Christmas In Snowflake Canyon. RaeAnne Thayne
what you need,” she answered.
“Maybe.”
He didn’t elaborate and they walked in silence for another few moments. As they walked past one of her favorite boutiques, the door opened with a subtle chime and a few laughing women walked out, arms heavy with bags.
She didn’t recognize the blonde with the paisley scarf and the really great-looking boots, but the other one was an old friend.
“Natalie! Hello.”
The other woman stopped her conversation and her eyes went wide when she spotted her. “Gen! Hi.”
They air-kissed and then Natalie Summerville stepped back, giving a strange look to Dylan, who looked big and dangerous and still rather scruffy, despite his efforts to clean up for court.
“How are you?” Natalie asked. “I saw your mom at the spa the other day and she told me you were coming back for Thanksgiving.”
Yet you haven’t bothered to call me, have you?
Natalie had been a good friend once, close enough—she thought, anyway—that Genevieve had included her in her flock of seven bridesmaids. They had been on the cheerleading squad together in high school, had double-dated often at college, had even shared a hotel room in Mazatlán for spring break after junior year.
When she had been engaged, preparing to become Mrs. Sawyer Danforth of the Denver Danforths, Natalie had loved being her friend.
After Gen ended the engagement, she felt as if she had broken off with many of her friends, as well. Natalie and a few others had made it clear they didn’t understand her position. She and Sawyer weren’t married yet. Why couldn’t he have his fun while he still could? She had overheard Natalie say at a party that Genevieve was crazy for not just ignoring his infidelity and marrying him anyway.
Sometimes she wished she had.
“Are you heading back to Paris soon?”
“I’ll be here for a month or so. At least through Christmas.”
She imagined word would trickle out in their social circle about her parents’ mandate and her enforced poverty, if it hadn’t already. Her mother was not known for her discretion.
“Great. Good for you.”
“We should do lunch sometime,” Genevieve suggested. “I hear there are a few new restaurants in town since I’ve been gone.”
“Yeah. Of course. Lunch would be...great.” Genevieve didn’t miss that Natalie had on her fake voice, the one she used at nightclubs when undesirable men tried to pick her up.
“I’ll call you,” Natalie said, with that same patently insincere smile.
“Or I can always call you.”
“My schedule’s kind of crazy right now. I don’t know if you heard but I’m getting married in February. I think you know my fiancé. Stanton Manning.”
He had been one of Sawyer’s friends and cut from the same impeccably tailored cloth. “Of course. Stan the Man.”
Her face felt frozen from far more than the ice crystals flailing into her. Natalie had been one of her bridesmaids, for heaven’s sake, but hadn’t bothered to even let Genevieve know she was engaged.
If she were fair, she would have to acknowledge that she hadn’t been her best self during the humiliation of her marriage plans falling apart. She had been the one to drop all her friends first and flee Colorado as quickly as possible.
“I hadn’t heard,” she said now. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks. I’m counting down the days. You know how that is.”
Natalie’s friend poked her and she flushed. “We’re honeymooning in Italy. He has an uncle who owns a palazzo on the Grand Canal in Venice with stunning views. It’s going to be unbelievable. Oh, and we’ve already bought a house together in Cherry Creek. You’ll have to see it next time you’re in Denver. Stunning. Just stunning. Six bedrooms, five bathrooms. It’s perfect for entertaining.”
“I’m very happy for you,” she said stiffly.
Okay, so Natalie was living the life she had expected, the one she had dreamed. Italian honeymoons, showplace houses, beautiful friends. She refused to let envy eat at her.
She gave Natalie another hug. “Seriously, I’m really happy for you. Be sure to tell Stanton congratulations from me, won’t you?”
“Definitely.” Natalie avoided her gaze and definitely didn’t risk any glances in Dylan’s direction. Her friend nudged her again and she gave that well-practiced smile again. “Well, we’d better go. We’re meeting people at Brazen. See you, Genevieve.”
“’Bye,” she murmured.
Only after they walked away did she realize she hadn’t introduced Dylan. Despite the cold wind that seeped beneath her jacket and whipped her hair around, Genevieve could feel her face heat. A lousy mood was no excuse for poor manners.
He was gazing at her with an expression she couldn’t decipher but one that made her squirm. “Oh. You’re still here.”
“So they tell me.”
“You didn’t need to wait. I can find my own way to my car.”
As if to illustrate, she set off at a brisk pace toward the parking lot, still a few hundred yards away. She had only made it past one more storefront when her heel caught on a patch of ice and she started to flounder.
In a blink, he reached out to block her fall with his arm and his body. Instead of tumbling to the sidewalk, she fell against him and for a moment she could only stare up at him, that strong, handsome face now dominated by the black eye patch. He was still gorgeous, she realized, a little surprised. And he smelled delicious, clean and masculine.
A slow shock of heat seemed to sizzle inside her, and she couldn’t seem to make her limbs cooperate for a long moment. He gazed down at her, too, until a car passed by on Main Street, splattering snow, and she remembered where they were.
What was wrong with her? She couldn’t be attracted to Dylan Caine. She wouldn’t allow it. Genevieve jerked away from him, her face burning, and made a point to move as far away on the sidewalk as she could manage.
He watched her out of that unreadable gaze for a long moment. “Let’s get out of this snow.”
They walked in silence the rest of the way, until she reached the cute little silver BMW SUV her parents had given her when she graduated from college. At least they hadn’t taken that away, too.
At her SUV, she unlocked the door and he held it open for her. Just as she was sliding in, Mr. Taciturn finally found his voice.
“Can I offer a little friendly advice?”
Her stomach tightened. “In my experience, when someone says that, a person usually can’t do much to shut them up.”
And the advice was rarely friendly, either, but she didn’t add that.
“Don’t I know it. I was just going to suggest that you might endure your hundred hours of service a little easier if you can get over being chickenshit.”
“Excuse me?”
“You know. The whole disgusted, freaking-out thing if one of the guys looks at you or, heaven forbid, dares to touch you only to keep you from falling on your ass.”
Her face heated all over again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said stiffly.
She certainly couldn’t tell him she had freaked out because of her own inconvenient attraction.
“Goodbye. I’ll see you Thursday,” she said, then slammed her door shut, turned the key in the engine and sped out of the parking lot without looking back.