Tangle (Dogwood Lane 2)

“Sure.” I march through the room. Making it to the door, I don’t trust myself to answer it for fear I’ll just start throwing punches. “Can I help you?” I ask through the wood.

“Yes. Mr. Kelly?”

“Yes.”

“I apologize for the intrusion. I have your complimentary champagne, sir.”

“What the fuck,” I grumble. When I swing the door open, a man with a cart holding an ice bucket and a bottle of chilled champagne awaits me.

“For you, sir.”

I snap my wallet out of my pocket and pull some bills out—how many, I don’t know. I don’t even care. I exchange them for the champagne.

“Thank you,” I say before retreating back inside.

Haley is standing at the windows with her back to me. I leave the tray and slowly make my way toward her. She has one hand at her chin, brushing a finger across her lips as she gazes across Nashville.

She could be a picture from a magazine. Or an image from my dreams. Or a vision of impossibility.

I stop a few feet behind her and try to wrap my brain around the emotions flooding me. Is it just testosterone? Is it wanting what I can’t and shouldn’t have? Or is this itch, this confusion like I’ve never felt—this war between wanting to do what I want but also what’s right—because it’s her?

She turns around, a smile hovering on her lips. “Were you really going to kiss me?”

“Were you really going to let me?”

“Yes,” she says.

“Then yes.”

She walks my way. Her shoulders are thrown back, her chin held high in a bout of confidence I’ve not seen from her before. The closer she gets, the louder the alerts get in my head. Just as she reaches me, she walks on by.

My mind scrambles to process her diversion. “Hey. Where are you going?”

“It’s time to leave. You said it would take thirty minutes to get there, right?” She grabs a navy-and-silver clutch off the sofa. “We need to get moving.”

“What about the champagne?”

“We can enjoy it when we get back.”

I narrow my eyes as my hands go back to my tie. I jerk on it a little harder than necessary, flipping the ends over with a flourish. She watches me and laughs at my state of undoing.

“You need help?” she asks.

“If you’re wanting to go to this party, don’t touch me,” I warn.

She giggles, her eyes sparkling. It relaxes me enough to get the tie made. Once I’m good to go, I hold a hand out for her. She looks at me as if I’m challenging her somehow but gives in and lets me have her hand.

A flood of pride that she trusts me washes through my veins. I start toward the door, but she tugs me back. I stop and look at her.

“Trevor?” She gives my hand a gentle squeeze.

“What?”

She bites her lip. “What if I don’t know what to say to these people?”

I’ve seen her charm anybody she’s with, and she does it effortlessly, so her concern doesn’t make sense to me. If she takes her wicked wit with her, she’ll be just fine.

I pull her to the door.

“Just bewilder them with bullshit, babe,” I say.

Her laugh fills the hallway.

And quite possibly my heart.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

TREVOR

What’s wrong?” Haley asks.

I help her out of the truck and shut the door behind her. Her features look soft in the solar-lit backyard. Hedges and rosebushes line the parking area. It’s just me and her.

Cars line the street and drive leading to the house, though. And as Haley awaits an answer, laughter and music drift from the house as the partygoers prepare to celebrate my father’s retirement.

The juxtaposition of the two scenarios is striking. As I stand in the middle of the asphalt, Haley on my left and the party on my right, I’m rocked with the realization that this is the epitome of the difference between Dogwood Lane and Nashville. Between Haley and Liz. Between predictability and variety. And for the first time in my life, I’m not clear on which I prefer.

“Trevor?” My name rolls off her lips with a consideration that doesn’t help my mental state. It’s not like women usually say it. There’s no rush to go do something or whine that she’s not getting her way. She sounds like she actually cares. Like she actually wants to know what I’m thinking.

“Just thinking we’ll sneak in the kitchen door and avoid the masses for a while.” I offer her my hand and am pleasantly surprised when she takes it without hesitation. “I’m going to have to beat men away from you tonight, so I’ll keep you to myself while I can.”

She laughs, her lashes fluttering. “Damn you. Don’t be so charming.”

“Why?”

“Because it makes me like you, and this whole thing is a lot easier when I remember it’s all a facade.” She pulls her eyes away from mine quickly. The smile she fights to keep on her face wobbles. “It’s all good.”