sugar and plastic spoons from a small table near the door. She was just about to pocket some of both when she heard a voice behind her.
“How’s the coffee here?”
She turned. Scott was close. Really close. His chest seemed like a solid wall in front of her. “I’m not sure.” She held up a small cardboard carrier containing two foam cups. “It’s hot at least.”
“That’s a good start.”
Evie’s skin prickled. “I wasn’t sure how you liked it.”
He smiled. “Black, two sugars and milk.”
A funny guy. Great. She passed him four sachets of sugar. “Knock yourself out.”
“Shall we sit?” he asked.
Evie handed over the coffee. “Sure.”
She grabbed the food and followed him to one of the melamine tables and contained her surprise when he pulled out a chair for her. “How much do I owe you?” he asked once seated.
Evie shook her head and flouted the way her heart pounded beneath her ribs like a freight train. “My treat.”
He smiled again and she got another look at the dimple. “Thanks.” He took the lid off his coffee and poured in some sugar. “Callie tells me you’re in the wedding party?” he asked, resting both elbows on the table.
She nodded and pushed a sandwich toward him. “And you’re giving the bride away?”
“Yeah.” He looked at her over the rim of his cup. “So, what else do you do besides run a B and B?”
Evie carefully sipped her coffee. “I paint.”
“Houses?”
“Pictures,” she replied. “Portraits, landscapes...that sort of thing.”
“Talented and beautiful,” he said smoothly.
Color rose up her collarbone and she felt like shaking her head to refute the compliment. Evie knew she wasn’t beautiful. She had even enough features and was attractive at best. Her sister Grace, on the other hand, was a classic beauty. And Mary-Jayne, the youngest of the three sisters, had always been considered the pretty one. Evie was just...Evie.
“And I teach art classes at my studio. What about you?” she asked, ignoring the compliment. “What do you do?”
“Besides what I’m doing now?” he replied, then shrugged. “The usual, I suppose.”
“The usual?” she echoed.
He put down his cup and leaned back in the chair. “I work.”
Evie took a breath. Talk. Say something. I talk to people every day. I’m good at talking. “And when do you play?”
It wasn’t exactly what she’d planned to say. Because it sounded outright flirtatious. And she never flirted. Without warning, the sexy-as-sin Scott Jones had somehow tapped in to the female part of her she’d kept under wraps for a decade.
“I mean,” she said quickly, covering her escalating embarrassment. “Do you like sports and stuff?”
“I like sports.” He smiled. “Do you?”
“I like to watch sports,” she admitted. “Even the macho sweaty kind like football.”
“But you don’t play?”
She shrugged, suddenly feeling like a couch potato. “I run.”
“Me, too.”
With that body he did more than run—Evie would bet her boots on it.
“Shall we get going?” she asked, changing the subject. Before he had a chance to reply she grabbed her coffee and food and made her way outside. The late-afternoon sun was settling toward dusk and they still had another three hours driving ahead. It would be well after dark by the time they arrived into Crystal Point.
She hopped into the driver’s seat, started the engine and waited until they were both buckled up before heading off. They had a few minutes of silence before he spoke.
“Lacrosse.”
Evie slanted a sideways look. “What?”
“You’d probably like it,” he said. “It can be macho and sweaty.”
“I thought it was badminton on steroids?”
He laughed, and the sound thrilled her down to her toes. “Ouch. You don’t miss a man’s ego with that aim.”
A smile curled the edges of her mouth. “I’m guessing you play?”
“Yes. I still think you’d like it.”
“The next time I’m in L.A. I’ll be sure to catch a game.”
“Have you ever been?”
“Once,” she replied. “Years ago. Gordon and I did the whole tourist thing just after we were married.”
“Gordon? That was your husband?”
“Yes, he was.” Her voice automatically softened. “He’s dead.”
“Callie told me that,” he said soberly. “You must miss him.”
“Yes.”
“Were you happy?”
She shot a glance sideways for a moment. It was a highly personal question from a stranger. A stranger who would soon be family. Part of the Preston clan. Except, she hadn’t been Evie Preston for a long time. She was Evie Dunn, mother of one—mother-hen, her father often called her. The girl most likely to fade into the background and do whatever needed to be done. The sensible daughter.
“We were very happy,” she said quietly.
“And does your son look like his father?”
“No,” she replied. “Trevor looks like me.”
“Lucky kid.”
Another compliment. He was good at them. He had an easygoing way about him and a kind of masculine confidence she figured he’d probably possessed since the cradle.
Evie was tempted to say thank you, but she caught herself before the words left her mouth.
He stretched out his legs and she couldn’t stop herself from glancing at his thighs.
I really need to pull myself together...and fast.
She went for a rabbit in a hat. “So, your girlfriend couldn’t come on this trip with you?”
“I’m single,” he replied flatly.
“Sorry,”
