Saying Yes To The Dress!: The Wedding Planner's Big Day / Married for Their Miracle Baby / The Cowboy's Convenient Bride

CHAPTER EIGHT (#u6ac7983c-26bc-5b14-a6fd-e365705d702f)

DREW JORDAN ORDERED himself to say no. No to magic. No to the light in Becky’s eyes. And especially no to Tandu’s highly invasive question. But instead of saying no, he found he couldn’t speak at all, as if his throat was closing and his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth.

“They say a man is not given more than he can take, eh?” Tandu said.

If there was an expression on the face of the earth that Drew hated with his whole heart and soul it was that one, but he still found he could say nothing.

“But you were,” Tandu said softly. “You were given more than you could take. You are a strong man. But not that strong, eh, Mr. Drew?”

His chest felt heavy. His throat felt as if it was closing. There was a weird stinging behind his eyes, as if he was allergic to the overwhelming scent of those flowers.

Without warning, he was back there.

He was seventeen years old. He was standing at the door of his house. It was the middle of the night. His feet and chest were bare and he had on pajama bottoms. He was blinking away sleep, trying to comprehend the stranger at the door of his house. The policeman said, “I’m sorry, son.” And then Drew found out he wasn’t anyone’s son, not anymore.

Drew shook his head and looked at Tandu, fiercely.

“You heal now,” Tandu said, not intimidated, as if it was an order. “You heal.” And then suddenly Tandu was himself again, the easygoing grin on his face, his teeth impossibly perfect and white against the golden brown of his skin. His eyes were gentle and warm. “Eat, eat. Then swim. Then sunset.”

And then he was gone.

“What was that about?” Becky asked him.

“I don’t have a clue,” he said. His voice sounded strange to him, choked and hoarse. “Creepy weirdness.”

Becky was watching him as if she knew it was a lie. When had he become such a liar? He’d better give it up, he was terrible at it. He poured two glasses of wine, handed her one and tossed back the other. He set down the glass carefully.

“There. I’ve toasted the wedding spot. I’m going to go now.” He didn’t move.

“Have you?” she asked.

“Have I what? Toasted the wedding spot?”

“Had a heartbreak?” she asked softly, with concern.

And he felt, suddenly, as alone with his burdens as he had ever felt. He felt as if he could lay it all at her feet. He looked at the warmth and loveliness of her brushed-suede eyes. You heal now.

He reeled back from the invitation in her eyes. He was the most pragmatic of men. He was not under the enchantment of this beach, or Tandu’s words, or her.

Not yet, an inner voice informed him cheerfully.

Not ever, he informed the inner voice with no cheer at all. He was not touching that food with its potential to weaken him even further. And no more wine.

“People like me,” he said, forcing a cavalier ease into his voice.

She leaned toward him.

“We don’t have hearts to break. I’m leaving now.” Still, he did not move.

She looked as if she wanted to argue with that, but she took one look at his face and very wisely turned her attention to the chicken. “Is this burned?” she asked, poking one of the pieces gingerly with her fingertip.

“I think it’s jerked, a very famous way of cooking on these islands.” It felt like a relief to focus on the chicken instead of what was going on inside himself.

She took a piece and nibbled it. Her expression changed to one of complete awe. “You have to try it,” she insisted. “You have to try it and tell me if it isn’t the best thing you have ever tasted. Just one bite before you go.”

Despite knowing this food probably had a spell woven right into it, he threw caution to the wind, picked up a leg of chicken and chomped into it. Just a few hours ago it definitely would have been the best thing he had ever tasted. But now that he was under a spell, he saw things differently.

Because the blackened jerk chicken quite possibly might have been the best thing he’d ever tasted, if he hadn’t very foolishly sampled her lips when she had offered them yesterday afternoon.

“You might as well stay and eat,” she said. She reached over and refilled his empty wineglass. “It would be a shame to let it go to waste.”

He was not staying here, eating enchanted food in an enchanted cove with a woman who was clearly putting a spell on him. On the other hand, she was right. It would be a shame to let the food go to waste.

There was no such thing as spells, anyway. He picked up his second piece of chicken. He watched her delicately lick her fingertips.

“We don’t have this kind of food in Moose Run,” she said. “More’s the pity.”

“What kind of food do you have?” He was just being polite, he told himself, before he left her. He frowned. That second glass of wine could not be gone.

“We have two restaurants. We have the Main Street Diner which specializes in half-pound hamburgers and claims to have the best chocolate milk shake in all of Michigan.”

“Claims?”

“I haven’t tried all the chocolate milk shakes in Michigan,” she said. “But believe me, I’m working on it.”

He felt something relax within him. He should not be relaxing. He needed to keep his guard up. Still, he laughed at her earnest expression.

“And then we have Mr. Wang’s All-You-Can-Eat Spectacular Smorgasbord.”

“So, two restaurants. What else do you do for fun?”

She looked uncomfortable. It was none of his business, he told himself firmly. Why did he care if it was just as he’d suspected? She did not have nearly enough fun going on in her life. Not that it was any concern of his.

“Is there a movie theater?” he coaxed her.

“Yes. And don’t forget the church picnic.”

“And dancing on the grass,” he supplied.

“I’m not much for the church socials, actually. I don’t really like dancing.”

“So what do you like?”

She hesitated, and then met his eyes. “I’m sure you are going to think I am the world’s most boring person, but you know what I really do for fun?”

He felt as if he was holding his breath for some reason. Crazy to hope the answer was going to involve kissing. Not that anyone would consider that boring, would they? Was his wineglass full again? He took a sip.

“I read,” she said, in a hushed whisper, as if she was in a confessional. She sighed. “I love to read.”