As we put the finishing touches on our makeup, huddling close together in front of Bridget’s vintage art deco mirror, I turn to Chloe. “So, how’s everything going with the dog training?”
“I started with the Simmons’ Chihuahua, and you know how spicy those dogs are.”
“Spicy dogs need trainers,” I say.
“That’s why I love spicy dogs,” Chloe says.
“And how’s everything at the inn?” I ask Bridget as I slick on lip gloss.
“Overbooked,” she says, cool and unfazed. “But I can handle it. Hey, you should turn Lavender Bliss Farms into an inn too.”
That sounds truly overwhelming. “I’m just happy business is picking up.”
When we’re all ready a little later, we take off, with Bridget and Chloe sliding into a Lyft, and me joining Banks in the truck, since there’s only room for two.
After he shuts my door, he heads to the driver’s side, then eyes me up and down as he clicks on his seat belt. “Gonna be really hard not to have my hands all over you tonight, sweetheart.”
“Then consider it a test of your control,” I tease.
“It will test all of it,” he says. He sets down his tablet and hands me a folded piece of paper. “For your collection.”
I stare at the paper butterfly, and my heart saunters around like a show-off. “Thank you.”
“I knew you liked me,” he says with an easy shrug.
“Oh, shut up and drive,” I say.
He smiles the whole way, and it feels good, like this is the start of the next phase of our unexpected romance. When we arrive outside Prohibition Spirit, he pulls into the lot next to it, cuts the engine, and then peers into the rearview window behind us. Satisfied, he returns his focus to me, staring with hungry eyes. He groans, shaking his head. “You are too tempting.”
I like being tempting to him. So much. “Better work on that resistance.”
“I do, every second I’m with you,” he says.
He comes around to the passenger door and swings it open, offering me a hand. I take it. This is something he’s done before. It’s a normal bodyguard gesture, to offer a hand, but he doesn’t let go right away.
Not when I step down. Not when I look at him. Not at all. He holds my gaze, pinning me with his dark stare, clasping my hand tight—a man whose restraint is fraying razor thin. “Soon, sweetheart. I am going to finish this thought in public so damn soon.”
“I guess I’ll have to be patient.”
“You’re very, very good at it,” he says, looking like it’s the hardest thing in the world to resist me.
Faintly, I register someone walking past us toward the bar entrance. A group of people. Banks blinks, dropping my hand instantly as he turns their way, then looks back, frowning.
“What’s wrong? Do you know them?” I ask, worried.
He squints. “Nothing.” Then he shakes it off. “I can’t get distracted, Ripley. You never know. You just never know.”
This man is still so hard on himself. “You didn’t get distracted though.”
He blows out a heavy breath. “I’d better not.”
He doesn’t sound like he’s forgiven himself, but I’m not sure there was a transgression.
We head inside, and seconds later, Haven arrives with Wanda. Before we know it, we’re swept up into the hum and buzz of Prohibition Spirit, busier than usual and full of locals we know and tourists we don’t. The scales are tipped toward the latter.
Things are changing here, especially since usually this place is a low-key whiskey bar, but tonight Esmeralda has turned up the volume, and she’s playing upbeat pop tunes.
We order champagne and toast to Haven and Darling Springs, then Lavender Bliss and me, then to Chloe and spicy dogs, and to Bridget and putting out fires. At one point, Banks chats with Esmeralda at the bar, a serious conversation. Soon, we’re all tipsy, and when a new Amelia Stone song blasts throughout the bar, with Banks and Wanda watching us, we head to a corner and dance.
