Dani was carrying a laundry basket full of books and DVDs out to the truck when the phone in her pocket dinged. "Hello?"
"Dani. Glad I caught you. It's Erik Frye." He sounded frazzled.
"Tough day?" she guessed.
"Tough day for my mom. She lives alone in Savannah, and she fell down her stairs today."
"I'm so sorry. Is she okay?"
"Bruised and battered, but X-rays show nothing's broken, thank God." He sighed heavily. "This is the third fall she's had since Christmas. We've been trying to talk her into selling that house, but she and Dad lived there for decades before he died. I think she feels like she'd be, I don't know, abandoning him if she leaves."
"Well, you and I know better than most, people get sentimentally attached to their homes." She'd seen sellers turn down lucrative offers because they didn't have the right feeling about certain buyers, couldn't envision the new people in "their" home.
"She's staying in the hospital tonight. I want to get down there, take care of her for the next couple of days and revisit the single-story ranch home discussion. My brother's in Ohio, so it's harder for him to go, and my sister's got her kids plus the benefit she's helping run this weekend. I hate to cancel on you for Saturday."
"Forget about me-your mom needs you. I completely understand."
"Would you be willing to go anyway? I paid for two tickets, and I'd love for them to be used. According to my sister, the fashion show will be entertaining. It's followed by dinner and dancing. The committee worked hard, and they're hoping for a strong turnout. Please take the tickets."
She looked back toward the house, thinking of how despondent Meg had been this week. It might be best for her friend's mental health if she got out and did something fun instead of being cooped up in Dani's depressing apartment all weekend.
"As it happens, Erik, I know someone who could use a few hours of fun."
* * *
WHEN SEAN'S CELL PHONE rang at noon on Saturday, he was standing in his galley-style kitchen making lunch. Turning down the burner underneath a pot of jarred pasta sauce, he dove for the cell on the far end of the counter. Maybe this time... Ever since he'd received confirmation of the florist's delivery, he'd been hoping to hear from Dani.
"Hello?"
"¿Qué pasa?" Alex greeted him. "Some of the guys are meeting to play basketball at the center. We'd planned a game of three-on-three, but we're one short. You free this afternoon?"
"Actually, no. I was eating a quick lunch, then headed out the door. I have a few errands to run and then I...promised some people I'd help with something today." That was all Alex needed to know. Sean didn't mind contributing his time to a worthy cause, but that didn't mean he was going to blithely hand his smart-assed friend a weapon of mass mockery.
"Okay. Guess I'll call Pete, then. You should feel special-you were our first choice."
"I feel very special. I'm writing about it in my diary even as we speak."
Alex snorted, then hung up.
In the silence that followed, Sean kicked himself for getting his hopes up that the caller would be Dani. He'd apologized, he'd flirted, he'd given her space, he'd sent her a gift. And what did he get in return? Radio silence. He blew out an exasperated breath. Where was the line between laudable persistence and being an ass who couldn't take a hint?
Hint taken, Danica.
If she had no interest in him, maybe he'd be wise to leave her alone-as Bryce had suggested last weekend. Taking any advice from his brother stuck in his craw. And knowing that he'd probably encounter his twin today, not to mention his ex-girlfriend, did nothing to boost his mood.
Sean spared a wistful thought for the basketball game he'd declined. Shooting hoops with the guys would be vastly preferable to the afternoon and evening ahead of him. The sacrifice was for a good cause, though. Maybe he couldn't scrawl his signature on a huge check the way some could, but he could donate his time.
After all, raising money to help feed kids beat the hell out of sitting around and waiting for his phone to ring.
* * *
"OOH-LA-LA," MEG SAID as they sat waiting behind the other cars lined up at the valet stand. "I've never been to a country club before."
Dani had, but not this particular one. The club was so elite a person couldn't even view the website without logging in as a member first. She'd discovered that when she tried to confirm the driving directions.
"You think we're dressed okay?" Meg asked.
"You look beautiful." Her friend looked like a curvy, gothic take on a stained-glass window, but Dani was afraid that wouldn't come out sounding like the compliment it was. Meg's dress was see-through black lace with a handkerchief hem over a sheath of riotous colors. "Hey, if nothing else, I'll bet you have the very best underwear of any woman in the joint." Meg had come home late last night with a big bag of inventory she'd liberated from the store, declaring that, given their lousy luck lately, the two of them had earned some frivolous goodies.
"I, on the other hand, look like a very tall crayon," Dani joked. "Something in the 'brick-red' family." Most of the dresses she owned were too businesslike, so she'd gone with a monochromatic tunic and pants combo. With its high boat neck and three-quarter sleeves, her top was extremely conservative from the front. But the low drape in the back exposed a lot of skin. The billowy, wide-legged cut of the legs added some drama to the outfit, too.
Valets opened their car doors, and Dani stepped out into the sunshine. It was only four-thirty now, but the event would go into the evening.
"Danica, is that you?"
She turned to see Lydia Reynolds emerging from one of the cars behind them, accompanied by a bearded man who looked vaguely familiar. Dani realized that while she'd never met him, she'd seen his picture on promotional materials for his real-estate agency. They entered the country club as a group, with Dani making a concerted effort to discuss something other than real estate. She didn't want Meg to feel left out.
The charity event was taking place in two rooms-a formal dining room with a dance floor, and a smaller, adjacent room that was decorated with more festive flair. It had been set up to resemble a beach party, albeit a very expensive one on a private stretch of white sand, not the kind of informal bash where people roasted hot dogs over a bonfire. Unlike the tuxedoed wait staff who would serve dinner after the fashion show, the waiters circulating in here wore Hawaiian shirts and offered flutes of champagne as well as the event's signature "Hang Ten" cocktail. The room was dominated by a large runway with chairs on all sides.
Meg stared at the catwalk thoughtfully. "Think they'd ever be interested in doing a lingerie show? I could give someone my card. I'd only send the tasteful stuff," she added when Dani raised her eyebrows.
There were some club members at a table along a side wall, giving out more information about the organization they were supporting and trying to recruit volunteers for future events. Dani quickly discovered which one was Erik's sister and asked how their mother was doing; she also made a point of saying that the room looked great.
"Thank you so much," the other woman said. "I hate that Erik couldn't make it-I worry about him since the divorce, he needs more social interaction-but I'm glad his tickets aren't going to waste. You have fun this afternoon, and try a Hang Ten! They're yummy."
And strong. Dani hadn't heard all of the ingredients when a waiter gave another guest the recipe, but there were at least two types of rum, plus vodka. She suddenly flashed back to the silly game she and Sean had played, trying to pair up ideal cocktails with unlikely events.
"What are you grinning about?" Meg asked, sipping her drink. "You look like you're up to something."
"Oh, just remembering something goofy."
"Well, you need more goofy in your life," Meg declared. "You have a beautiful smile, and you don't use it enough. You're very work, work, work."
"Says the woman who put in sixty hours this week."
"True. But Marissa and I hosted a bachelorette party at the store and I wrote an article for our customer newsletter entitled 'If Your Boobs Could Talk.' I'm not worried my job will make me boring."
"Hey!" It was hard to sound indignant when she was giggling over Meg's article. Normally Dani wasn't a giggler. She blamed the Hang Ten. "I'm not boring."