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“Stop griping and start drinking,” Lucas suggested, handing them both a beer. “Can I get you anything?” he asked Harper.
“I’m good.” She smiled at him.
As the evening continued, the group became more raucous, and Harper found herself laughing out loud at the banter between the men. She even managed to dance a couple of times – first with Griff and then with Breck, before the music got slower and more romantic.
By ten o’clock all her friends were dancing, their faces illuminated by the soft light of the crystal chandeliers overhead. Harper was sitting at a table in the corner, her champagne glass empty once again, and she could feel the worries she’d managed to ignore for a few hours racing back in
to her mind.
“You okay?” Caitie asked, as she and Breck danced past her.
Harper smiled. “I’m good. I might go and get some fresh air.”
“You want me to come with?”
She shook her head. “No. You keep dancing.” She didn’t want to spoil Caitie’s fun with her melancholy. “I’ll be fine.”
As she walked toward the terrace, she could smell the salty air of the ocean wafting in through the open glass doors. Tiny sparkling lights were strewn across the deck and nestled in the foliage of the trees and bushes like fireflies sending out a mating call.
She was about to step out when she saw another door. According to the etching on the glass, it led to a saloon bar. Maybe she’d go grab another drink to take outside with her.
She was determined to have a good time. Tomorrow she’d worry about the mess that was her life, but tonight was all about having fun.
* * *
“Can I have another, please?” James slid his glass across the dark oak counter. The barman caught it and poured him a double whiskey. James slid a bill back at him – though the drinks were free the tips weren’t – and he could just about remember how hard it was to work behind a bar. It was how he’d paid his way through college.
He lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip, feeling the amber liquid heat his tongue. Mellowness washed over him as he swallowed, making his muscles feel loose and relaxed for the first time in forever.
He’d been at the party for a couple of hours. Enough to wander around the grounds, greet old friends, and let himself be seen. Though there had been some sympathy in people’s eyes as they asked him how he was doing, he’d managed to keep the smile painted on his lips for long enough that they didn’t press him.
He didn’t want to talk about how he was, wasn’t sure of the answers to their unasked questions. His emotions were mercurial, waxing and waning depending on how long he decided to let himself wallow. Who wanted to talk about that at a party?
He’d last seen Rich about an hour ago, when he’d been dancing on the terrace leading down to the beach with a pretty nurse who couldn’t take her eyes off him. She’d tried to introduce James to her friend, but he’d managed to extricate himself.
From the corner of his eye he saw the bar door push open, and the sound of the band wafted from the ballroom, a jaunty Sinatra tune. A woman walked in, her hair pinned to her head in a mass of gold-and-pink waves, her full lips painted perfectly red.
It was her dress which drew his eye – shimmering gold, with printed white flowers. The fabric molded close to her bodice, before flaring out at the waist in a fifties style puff. She looked like Grace Kelly on acid. Nearly everybody in the room turned to look at her. James turned, too, swallowing hard as she sashayed across the marble tiled floor, completely unaware of the effect she was having on the men in the room.
“What can I get for you, ma’am?” the bartender asked, as she reached the counter and perched on a stool.
James waited to hear her voice. He had no idea why he wanted to hear it so badly. Maybe he was waiting for her to sound like Marilyn Monroe, all breathy and completely idiotic. Anything to take away the allure she had.
“A Jack Daniels on the rocks, please.” Nope, not breathy at all. But she did sound faintly like Grace Kelly. Her vowels were clipped, her words short. She definitely wasn’t from around here. And she couldn’t have sounded less like Marilyn Monroe if she’d tried.
James took another mouthful of whiskey. He could feel his heart beat in a way it hadn’t for a long time. Years, maybe.
“Jack’s a popular drink tonight,” the barman said to her, grabbing a tumbler and filling it with ice. “You want another?” he asked James.
“Oh, are you a fan, too?” she asked, turning to look at him. She was smiling brightly, those scarlet lips curved up at the corners.
His eyes narrowed, as though he was looking into the sun. Her smooth skin contrasted with her dark lips. Her eyelashes were long and curved, framing her perfectly blue irises. If you wanted to nitpick, you could complain her nose had a tiny bump in it, and that there was a scar on the corner of her eye, which seemed to catch the light, but neither diminished the attraction.
“I like your hair,” he said, his voice thick.
“Thank you,” she said, patting it with her right hand. “I had it done in the salon here earlier.”
“Do you work here?” Strange how words were spilling out of his lips. He almost didn’t recognize his own voice. It felt so long since he’d voluntarily conversed with a stranger, unless it was for work.
