Sandcastle Beach (Matchmaker Bay #3) - Jenny Holiday Page 0,62

hair was down, which was Law’s catnip. He used to think he liked it that way because it was so rare—he only ever saw it down in the Mermaid Parade. But then they started doing late-night truces, and it became almost normal. Except not. Because it never ceased to bowl him over.

It came to well past her shoulders, and it was so…healthy-looking. That was probably a dumb observation. But he was a dumb guy when it came to hair knowledge. It was just that hers was so shiny and bouncy. And she made it worse—better?—when she opened the passenger-side window as they drove out of town. The wind made her look like a supermodel as she declared, “Hooboy! I am so excited!”

There was also the dress. Which he was reminded of anew when they got out of the car in Bayshore. He’d seen her in dresses before, but only onstage. She didn’t wear dresses as herself.

Objectively speaking, there was nothing particularly exciting about this one. It was a solid, regular blue—the color of the blue crayon. It had a neckline shaped like a half circle, and it showed a little cleavage but not much. As she started off down the sidewalk, he could see that it had a ruffle at the bottom.

“What?” Her brow furrowed as she looked over her shoulder at him. He was just standing there slightly slack-jawed. But only, he told himself, because seeing her in a dress was so novel. And she was wearing strappy sandals instead of her usual high-tops. She looked down at herself. “Is this too much? Was I supposed to come in disguise as a tourist? Should I be wearing a shirt that says, ‘I heart Lake Huron’?”

“No, no. You look fine.” Had he been saying that to her a lot lately? Like in the dunk tank? Maybe he should be a little more generous than “fine,” a little more specific. “Nice dress,” he tried.

“It has pockets!” she exclaimed with a grin, sticking her hands in said pockets to demonstrate.

“That’s, uh, great.” Maybe this had been a mistake. What were they going to talk about seated across from each other for who knew how long? They had no problem carrying on a conversation when that conversation largely amounted to picking at each other. And they had no problem sitting next to each other in silence and staring at a TV. And lately there had been a few instances, like on the roof at Eiko’s, or walking back from the Junior Achievement panel, when they’d talked more deeply than usual, but those encounters had been brief, and they’d been walking or sitting side by side.

But sitting across a table from each other and carrying on a conversation for what could be a couple hours? Could they even do it?

It turned out they could. After they ordered a truly ridiculous amount of food, Maya picked up her water and said, “Here’s to Lawson’s Lunch.”

He clinked his glass against hers.

“I haven’t heard a word about it from anyone in town,” she said. “So good job on that front. How are you keeping everything under wraps?”

“Well, there isn’t really anything happening until late fall.”

“I thought it was more imminent.”

“Yeah, well.” He shrugged. He didn’t want to say that he was waiting for the grant results—that he was waiting until he beat her—because only then would he know what he was going to do locationwise. Mortgagewise.

“Don’t sound too enthusiastic there. Wait. Are you getting cold feet?”

“No.” Well, not cold feet exactly, but…“I do sometimes wonder, why do the restaurant at all? Why do more? Why can’t I be happy with what I have?”

“Because you’re ambitious. I said it before—that’s allowed.”

It sounded so simple when she said it. It sounded so reasonable.

It was a relief when the server arrived. Make that servers, plural—it took two people to carry their food. Maya looked like she was trying not to laugh, which caused a mirroring sort of bubble to make its way up Law’s chest. To make it worse, the lead server was narrating as she and her helper set the dishes down.

“Baby back ribs and garlic frites. Bánh mì bowl. Beet and buffalo mozzarella salad. Jackfruit crab cakes. Brown butter pickerel. Side of buttermilk truffle mashed potatoes.”

Maya’s shoulders were shaking, and she had her lips pressed together. The bubble in his chest floated higher.

“Caesar salad. Lobster bisque. Carbonara. Fish tacos. Steak.”

Maya glanced at him—just with her eyeballs, though. The rest of her face stayed perfectly still in a way