Page 17 of The Secret to a Southern Wedding

“She never gives up.”

“Exactly.”

Imani frowned then asked. “What about her sister?”

Tracey grunted and rolled her eyes. “Mattie is still a bougie bitch.”

Imani shook her head and lightly hit Tracey’s arm. “Still?” Mattie had been a year ahead of Imani in high school. The complete opposite of her sister and exactly the way Tracey described her.

Tracey nodded. “Yep. But because we love her sister, everyone just ignores the negativity she tries to spread.”

The door of the inn opened, and Imani turned expecting to see her mom, but Cyril walked in instead. Imani quickly sucked in a breath and straightened. She didn’t know why she stood at attention just because he entered the room. Maybe it was his commanding presence that had drawn her interest from the moment she’d first seen him. She was supposed to be digging a hole and burying those feelings. Doing that should stop her breath from hitching and her heart from fluttering when she saw him.

She’d met him, been attracted and discovered he was off-limits in the same day. Obviously getting her body on board with her brain would take a couple more days of training. By then, she’d get her mom to realize this wedding was a bad idea and she’d be on her way back to Florida with Cyril as nothing but a brief spot in her memory.

He met her gaze, looked around the room, then frowned back at her. “My dad isn’t here yet?”

He wore a black T-shirt with “err thng blk” printed on the front. The soft material clung to his wide shoulders and thick arms. Dark jeans fitted his hips and thighs just enough to make her imagine the muscles beneath, and a black fedora covered his hair.

“Neither is my mom.” She checked the time on her phone. She’d been here forty minutes. “She said she would be here by now.”

He walked over to her and Tracey. “Yeah, dad texted he was on the way. What’s up, Tracey?” He smiled when he spoke to Tracey, and Imani had a brief moment where she wished he would have smiled at her like that.

“Nothing much, Cyril. Just showing Imani around. How are things at the bar?”

Cyril lifted a shoulder. “Pretty good. I’ve got a new spring blend debuting this Friday. You and Bernard should come through.”

Tracey’s lips tightened for the briefest second before she relaxed and grinned. “Sure. I’ll make sure he doesn’t have any plans and we’ll hang out.” She pointed at the kitchen. “Let me check something in the kitchen then come back and talk about the wedding. Your parents should be here soon, but if you two want to go ahead and check out the gazebo, do that. I’ll meet you out there in a few.”

Imani didn’t want to be left alone with Cyril. She wanted, no needed, the buffer between them. The thought made her uneasy. If she was going to get over this, then she couldn’t run from him.

“Sure thing, Tracey. Thanks for the tour.”

“Of course. Now that you’re back in town we can hang out again. Maybe we can hit up Cyril’s bar instead of me and Bernard. Lord knows I need a night out.” With a twist of her lips, she turned and walked away.

Imani turned back to Cyril. His eyes were on her. His gaze direct and potent. Awareness tightened her skin and she took a step back even though they weren’t very close to begin with. “You own a bar?” she asked in a rush.

He nodded. “I do. It’s downtown. On the corner of Main and Sumter Streets.”

“I wouldn’t have pegged you as a bar owner.”

He raised a brow but grinned. “What would you peg me for?”

Why did he have to look at her like that? With that hint of fun and mischief in his dark eyes. It made her want to have fun and be mischievous right along with him. Made her want to follow him down the yellow brick road on all sorts of adventures. She hadn’t had fun or been adventurous in such a long time.

She cleared her throat and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t know. I figured you worked, but owning a bar isn’t something that immediately comes to my mind when I think of anyone working.”

“You don’t like beer?”

She crinkled her nose. “Not at all. It’s disgusting.”

He only laughed. A deep, husky laugh that sent delicious prickles across her skin. “What kind of drinks do you like? Sweet? Dry? Fruity? Savory?”

He licked his lips after speaking. Imani wondered if his lips were sweet, dry, fruity or savory. She blinked and forced the thought away.

“Umm... I like things that are sweet and a little fruity. Beer is not sweet or fruity.”

He shook his head. “I’ve got a strawberry ale you may like. Come by on Friday with Tracey and give it a try.”

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