Page 4 of Enemies in Earnest

He gave her a look that was both heated and tender. My chest tightened so fiercely the action choked my airway for the briefest second. There was no way that feeling wasjealousy. I didn’t get jealous. And over a look in his eyes? What was I, a Bronte hero pining for unrequited love?

But there was something that pulsed between them. Not lust, though I certainly didn’t miss the way Felicity’s pupils expanded. It was different. All encompassing. I wanted to look down into someone’s eyes and see that.

Like that didn’t hit me like a two by four. Me, suddenly pining for love? The only love I’d ever had was the sea. Exactly how it should be. Yet—something barely discernible whispered in my ear. Desperate for somethingmore.

“I think we need some champagne. It’s not every day that one of my oldest childhood friends gets engagedandcomes to visit. Mom, are you going to join in the toast?”

Technically, she shouldn’t be drinking. Drug interactions. But it was a special occasion and honestly a little touch to her lips was probably as muchdrinkingas she’d do. Though given I’d have to face Her Highness, Queen of Smart Assed Comments and Opinionated Commentary, having my mother’s consent was my shield for placing my order and collecting the spirits unscathed.

ChapterFour

It was much easierto ruminate over one’s nemesis when he wasn’t ten feet away. The other problem? The way he doted on and cared for his mother was literally catnip. Lady Kitty catnip, not like, for Six-toed Joe. The second his mom shivered, he was there with her cardigan. She coughed, he had her water at the ready. He repeated what MariJo’s nephew and niece said, but louder and in the direction of her good ear, without making it obvious he did it for her benefit. How could someone who was such anassholebe so sweetly attentive to his mother? It didn’t compute.

“What if we served a buffet of Hemingway inspired appetizers?” Asher asked, his bushy eyebrows the only thing I could make out over the clipboard he referenced.

“Now wouldn’t that be a hoot.” Edwin flipped a fifty onto the counter. “I’m sure no one in the history of Hemingway inspired bars, restaurants, parties, or events has ever thought to offer a little canapé dipped in literary puns.”

Asher lifted an eyebrow in his direction as if to ask meis he for real?Unfortunately, yes, he was. The two of us had aWar and Peacelength conversation in silent eye-rolls and quirks of lip before Asher heaved a dramatic sigh and placed his clipboard on the counter.

“I believe it was the great Oscar Wilde who saidsarcasm is the lowest form of wit.”

Edwin nabbed a cherry from my garnish center, shrugging in Asher’s direction. God, he was ridiculous. He never took his eyes off me, even though the shrug was directed at Asher. Did he want me to chastise him for stealing a cherry? Because of the list of things I could chastise the man over, being a cherry stealer was low on the list.

“What can I do for you Edwin?”

I tried to be as subtle as I could, affixing the plastic top to the tray of garnish. It was a place of business after all. Sanitation was important. Certainly no one wanted his grubby, work roughened fingers anywhere near their drinks.

“Now there’s a statement heavy with possibility.”

Edwin Wheeler did not get to do funny things to my nervous system. No ma’am. The way his voice went soft and gravely didnotaffect the steady, reliable thrum of my pulse. And his tipped lip or the mischievous glint in his eyes did not make my face feel hot. I’d rather succumb to food poisoning from bad fish than havehimbe the reason I felt flushed and a little woozy.

“Did your mom call up your cousin and ask him to come for a playdate? That was so considerate of her. This way you have someone who is obligated to tolerate your company every day while your boat’s boo-boos get all patched up.”

At that moment, the sexy version of Santa Claus, also known as Edwin’s cousin, took a seat next to him at the bar and regarded me.

“How’s that champagne coming along?” he asked his cousin.

“This here’s Klaus.” Edwin cocked his head.

“Bottle or glasses?” I asked, ignoring the flirty challenge in Edwin’s eyes. “The bottle is probably the better choice as you’ll get four glasses out of it for thirty dollars versus four glasses of champagne at nine fifty a piece which would be thirty-eight, before tax.”

Edwin’s eyes flit to the fifty he had sitting in front of him and back up to look at me. Though that didn’t really answer the question. Regardless of which he chose, the fifty covered it and then some.

He didn’t get to win. It was my bar. If I were a petty person, I’d pour four glasses and charge him the per glass rate. If he wanted to play Mr. Unaffected, James Dean cool, and answer me in smirks and eyebrow lifts instead of words, fine. I’d show him.

Buthis boat did just get totally decimated by a cigarette boat. Even if his insurance covered the accident, he wouldn’t recoup his income from the rest of his season. It was entirely possible that he threw the fifty down to save face with his cousin, but that unspoken eyebrow lift said something likeI’ll come back for that when he’s not paying attention.

“On the house, gentlemen.”

I put the bottle in the middle of a tray, four glasses surrounding it. Klaus nodded his thanks at me, taking the tray and carrying it to the table. Edwin, on the other hand, appeared cemented in place.

"Your charity isn’t necessary.”

He tapped the fifty still sitting on the bar and pushed it closer to where my hands rested.

“Not charity. Just adding to the excitement of the celebration. Look how happy your mom looks. If nothing else, her smile is worth more than President Grant’s face can pay me.”

I saw the storm brew in his eyes. A gale force collecting in the horizon threatening to come to shore. Just like the anticipation of a thunderstorm, the hair on my arms began to rise in reaction to the pouty set of his mouth and his cocked head.

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