Rachel grinned at Harlan, who averted his glance quickly so as not to encourage her. Single like Laire and only a year older, he winked at her. “Good on ya, Laire. He’s a jackass, all gassed up ’bout hisself. Not half good ’nough for m’cousin.”
“Thanks, Harlan,” she said, sitting down beside him and grateful for his camaraderie. Issy’s husband, Paul, mercifully changed the subject to summer tourists on Ocracoke and Kyrstin and Remy’s plan to open an inn on Corey, which kept them all busy for the rest of the reception.
“Water over here, miss?”
Laire was jolted back to the present and sighed, refilling a patron’s water glass with a polite smile, though she was still fuming about Brodie inside.
Since Laire’s uncle had already found out about Brodie’s comments, she could only assume her father had too, and she just hoped that the small scene that played out at the wedding would get back to him. She didn’t want him thinking she and Brodie had an understanding or, worse, that she’d let him touch her and then changed her mind. Nice girls didn’t do things like that. It occurred to her to say something directly to her father, but she shivered with embarrassment. She couldn’t imagine, even in her wildest nightmares, discussing something so awkward with her daddy. Maybe it would all just blow over now. She hoped so.
And just as that comforting thought passed through her head, Erik Rexford rounded the corner of the barroom and sat down in his regular seat, his eyes seeking and meeting hers with a twinkle and a smile. Her heart burst with happiness, and she held her hand up in greeting.
Yes, everything would be just fine now.
***
Erik nursed his beer, stealing glances at Laire whenever she passed by the bar. He had been jumpy this morning, eager to get back to the Banks and see her, but even more anxious to get away from his mother and Vanessa, who had been anything but subtle over the long, annoying weekend.
From Vanessa surprising him with a unwanted peck on the lips for the photographers at his mother’s gala on Wednesday evening, to an intimate dinner with both sets of parents on Friday, followed by Van’s whiny insistence that he accompany her to her sorority sister’s birthday party at a swanky downtown restaurant on Saturday, it felt like she and his mother had been plotting up a storm. Even though his mother had promised not to say anything about Erik and Vanessa dating, Van was acting like they were a bona fide couple, and her actions had Fancy’s stamp of approval all over them.
And he was sending Vanessa wildly different signals: near his mother, he kept his arm around her waist or shoulders, but when Fancy wasn’t in play, he was careful not to touch Van at all, because every time he did, he felt like he was betraying Laire’s trust.
Not to mention, it wasn’t fair to Vanessa. He knew it wasn’t fair, but he just wasn’t sure what to do about it. He didn’t want Fancy digging into where he was spending all his time this summer. He needed her to think he was spending time with Van so she would leave him alone.
They were halfway through the summer now, with only five more weeks until he had to return to Duke, and he felt—keenly—the way time was winding down. Maybe he could try to avoid Vanessa as much as possible. Lord knew he wanted to spend every waking moment with Laire, not Van.
. . . which was why tonight was so important to him.
Hillary, who was attending dressage camp for a week, stayed behind in Raleigh. His mother was going to a ladies’ tea on Monday afternoon, which meant that she wouldn’t return to the Banks until Monday night at the earliest. And his father had state business that would keep him in town until next weekend.
It all added up to one glorious conclusion: for tonight, at least, Utopia Manor was all his, and if tonight’s dinner crowd was typical of a sluggish Sunday with folks leaving the ‘Banks to return to the mainland, he and Laire might actually have more than an hour together before she had to head back to Corey Island.
With fingers crossed, he took another sip of his beer.
Sure enough, by nine o’clock, he watched her wipe down the last of the dinner tables, his eyes flicking impatiently to one last couple who were canoodling over their candlelit dessert like they had hours to kill.
Laire had hardly spoken to him, or even given him more than a smile or a nod, while she was working, but when the bartender asked her to take his place for a moment while he used the bathroom, she stepped behind the mahogany bar and stood before Erik with a shy grin.
“Hi.”
“Hey, darlin’,” he said, pushing his empty beer glass to the side and smiling back at her. “I missed you. I hated bein’ away from you.”
“Me too,” she said, biting her bottom lip for a second before releasing it. “It felt like a long time.”
He gestured with his chin toward the canoodlers. “As soon as those two leave, you’re finished, right?”
She nodded, watching as the man fed the woman a forkful of pie. “But they sure are takin’ their time.”
“Laire,” he said.
She turned back to him, eyes expectant.