He gasped, as if she’d believe for a blink that she’d offended him. The man was a matchmaking schemer with grand plans for the town’s young’ns, as he called them. “If you insist on your lonely life with no one to laugh and dance and make love with, that is your sad business.”
She ignored the disgusted tone Byron adopted when he found himself facing a single person of marriageable age. She wanted everything he mentioned, but agreeing too readily would encourage the man’s meddling. “And with that comes a loss of privacy, the constant concern for someone else and uncapped toothpaste tubes.”
“That you believe that is all there is to marriage saddens me.”
“Marriage.” Vic grinned until it stretched her cheeks almost painfully. How she suppressed the bubbling urge to giggle escaped her, but she managed. “Damn, I was talking about dating.”
Silence rang as clearly as an image of Byron sitting on his deck with a blanket knitted by Ruth snapped into Vic’s mind. He wouldn’t just be sitting there though. After that comment, he’d have dropped his shaking head to his chest. The funny thing with Byron was that he saw through everyone else and ignored their protests to be set up. He seemed to actually believe her claims though.
“The day will come, Victoria Hayes, when you see the importance of a lastin’ love.”
“Well, since today doesn’t seem to be that day, why don’t you tell me why you’ve really called?”
“You’re a stubborn young woman, but fine. I’m helpin’ Harold with the upcomin’ festival.”
“Yes.” Everyone in town seemed to help in some manner or another. Even some of the tourists got in on the fun at times.
“You may have heard the headline singer cancelled on us.”
“Not a big loss from what I hear.” The member of a once hugely popular band hadn’t lasted long as their lead singer or on his own. If the games he’d played with the planning committee were any indication, his lack of success made sense.
“We still need to replace him and find some other acts. I was hoping—”
“That I would find said replacement.”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” It was a harmless enough request and something she had plenty of thoughts on. “What else do you have planned for the stage?”
“Hauk is building it.”
“I meant acts.” Though depending on the acts she lined up, she could have an excuse to see Hauk. They would need to make sure the stage worked for everyone.
“Oh. We were hoping to showcase some local talent. I know Hauk has some ideas. Maybe you could work with him on that?”
There was a little too much delight dancing beneath Byron’s request. Vic narrowed her eyes, fully suspecting she’d just been played. If she had, she wouldn’t reject the chance to explore Hauk…and a relationship with him. Neither would she let Byron Mitchell think for an instant that he’d won. “I’ll work with Hauk, but I’ve gotta tell you something.”
“What’s that, lassie?”
“If you’re thinking he and I would be a good pairing, that he will somehow change my views—”
“I would be wrong.”
“You’re a smart man.”
And he’d be right that Hauk could change her views, but she wouldn’t tell him that. With her grin spreading again, Vic went on. “Kissing Hauk is… Well, it’s not as nice as I’d have thought.” It’s so much better.
“Hmmph. Huh? You been kissin’ Hauk?”
“It’s been awhile.” If you count awhile by minutes. “I’ll get with him though.” She paused for a long moment before finishing with “…on the music.”
“First thing. Time’s awastin’.”
“Of course.” Vic disconnected the call, already anticipating the coming days. Grinning, she accepted the gauntlet of the schemer who would likely drive himself batty trying to figure out if he’d missed a match.
If Byron was playing her, she would play him right back. And if Hauk thought he regretted a kiss, she would show him how much she had to offer. How much he stood to regret if he didn’t give them a chance. Because the fact of the matter was, she knew as certainly as Byron that she and Hauk would be a great team.
Fifty-three hours after he’d kissed Vic, fifty-three hours of mental torments circling around and back to that kiss, the cheery announcement, “It’s all about me,” ousted Hauk from sleep. The greeting was followed by a sharp whistle he’d programmed for Vic into his phone as a joke. The clock read six forty, which earned a scowl. There should be no jokes at six forty in the morning.