Page 21 of Moonshine and Magnolias (Just Add Peaches #1)

The knots of tension unfolded in Wendy’s stomach as she regarded her friends.

Sebastien with his playful blue eyes that made his face always seem like he was smiling and that messy fringe of red hair.

Jordan and her sleek style, her own gaze imploring her with such sincerity that it was no wonder her clients trusted her with everything.

How could she even think of missing a night with them? She sighed.

Sebastien gave a fist pump. “Fantastic! We’ll have Massimo bring the limo at eight.”

“I didn’t say I agreed.”

“She agrees.” Brandi swung around to Wendy. “I’ll help you get a chunk crossed off of your to-do list.”

“I can go for one hour,” Wendy said.

“I’ll help. Make it two,” Sebastien prompted.

Jordan put her hands on his shoulders. “I’ll keep him out of your way. Make it three.”

At this rate, they might as well make it the whole night.

***

There were definite advantages to having a friend with manservants. One of them being the ultimate designated driver in a limo designed to hold eight people and a minibar.

Which is how Wendy found herself barhopping as if she was back in college, complete with the short denim skirt, a neckline showing more cleavage than a desperate reality TV starlet, hair in a high, sassy ponytail, and high heels in a colorful girly print of paisley and polka dots.

She’d be doing it all in a pair of comfortable blue jeans and a t-shirt if Brandi and Jordan hadn’t overruled her wardrobe choices, with Jordan making her wear one of the woman’s many pairs of designer shoes.

Brandi looked natural in her own miniskirt and boots.

Jordan remained polished and sleek, even in tight jeans.

The Pansy Hamilton contracts had all been logged, merchants had been contacted, and she’d followed up on the social media ad for temporary culinary help. She owed her evening to her cousin and her friends. The day had been exhausting.

After her embarrassing outburst in the lobby, her mind hinted that staying at Fountenoy Hall long-term wouldn’t be a bad thing.

That Brandi was learning. That she and her cousin could turn the inn into something with limitless possibilities.

But there wasn’t a new handsome man around to promise Brandi the moon. And Wendy had her own job waiting.

And then there was her own man situation. She almost laughed. Rob had shown her there was more to being Wendy Marsh than her efficiency and hiding in her cousin’s bold and beautiful shadow. But she had been there for so long, it was hard to come out.

Fiddlesticks. That had to be the alcohol making her introspective. She held up one of the tiny bottles of whiskey. “How much of this stuff did I have to drink?”

“If you have to ask, not nearly enough,” Jordan said.

God, it felt good to be with Sebastien and Jordan again.

There was never any judgement from them.

Their next stop was a dance club four towns over with vehicles from pick-up trucks to luxury cars in the parking lot.

The entire structure pulsated with music from the eighties that begged to be let out of the building.

Fluorescent bulbs lit up the entrance, and the club’s green neon sign proclaiming Emeralds boasted a martini flashing on and off.

“How did you find this place, Sebastien?” Jordan asked, linking her arm through his as they stumbled out of the limo. He pointed to Massimo, and she saluted.

The music stopped, turning the air into a creepy silence, before it blared up with a new song.

The one or two or five shots Wendy already had made getting out of the car with heeled shoes a monumental task, but somehow she managed and stumbled her way across the crushed concrete parking lot into the bar.

Geez, did her friends have to find a table all the way across the room?

Unknown substances stuck to her shoes as she maneuvered through dancing couples.

Not tripping over her own feet was an accomplishment, especially since it was done dodging offers of drinks and dancing.

Finally she collapsed onto a wooden chair, her eyes stinging from the haze of smoke.

“Beers are on me.” Sebastien shouted to be heard over the music.

“Not champagne or some billionaire vodka? So low-brow of you,” Jordan said.

The stale smell of old cigarettes was covered by the hoppy scent of the beers the waitress put on the table.

Sebastien watched the woman walk away, then fixed his eyes on a petite blonde wearing thigh-high brown boots and a short denim skirt.

His finger tapped on the table in time to the music.

“Ladies, I may have just found my next dancing partner.”

He sidled up to the woman. Soon he was moving with blondie amid the other swaying, hip-shaking couples.

“Do you think he learned how to do that from a dancing instructor?” Brandi asked.

Now that was a good image. A young Sebastien in a European ballroom, learning how to move to old wave music. “He could always adapt.” She downed half her beer and let out a burp.

“Classy.” Brandi saluted her with her mug and joined in with her own belch.

The music ended and Sebastien kissed his partner’s hand and returned her to her seat. A moment later, he was back at their table, with the blonde shooting the women nasty glances like they had run over her cat.

“You picked a hot one there, Charming,” Jordan said .

“How sad that a man can’t dance with a woman without her thinking of the bedroom as the ultimate destination.” He put his hands on the sides of the table and darted his eyes from side to side. “Maybe it’s time for the Ginger Ninja to make his escape.”

The music slowed and Sebastien held his hand out to Wendy. She shook her head and raised her eyebrows at Brandi, who was watching the dance floor.

His lips flattened, but he stood up and bowed to her cousin. “Brandilynn Clayton, may I have the honor?”

She laughed and gave him her hand. Soon they joined the crush of bodies.

“I don’t get it,” Jordan said at their retreating backs. “He’s good looking, rich, royalty for heaven’s sake, and he’s been a friend for years. What doesn’t she see in him?”

“I don’t know. Maybe she never noticed his longing?”

A clean-shaven man in a plain white t-shirt approached Wendy and Jordan, offering them a smile that bordered on shy. He held out his hand in the middle of the table and shifted his gaze between the two women. “Care to dance?”

Jordan quickly grabbed her beer, and he shifted his hand closer to Wendy. Since he hadn’t started the conversation by making some snide comment about the horizontal tango and his fingernails were clean, she accepted the invitation.

“I didn’t think your boyfriend would mind, seeing as he was occupied,” the man said, leading her to the center of the dance area.

“Oh, he’s not my boyfriend.” Ah, fiddlesticks. She’d been out of circulation for so long it took her a minute to realize he was probably trying to figure out her relationship status. He placed a firm hand on her back and guided her through a dance.

Guide was a misnomer. His feet didn’t move to the beat. She had to force herself to ignore the pulsating rhythm and shuffle around based on his cues. Only he didn’t use any, just tugged her and nudged her where he thought she should go.

Once she imagined herself with Rob, this disaster on the dance floor got a whole lot easier. One strong arm around her back, the other holding her hand, kissing her knuckles. Hips together, swaying without the need for music.

When the torture ended, her palm was soaked with sweat from Mr. Beat-of-His-Own-Drum. “Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.

“No thanks. I still have my beer.” She gave him a quick smile and dashed back to the table. Sebastien and Brandi stayed on the floor for the next dance. His hand hovered over her back but didn’t settle on her.

“Smooth escape,” Jordan complimented Wendy.

“Your turn next.” She took out her phone to check for any messages.

“Oy, put that thing away already.” Jordan rolled her eyes and placed her bottle on the table.

Wendy shoved her phone back into her pocket and picked up her drink. “Habit. Sorry.”

The music changed to a faster beat and the dancers broke from their partners. Sebastien and Brandi came by the table and grabbed their arms, dragging the two women to the floor.

What the hell. They let the alcohol and rhythm take them, laughing when they crashed into each other and apologizing when they crashed into others.

One collision had the victim turning around. He sized her up with a grin and didn’t turn back to his own group.

Wendy exaggerated the sway of her hips, enjoying the way his eyes tracked her movements. Just because she didn’t get involved didn’t mean she didn’t like the attention. And a stranger in a bar was much safer than a guest or any coworker.

The man held out a hand, and Wendy let him move her through the rest of the song. It was going well until he tried to spin her under his arm and she stepped on his toes.

She was out of practice.

Her partner leaned forward to be heard above the music. Sweat beaded his forehead, but his brown eyes held a hint of interest. “I swear this isn’t a pickup line, but you new in town?”

“Just visiting.” Even as she said it, a longing for home shot through her. Not the building where she slept and where her mail was delivered in Atlanta, but something deeper. A place where she had roots, where generations of her blood had lived and breathed and loved and lost.

“Let me lead, darlin’,” he drawled in a low rumble. “Next time you can be in charge.”

She could relax. She’d done it before. And if she tilted her head and squinted just right in the darkened room, the man even resembled Rob. If Rob wore jeans that molded to his… assets.

He gave her an encouraging nod, then tilted his head over to Jordan, who had resumed her place at their table. “Your friend there. She dance, too?”

“She took ballet for eight years.” Wendy concentrated on the music. The hand on her back strengthened and gave her some balance. She closed her eyes. It was nice to be held. Would have been nicer if it was by someone else.

“Hmmm.” He gave Jordan a long, perusing stare, then fixed Wendy with a lounge-lizard leer as his hand dipped lower on her body. “We should invite her to join us.”

Seriously? Even here, she was the gatekeeper to other things. Better things. She pushed the dancing jerk away. “I’m done.”

“What about your friend?” he called after her.

“I’ll be sure to relay your interest.” She wobbled back to the table. Coming out had been a mistake. There were so many things she could be doing instead of being assessed by strangers and found wanting. She grabbed the strap of her purse and tromped into the night.