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CHAPTER NINE
“ABOUT LAST NIGHT...”
The words were softly spoken. Almost a question. Still, they were enough to make Aidan Mitchell consider pounding his head against the table. Or the wall. He was pretty sure the table was closer. Not that he was going to pick either because he honestly didn’t need any more head pain. Not with the raging hangover he’d more than earned.
“I have nothing,” he admitted, squinting into the, what seemed to him, overly bright light of Brew-haha, the local coffee place. Because when a man felt as bad as he did, coffee was the only solution. “No excuse, no explanation.”
He wanted to say more. That it hadn’t been his fault. Only it had been.
Aidan wanted to point out that he was usually a decent guy. He loved his mom, paid his taxes and ran a successful business, yet somewhere along the way, he’d become a total jerk. But why state the obvious?
The woman standing next to his table pointed to the empty seat across from his. “May I?”
He nodded, then wished he hadn’t when more pain exploded across his eyes. He reminded himself it was a small price to pay for what had happened.
He pushed aside the steady thudding in his temple and did his best to focus on his new tablemate. Shelby Gilmore was petite and blue-eyed. Delicate, he thought. Pretty enough to get a breathing man’s attention. But not for him, because he had it all figured out. No local women. Tourists were easier. And look where that had gotten him.
Her gaze was steady as she sipped her coffee. She seemed to be trying to figure something out. If it was about him, he should save her the trouble.
“Yes,” he said, aware his voice was gravelly. No doubt yet another manifestation of the alcohol probably still processing through his system. “I’m an ass. I’m sure there’s going to be a memo about it in the paper.”
Her mouth curved up. “The paper’s already out and I didn’t see anything. Of course, I generally avoid the whole ‘ass’ section. It can be depressing.”
“Humor at my expense. Go ahead. I deserve it.”
Her hair fell past her shoulders. It was straight and kind of a gold-blond color. Long bangs covered her eyebrows. He knew she had to be in her late twenties, but she looked younger.
“I like that you’re taking responsibility for what happened,” she said. “A lot of guys wouldn’t.”
“Most guys wouldn’t have gotten in trouble in the first place.” He leaned back in his chair and held in a groan. “I had it all figured out. That’s what kills me. I had a plan.”
“The road to hell?”
Despite how he felt, he managed a grin. “Yeah. That was me. The guy with good intentions.” He stopped himself a half second before he shook his head again. “Avoid entanglements. It was working for me, too.”
She held her coffee mug in both hands. “So it’s true. You dated tourists.” The corner of her mouth twitched. “I use the word dated out of general politeness. Also, it’s New Year’s Day, which is kind of a holiday.”
“Respect. I like that.” He sighed heavily. “Yes, I was the dog that picked up tourists. They were friendly and willing. Not to mention, only in town for a short time. No one’s definition of dating.”
“I can see the general outline of a plan here. You assumed that by keeping it simple and short-term, you wouldn’t have to deal with anything messy. Like a relationship. Why is that?”
He squinted against the bright light. “No offense, but do I know you?”
She laughed. “You mean beyond saying hello?” One slim shoulder rose, then lowered. “Not really. I admit that this is a very random conversation, but I’d still like you to answer the question.”
His brain was working at about two-thirds speed this morning. He felt like hell, both physically and emotionally. He was the biggest jackass around and he just wanted to crawl into a hole until he figured out how he was going to fix the problem. Which would come after he figured out what had gone wrong.
But all of that didn’t explain why Shelby Gilmore was grilling him. Maybe one of her New Year’s resolutions was to right wrongs. Sort of a seeker of justice for those whose hearts he’d accidentally broken.
He searched his memory for what he knew about her. She’d been in town maybe a couple of years. She worked in the bakery. Or possibly owned it—he couldn’t remember, exactly. He’d seen her around. He was sure she was perfectly nice, not to mention Kipling Gilmore’s sister. Kipling ran the local search-and-rescue department. Aidan knew him from that, and because it was Fool’s Gold—a town where everyone knew everyone else’s business. Oh, yeah. He and Kipling were part owners of a local bar. Which explained why he was having this conversation in the first place. Or did it? He looked at her.
“What was the question?” he asked.
The smile returned. “Why tourists? You’re a good-looking guy with a successful business. Why aren’t you
