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Chapter Seven
Just past nine-thirtyon her first full day on Mackinac Island, Elise found herself on the street corner in the center of town with her eyes glued on Wayne’s. Her heart was somewhere in her throat, and her stomach fluttered with butterflies. What was it he had just said?
“It’s a funny thing, you being here by yourself.”
Oh.
“Why’s that?” She crossed and uncrossed her arms, praying that the women at the boutique had been right about the green dress. Was it really everything it needed to be? Did it suit her? Did Wayne like it?
“It’s just that most people come to Mackinac Island to do the kind of thing that we witnessed last night,” Wayne said.
“Make a huge mistake?” Elise said.
“Ha. You don’t mean that,” Wayne said cocking an eyebrow at her.
“No. I don’t. You’re right.” Elise cursed herself for her outward cynicism. At her core, she was a soft romantic; externally, she’d been hardened by the cruel reality of divorce papers. “But you’re right. This is one of the most romantic places I’ve ever been to. And here I am, all alone.” She gave a little shrug and stuck out her bottom lip, giving him a feigned pout.
“Ha. Not so sad about it?”
Elise gave a little shrug. “I’m sort of on a mission. I don’t have time to think about it.” This, of course, was a partial lie. “What are you doing the rest of the night?”
Had she really asked him that? What kind of woman was she?
“I might grab a drink, actually,” Wayne said, his eyes sparkling.
“Oh. A drink.” Elise arched her brow with curiosity.
“Yes. And I would love to invite you to have one with me, especially since my curiosity is piqued with tales of this mission. It’s a rare thing to hear of a woman on a quest.”
“Do you think that only men are allowed to have quests?” Elise asked.
“Not at all. I guess most people are just a little too lazy to search for anything,” he said. He then swept his fingers through his dark hair and delivered one of those GQ-worthy smiles. “Come on. Have just one drink with me. I’ll take you to the best bar in town.”
Elise couldn’t resist.
They walked toward the far end of Main Street, out toward where they had gotten off the ferry, toward a little bar called the Pink Pony. As they opened the door, three different people hollered Wayne’s name. Elise gave him a bug-eyed look. Wayne shrugged and said, “What? I’m something of a celebrity around here.”
“Uh-huh,” Elise said, faking sarcasm. “I should have had you sign my bandage earlier.”
Wayne ordered them two of Pink Pony’s specialty drinks, bright pink monsters called Rum Runners. When they arrived back at the table, Elise gave him another look of shock.
“I don’t drink these every time,” he confessed. “But you always have to with a newbie. I want you to have the full experience of the Pink Pony.”
“I see. Well. Bottoms up, then,” Elise said, lifting the pink drink and clinking the glass with his before downing it.
There was something about this strange drink and this strange night. The Rum Runner gave her even more liquid courage than she was accustomed to. She leaned over the table and peered at him as the first of the drink skated over her tongue.
“This place is weird,” were the words she finally decided upon.
Immediately, she half-regretted them. But only half.
“Why do you say that?” Wayne asked.
“I don’t know. There’s something in the air. I can’t even put words to it yet, and I’m supposed to be a writer.”
“Really. What kind of writer?”
Why had she already told him that?
