Wedding Date with the Best Man. Melissa McClone

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      Jayne couldn’t believe Rich was already getting married when she hadn’t even started dating again. Granted, he’d had a head start. Still, it seemed…wrong.

      She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I understand Grace has to put her family first. I wouldn’t expect any less of her. She’s always done the right thing for as long as I’ve known her.”

      Which hadn’t been all that long, Jayne realized.

      “Doing the right thing isn’t always easy,” Tristan said, as nosy, white-haired Mrs. Whitcomb exited the house next door and sat on her porch rocking chair. Her little dog Duke, a black and white Papillion, hopped on her lap.

      Jayne waved at her elderly neighbor, who raised her cup of coffee in acknowledgement.

      “Would you mind if we talked inside?” Tristan asked.

      She took a quick, sharp breath. “You want to come in?”

      He nodded.

      “Um, sure.”

      But she wasn’t sure about anything except for Mrs. Whitcomb’s pastime of spying on neighbors. Jayne could only imagine what her neighbor would think of her inviting a strange, attractive man into the house, but she’d rather do that than talk within range of eager ears.

      Tristan showing up out of blue left Jayne feeling off-balance. The guy had never been friendly or sought conversation with her. She didn’t know why he wanted to start now. “If you really want to come in, okay, but please don’t feel obligated. I mean, you returned the postcard. Mission accomplished.”

      “Actually, I wanted to talk to you,” he said.

      Apprehension coursed through her. She knew better than to trust a friend of Rich’s. “Why?”

      “Grace is worried about you.”

      Grace, huh? The tension knotting Jayne’s shoulders eased slightly.

      “Come in.” She opened the door wider. “But you should know there’s no reason for Grace to worry about me. I’m fine.”

      “Glad to hear it.” His voice was low and smooth. “Then I won’t have to waste a lot of your time.”

      “How is Grace doing?” Jayne asked. “It must almost be time for the baby to be born.”

      “Past time, but she’s enjoying being with her other two kids, so she’s happy.”

      “That sounds like Grace.”

      As Tristan walked past Jayne, the scents of earthy male and salt filled her nostrils. Quite a difference from the hyacinth potpourri she was used to smelling in the bungalow. She preferred the floral scent. “I appreciate you going out of your way to do this, but I’m sure you have somewhere else to be.”

      He stood in her living room, making the area feel cramped. “No, I’m free the rest of the day.”

      As she closed the door, Jayne hoped he didn’t plan on staying long. Sure, she might have the company she’d been longing for, but Tristan wasn’t who she had in mind. All she wanted was to get this visit over with. “Sorry you got roped into this by Grace.”

      “I’m not.”

      Jayne didn’t know what to say to Tristan. She found herself glancing around the living room to avoid making eye contact with him. At least the house was clean—dusted, mopped and clutter-free. She’d done nothing but chores most of the weekend. That was what she did every weekend to keep busy.

      Still, she couldn’t be rude.

      “Would you, um, like something to drink?” she asked. “A glass of iced tea, maybe?”

      “That would be great,” he said. “Thanks.”

      Jayne headed into the kitchen. She’d expected Tristan to wait in the living room, but he followed her instead.

      No problem. He could see for himself that she was doing well and relay the information to Grace.

      Except his six-foot plus frame took up a lot of space in the galley-style kitchen, making it hard for Jayne to maneuver without bumping into him. She noticed she’d left a bag of coffee on the counter—Kenyan roast: her favorite—and put it away.

      “Need help?” he asked.

      His offer surprised her. The guy looked as domesticated as a rampaging hippo. “Thanks, but I have it under control.”

      She wanted him to tell Grace that Jayne Cavendish had everything under control. No need to worry.

      Tristan leaned against the counter and crossed his booted feet at the ankles. He might look out of place, but he sure acted comfortable—as if he were used to hanging out in women’s kitchens.

      He looked around. “I smell cookies.”

      His sense of smell was spot on. “I baked chocolate chip cookies this morning. Would you like one?”

      “Please.”

      She reached for the plastic container full of cookies and placed a few on a plate. These homemade treats would give Tristan one more reason to tell Grace that Jayne Cavendish was fine and dandy.

      Oh, no. She dropped a cookie onto the plate.

      Forget fine. She wasn’t dandy, either. She cringed.

      She’d asked about Grace. Given the chance, Jayne would have asked about the other Stricklands, too. Maybe even Rich. She stared at the cookies with a sinking feeling in her stomach. She was turning into Mrs. Whitcomb.

      Too late to renege on the offer of refreshments, but Jayne would not ask Tristan about another one of the Stricklands.

      She would be polite. She would be gracious. But that was it.

      With her resolve firmly in place, Jayne added ice to the two glasses, filled them with tea and handed one to Tristan.

      He took a sip. “Sweet.”

      “Oops. I should have warned you,” she said. “In the South, that’s the only way they make it.”

      He considered her over his glass. “I don’t hear an accent.”

      “I lived in North Carolina for a couple of years when I was younger.” She remembered the humid summers, the enormous flying bugs, and missing her dad. “My father was in the military, so he was stationed all over the place.”

      “Lucky you.” Tristan took another sip of his tea. “I was born in San Diego. My parents still live here.”

      “I’d say you’re the lucky one.” Jayne grabbed a few napkins. “I never want to move away from San Diego.”

      “It’s a nice place to call home.”

      Too bad this place didn’t feel like home at the moment. The kitchen СКАЧАТЬ