Page 51 of Seaside Cowboy's Marriage of Convenience

He coughed a little. “I hope you mean it in a good way.”

Oh my! What had she just? She didn’t mean he was boring. “Totally.”

Heat rose to her neck. She might be comfortable in a boardroom or conference room, but she had no clue how to be romantic, much less how to navigate marriage. But she knew enough to realize the dynamic between them changed after the kiss. But how? And how much?

Later, Rachel joined them in strolling to more local businesses, though she kept a slight distance away.

Nobody recognized Zoey at the bakery.

At the museum where the muse of an eighteenth-century poet used to live, Kennedy received a call, and what Marina relayed nearly made Kennedy drop her phone. She’d stepped outside from the small house to take the call, and even after she disconnected, she stayed motionless staring at the treetops.

Austin lingered nearby, silent, but his gaze was concerned.

Finally, she was able to move and speak, so she gestured him and Rachel closer. Then she looked past them because it was easier that way. “Marina said Emma might’ve provided information about my hotels to my main competitor.” The betrayal cut deep, and it became difficult to breathe, as if someone dumped a mountain of regrets on her chest.

It didn’t make her doubt Austin or Rachel, but still, some poison spread through her. Her hands fisted, but she uncoiled her fingers one by one and resisted the urge to lean on the gray brick wall behind the house, an area where tourists didn’t stop by.

Cheerful voices reached her from the front of the well-preserved home where pansies filled tiny flower beds, then hushed as people disappeared inside the place. Joyful voices and bright flowers seemed to mock her turmoil, and so did the teal-hued bird chirruping in a nearby tree.

Austin reached for her hand and squeezed her fingers. “I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve this.”

Compassion flashed in Rachel’s eyes but disappeared fast. “Would you like me to look into it, as well?”

“No.” Maybe Kennedy just wasn’t likable if even an employee she considered a good friend had sold her out. After all, nobody ever liked her enough to be in a serious relationship with her. To get married, she had to propose to a near stranger. “What did I expect? Even my parents didn’t seem to like me,” she blurted out.

Austin gripped her shoulders and peered into her eyes while Rachel stepped aside to give them privacy. “That was on them, not on you. It wasn’t your job to earn their love. It was theirs to give it to you. And it’s remarkable that, even without their love and support, you still became the amazing woman you are.”

“I’m not amazing,” she whispered, though everything in her was grateful for his words. Her soul opened to him like the nearby flowers in bloom.

“You are, and I still can barely believe God gave me this incredible chance to have you as my spouse.” He gestured to the house. “If I were a poet, I’d write all the beautiful words in the world for you. All the ones written in my heart.”

The bluish bird started singing as if to provide music for those words. Then a fiddle’s lively music reached her from far away. Must be that street musician they’d encountered yesterday. A beautiful classic melody she didn’t recognize. Maybe written by a local composer in love centuries ago.

Then Austin brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face, sending delicious tingles along her skin. Breathing became easier as if he removed the mountain of regrets—or at least a chunk of it—from her chest simply with a few words and a single touch. He was the man she needed, but was she the woman he needed?

She allowed herself to lean into his touch when he cupped her face. “What happened to this poet’s muse, anyway? But please don’t tell me it’s a tragic story.”

He chuckled as he leaned closer. “It’s not. They got married and had nine children. And two dogs. Oh, and he planted a beautiful garden for her.”

Her pulse spiking, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “And you’re planting a beautiful garden in my soul where I was sure the soil was dry. You’re the rain that feeds my soul and the sunshine that makes it bloom.”

He placed his forehead to hers. “Wow. You’re the one whose words sound like poetry. And what you just said... Is it okay to say right back at you?”

Laughter bubbled inside her, and she angled her face to give him better access to her lips.

“Oh, sorry! We were just trying to take a shortcut.” A woman’s voice made Kennedy jump back as if she were a teenager.

A woman in a green dress and a guy in matching shorts and a cap worn backward disappeared around the corner, but the moment was gone. Though Austin was an irresistible distraction, they had a mission to accomplish.

Reluctantly, Kennedy eased back. “We’d better get going.”

A muscle moved in his cheek, but he nodded. “Right.”

Soon, they visited a boutique clothing store and a florist. They left with a straw hat and orchids, respectfully, but no information about Zoey, sadly. Then they stopped at a stone-walled restaurant with sunflowers as centerpieces and oil paintings of olive groves on the walls. Based on the interior and abundance of pasta dishes, it was influenced by a different European country.

By then, Kennedy had surprised herself by sharing many stories of her childhood with Austin. She’d never told all this to anyone, but once she’d started telling him, the stories became as never-ending as the breadsticks seemed to be here. He was so understanding and compassionate that it was easy to open the heavy door to the past for him, a door she hadn’t opened for anyone else.

When the waiter appeared, Kennedy asked for water with lime and opted for familiar chicken Alfredo while Austin ordered chicken Parmesan with raspberry tea.

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