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She actually laughed, leaving him wondering why he’d been in a bad mood all day. Maybe he’d misread her caginess earlier. Or he’d really hit on something when he’d told her she was scared of Marchande, which she hadn’t liked. Either way, he didn’t intend to leave without her.
“Tell me what it is then,” she insisted.
“Can’t.” He mimed zipping his lips, which was hard with the grin stretching his face, and that’s when it struck him that he’d been in a bad mood solely because he hadn’t been in Aria’s orbit. Being around her did nice things to his insides, things that lightened his spirit, and he was glad all at once that Hardy’s visit had caused him to seek her out. “Come with me to the roof and I’ll spill everything.”
She didn’t move. “But this is not about Tristan?”
“No, something else,” he promised, glad all at once that he had an excuse to spend time with her that had nothing to do with other people. “Come along.”
Shock of all shocks, she nodded and stepped across the threshold, shutting the door behind her. That had been far too easy. His skills might be in much less dire shape than he’d thought.
But now he had a bigger problem. Aria spilled into the hall, surrounding him in ways that his greedy, contact-starved soul lapped up like a dog. Why did it always feel as if the sun had just broken through the clouds of his heart whenever she looked up at him through those clear blue eyes?
“So… yeah. This way,” he said brusquely and turned, hoping whatever warmth had just bloomed inside would die a cold death the second he cut off the source. Didn’t happen. But it was too late to back out now.
When he pushed open the door to the roof, sunset had just started staining the sky to the west, throwing purples and oranges deep into the blue. He couldn’t have timed this better if he’d tried and the serendipity of it actually made it much better than if it had been planned. The only thing he could do at this point was roll with it.
“That’s a nice picture,” Aria commented, her gaze fastened on the horizon.
His gaze was on her and he couldn’t seem to stop watching the small smile playing at her lips as she gorged on the sunset. “It’s more than nice. It’s closer to perfect.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot for a second how much of a romantic you are,” she said wryly. “I stand corrected. It’s a lot like perfect.”
“I’m not romantic.” A genuine scoff barked from his throat. “Furthest thing from it.”
At that, she sifted her gaze from the sunset to his face, zeroing in on him with uncomfortably canny focus. “You do realize that Shrek is a love story. Right?”
Rolling his eyes, he gave up. She could think whatever she wanted about his nature and assign his preferences all kinds of fluffy qualities. Didn’t make it fact. “Let’s circle back to that later. I have something that I need your help with. Strictly in exchange for helping you with Tristan.”
Yes. Good. Focus on the task.
But Aria was already shaking her head. “I’m setting you up with Cassidy in exchange. It’s already decided.”
“The same Cassidy who completely ignored me at the movies yesterday? I don’t think that’s something you can promise.” Nor was that what he wanted, and not just because of the prediction—though that was a huge factor. First and foremost, he didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings since he had less than zero interest in Cassidy. But he didn’t want to examine why he had no interest, let alone explain it to Aria. “This is a much better favor. Hear me out and then you can decide what’s fair compensation.”
“I’m listening.”
“Caleb asked for help in putting together some ideas to draw people to town.” It didn’t sound so overwhelming phrased like that, more like a group effort. Hardy could benefit from some tips on persuasion, which didn’t include tossing around the concept that Isaiah would be in charge of anything. “As a longtime resident, you’re well suited to coming up with angles that might appeal to people.”
“Ideas about how to draw people?” She pursed her lips. “Permanently or you mean like, to shop at Voodoo Grocery?”
“Either. Both. To do things that don’t exist yet. Like may
be we create a festival.” Now he was just making this up as he went along, because that had been nowhere on his radar. But he warmed to the idea almost against his will. “What local traditions could we capitalize on? That’s the kind of insight you’ll have. I’m thinking we could come up with some great stuff together.”
Suspicion marred her pretty features as she did some mental calculations in her head that apparently didn’t add up in his favor. “Why didn’t Caleb come ask me to help out on this himself?”
“Because it’s…”
Wow, there was not a good way to weasel out of answering that honestly, not after he’d wordsmithed it to sound like something different than it was, namely Caleb trying to force Isaiah into an ill-fitting mold. Sure Caleb had good intentions and there was the possibility that taking on this assignment could help tether Isaiah to Superstition Springs in way nothing else had. But at the end of the day, framing it as a team think tank type project had been disingenuous and he owed Aria a better explanation.
“It’s really supposed to be mine,” he told her, straightforward, no hem hawing. “Tapping you for help was my idea, not Caleb’s. I think we’d be a formidable team. Don’t you?”
“Why don’t you think you can do it by yourself?”
The simple question washed over him with surprising force. She hadn’t even bothered to be complimented by his pretty words and instead had honed in on the root of his issues, despite additional deflection. This was the inherent problem with Aria: she saw him a little too clearly and he liked that a little too much.
He was so tired of pretending. Why couldn’t he just be honest with her about how itchy it made him to think about her and Marchande together?
