Perfectly Charming (A Morning Glory Novel Book 2) (5 page)

Jess was exhausted.

She struggled up the steps of the beach rental carrying her gym bag, a sack of essentials she’d need for her locker at the hospital, and a paper sack of wine she’d scored on the way home from the hospital. She’d circulated on four surgeries that morning—two gallbladders, a knee replacement, and a bowel resection. Wine, sesame chicken, and season three of
House of Cards
would be her reward . . . as long as she could find a decent Chinese takeout place. Not that Morning Glory had one. Such were the perks of living in a city for the next three months.

Shifting the bags, she dug into her purse, searching for the house key. Just as her fingers closed around the pelican key chain, she heard a snore.

Whipping around, she found a slumbering man in the hammock swing. How she’d missed him, she didn’t know. Her heart galloped in her chest as adrenaline shot through her body. But then she noticed her new beach towel folded on his chest and a pitiful planter of scraggly begonias sitting beside the hammock. Her gaze darted back to the man sound asleep on the shady porch, and she clued in fast.

Sleeping Beauty, mouth open and chuffing a snore, was her drunken stargazer. This time he wore clothes, thank Jesus, and shoes. The cutoff khakis had a frat boy/Jimmy Buffett thing going, as did the linen-blend shirt with the light-blue stripes. Those weird hiking sandal things all the high school kids wore were on his feet. He looked masculine and sexy but somehow approachable. Well, at least he did when he was asleep . . . which was the only way Jess had approached him to date.

Jess cleared her throat, but he didn’t stir.

“Hello,” she called in a soft voice.

Nothing.

Oh for goodness’ sake. She shifted the bag in her hand and walked over to where he lay. Lifting her foot, she nudged him in the ribs. “Ryan, wake up.”

“Mmm?” he murmured, not bothering to open his eyes. He smiled sleepily. “What?”

“Wake. Up,” Jess said.

His eyes flew open, and finally she could tell they were a beautiful golden green. Like the color of grasses along a lake or the first colors of fall. Shifting, he tried to sit up too fast, and the hammock rocked, making him lose balance. His arms shot up to steady himself, and his large body rocked back and forth. Since her hands were full, she could do nothing to help him. She watched, prepared for the worst—Ryan crumpling into a heap at her feet.

But he didn’t. Somehow he managed to steady himself and get his feet planted. Looking up at her, he grinned. “Hazards of the hammock.” But then something in his eyes flashed, making them more golden. His smile widened. “Well, I wasn’t dreaming.”

Jess didn’t know what he meant by that. Probably couldn’t remember much from last night. “What are you doing here?”

He pulled himself from the hammock, scooped up the towel and plant, and said, “I’m returning your towel.” He waved the folded towel. “And I’m bringing you a welcome-to-Del-Luna gift–slash–apology for whatever I did last night, which I don’t exactly remember but think I got a kick in the ribs for.”

“You’re a stubborn drunk who was intent on sleeping on the beach.”

He lifted a shoulder. “I don’t regularly drink that much, but it—”

“—was your birthday,” she finished, moving toward her front door. The key still dangled in her hand.

“Yeah, let me help you with that,” he said, taking from her the pharmacy bag filled with tampons, leave-in conditioner, and a box of condoms. The condoms were only precautionary and probably not necessary. She didn’t think she was ready for that kind of intimacy yet, but having them on hand reminded her she wasn’t dead. She could meet someone at the hospital . . . or anywhere, for that matter. Hell, she had a guy with flowers standing on her porch waiting for her. Of course, his flowers were welcome/apology flowers, but still.

She unlocked the door, hoping she wasn’t being too trusting by letting a stranger into her rental. She’d read books about this very thing—a guy pretending to be nice and carry packages inside before locking a gal in the basement and skinning her with a knife. Her stomach clenched, but she forced herself to relax. He was Morgan’s friend. And she was too damn paranoid. “Thank you.”

He slid past her and set the bag on the counter. When he did, the damn box of condoms tumbled out. Picking them up, he turned to her. “Extra large? High expectations, huh?”

Jess blushed, something she rarely did. “Uh, those are for, uh . . . why don’t you just put”—she dropped the gym bag and set the bag of wine on the counter. Grabbing the box from his hand, she jabbed them back inside the plastic bag and moved it onto the counter away from him—“them back.”

“Hey, I’m kidding,” he said, taking the sad begonias to the kitchen sink and running some water in the container covered with gold foil. “These poor flowers were the last they had at the store. I started to get fresh flowers, but that seemed like something you wouldn’t appreciate. Bet you’re the kind of girl who likes something that lasts longer.”

Yeah, she was. But so much for that. “They’re . . . lovely.”

Ryan set the leggy plant with the coral flowers on the granite bar and shook his head. “Not yet, but I bet they will be with a little care.”

Jess wondered if this was some kind of weird analogy for where she was in life. Like the universe was sending her a message. But that was silly. Ryan couldn’t know that like the sad begonia she needed water, sun, and time to renew herself so she could bloom again. He was just a guy who’d gotten drunk, tried to kiss her, and thankfully hadn’t puked on her. By the looks of him, his sensitivity meter was likely on the low end.

“Well, thank you for returning my towel and bringing me the welcome begonias. Very kind of you.”
Now go away.

She’d had a long day, and though he was cute with his apology and all sexy with his smiles and teasing, she wanted to get out of her clothes . . . uh, alone. Her stomach growled, reminding her she’d been too busy for lunch.

“Sure,” he said, looking around the place. “So this is the Dirty Heron, huh? Always wondered what it looked like on the inside. Is there green shag carpet in the bedroom?” He peered around the hanging cabinets and into the dim hallway.

“No. It’s Berber. And the color of sand.”

His gaze returned to hers. “Want to go out to the beach? It’s not too hot, and this time of day is the best time to go.”

Jess shook her head. “Uh, actually, it’s been a long day, and I . . . uh, need to eat.”

“There’s a good seafood place about a mile or so toward town. Peg Leg Pete’s. Kinda touristy, but their food is good, and they make a great cocktail. I could take you there. As a sort of extended apology and welcome.”

“That’s not necessary,” Jess said, wondering why in the world the guy would ask her out. She was older than him and very obviously not like him. No, wait. Wrong attitude. This was what she was trying to change—her pragmatic nature. Her propensity to be boooooring.

“It’s because I tried to kiss you, isn’t it? I mean, I think I did. I distinctly remember the way you smelled. Which was good, by the way.” Ryan shrugged, looking sincere and friendly. Not like a guy who was asking her
out
out. But a friend saying, “Hey, let’s go get a drink. No big deal.”

She was deluding herself if she thought it was anything more. Better to stick to her original plan. “Look, you were drunk and—”

“It’s just I always wanted to kiss you, you know? Call it a crazy leftover adolescent fantasy or something.” He picked up the map of Pensacola she’d studied in preparation for embracing her new city for the next few months.

“I beg your pardon?” Adolescent fantasy? Wait. How old was he? Her mind flashed to that Jennifer Lopez movie in which the character slept with a high school kid before she realized she was his teacher. Was Ryan younger than she thought? Could he actually be in high school? Dear Lord. And besides, how in the world had he always wanted to kiss her? She’d moved in a mere three days ago.

Ryan froze, his pretty eyes narrowing. “Wait. You don’t remember me, do you?”

Jess shifted her gaze away, her mind reeling over how she was supposed to know him. Had she passed him when she grocery shopped? Perhaps glanced over at him when she got gas at the 7-Eleven? Perhaps he worked at the hospital? She had no clue.

Ryan started laughing.

“Why are you laughing?” she asked, crossing her arms and giving him her no-nonsense nurse stare.

“Because you really don’t know me. I mean, I know I’ve changed, but I thought you would clue in. It’s not like we didn’t sit across from each other for a whole year in lab.”

Jess looked hard at him. He hadn’t been in nursing school with her. Nor had he gone to Mississippi State. She didn’t think. Of course, her freshman year at Mississippi State was a bit of a blur. Benton had joined a frat, and they’d spent a lot of nights going to beer busts and shooting tequila. She and Ryan might have had a class together, but how would she have forgotten a guy like him?

Not only did he have a chiseled jaw and gorgeous eyes, but she’d seen his body. He was out of her league, with a broad chest sporting a sprinkling of sun-bronzed hair, abs that belonged in a workout magazine, and, uh, really toned thighs, among other well-proportioned things. Okay, so she’d sneaked a peek, and he was fairly well endowed. She wasn’t a saint. To say Ryan was the cat’s meow was like saying chocolate was delicious. True and true. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a class with you. I’d remember.”

He arched his eyebrows. “Oh, we had class together. You’re not that old, Jessica.”

“I know I’m not that old. I’m not even thirty.” Even if Benton had accused her of acting like his parents. So she liked knitting. And gardening. That didn’t make her old. It made her hippie chic.

“I know how old you are. I also know your birthday is July third, your favorite color is blue, and you have a scar on your knee from a freak diving board accident in fifth grade.”

Jess felt alarm uncoil in her stomach. She stepped back, wondering which drawer harbored the knives. Obviously this guy was a stalker or something. Was he some vague Facebook friend she’d forgotten about who studied her postings in order to track her down? Or maybe he’d seen her on Snapchat? But she would know, wouldn’t she? Oh God, she was about to be that woman. The one who let the killer inside just because he showed up with a smile and a stupid nearly dead pot of begonias. Her father was going to kill her . . . even if she ended up dead. “Uh, I think you should—”

“Oh no.” Ryan waved his hands, his laughter so benign for a serial killer. “I’m Ryan Reyes. We had chemistry together at Morning Glory High. Go Mavs?”

Jess froze.

Ryan Reyes?

“The Brain?”

Ryan laughed and held out his hands. “I finally went through puberty.”

Chapter Five

Ryan watched as realization unfolded in Jess’s eyes like a long-forgotten note folded up to pass in that chemistry class they’d taken together in high school. He hadn’t been dreaming last night when he saw Jess. She was here . . . in Pensacola . . . and had obviously seen him naked.

Not exactly how he’d envisioned being seen again by one of his old classmates.

Jess Culpepper had been a pretty cheerleader with tons of friends and a popular boyfriend. Ryan, on the other hand, had been a skinny nerd with exactly two friends—one of whom he’d met in an online calculus forum—and a binder full of Pokémon cards. Because he’d skipped several grades in high school, graduating when he was fourteen, and hadn’t hit puberty until he was a junior at Stanford, no doubt the memory Jess had of the Brain was vastly different than the man who stood before her today. Even so, the knowledge he’d been so secondary in her world that she didn’t recognize him in the slightest caused a tiny ping of hurt inside him.

Jess stood in her kitchen, hand hovering over the nearest drawer pull, staring at him like he was a specimen in a petri dish. Her soft mouth hung slightly open, and her amber eyes blinked as she processed that he had, in fact, been her high school chemistry lab partner. The seconds ticked by, uncomfortable as wing tips a size too small.

“Uh, could you say something?” Ryan asked.

“I’m sorry. I just—” Jess snapped her mouth closed and moved toward him. Then she actually circled him, like an appraisal. “It’s amazing. You don’t look anything like the kid who—”

“Sneezed into your chicken noodle soup?” he finished.

Jess gave up a laugh. “Lord, I had forgotten about that.”

“And you’d forgotten me,” he added.

“No, I hadn’t forgotten you. But I never expected you’d end up looking like this.” She stopped, peering up into his face, her gaze catching his. Amazement on her face. “I mean, you’re gorgeous.”

Ryan felt heat flare in his cheeks at her comment. He’d never been a blusher, but maybe something about his once-upon-a-time fantasy girl circling him the way she was and telling him he was gorgeous made him itchy, embarrassed . . . blushing. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I would. Don’t forget I’ve seen you naked. As a nurse who sees a lot of naked bodies, I’m an expert on what goes for gorgeous, and I gotta tell you, it’s freaking me out a little. The Brain grew into a hottie.” Jess laughed, her eyes sparkling. “I’ll be damned.”

“Yeah, well, people grow up,” he said, wanting to shift the conversation to something other than his hotness. Sure, he worked hard to be what he was on the outside—tan, fit, and somewhat slouchy. Wearing his shirt untucked nagged at him all day long.

She sobered at that thought. “I guess they do.”

“So, do you want to grab dinner? Even though seconds ago you thought I was a creeper who’d been stalking you,” he said, searching for the tried-and-true charm he’d learned to use around women. No longer was he the geek who’d crushed on Jess, stammering around her and turning the color of lithium chloride when set to flame. “I could sort of see the panic in your eyes when you were looking for a weapon.”

She tilted her head, and her curls fell forward to frame her face. Still so pretty. “I prayed there was a butcher knife in the closest drawer.”

“I could have taken it away from you,” he said. Because he could have. Thanks to gym time and training in judo, tae kwon do, and mixed martial arts, he was proficient, quick, and strong.

Jess made a face.

“I have a black belt.” He’d achieved that several years ago, when he still wore a lab coat.

“Of course you do,” she said with laughter in her voice. Then she swiped a hand over her face. “This is surreal.”

“So, dinner?”

“Honestly I really don’t want to go anywhere noisy. It’s been a long first day for me,” she said, gesturing to the brown bag of wine. “And I have a date with a wine bottle.”

“Not a great conversationalist,” he said, pulling the wine from the bag and reading the label. Sauvignon blanc. Decent vintage. Nothing soul stirring. “We can order takeout and spend some time catching up. Or I can leave. I’m not trying to force my company on you. I guess it’s nice to see you again. I don’t run into too many fellow Morning Glorinians.”

“Is that what we are? Glorinians?”

“Best I can guess,” he said.

Jess took the bottle from his hand. “I’d love for you to stay. We can catch up, and you can tell me how you ended up here. I figured you’d be curing cancer or something by now.”

“Nah, I’m just a regular guy. I have a boat—a charter fishing business,” he said, taking the bottle and the bottle opener she’d pulled from a drawer from her hand. He had a need to be useful. She looked like she might argue with him about taking over the chore of opening the wine, but she gave up in favor of finding glasses.

“So you’re a fisherman?”

“No. More like a guide. I find fish for people who want a memorable vacation. Late spring all the way into fall is my busy season, but I took the day off on account of the birthday blowout. Morgan goes all out for every event. You should have been here for the Fourth. There was a slip and slide.”

“I can only imagine. So are you and Morgan . . .” She trailed off with a question in her voice.

“Friends. Just friends.” He wanted to make that emphatically clear. Not sure why, because he hadn’t carried a torch for Jess Culpepper in years. When he was a kid sitting across from her in that too-tight cheerleading uniform, he’d practically drooled on the desk they shared. She’d never acted annoyed with him like other girls had—in fact, she’d always been kind. Tolerant of his mooning over her. Made him wince to think back on how lame he must have been. He’d brought her silly pencil erasers and her favorite candy bar. She’d always acted so pleased with his thoughtfulness, and now he knew she must have thought his adolescent crush so annoying. He’d made a fool out of himself for her. But that had been long ago. Now he was a different person.

Jess snagged a pair of wineglasses with flip-flops painted on them. “This is all I can find.”

“That’ll do,” he said as the cork made a satisfying pop, coming loose.

“Since I’m new, what are the good takeout places?” she asked.

“Partytime Pizza and Little China are two safe bets. What are you in the mood for?”

Jess took the wine from him and poured a hefty portion into a goblet. “Definitely Chinese.”

Ryan pulled his cell phone from his pocket and hit his favorites list. Little China delivered to him at least once a week. A cook he wasn’t. “Hey, Lin.”

His friend Henry Lin responded with, “You want usual?”

“Yeah, and add . . .” He arched a brow at Jess.

“Sesame chicken, one spring roll,” Jess said, handing him the glass with the lukewarm wine. He took it and relayed her order to Lin, giving the man the unit number for delivery.

“Ah, you with girl tonight, player?” Lin asked a bit too loudly.

“You know it, bro,” Ryan said into the receiver, winking at Jess.

“You so lucky, Ry. I work all the time. No time for honeys.” Lin sounded disgusted.

“Lin, I’m having dinner with an old friend. No being a player tonight. Can you deliver for seven?” he asked. After confirming the order and telling his friend he’d see him at the tennis courts soon, Ryan hung up.

“Player?” Jess drawled, opening the freezer to fetch an ice cube, which she promptly plopped into her wine. “Want one?”

He nodded, and she slipped an ice cube into his wine. “I’ve cultivated a certain reputation among delivery guys.” He lifted his glass, clinking it against hers. “To old friends and new beginnings.”

She lifted her glass. “I’d rather drop the old, thank you very much.”

They each took a sip. Ryan allowed his gaze to wander over his “old” friend. Jess had thick, curly hair that often stuck out in riotous curls around her face. Her skin was golden, her eyes a sleek feline brown, her chin pointed elfishly. She was taller than most women, about five foot ten, and her breasts were a nice size, slightly out of proportion with her long, slim-hipped angularity. Back in high school, Jess had had an untouchable vibe, a sort of innate coolness and confidence. Her smiles weren’t easily given, but when she did smile, it was as if the heavens opened. Her words were measured, her intentions always clear, her tongue razor sharp. He’d thought she was all that and a bag of chips.

“So what brings you to Pensacola?” he asked, sliding onto a bar stool.

Jess leaned her elbows on the granite countertop and glanced past his shoulder out at the gulf water rolling onto the beach. Several seconds ticked by in which she seemed to weigh what she wanted to tell him. “Well, let’s see, my husband left me, Lacy died, I got divorced a month ago, and the medical company I work for sent me to fill in for a surgical nurse on maternity leave at Bay View.”

Whoa. “Uh, Lacy Guthrie died?” The image of a round friendly face, blonde hair, and a funny orange truck named something absurd appeared in his memory. Lacy had been a nice girl. “How?”

Jess swallowed and didn’t bring her gaze back to his. Instead she stared hard out the window. “Cancer.”

“God, that’s terrible.”

“Yeah, it was. It is,” she said softly.

“And you’re no longer with Benton?” Something inside him gave a standing ovation to that notion. He’d never liked the cocksure Benton Mason, with his rolled-up Oxford button-ups and flask of bourbon in his back pocket. As the son of the mayor, Benton had strolled through Morning Glory secure in his position, unafraid of the Barney Fife cops in the small town. Fourteen years ago there had been no social media justice, antibullying campaigns, or people willing to stand up to fat cat Mayor Mason. Benton was an apple who’d not fallen far from the tree. Ryan knew all too well what it meant to be on the receiving end of Benton’s attention.

“Weird, huh? We were always ‘Benton and Jess.’ Still feels strange to me.”

“You were together a long time.” He wanted to ask what had happened but didn’t think it polite to push. Sometimes his southern upbringing emerged to strangle his curiosity.

“Yeah,” she said, taking a big gulp of the wine. She looked sad, and he didn’t want her to be sad so he was relieved when she asked, “So do you like living in Pensacola?”

“Love it. The weather’s nice, even in the winter. Early spring can be rough with the constant cold fronts, but even at that, Mother Nature gifts us with warm days to remind us of what’s coming. I’ve only been here for a year and a half, though.”

“Oh,” she said, her gaze finally locking on his. He could see so much in those eyes—regret, longing, grief, and a sort of gameness, as if she refused to sink too far into the mire within her soul. That was something he’d always liked about Jess—she was a fighter. “So before here you were in California? Think that’s what my mother told me.”

“Yeah, California. Similar gorgeous weather, except for the humidity.”

“But the downside is earthquakes, forest fires, and health food.”

Ryan laughed. “True. Never been much of a tofu or kale guy.”

“You told your friend to deliver the food at seven. You want to take a quick walk on the beach?” she asked, her face now impassive. “I need some beach therapy.”

“If that’s what you want,” he said, meaning every word of it. Something told him Jess needed time and space. Any possible thought he had of taking things to another level with his fantasy girl fizzled like cheap champagne in Christmas punch. Jess needed a friend . . . even if it was an old one she hadn’t recognized.

“You know how rare it is to hear a man say that?” she joked.

Ryan smiled. “Well, I was always your puppy.”

Jess paused, her face dimming. “You knew we called you that?”

“I’m not stupid,” he said—truer words never spoken. He wasn’t stupid. Far from it. Hadn’t that always been what separated him from everyone else? The fact that he was a genius?

Jess touched his shoulder, light as a moth wing. “No, you’re definitely not stupid.”

Jess watched a group of teen girls stroll ahead of her and Ryan. She’d left her shoes at the end of the walkway and rolled up the jeans she’d slid on after dumping her scrubs into the laundry at the hospital. Her white cotton shirt caught the wind and ballooned, so she tied the shirttails together at her waist. Ryan looked suitably like a beach bum.