“I’m not nervous.” My too quick response says I’m anything but. His chuckle tells me he doesn’t buy it. “You know me, I’m not good with the unpredictable. With putting myself out there when I know everyone in the room will be looking at me.”
There’s an intensity in his eyes that unnerves me. Like he’s searching for an answer I can’t give him. “The girl I used to know didn’t care who was looking.” His voice is quiet, and I hate the urge to immediately refute him. To be defensive. Especially when I’ve wondered the same thing as of late. Distance from Mitch has only proven how much the time spent with him had changed me. Toned down my personality.
I shrug. Almost in an apology to him when it should really be to myself. “Maybe it just depends on who’s looking, I guess.”
He licks his lips and nods his head as if he understands, but the shift of his eyes and set of his shoulders say differently. Hayes lifts his face to look at me again. “Well, I guess I should warn you, you’re with me so don’t worry, when people are staring, it’s at me.” I think he’s dead serious at first, but when he cracks a smile, I can see he’s trying to put me at ease.
“Ah, I see. The famous Hollywood actor,” I tease but know he’s right. The glances at dinner. The interruptions on the boardwalk for a quick picture. I truly appreciate his attempt to lessen my anxiety.
He blows on his knuckles and pretends to polish them on his chest and winks at me. “So remember every time you think they’re looking at you—”
“They’re really looking at you,” I finish for him.
“Exactly.” He nods for emphasis. “And for your information, I have a very detailed schedule of how the next few days are going to go if that will help you with your need for predictability.”
I jerk my head in reaction. “There’s a schedule?”
“Yes. There was a schedule for the wedding handed to me when I checked in. It’s all mapped out for us. Golf for the guys and salon day for the ladies tomorrow.” He rolls his eyes. “No worries, I promised you no golf, and I mean it. We’re not going. We’ll make ’em sweat. Give them a chance to gossip about the rumor we’re here. Did you bring the invitation like I asked?”
“Yeah. Why?” I narrow my eyes.
“Because I bet you they never told Uptight Ursula they invited you. They did it to mock you, never expecting you to show. I want to make sure you have it on you in case she attempts to kick you out—”
“Hayes?” I have to get something off my chest.
“Yeah.” Eyes looking. Expression perplexed.
“I’ve thought a lot about this, and I just want to make sure you understand that I’m not here to ruin their wedding. That’s not the type of person I am. Every little girl dreams about their wedding day and who am I to say that Mitch isn’t Sarah’s Prince Charming? Just because he wasn’t mine, doesn’t mean he’s not hers.” I twist my lips, look down at where my fingers are drawing aimless designs in the sand before looking back up to him. “The only reason I’m here is to prove I’m okay with it. To show that leaving Mitch was a good decision for both of us. He’s happy and marrying someone else. Only someone who is ashamed runs and hides, and I am not that. I want my business to thrive and if there’s a chance that coming here—to be smiling and supportive and giddily confident—will prove them otherwise, then I have to take it. If I hadn’t come and Sweet Cheeks failed, then I’d always wonder . . . and I’m sick of wondering things.”
My words trail off, my voice breaking on the last few words. I hate that I brought the conversation back to where I swore to myself it wouldn’t go—to where everything seems to lead these days—to thoughts of us back then and the what-ifs I’ve lived with.
We consider each other in the dimming light, each passing second feeling like it’s erasing the years since we’ve seen each other. Brown eyes to blue. His silence to my comments.
“I knew you were still the same girl I used to know.” His voice is a murmur. I look down to catch a dart of his tongue to lick those lips of his, and then meet his gaze again. “I know what your intent is, Saylor. You’re too kind to want anything less. You’re selfless. Forgiving.”
“I thought you said I hold grudges.”
“Only with me.” He smirks. “You always did. Let’s hope I’m on my best behavior this weekend so you don’t hold any with me by the time this is over.”
“Good plan.” I laugh again and realize it seems like forever since I laughed this much over absolutely nothing. It’s a good feeling.
“Getting back to plans—”
“Ah yes . . . tomorrow, we’re ditching the salon and golf because your nails are already done and golf is boring as fuck. So we’ll do our own thing. I have to run some lines for a part I’m screen-testing for when I return and then we have the rehearsal dinner that they’ve invited their guests to. The wedding the following day. The reception. Then—”