I ignored her and poked my head into the dining room, going for my most innocent look. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” I gushed, slapping a scandalized hand on my chest and flipping the light back on. “I thought everyone had gone.”
Ava and Mrs. Abigail looked at me in confusion because no one could have thought the house was empty with the loud storytelling. But Cole’s blue eyes narrowed with suspicion before his mouth tightened against his grin.
“It’s all right, Elise,” he said gently. He gave me a grateful smile that sparked heat in my belly. Something in his eyes told me I had his admiration. No one had ever looked at me like that before. “It’s an easy mistake to make at this late hour.”
Beside him the two lingering guests looked horror-stricken as they seemed to realize they were the last to leave.
“Oh, dear, Marshall,” the woman gasped. “Is that the time? Goodness’ sakes! We’d better go.”
Marshall chuckled, shaking his head. “Forgive us, Abigail. You know it’s a good party when it’s almost midnight, and your guests won’t leave. Let’s go, Daphne.”
Mrs. Abigail managed a forced smile, but I suspected some of it must have been genuine relief.
I stepped back into the kitchen to find Mama gaping at me like I was crazy.
“What did you just do?” she asked me in hoarse whisper. A scolding was coming my way, but it was worth it.
“Those people wouldn’t leave,” I whispered back. “I was trying to be helpful.”
Mama’s brows pinched together. “You were being rude.”
I rolled my eyes. As far as Mama was concerned, I was always being rude. “Trust me, they appreciated it,” I muttered.
Mama huffed, likely knowing I was right, given the late hour and the endless Napa Valley story, but she wasn’t going to admit it. “That’s enough back-talk. Go take the trash out, and then you can turn in. Your toes are probably killing you in those shoes,” she grumbled as though her toes were the ones being pinched. “I don’t know why you had to dress to the nines and wear those things. Your black blouse and pants would have been more sensible.”
Two full bags of trash waited by the garage door, so I aimed for those, ignoring Mama’s musings. I wasn’t about to tell her I’d worn my best dress because I needed Cole to stop looking at me like I was a child. As far as I could tell, it had worked, too. I’d felt his eyes on me all night, and the heat in his kiss had nearly set me ablaze. I had a feeling I’d be replaying that kiss for the rest of my life. That thought gave me a pang, and I let my shoulders drop once I stepped into the shadowed garage.
I did not want him to leave.
I mean, how was that for timing? Right when I realized that I had feelings for him and — by all outward signs — he felt something for me, he was going to flee in the middle of the night? I could think of plenty of ways we could spend the hours before dawn, and all of them behind my locked bedroom door.
Instead, he’d be driving to New Orleans, and who knew when he’d be back.
If he’d be back.
I heard the sounds of a car engine on the street, and I assumed it was the clueless Marshall and Daphne making their long-awaited departure. Cole’s black Audi R8 was parked on the other side of the garage door. I knew the moment I hit the switch and the retractable door whirred to life I was setting myself up for a lecture, but so be it. Helping Cole and his family had now become my highest good.
I grabbed the handles of the garbage bin and pushed it out of the garage and down the driveway. Right when I got to the street, Mama opened the utility room door and stuck her head out.
“Elise Nicole, what are you doing?” I could hear the disapproval tightening her voice.
I took a breath and played my part. “I’m putting the trash on the curb. It’s full.”
She shook her head at me, scowling. “You know pickup isn’t until Tuesday. You want this house to look trashy with garbage sitting in front of it for two days?”
“But Mama, all that seafood? It’ll smell in the garage.”
Even from a distance, I saw her form grow rigid. “You bring that back in here,” she scolded. “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times—”
“Fine!” I snapped, turning the bin around and heading back. I’d pissed off Mama, but my plan to get the garage door open so I could move Mrs. Abigail’s bag could not have worked better.
Mama was still grumbling under her breath about“…hard-headed teenage daughters…”and“…why can’t she remember anything I tell her?”
But then the door shut, cutting off her rant, and I halted my return trip.
As quietly as I could, I darted back into the garage and grabbed the Vera Bradley. I made my way to the driver’s side of the R8. The scent of the car’s interior made my knees go weak. It smelled just like Cole. Leather, juniper, and strength. I leaned over his seat, gripping the cushion as I did — wanting to touch something that had touched him — and I set the bag on the floor in front of the passenger seat.
I sighed as I straightened up and shut the door soundlessly. And then I pushed the trash bin back into the garage and closed the automatic door.
