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Clark Kent took a small step back. “Actually, ma’am, is she here? I’d like to give it to her in person, if you don’t mind.”
Ma’am? Skye giggled. “Sure, come on in.”
She turned, tucking another rebel hair strand behind her ear. Next time she’d check the security camera before answering the door. Men this hot should send warnings before they showed up on someone’s doorstep.
He followed behind, his boots clicking on the tile. The freshly polished tile.
Skye came to an abrupt halt.
Apparently sudden stops were not one of the man’s superhero skills. He ran into her back, making an “oof” noise and dropping the envelope.
Skye pitched forward and took a step to keep herself from falling. Her socks, however, had other ideas. Time slowed down like it always does during the most terrible moments—because time was psychotic like that—and Skye watched with wide eyes as she and the polished tile made contact. Also, she may have yelped.
She lay face down for a brief moment. Why was there never a hole to climb into when you needed one?
“Are you okay?” Clark Kent’s voice was a mix of concern and … was that laughter?
It wasn’t just Skye’s face that flushed with embarrassment. Her whole body burned.
“I’m fine.” She didn’t look up but addressed his dirt-crusted cowboy boots instead. She scooped up the envelope and hopped to her feet, nearly slipping again. This time the man caught her by the elbow.
“Sorry, I—” Skye had no words. They must’ve fallen out when she hit the floor. She motioned to his boots. “Dirt.”
Comprehension lit in his eyes. “I should’ve left my boots outside.” Then Clark Kent’s gaze moved down her body and landed on her feet. He pressed his lips together, as if trying to suppress a smile. “Nice unicorn socks.”
Skye looked down. She’d completely forgotten about her sock selection. She wore bright turquoise ankle socks with little pink and orange ponies flitting happily on tiny wings around her toes. They were the only clean socks she could find that morning. She closed her eyes. Of course, this had to be the day she fell behind on her washing. Stupid dirty laundry. Stupid extra cake tier. Stupid socks she should’ve thrown away years ago.
She had no choice but to own it. She looked back up at the man and lifted her chin. “They’re alicorns, actually.” She wiggled her toes. “Wings and horns.”
“Alicorns.” The man leaned down, still fighting a grin as he pulled off his boots to reveal clean, normal, white socks. “Very chic.”
Skye pressed her lips together. It figured. He could’ve at least had the decency to have a hole in the toe or something. “This way.” She took what was left of her self-respect and steered him past the sweeping staircase to the hallway.
“You live here?” he asked.
Skye shook her head, still not meeting his eyes. “I grew up here. Before my aunt turned it into a reception center.” She’d gotten good at keeping the disappointment out of her voice. “Now I have an apartment in town.”
An apartment that she would’ve been happy to give him the address to, if he hadn’t just seen her nosedive onto the floor.
She opened the doors leading into a large, cream-paneled room thrumming with pre-reception preparations. Several staff members busied themself spreading out black tablecloths and china settings. Eliza was already loading the cake onto the display table next to the door, near the three long tables topped with empty chafing dishes and platters.
Aunt Judy stood nearby, in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the veranda and the small lake on the property. She wore a black, fitted dress that silhouetted her slim figure against the sunlight, her blonde hair swept perfectly into an up-do. People said Skye was the spitting image of her aunt, but she felt more like the messier, unkempt “before” picture to Aunt Judy’s buttoned-up “after.”
Judy’s hand gripped a dented silver vase and her characteristic scowl was in full force as she berated one of the young servers.
“There you go.” Skye waved a hand toward her aunt.
Clark Kent frowned. “Guess that makes sense.”
“Excuse me?” Skye asked.
The man cleared his throat. “Nothing.”
“I hope you’ve got something good to give her, because I’ve gotta warn you, she likes to shoot the messenger.”
He sighed. “Sounds like the woman I’m lookin’ for.” Judy continued her tirade against the server, and the man clenched his jaw. “Maybe she ought to pick on someone her own size.”
Skye’s gaze shot to his broad shoulders. Was he referring to himself? “Well, good luck.”
