Page 15 of The Accidental Beauty Queen
After three hours hooked up to the IV, Ginny is released from the urgent-care clinic. She’s still drowsy from the massive dose of Benadryl she was given and sleeps for the duration of the short ride back to the Huntington Spa Resort. It’s just after six thirty in the morning when I sneak her back up the stairwell and down the hall to our room with the sorting hat jammed on top of her head.
Once we’re safely inside, she crawls into bed without asking if I’ve had a change of heart about the pageant. I should be relieved, but I’m not. Quite the opposite—I feel guilty as hell.
“Buttercup needs to be walked.” The poor dog keeps running from the dresser, where her pink leash is draped over a drawer knob, to the door and back. I can take a hint. “Will you be okay by yourself for a few minutes?”
Ginny is a lump in the bed now. She nods, and the covers barely move.
“Okay.” I bite my lip. God, she looks so pitiful. “We’ll be back in a few.”
Buttercup sits somewhat still while I attach her leash, and I let her drag me to the stairwell. The hallway is empty, but I can hear a low murmur of activity behind the doors as the women start their day—it’s a mix of blow-dryers, televisions, and beauty queen chatter. The personal interview portion of the pageant prelims is happening all day today, and it starts in less than two hours.
Ginny’s interview is slotted for six thirty this evening. At least I think it is. Honestly, I’ve only halfway been paying attention to the details thus far. But if I’m right, and her interview is twelve hours away, there’s technically still time for her swelling to go down. I mean, the doctor didn’tentirelyrule out the possibility, right?
Twelve hours is also undoubtedly sufficient time for me to undergo a pretty thorough makeover, but I push that thought away before it can take root.
Outside, the sun is just coming up, bathing the hotel’s fancy cabana and infinity pool in dazzling pink light. In the distance, a row of paddleboats shaped like swans is lined up along the edge of the resort’s man-made lake. It’s all rather breathtaking, despite the fact that the moisture in the air is so thick that I can barely breathe. Even the palm trees droop a little.
Buttercup starts making a horrible wheezing noise as she picks her way through the grass, and I pause. She’s hunched over, frozen, looking like she’s having some kind of asthma attack.
Perfect. This is just what I need right now.
“Buttercup, are you all right?” I squat down beside her. She’s not all right. The wheezing grows worse, and my heart clogs in my throat.
Nothing bad can happen to this silly dog. Ginny would be crushed, and she’s already teetering on the depths of despair.
Just as my concern reaches full-blown panic, I remember Lisa Ng—Miss Nevada, the world’s most glamorous veterinarian. Is she in room 520? Or 530? I can’t remember. I’m going to have to grab Buttercup, race upstairs, and start knocking on doors.
But just as I reach for the rasping dog, someone else crouches into view.
“She’s okay. It’s just a reverse sneeze.” It’shim—the man from the stairwell.
I swallow. His calm demeanor does nothing to stop the flutter of my heart, which suddenly seems to be dancing a little rumba in my chest. “A what?”
“A reverse sneeze. It happens sometimes, especially with Frenchies.” He cups a hand gently over Buttercup’s tiny muzzle and almost instantaneously, the terrible sound stops.
“Wow.” I stare at Buttercup for a beat in case it’s a fluke, but it’s not. She’s back to her snooty, buggy-eyed self and continues inspecting every blade of grass in search of the perfect place to relieve herself. “That was...”
“Magical?” His mouth curves into a half grin, and his dimple flashes as if it’s winking at me. “I think that’s the word you’re looking for, Hermione.”
An unladylike bark of laughter escapes me.Oh God. His subtle grin spreads into a full-blown smile. It’s every bit as dazzling as the Florida sunrise.
I straighten, fighting the sudden urge to flee. I’ve been up all night, and I’m still wearing my Darcy T-shirt—which, now that I think about it, is probably a couple of sizes too big. The last time I got a good look at my reflection was a few hours ago in the silvery surface of the paper towel dispenser in the urgent-care exam room. Spoiler alert: It wasn’t pretty.
In short, I’m a hot mess. And he’s...
Well, he’s perfect-looking—again. He’s impeccably put together in a sleek suit and tie, and his hair is slicked back from his chiseled face, still a little bit damp on the ends from his morning shower.
I wonder if he smells good. I’ll bet he does. Nice and clean. Manly.
The Old Spice theme song rings in my head like a bell.
What is it about this man that reduces me to such a neurotic train wreck every time I see him?
My face is aflame. “Thank you for the rescue. I didn’t know what to do.”
“Happy to help. If that’s your first exposure to a reverse sneeze, you must be a new dog owner. Or at least new to French bulldogs, I’m guessing.” He stands, and I finally notice Hamlet sitting politely by his feet. Together, they look like they walked right off the set of a Hallmark Channel rom-com.
“Sort of.” I clear my throat. “Actually, she’s not mine. I don’t think she likes me much, but we’re making it work.”
