Southern Spinster Read online

  A bump of weight shook them apart, and Maybelle looked to the end of her seat where a very wet Winter had plopped.

  “Hey guys, sorry to interrupt.”

  Well, at least she apologizes for it.

  “I wanted to catch you while you were both here… There’s free time for dinner tonight, so I was hoping you two could join me? I have a guest house on the property, and I’ve convinced Will to come.” She waved offhandedly toward Maybelle’s brother, and she held back a grin. What was going on there? Had someone finally cracked through Will’s walls?

  “That sounds like fun,” she said, looking to Garreth. He half grinned and nodded.

  “Yeah, I could do that.”

  “Perfect!” Winter all but shouted then she grabbed at Garreth’s arm. “Real quick… could you help me with something?”

  He gave Maybelle an apologetic look before rising to his feet. She didn’t blame him; when their hostess asks for a favor, they kind of had to do it.

  “See you tonight, Bells!” Winter called out over her shoulder, and Maybelle noted that she’d called her by the name Will did. How much time had those two spent together?

  Winter led Garreth around the edge of the pool and when they’d reached the deeper end, her hands connected with his side and he fell back first into the water. The entire room laughed, and Winter pointed at Maybelle, mouthing, “You’re next.” Maybelle grabbed the underside of her chair, shaking her head. She’d spent an hour on this hair; there was no way, unless it was Garreth who put her under.

  Michael had watched the exchange, and he swam his way toward her, and her heart thumped unevenly. Would she let him toss her in?

  He pushed from the water, the droplets cascading down the cut lines of his torso. She gulped, her mouth pooling. A mischievous tilt of his lips greeted her.

  “You want in?”

  She bit away a smile and shook her head. He let out a long sigh and picked up a towel. Instead of grabbing her, he folded the towel up and tossed it on the end of her lounge chair.

  “Maybe after a bit, I can talk you into it.”

  Then he sat down, careful not to get water on her. The ever growing familiar buzz she associated with Michael thrummed in her heart. Sweet mercy, was she in trouble.

  As Garreth left the pool with a wave, gesturing to his wet clothes, Maybelle waved back and ignored the ache in her heart that she wouldn’t see him until tonight.

  Michael shifted next to her, pushing off his knees and extending a hand out. “Come with me.”

  “Where?”

  “To the third floor.” He cheekily grinned, showing his white teeth. “Show you what I had planned last night.”

  She hesitated, eyeing his palm before looking him in the eye. “Winter invited me to dinner tonight.”

  “Okay.”

  “I have to get dressed, get ready…”

  “You have fun, right?” he teased. “You know what fun is?”

  A wrinkle popped above her nose. “I have a reputation for it.”

  “Not ‘round these parts.” His accent was spot on. He grabbed her hand and pulled her up. “Come on. Don’t make me have fun alone.”

  She laughed, her skin warm where it met his. His shorts had gone from soaking to damp, his skin and hair already completely dry. He maneuvered her around servers, guests, furniture, and large puddles of pool water. She liked being the one led; it was a nice change of pace.

  He led her up the hallway to the elevator. As the doors closed, he pulled the keycard from his suit.

  “Will it work after going for a swim?” she asked skeptically. He arrogantly waved it over the black panel and the three lit up.

  “Guess so.”

  She backhanded his bare stomach, biting away a squeal at those yummy abs of his. Did he plan on staying shirtless? Because her brain may short circuit.

  “Your hair smells good,” he said as nonchalantly as one would about the weather. “Like oranges.”

  “Only the best product for this girl.” She pulled at one of the curls, letting it bounce back into place. “And all my clients.”

  The elevator binged and the doors slid apart. “Clients?” he asked. “Are you a hairdresser?”

  “Struggling hairdresser. I mainly just do the local weddin’s and proms.”

  “You should apply here,” he said with a wink. “Maybe stick around.”

  “If it comes with room and board at this place, deal.”

  A playful look flashed in his eyes, and he put a hand on the small of her back, nudging her to take the next turn. “This is the staff floor,” he said, bringing them to an open room. “And this is our playground.”

  Her jaw dropped, and she looked up at Michael for permission to explore. He laughed, nodding her onward.

  The guest rec room was nowhere near as outlandish as the actors’. Maybelle passed by an air hockey table, running her fingers across the smooth surface as her eyes tried to take everything in at once. There was one arcade in her hometown, and she hadn’t been in years. It had been a go-to date spot when she’d been in her teens and early twenties, but then it was all dinners at Roe’s Pizza or Goody’s BBQ, a show at the drive-in, or dessert from Betty Baker’s Batter. This room held all generation of entertainment—arcade, bowling alley, spa and massage room, sports bar, and a balcony that looked like it hosted yet another pool and hot tub.

  The buzz of the air hockey machine coming to life jolted her, and she gave Michael a look over her shoulder.

  “You know how to play?”

  “Air hockey?” She slid her coverup off, letting it fall to the floor. She tried to ignore the obvious way Michael had given her a once over and gulped and chased the paddle around the table. “Arcade games is your poison of choice?”

  He snagged the other paddle and reached for the puck. She prepared for the serve.

  “I spent a lot of my twenties acting like a forty-year-old. I’m just making up for it.” The puck cracked against the side and shot back to his territory. He smacked it again, and she squealed and jumped back.

  “Geez, take it easy on me!”

  “Not a chance.” He gave the puck another thwack, and a delightful scream popped from her lips as the puck slammed against her paddle and went straight into the goal on the other side.

  “Point for me!” she teased, pointing her finger at him. “That’s what arrogance will get ya.”

  He shook his head, and then gave the puck the smallest of taps. She had to stretch across the table to hit it back to him. After another four points, three hers, one his, she pulled the puck out and served.

  “What were you doing?” she asked, and when he raised a brow, she clarified. “In your twenties. You said you acted like a forty-year-old.”

  The puck zig-zagged across the table, slowly going past her paddle and clicking into the goal by her bellybutton.

  “You know that family pressure to get hitched we talked about?” he said, waiting for her next serve. “Well, that wasn’t an exaggeration.”

  “How do you mean?” She sent the puck his way.

  “It’d been drilled into me that the only way to find true happiness was to get married, have kids, spend my life taking care of them and encouraging them to do the same.” His eyes followed the puck, but his grin was directed at her. It was nice to see him smile so much, even during the tough subjects. “Most of my twenties was spent searching for a wife instead of having fun.”

  “The search is fun,” she countered. Sure, she hadn’t had much success with it so far, but she enjoyed dating. This week had certainly been a wild ride.

  “Not the way I did it,” he sighed. “You gotta understand, I was under the impression that if I didn’t get married, if I didn’t have kids, then I’d have failed. I’d have disappointed my mom and old man. I’d never find happiness. I came on strong a lot of the time, and if there was even one misstep, I’d beat myself up over it.”

  Boy, did she know how that felt. A wave of empathy surged through her, and memories of c
oming home after dates that ended badly or dates that never happened filled her mind, making her miss another block. The puck sank into her goal, and she wrinkled her nose and slapped it back on the table.

  “I think people look at me and think that,” she said, sending the puck over to him. “That I’m a failure. Poor Miss Maybelle, always a bridesmaid.”

  “See?” he said with a cocky tilt of his head. “Not so fun.”

  “So you gave up?”

  “No. I gave myself a better way to find happiness.”

  “Arcade games?”

  The puck zipped past his paddle and clinked into his goal. He pulled it out and looked at the score. “Acting.” He slammed the puck and she squealed and got out of the way. “Once I stopped looking for a girl and started working on my career, life got a whole lot happier.”

  “You must have”—she whacked the puck back—“had a lot of success right away.”

  He snorted. “If you call local theater ‘success.’” The puck zig-zagged in one spot and he leaned forward to knock it free. “I suppose I would, since it got me here.”

  “And it made you happy?”

  “Absolutely. I stopped worrying about disappointing everyone and realized that I only wanted those things because they wanted them for me. What I wanted was a career, one I loved, and friends and independence.” He tied up the game, and she pulled the puck out. “It took me way too long to figure it out.”

  “And what happens if you fall in love?” she said, toying with the puck instead of placing it on the table. This man was a world of contradictions. Hadn’t he told her he was interested? And now he’s preaching about how love and family isn’t the end all be all.

  He gave her a look that would melt a king kong ice cream cone. “I guess I’ll let you know.”

  The puck fell from her fingers and straight to the floor. Her cheeks blazed and she was grateful to hide under the table while she retrieved it.

  “Maybelle?” he said, and she poked her head up. He pushed his paddle to the side and walked around the table. Her heart pounded with every step he made on his way over. “I’m not against falling in love,” he said, his voice low. “I don’t know a soul who doesn’t want that, so don’t misunderstand me.”

  “Kinda hard not to, to be honest,” she said with a shaky laugh, straightening from her crouch. “You say you’re happy without all of that.”

  “I am.”

  “Then… what? You don’t want it, but if it happens, great?”

  He chuckled, tossing his head back and looking just over her shoulder. “Okay, let me ask you this,” he said, choosing not to answer her. “You want to do hair, right? That’s where your passion is?”

  “I s’pose.”

  “Then what’s keeping you from it?” He leaned against the table, his body growing closer. “Are you too occupied with what other people expect from you?”

  She grimaced. “I want a family.”

  “I’m not saying you don’t.”

  “And my momma doesn’t say a word about me bein’ single.”

  “Good.”

  “And Will don’t give two and a half licks about it.”

  “I’m not sure about th—”

  “And it’s not like I’ve given up on my own life. I mean, I have hobbies. Other things to do…” Her words and anger drifted away, and Michael said nothing, patiently waiting for her rant to end.

  She’d chased after that husband and kids and house and life since she’d held Barbie and Ken’s weddings in her princess themed room. She’d seen all her friends get married and pregnant, having the life she’d dreamed of and clamored after. Loneliness and obsession with all of it had led her here, to Frostville, to have the ghost of a god put a spell on her and some unsuspecting man.

  He was right. She hated that he was right.

  There was a small twitch in the corner of his mouth, and he softly plucked the puck from her hand and sank it into the goal. “I win.”

  A slow smile grew on her face. “You cheat.”

  He took her hand, and she nearly asked him to scoop her up in his arms again. “All right, then,” he said, his forehead touching hers. “You pick the next one.”

  “Is that the time?” Maybelle squeaked, setting down her ping pong paddle and gazing wide-eyed at the clock above the bar. She bent, fumbling for her coverup. “Shoot, I gotta go.”

  Michael bounced the ping pong ball against the table and caught it. “Winter won’t mind if you’re a little late. One more game?”

  It was tempting, for sure, but she tucked her hair behind her ear, shaking her head with a smile. “Sorry.”

  He followed her out of the rec room, his heavy foot falls vibrating through the carpet. The air around them snapped when he stepped into the elevator.

  “Am I still in the running?” he asked. He really wasn’t one to be afraid of putting it out there.

  “Maybe,” she teased, hitting the button for her suite. She wasn’t going to dinner in her bathing suit, that was for sure.

  He sucked in a deep breath, lifting his broad shoulders and making him look ten feet tall. Heat spread through her entire body as he coaxed her to the wall, boxing her in with his massive arms. Her heart was flying, her smile barely contained; she’d seen so many movies with this scenario, dreamed about a man wanting to get this close to her, let alone one as handsome as Michael. She dropped her gaze to his lips, unable to control herself.

  This is a prelude, she thought, her mind only blinking to Garreth’s unexpected kiss the night before. Michael was so confident that she didn’t know how to react to him. She’d never had someone so boldly pursue her.

  She lifted her hands, trailing her fingers up his sides. Each passing inch was more muscular than the last. Where was the gym in this place? He didn’t seem like the guy to miss leg day.

  “How ‘bout now?” he asked, his lips a breath away, a smile playing across his face. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much he affected her, but she certainly wasn’t one to turn away from the attention either.

  “Maybe…” she repeated, playfully tickling his ribs. He jerked somewhat with a laugh, and she noted his ticklish spot. “I could use a bit more convincing.”

  “You busy after dinner?”

  She gulped. “Maybe.”

  He bent his head, shaking it with an amused smile. His hand dropped from the elevator wall and sunk into his pocket.

  “Use it this time?” he asked, waving the keycard at her. She had no hesitation this time when she trailed her fingers across his arm, over his wrist, and carefully plucked it from his grasp.

  The doors to the elevator binged open, disappointment pinging around in her chest. She playfully frowned and pushed up on her toes, giving him a sweet, lingering kiss on the cheek.

  “See ya tonight,” she said. She hadn’t made it two steps before his hand snagged hers and he reeled her back in. He held her close, her breath stealing away with the electricity buzzing around them. He gently swept her hair back, then pressed his lips to hers.

  As confident as Michael was, she was surprised at the tentative way he kissed her, moving slowly and methodically, cradling her face like a china doll. She stepped into him, reveling in the surprising sweetness, desperately trying not to compare this kiss to the one she’d gotten not just twenty-four hours ago. These two men were so different; it was hardly fair to put them up against each other, but she couldn’t help but feel less urgency with Michael’s kiss.

  He drew back with a smile, which she returned. The sudden absence of his heat left a chill up her spine, and she shivered.

  “Bring a jacket,” he said, confidence back in that grin. He stuck a hand out behind him, stopping the elevator from closing. “I want to show you something, but it’s going to be a little chilly.”

  “Okay.” He voice was a breathless whisper, her legs jelly as she spun on her heel and wobbled down the hall to her room. She checked over her shoulder, watching the elevator close and take M
ichael with it. As soon as he was out of sight, she was able to clear her mind.

  “Whew!” she said out loud, fanning herself. That had been unexpected. She patted the keycard to her thigh, jitters crackling up and down her skin. Before Frostville, it’d been three years since she’d been kissed, and even longer since she’d been kissed like that. Michael was sweet and seductive, but Garreth had been passionate and urgent. Both kisses were magic, both as heart melting.

  She put a hand to her tingling lips, wondering just which memories were causing the reaction.

  The buzz in her stomach doubled when she turned the corner, her smile deflating some when she saw Garreth. He was leaning against the wall opposite her suite door, dressed to the nines in a maroon button down, black slacks, and suit jacket slung over his right arm. His hands were tucked into his pockets as he looked at his shiny shoes, his styled hair pushed from his face. Maybelle bit her lip, torn between the excitement over seeing him and worry over if he’d heard anything.

  “Hey there,” she said, grateful for the twitch of a smile that teased the corner of his mouth as he looked up and met her eyes.

  “Evening.”

  “Sorry,” she said, gesturing to her bathing suit. “I’ll be just a minute.”

  He pressed his lips together, nodding. An awkward buzz zapped through the air, and Maybelle pushed it away, unlocking her suite and inviting him in.

  “Make yourself comfortable,” she said, waving to the sofa and scurrying to her bedroom. “Promise, I’ll be quick!”

  Praise her organized genes for laying out her outfits in advance. Her Wednesday dress was draped across her bed, just waiting to be worn. She fumbled out of her suit, tripping and most likely making some unpleasant noises in her haste to get dressed. There had only been one time when she’d made a date wait for her, and it definitely wasn’t because she’d been with another man right before. A white hot shovel dug at the pit of her stomach, and she swallowed the acid she could feel building on the back of her tongue.