When I heard Ford calling my name, I pretended I couldn’t hear him. I wasn’t in the mood for him or my sister or anyone. I wanted to be alone for two minutes to forget about everything Charleston-related. I wanted to surgically remove that part of my life, albeit temporarily.
“Clara Belle, wait up there turbo jets.” Ford had jogged up beside me by the time I made my way to the food table.
Most everyone who was planning on eating was already done at the buffet—a.k.a. the people who weren’t my sister, Mom, and friends of a like-minded policy when it came to eating . . . or the avoidance of it—and thankfully there were still plenty of crab legs.
“What is it, Ford?” I said impatiently, snagging a plate from a tower of them. I grabbed another because why the hell not? I was having a rough week, a day from hell, and there was nothing like drowning my sorrows in crab meat dripping in garlic butter. Whoever said emotional eating wasn’t an acceptable method of coping could just kiss my dimpled butt.
“Wow, ease up. I’m not your enemy.” He held out his arms, clutching what looked like a mojito.
“No? You’re just marrying the woman who is, right?”
“Charlotte’s not your enemy, Clara Belle.”
“Those who’ve spent the night gaping at the dress I’m presently stuck in might have a different opinion on that matter.” I powered up to the ice baths of crab legs and piled them onto my first plate. When it was full, I thrust it into Ford’s empty hand before filling my second plate.
“The dress is nice.” Ford’s voice was a key too high. “What’s the problem?”
“No, this dress is Hitler reincarnated. It must be destroyed. And the problem, Ford, is that I don’t like this town, and I don’t like these people.” I waved the tongs around the room as I scanned the table for the garlic butter. “And I don’t like the weather. And I don’t like coming back and feeling like I’ve been transported back in time two hundred years. And I don’t like this restaurant . . .” Which clearly had neglected to supply butter with the crab legs, probably at my mom’s request since she knew of my love affair with crab meat and butter. “And I don’t like when I can’t find the melted butter when I’ve got two plates of crab claws ready to be eaten.”
Ford’s face was blank. From the look of it, it had been that way for a while. Probably from the start of my spiel. Nice, Clara. Way to act the part of the crazy person wearing the crazy dress. Way to really step into the role.
While I worked on calming down my heartbeat, Ford pointed with his mojito at the table. “The butter’s right there, Clara Belle. Crisis averted. The world’s not going to end.” Backing away with my crab legs still in hand, he nodded when I reached for the plate. “You need a drink. I’ll be right back.”
“I don’t need a drink. I need my crab legs. That’s it.”
Ford continued toward the bar, ignoring me. “Coming right up.”
Keeping a tight clutch on my plate of crab and bowl of butter, I headed for the outside dining area that just overlooked the water. I’d barely shoved through the door and felt the fresh air wash over my face, and I was already feeling better.
I sat in the first chair at the first table I walked by and was just breaking into my first crab leg when the door flew open and someone else stepped outside.
“A person generally isolates themselves like this because they want to be a-lone,” I said, circling my finger around the empty outdoor area.
Ford let the door close behind him, and he moved toward me, clearly not grasping the whole concept of a-lone.
“Here, have this, and tell me if you’re feeling less loner’ish after.” Ford slid a fresh mojito in front of me before setting my second plate of crab legs next to my first. “Don’t isolate. Intoxicate.” Ford winked at me before pulling out the chair beside me and sitting.
“That sounds like a policy just screaming for twelve-step help.” I scooted my chair over, not sure I wanted to be this close to Ford with no one else around. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to be talking to him after what he’d said and done over the past twenty-four hours.
“What’s going on with you, Clara Belle? Now that it’s just you and me, you can sell me straight.” Ford waved his finger between us like we were tight with a capital T. “What’s the deal with Cavanaugh being back in your life? What’s the deal with your business going national? What’s the deal with you sitting out here when the party’s inside?” Ford slid a flask from the inside of his coat jacket. “What’s the deal with Cavanaugh?”
“You already said that,” I said before pulling a piece of crab meat free and dipping it into the butter.
“I repeated it because you haven’t answered it.” He unscrewed the cap and brought the flask to his lips, peaking a brow at me before taking a drink.
“Why does everyone keep asking me the same questions? Why is everyone so concerned with my life these days?” I tossed the crab into my mouth, closed my eyes, and chewed. The night was instantly going better. Looking up.