The Wrong Mr. Right (The Queen's Cove Series #2)(24)

He listened with a smile on his face, like I was talking about the most interesting thing in the world.

“She wore this one dress, it was a Union Jack and it was so short that her black underwear was visible.” I said the last words in a whisper, holding eye contact with him. I shook my head. “I was just a kid but I couldn’t believe it. It was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen at the time.”

The gold sequinned dress popped into my head. I had slipped the box under my bed and it had sat there untouched for a couple weeks.

Wyatt’s eyes were bright, like he wanted to burst out laughing.

“You can laugh,” I told him. “It’s okay. I can take it.”

His grin reached ear to ear. “I won’t laugh at you. Now what’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen?”

“Huh?”

“You said, at the time. That was twenty years ago. What’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen?”

“Um.” My tongue twisted. All I could picture was Wyatt on the surfboard a couple days ago, and then walking on the sand toward me, shaking the water out of his hair. Water running down his bare skin. Lean muscle with a dusting of hair across his chest. I swallowed. “Um. I don’t know. Oh!” A laugh burst out of my mouth. “I saw some merman in a Eurovision music video a couple weeks ago. That was pretty sexy.”

That made him laugh. Nice save on my part. “That would be my karaoke song, only because I heard it so many times on set that day. I dreamed the lyrics for a week.”

I laughed and tipped back the rest of my drink before inspecting the empty glass.

“I forgot how much I like champagne.”

“You look cute tonight,” Wyatt said, and my mouth parted in surprise.

When I stood in front of my closet earlier tonight, I had forced myself to wear an outfit that a hot girl would wear. I had worn a light pink top that had hung in my closet for two years. It had tiny bees embroidered on it, barely visible except up close. I had bought it on a whim a couple years ago, but it was too dressy to wear to the store. Although I wanted to wear my typical jeans, I forced myself to wear a tan suede skirt.

I still wore my sneakers, though. Something stubborn in me wouldn’t let them go.

“Oh.” I blinked about six times in a row. “Thanks.”

“Mhm.” He nodded and kept watching me with that half-amused, half-thoughtful expression.

We watched the rest of the karaoke night without talking, just cheering and laughing and enjoying the music and vibrancy of our little community pub, but I held his attention the entire time. Little shivers ran down my neck every time our eyes met.

Later that night, as I brushed my teeth, I replayed the evening. Why didn’t Avery and I go out to the bar more often? Even though the date with Carter had been awkward, the rest of the evening was so fun. Wyatt was so easy to talk to, I didn’t know why I had been so shy around him for so long.

I mean, I guess I knew a little. You look cute tonight. I kept hearing it in my head, and each time I did, my stomach fluttered and I bit my lip. I gave myself a shy grin in the mirror.

He probably said that to all the women in his life. He probably said that to his mom, to Avery. To women he felt platonic towards. Or worse. Maybe he felt bad for me and wanted to give me a confidence boost. I winced. I really, really hoped he didn’t feel bad for me.

I’d have to do a better job on my date with Holden on Saturday. I was going to show Wyatt that I could do this.

The conversation with Wyatt about the bookstore popped back into my head, how I rambled on about all the changes I would make, and the fluttery warmth in my stomach as I pictured what the store would look like. What it could be.

Before my guilt could get in the way, I opened a social media account for the store and posted a picture I had taken of Liya the other day surrounded by a new shipment of books.

My dad didn’t want the store to change, but my dad also wasn’t involved in the store and had no idea how bad things had gotten with the finances.

I had a business to run, and we couldn’t keep my mom’s memory alive if the store went under.





7





Hannah





The cupcakes glowed behind the glass and I tapped my chin as I stared at them. “I should get a few of those as well.”

Veena grinned and placed them into the box with all the other baked goods I couldn’t say no to.

I straightened up. “And four pop tarts, please.”

Veena’s was a tiny bakery in town, named after the owner and head baker. She was a petite woman in her forties with very shiny, black hair and bright eyes. I often stopped in at lunch to pick up some treats for Liya and myself, and always enjoyed my chats with the friendly Veena.

“How many people are you watching The Bachelorette with?”

“Just four of us.”

She laughed. “You have enough for a hockey team here.”

“It’s your baking. It’s like crack.”

“You say the sweetest things. I should put that on the window.” She sealed the box up and cleared her throat. “How’s your dad?”

“He’s good. He’s going to house sit for his brother over on Salt Spring for a couple months.”

She nodded, turning her back to me to place the box in a carrying bag. “Right. He mentioned that. He has a farm, right?”