Gabriella’s mouth fell open.
Something mean was about to come out of it—the fact that my sister and she were best friends, that we were both going to be Trinity’s bridesmaids in less than two months, didn’t matter.
Today had reinforced the notion I was fair game in Fairhope, and everyone had the agency, the God-given right, to be mean to me. But Cruz stopped her, patting her flat ass with a lazy, lopsided grin.
He knew I loathed his golden boy act.
“Go on and wait in the car, honey.”
“But Cruuuuuuz.” Gabby stomped her foot, dragging his name out with a pout.
“I’ll handle it,” he assured her.
“Fine. But don’t be too nice,” she sulked, catching the car keys he threw into her hands, and sauntered out of the diner.
Cruz and I stood in front of each other. Two cowboys waiting to draw their weapons.
“Aren’t I going to get a thank you?”
His whiskey-soaked voice stirred something warm and sticky and unwelcome behind my ribcage. He had that Justin Hartley kind of body you just wanted to feel pressed against you.
“For what?” I mused. “Being alive, being a doctor, or being a royal pain?”
“Saving that kid.”
“That kid pinched my butt and took a picture of my panties.”
“I didn’t know that,” he said evenly.
I believed him, but so what? My hackles were so high up, I couldn’t even see past them.
“Tip me or get gone,” I huffed.
“You want a tip?” he asked tonelessly, his dark-blue eyes narrowing on my face. “Here’s one: get some better manners. Pronto.”
“Sorry.” I pouted, making a show of examining my nails. “Fortune-cookie advice is not a currency I accept at present. Cash or Venmo work, though.”
“You don’t actually expect a tip after your argument with Gabriella, do you?” He looked a little concerned for me. Like maybe on top of being a bimbo, I also possessed the IQ of a peanut butter sandwich. Sans the jelly.
“I do, actually. She knows we don’t carry organic meat—or arugula. Why does she keep asking?”
If he was going to tell me the customer was always right, I was going to add him to my ever-growing list of people to murder. Actually, he was already in the top ten for every time he’d run into me at social gatherings and pretended I didn’t exist.
“Why don’t you give her a straight answer?” he quipped back. For a moment—for a small, teeny, tiny fraction of a moment—I could swear his good ol’ boy mask cracked a little, annoyance seeping through it.
“Why don’t you mind your own business?”
I noticed his eyes dropped to my lips when I said that.
I was aware I had enough makeup on my face to sculpt another life-size figure of myself and way too much pink lipstick for anyone’s liking. But Cruz being Cruz, he never said anything mean or demeaning about anyone. Not even me.
I could see the nostrils of his straight Roman nose flare as he drew in a calming breath and tilted his chin up.
“Very well, Tennessee.” That was the other thing. Everybody called me Messy Nessy. He was the only one to call me by my given name, and it always felt like punishment. “I’ll mind my own business. Let’s start now, shall we? Did you book our tickets for the cruise yet?”
Ah, yes.
Since my parents were paying for Trinity and Wyatt’s wedding, the Costellos—Cruz’s parents—had decided to invite both families to a pre-wedding cruise so we could all get to know each other better.
Because the Costellos were frequent cruisers, they used their loyalty points to book Trinity and Wyatt the honeymoon stateroom and two-bed staterooms for themselves and my parents.
My son Bear all but begged to room with my parents, who were going to have a private Jacuzzi and in-suite candy bar. Since it was his first ever vacation, I relented.
But that meant Cruz and I still needed to book rooms for ourselves, and since Cruz had a “real job” and I had so much free time （my mother’s words, not mine）， I was tasked with finding us rooms for the cruise.
“I’m working on it.”
“I hadn’t realized it took such effort to book tickets.”
I patted my stiff, heavily-sprayed blond mane.
“Maybe for you it’s easy. But us feather-headed people take a long time to do things. Where do I book these tickets anyway? The internet, yes?” I cocked my head. “It’s that thing on the computer? With all the little words and kitty videos?”