A Lot Like Perfect

Well, what if he did tell her? Then what? It wouldn’t change anything. He was still on his way out the door and Aria wasn’t. All Isaiah could do at this particular point in time was spend a few hours in the company of a woman he liked and work out some ideas to help the town. One step at a time, like Hardy had said.

“I can totally do it by myself.” Which was totally a lie. Not only that, he couldn’t be honest about Marchande, and he couldn’t flat out tell her how broken he was. “I just don’t want to. We like the same music and of course, you have a vested interest in new blood since you work at the diner, right?”

She shrugged nonchalantly. “Sure. Ruby could use some patrons with deeper pockets. I always feel bad taking tips from people I’ve known my whole life, who don’t make much money in the first place.”

“Does that mean you’re willing to help?” he asked her hopefully.

After a brief moment of hesitation, she nodded. “We’re going to be here a while then. Where’s the blanket?”

A little thrown by her sudden decisiveness, Isaiah jumped to do as she bid and pulled the blanket from the watertight container he’d invested in after figuring out that a wet blanket wasn’t the slightest bit fun and spares were hard to come by. He fanned it out, stomped out the air bubbles and extended a hand to Aria to help her get settled before taking his own seat.

The silence stretched as the sun finished up for the day, sinking toward the horizon, which ran in a line as far as you could see.

“I appreciate you. For doing this with me, I mean,” he corrected hastily.

“Of course.” She flashed him a smile that took on a mysterious edge in the fading sunlight. “It sounds like fun and besides, watching a sunset with you is not a chore.”

“Well, it was a tossup whether I’d actually get you up here tonight. You weren’t so keen on the idea earlier,” he reminded her lightly, praying that she couldn’t read how much her rejection had actually bothered him.

“I’d planned on hunting up Tristan tonight,” she said, her gaze trained on the stain of colors beyond the lip of the roof. “To prove I’m not scared of him. Yet here I am. Avoiding him again.”

“I didn’t mean anything by that.”

Other than to point out the obvious—that she wasn’t getting Marchande on board the Aria train fast enough. Isaiah needed them together and the whole thing done with. Then he didn’t have any room to imagine a different ending to his association with Aria or have to worry about his prediction.

“You did so.” But her tone was gentle enough to tip him off that she wasn’t mad. “And it’s a valid point. I’m comfortable with you. It’s easy. I like not worrying about whether I’m saying something witty or if you’re giving me a compliment that you’ve repeated to a hundred other women. I know you’re completely sincere. Why wouldn’t I prefer that to a sweaty-palmed encounter with a man I have nothing in common with?”

Ridiculously pleased, he absorbed all of the nuances of what she’d said and then did it again because hello. She’d just admitted that she preferred Isaiah’s company to Marchande’s. Not a typical occurrence in his world. Or anyone’s.

“Thanks,” he said, though how he got the word out around the lump in his throat was a mystery. “I like hanging out with you too. That might have been at least half my motivation for dragging you up here.”

Oh, look. He could be honest after all.

“I came willingly,” she returned with enough texture in her voice that he did a double take.

She wasn’t…flirting with him, was she? If so, he’d gone about this whole thing wrong. He should have brought candles. Invested in chairs. With cushions.

And then reason returned in a huge, uncomfortable rush. Aria wasn’t interested in him. She liked Marchande or they wouldn’t even be here. Likely she was rehearsing her moves, hoping to rinse and repeat with his friend. Isaiah had volunteered to help. Why not with that aspect as well? Certainly made it a lot easier to ignore the little rush in his stomach when she smiled at him if he kept the idea front and center that this was all practice. Not real.

Eventually she’d get it right with Marchande. And then Isaiah would have to sit back and watch his efforts bear fruit while Aria cozied up to someone else. He had to get to the point where he was okay with that.

“Yes, you did and a good thing too. I don’t invite just anyone up to my roof.”

“I do feel special, then,” she murmured and her gaze wandered away from the horizon to light on his face. “Where should we start?”

About a million responses sprang to mind but he bit them all back. Every last one was too provocative, too intimate. But that didn’t stop him from wishing he had the liberty to say exactly what was on his mind and it was not a dying town, the bet she’d made or anything other than how much he’d like to kiss her.

“Theme song,” he choked out and she blinked. As well she should. He needed to get his thoughts in order before he blurted out stuff. “I think Superstition Springs should have a theme song. Maybe ‘If the Stars Were Mine.’”

“Melody Gardot?” Aria pursed her lips, which did nothing to stop kissing type thoughts from multiplying in his head like rabbits. “That’s a fascinating choice.”

“I mean, you can’t dance to it or anything…” Duh. What a lame thing to say, as if dance-ability factor had anything to do with anything. She’d fried his brain or something. “Maybe slow dance but it would be tricky.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Aria said wryly. “I’ve never slow danced to anything, so I wouldn’t exactly call myself an authority.”

“That’s terrible. And easily rectifiable.” Instantly, he jumped up and fished his phone out of his pocket to key up the song in question, pushing everything Superstition Springs related out of his head. “Let’s see how it would work.”

The notes wailed out of the speaker, low and sultry. He held out a hand to help her up, but she hesitated long enough that his lungs seized up.