Page 18 of The Secret to a Southern Wedding

“We’ll see.” She wanted to hang out with her friend but hanging out with her friend at Cyril’s bar? She wasn’t about that life. She couldn’t mix alcohol with off-limits temptation.

Her cell phone buzzed at the same time his chimed. She pulled her phone out of her back pocket and read the text. Cyril grunted at the same time.

Suppressing a sigh, she looked up at the disbelief on his face. “Let me guess. That’s your dad texting he’s not coming.”

He smirked at her. “I guess your mom sent you the same thing.”

Imani read the text aloud. “‘Sorry can’t make it. Look around with Cyril. You two have fun. Get to know each other.’”

“My dad’s is shorter. ‘Be nice to Imani. See you later.’”

They met each other’s eyes then shook their heads. “I’m betting this was a setup,” Cyril said.

“I wouldn’t take that bet. I like to win.” Imani put her phone back in her pocket.

“I would have pegged you for someone who likes to win,” he said with a smile.

“Same for you,” she replied.

“Which means, as long as you’re against this wedding, we’ll be working against each other. That’ll make us enemies, and Imani, I don’t want to be your enemy.”

His voice, soft and rumbling, slid over her and drew her closer. What did he want to be? She had an idea of what she’d like him to be. The same idea she’d had when she’d first met his enthralling gaze the day before. She’d wanted him to be a nice guy. A guy she could flirt with a little who’d flirt back. But their parents were getting married. She didn’t trust his dad or him by proxy. There was no flirting with him.

“We aren’t enemies, Cyril. I’m surprised by the wedding, and I don’t understand why my mom is doing this so suddenly. I do want her to be happy, but I’m going to look out for her and protect her as much as I can.”

“That’s exactly how I feel about my dad. I’ll always fight for him and defend him. I know you don’t know us, but I’m hoping that you’ll give us a chance before you jump to conclusions.”

He held out a hand. “Can you do that?”

How could she explain to him that she couldn’t promise that? How could she turn off a lifetime of looking for the worst in people just because he had a nice smile and everyone said his dad was great. She wished she could, but she knew better than anyone that trust had to be earned and even then it could just as easily be snatched away.

Explaining her hesitancy required digging into her past and Imani did not dig into her past. But she could try and get along with them until she found someone to handle the background check or convince her mom to break off this wedding.

She took his hand. “I can try.”

His hand was warm and slightly calloused. He gently squeezed as they shook. A jolt of awareness shot up her arm and she quickly pulled back.

“Well... I guess we can either leave or go see the gazebo.”

He cleared his throat and nodded. “They want us to play nice. Might as well look at the gazebo for them.”

She’d hoped he’d choose the former, but she nodded. She ignored the small spark of pleasure that he wasn’t ready to leave already. This was good. It would give her more time to feel him out. That was all.

“Sure. Let’s check it out.”

eight

The bell on the door chimed as Cyril entered Books and Vibes, the independent bookstore and coffee shop that opened six months ago right off Peachtree Cove’s Main Street. The smell of coffee greeted him along with the low hum of voices from the people sitting around the shop as he entered. He spotted the owner, Patricia Norris, standing behind the counter. He lifted the small basket in his hand, then walked further inside after Patricia grinned and waved him over.

“Good morning, Patricia,” Cyril said.

“Call me Pat.” She handed a paper cup to the customer waiting on the other side of the counter. “Here you go. One black coffee. Did you get your muffin?”

“I did,” the man said. He took his coffee and headed to the only empty table in the corner of the shop.

“You’re busy,” Cyril said when Pat came back over to him. “I’d hoped to miss the rush.”

Patricia was in her early forties, with a confident smile, and bubbly personality. A transplant from nearby Augusta who’d decided to move to the small town of Peachtree Cove to open her coffee shop instead of competing with the larger chains. “We don’t get the morning rush like we do on weekdays. On weekends there is a steady stream of people coming in.” She pointed to the basket. “What’s this?”

---