Bookshop by the Sea - Denise Hunter Page 0,1
the restaurant. “Hard to believe little Jenna’s getting married. Seems like yesterday she was begging us to drive her to the movies to meet some boy.”
“Well, she’s twenty-two now, and she’s found her perfect match. Grant will take good care of her.” If Aiden noticed the bite behind her words he ignored it.
“They’re good together.” Aiden shoved his hands into his pockets. “And Seth graduated from Appalachian State, I hear.”
“With his masters. He just got hired on as project manager at a consulting firm.” She glanced around for an escape, but the entire bridal party was still inside.
“And you, Sophie? What are you up to?”
She really didn’t want to talk to him about her dreams but decided to offer the bare minimum for civility’s sake. “I’m moving to Piper’s Cove. Going to open a bookshop.”
The corner of his mouth ticked up. “Wow, that’s great. A bookshop, huh?”
She just smiled in response. Politeness dictated that she ask about his life, his business. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. “I should go in and—”
“You look wonderful, by the way.” His gaze grew intense. “You always have, but I think you’re even more beautiful now.”
She steeled herself against his charm. It didn’t mean anything. Words were easy. And who did he think he was, coming here, saying things like that to her?
Think of Jenna. Keep it cordial.
“You look well too,” she squeezed out.
His eyes twinkled in that familiar way, those silver flecks dancing. “Did that hurt much?”
“Only a little.”
He chuckled.
She checked her watch. They couldn’t wait any longer for their dad. “I should go and round everyone up. We’re running late.”
“I thought this was the Fosters’ shindig—parents of the groom and all.”
Grant’s parents had paid for the meal—for the entire wedding actually, since the Lawsons’ bank account was in poor shape. But the details had been left to Sophie, and in the wake of her mother’s death, she’d been happy for other things to focus on.
“I’m just helping out.”
Granny May appeared at their side, her small frame erect behind a walker adorned with an old-fashioned bicycle horn. Tonight her thinning white hair was coiffed within an inch of its life, and her kelly-green blouse set off her peachy skin tone.
“Hello, Granny.” Sophie stooped down to hug her maternal grandmother, a bouquet of Cinnabar assaulting her nostrils. “You look beautiful tonight.”
“I look like an old, shriveled-up prune—what can you expect at seventy-six? But you look lovely, dear.”
Granny turned a scowl on Aiden. “I see you found the back door quick enough.”
Aiden blinked. “Um, good to see you, Granny May.”
“That’s Mrs. Alexander to you.”
Sophie cleared her throat and addressed her grandmother. “Have you had a chance to meet Edward Drury yet—Grant’s grandfather?”
“Is he the one at the bar, taking down the whiskey shots?”
Sophie winced. Not already. “I should introduce the two of you later. He’s really nice, and Grant thinks the two of you might hit it off.”
“His cornbread’s not baked in the middle if he thinks I need a man in my life at this point.” She found Aiden over the rim of her glasses. “Don’t you have a plane to jump out of or something?”
“Granny . . .” Sophie took the woman’s elbow. “Why don’t you help me round everyone up? We’re running behind schedule.”
As Sophie strolled back inside the restaurant, she felt Aiden’s eyes on her back. Her face flushed with heat. Her legs felt like wobbly stilts. She thought she’d been prepared for this.
She would survive this weekend. She just had to get through dinner and the rehearsal tonight, then the wedding and reception tomorrow. Two days. Then she could count on him to leave—because leaving was what Aiden Maddox did best.
* * *
Aiden watched Sophie’s retreat, his gaze lingering on her tall, slender form. She still had that regal look about her—square shoulders, elegant ballerina neck, grace in motion. Her sleek and shiny brown hair wasn’t waist-length anymore, though it flowed well past her shoulders. It would no doubt still feel soft as butter if he ran his fingers through it. Not that she’d give him the chance.
He looked away. Okay, so he was still attracted to her. Not a surprise, really. But he hadn’t expected her to be standoffish. Not that he thought they’d be best of friends or anything, but he expected to have congenial, perhaps even wistful, conversations. He sure hadn’t realized her hard feelings had survived all these years.
Not that he didn’t have some remorse about leaving—he couldn’t regret a business that had become