Brown-Eyed Girl (Travises 4)

I couldn’t stop staring at him. There was a crescent mark on the left side of his jaw, a thin white line amid the shadow of shaven bristle. And another mark near the outward corner of his left eye, a subtle parenthetical scar. Somehow the tiny imperfections made him even sexier.

I wanted to touch the marks with my fingertips. I wanted to kiss them. But the desire was hemmed by the instinctive knowledge that this wasn’t a man I could ever be casual about. When you fell for a man like this, it would be an all-consuming bonfire. And afterward, your heart would resemble the contents of an ashtray.

“I’ll meet you when you finish setting up,” Joe told me.

“It may take a long time. I don’t want you to wait.”

“I’ve got all night.” His voice was soft. “And you’re how I want to spend it.”

Desperately, I tried not to feel so flattered and overwhelmed. And I hurried away with the sense that I was running through a minefield.

Five

“Well?” Sofia asked, removing her radio mike as I reached her. How could she look so relaxed? How could everything seem normal when it was the opposite of normal?

“We danced,” I said distractedly. “Where’s my bag? What time is it?”

“Eleven twenty-three. Your bag is right here. Steven and Val have already started the setup for the after-party. Tank helped the live band with all their speakers and power cords. Ree-Ann and the caterers are working on the pie buffet and the wine and coffee service. And the waitstaff is about to begin the reception cleanup.”

“Everything’s on schedule, then.”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised.” Sofia smiled. “Where is Joe? Did you have a good time dancing?”

“Yes.” I picked up my bag, which seemed to weigh a thousand pounds.

“Why do you look nervous?”

“He wants to meet me later.”

“Tonight? That’s wonderful.” At my silence, Sofia asked, “Do you like him?”

“He’s… well, he’s…” I paused, floundering. “I can’t figure out the angle.”

“What angle?”

“Why he’s pretending to be interested in me.”

“Why do you think he’s pretending?”

I scowled. “Come on, Sofia. Do I look like the kind of woman that a man like Joe Travis would go for? Does that even make sense?”

“Ay, chinga.” Sofia did a face palm. “A big, sexy man wants to spend time with you. This is not a problem, Avery. Stop worrying.”

“People do stupid things at weddings —” I began.

“Yes. Go be one of them.”

“My God. You give the worst advice.”

“Then don’t ask me for it.”

“I didn’t!”

Sofia regarded me with fond concern. A sisterly gaze. “Mija. You know how people always say ‘You’ll find someone when you stop looking’?”

“Yes.”

“I think you’ve gotten too good at not looking. You’ve decided not to look even if the right man happens to be standing right in front of you.” Taking my shoulders, she turned me around and gave me a little push. “Go on. Don’t worry if it’s a mistake. Most mistakes turn out okay.”

“The worst advice,” I repeated darkly, and left her.

I knew that Sofia was right: I had developed some bad habits since my catastrophic engagement. Solitude, avoidance, suspicion. But those coping mechanisms had warded off a hell of a lot of pain and damage. It wouldn’t be easy to get rid of them, even if I wanted to.

By the time I reached the swimming pool patio, a couple of the bridesmaids had already changed into bikinis and were laughing and splashing in the pool. Noticing that no towels had been set out, I went to Val, who was arranging lounge furniture. “Towels?” I asked.

“Tank is assembling the towel stand.”

“That should have been done earlier.”

“I know. Sorry.” Val made a little grimace. “He said he’ll have it out here in ten minutes. We didn’t expect anyone to be in the pool this early.”

“It’s fine. For now, go get a half-dozen towels and set them out on the lounge chairs.”

She nodded and began to leave.

“Val,” I said.

Pausing, she gave me an inquiring glance.

“It looks great out here,” I said. “Terrific job.”

A smile lit her face, and she went in search of the towels.

I went to the long table where the pie-and-coffee buffet had been artfully arranged, with a trio of white-jacketed servers lined up behind it. Three-level French wire stands held gold-crusted pies of every flavor imaginable… caramel apple, glazed peach, dense slabs of buttermilk custard, strawberries mounded over lofty cushions of cream cheese.

Nearby, Steven separated stacks of chairs and arranged them around cloth-draped tables in the adjoining courtyard. I approached him, raising my voice to be heard over the band. “What can I do?”

“Nothing.” Steven smiled. “All under control.”

“Any sign of scorpions?”

He shook his head. “We saturated the perimeter of the patio and courtyard with citrus oil.” He gave me an intent glance. “How’s it going with you?”

“Fine. Why?”

“Glad to see you took my advice. About getting back in the game.”

I frowned. “I’m not back in the game. I danced with someone, that’s all.”