim of my hat. I look further down. Yep, there are streaks of mud on my overalls and the bare skin of my shins between the hem of the capri length pants and the tops of my shoes.
I know better than to step between Patty and Muriel when they’re fighting, but I’m not the only one who left Garden Club with mud-fight remnants on them today.
So maybe he’s not ogling me. Maybe that look iswhat the hell is going on with this woman?
“Whoareyou?” Alex asks when his eyes are back on mine.
