Every Little Thing
Page 91
“We were discussing my possibly relationship-ending talk with Vaughn. Oh, and the fact that my sister seems to have disappeared off the face of the planet. I swear to God, if I don’t find her soon, my parents are going to get on a flight out here.”
“And that would be a bad thing?”
“Right now? Yes. I’d like to get to know Vaughn without my dad breathing down my neck. I love the man but he also is the only one in my family who knew about Oliver Spence. He might assume things about Vaughn, and I need to work out how I feel about Tremaine before I take into consideration anybody else’s feelings about him.”
“Oh, please, you know how you feel about Vaughn.” Dahlia sighed.
“I’m going to smack you.”
She grinned and turned her cheek to me, tapping her finger where her adorable dimple was. “Go ahead. Make my day.”
Affection and amusement swamped me. “Ach, you’re too damn cute for your own good.”
“I know.” She preened, making us laugh.
“Miss,” a masculine voice called, and then a guy appeared at the bottom of the stairs. He walked up them, holding the hand of a short, pretty blonde. He looked to Emery. “We’d like to purchase a couple of books if that’s okay.” He smiled apologetically at me and then his gaze flicked to Dahlia, presumably to offer her the same.
Yet his smile froze, replaced by shock. “Dahlia?”
Dahlia was staring at him as if he were a ghost.
And a ghost she was terrified of. “Michael.”
Michael? This was Michael! No wonder she’d gone chalk white.
Michael stared at her like a man who’d been lost in the desert for weeks and had finally found a watering hole. Having apparently forgotten anyone else existed he took a step toward her and stopped when the woman at his side tugged on his hand.
She scowled up at him.
Michael seemed too stunned to care about the blonde’s glowering.
His beautiful brown eyes returned to Dahlia. “What are you doing here?”
Dahlia tucked her trembling hands under the table where he couldn’t see. “What are you doing here?” she evaded.
“We’re on vacation.” The blonde spoke up, curling into Michael’s side. “Mike, who is this?”
The plaintive tone seemed to cut through his daze. “Uh, Kierston, this is Dahlia. She’s Dermot’s little sister.”
“I thought she died.”
I reached out for Dahlia, grasping her hand under the table at this woman’s way too casual mention of a dark time in Dahlia’s life.
Michael turned his sad eyes to Dahlia. “That was Dillon.”
“I need to go.” Dahlia stood up, jerking her hand out of mine, and refusing to meet anyone’s gaze. She stormed by, moving quicker than I’d ever seen her move.
“Dahlia!” Michael yanked out of Kierston’s grip and moved to follow her.
But I was quick, too, and I rounded him, putting my hands up between us. “You’re going to let her go.”
He glared at me. “Move.”
I wasn’t going to lie, he was kind of scary, but I held my ground. “Nope.”
“Mike . . .” his girl whined. “What is going on?”
The bell tinkled, signaling Dahlia’s departure.
Frustrated, he ran a hand through his thick hair. His T-shirt sleeve rose, and his bicep bulged as he moved. He wasn’t the tallest guy, but he was tall enough at about five ten, five eleven. He was very broad-shouldered and built. I studied him, seeing the appeal. Although not the most handsome guy I’d ever met, he had beautiful eyes and what I tended to call Indiana Jones lips. Very kissable lips. A short, scruffy beard currently surrounded those lips and I had to say the beard was hot.
I could definitely see the appeal in Michael Sullivan. Yes, I knew his full name. I knew a lot about this guy. Which was exactly why I wasn’t letting him anywhere near Dahlia if she didn’t want him near her.
“What is Dahlia doing here?” he demanded.
“She’s on vacation,” I lied. “Just like you. Small world, huh? But she leaves tomorrow.”
“Where is she staying?”
“None of your business and I think your girlfriend”—I nodded to Kierston—“would agree.”
“Wife,” she corrected. “His wife.”
My heart plummeted for Dahlia. Seriously just took a dive off a cliff. I remembered the night I’d saved her from drowning and all that she’d told me. It was hard to hear then, but even harder to remember it now that I loved Dahlia McGuire like she was my blood.
I narrowed my eyes on Mr. Michael Sullivan and his pretty wife. “So when does your vacation in Hartwell end?”
“That’s none of your concern,” he returned, clearly annoyed with my interference. “Now are you going to get out of my way?”
I considered how long it would take Dahlia to get to her car. I knew there was no way in hell she was going back to the gift store for fear she’d bump into the past there, too. “Not yet.” I smiled prettily. “How about some coffee?”
The hardass in front of me seemed to deflate. Worry softened his eyes. “I just want to know how she is. It’s been a long time.”
“I know,” I told him pointedly.
“Ah.” He got me. “I see.”
I flicked a look at his wife, who appeared ten seconds away from blowing a gasket. “She’s doing really well.”
“And that would be a bad thing?”
“Right now? Yes. I’d like to get to know Vaughn without my dad breathing down my neck. I love the man but he also is the only one in my family who knew about Oliver Spence. He might assume things about Vaughn, and I need to work out how I feel about Tremaine before I take into consideration anybody else’s feelings about him.”
“Oh, please, you know how you feel about Vaughn.” Dahlia sighed.
“I’m going to smack you.”
She grinned and turned her cheek to me, tapping her finger where her adorable dimple was. “Go ahead. Make my day.”
Affection and amusement swamped me. “Ach, you’re too damn cute for your own good.”
“I know.” She preened, making us laugh.
“Miss,” a masculine voice called, and then a guy appeared at the bottom of the stairs. He walked up them, holding the hand of a short, pretty blonde. He looked to Emery. “We’d like to purchase a couple of books if that’s okay.” He smiled apologetically at me and then his gaze flicked to Dahlia, presumably to offer her the same.
Yet his smile froze, replaced by shock. “Dahlia?”
Dahlia was staring at him as if he were a ghost.
And a ghost she was terrified of. “Michael.”
Michael? This was Michael! No wonder she’d gone chalk white.
Michael stared at her like a man who’d been lost in the desert for weeks and had finally found a watering hole. Having apparently forgotten anyone else existed he took a step toward her and stopped when the woman at his side tugged on his hand.
She scowled up at him.
Michael seemed too stunned to care about the blonde’s glowering.
His beautiful brown eyes returned to Dahlia. “What are you doing here?”
Dahlia tucked her trembling hands under the table where he couldn’t see. “What are you doing here?” she evaded.
“We’re on vacation.” The blonde spoke up, curling into Michael’s side. “Mike, who is this?”
The plaintive tone seemed to cut through his daze. “Uh, Kierston, this is Dahlia. She’s Dermot’s little sister.”
“I thought she died.”
I reached out for Dahlia, grasping her hand under the table at this woman’s way too casual mention of a dark time in Dahlia’s life.
Michael turned his sad eyes to Dahlia. “That was Dillon.”
“I need to go.” Dahlia stood up, jerking her hand out of mine, and refusing to meet anyone’s gaze. She stormed by, moving quicker than I’d ever seen her move.
“Dahlia!” Michael yanked out of Kierston’s grip and moved to follow her.
But I was quick, too, and I rounded him, putting my hands up between us. “You’re going to let her go.”
He glared at me. “Move.”
I wasn’t going to lie, he was kind of scary, but I held my ground. “Nope.”
“Mike . . .” his girl whined. “What is going on?”
The bell tinkled, signaling Dahlia’s departure.
Frustrated, he ran a hand through his thick hair. His T-shirt sleeve rose, and his bicep bulged as he moved. He wasn’t the tallest guy, but he was tall enough at about five ten, five eleven. He was very broad-shouldered and built. I studied him, seeing the appeal. Although not the most handsome guy I’d ever met, he had beautiful eyes and what I tended to call Indiana Jones lips. Very kissable lips. A short, scruffy beard currently surrounded those lips and I had to say the beard was hot.
I could definitely see the appeal in Michael Sullivan. Yes, I knew his full name. I knew a lot about this guy. Which was exactly why I wasn’t letting him anywhere near Dahlia if she didn’t want him near her.
“What is Dahlia doing here?” he demanded.
“She’s on vacation,” I lied. “Just like you. Small world, huh? But she leaves tomorrow.”
“Where is she staying?”
“None of your business and I think your girlfriend”—I nodded to Kierston—“would agree.”
“Wife,” she corrected. “His wife.”
My heart plummeted for Dahlia. Seriously just took a dive off a cliff. I remembered the night I’d saved her from drowning and all that she’d told me. It was hard to hear then, but even harder to remember it now that I loved Dahlia McGuire like she was my blood.
I narrowed my eyes on Mr. Michael Sullivan and his pretty wife. “So when does your vacation in Hartwell end?”
“That’s none of your concern,” he returned, clearly annoyed with my interference. “Now are you going to get out of my way?”
I considered how long it would take Dahlia to get to her car. I knew there was no way in hell she was going back to the gift store for fear she’d bump into the past there, too. “Not yet.” I smiled prettily. “How about some coffee?”
The hardass in front of me seemed to deflate. Worry softened his eyes. “I just want to know how she is. It’s been a long time.”
“I know,” I told him pointedly.
“Ah.” He got me. “I see.”
I flicked a look at his wife, who appeared ten seconds away from blowing a gasket. “She’s doing really well.”
