He’d been holdingout a hand for the microphone, not to help her off the stage. Cayla fought the urge to bury her flaming face in her arms as she dropped back into her seat. Would she ever stop embarrassing herself around the man? Seriously, it was a sign.
Zara Singh leaned over, her dark eyes lively with interest. “Girl, what was that?”
“Nothing.”
Misty Pennebaker, the bride they were out celebrating tonight, picked up her drink, one of the local wines her fiancé Denver, who owned Elvira’s, kept in stock for her. “That definitely didn’t look like nothing.”
Cayla waved them all off because Holt began to sing. The entire bar went silent as his voice rang out, clear and confident and performing one of her favorites. Not that there was any way he could know that. And as he hit the end of the first stanza, she’d have sworn he was looking at… her. Which was ridiculous. Foolish. And wouldn’t matter, anyway. She wasn’t looking for anything. Her plate was already overflowing with keeping her business afloat and her daughter safe and happy. There was no room for a man. Not even one who sang like an angel and made her want to lick those Army-honed muscles like a popsicle. Holt was just a nice guy. One who held a fondness for her daughter. She could enjoy his performance from a purely objective standpoint because he was one of the few present with any actual talent. It had nothing to do with the fact that it felt like he was singing to her. He wasn’t trying to melt her panties. It was just an unfortunate byproduct of all that potent alpha warrior hotness.
Then, on the last line, he winked. At her.
Cayla’s entire train of thought derailed as she tried to figure out what it meant. She was woman enough to admit she was hella attracted to this man. And on her confident days, she was pretty sure he was attracted right back. But over the past few months, as their paths had continued to cross, she’d gotten the impression he didn’t intend to do anything about it. Maybe that was because of Maddie. Most men wouldn’t want to take on a five-year-old. Not even if they seemed charmed by her. And that was entirely fine. It had taken far too long to rid herself of the last man who’d swept her off her feet to risk being swept again. Fool her once.
But Holt had winked. Hadn’t he?
Unable to hold back the question as he left the stage to thunderous applause and whoops, she polled her friends.
“Oh, hell yes,” Astrid announced, nodding hard enough that her cloud of gorgeous natural curls bounced. “I may bat for the other team, but I’ve still got eyes in my head. He totally winked at you.”
Misty and Zara confirmed.
Celeste Keeling, the fifth member of their bridal party, leaned back in her chair, glancing across the room in speculation. “Pretty sure that was as open a declaration as there could be.”
The certainty in her statement sent Cayla into an instant retreat. “We’re just friends. Sort of.”
“I would really love to have a friend look at me like that,” Zara sighed.
“How exactly are you ‘sort of’ friends?” Misty wanted to know.
“Well, he’s one of the guys opening Bad Boy Bakers across the street from my office.” Okay, office was an exaggeration as yet, but once she finished spiffing it up, she’d be bringing clients there. It still counted as hers from the day she’d signed the lease.
“Go on,” Celeste prompted.
Wanting to minimize the whole thing, Cayla shrugged. “I’ve been in and out over at the bakery a lot while they were renovating because of Mia. Holt ended up helping me out a couple of times with an emergency cake for some of the weddings I’ve done. It was just—I don’t know—preemptive partnership. They’ll be the only bakery in town, so of course they’re going to end up doing cakes and other food for the events I put together.”
“So he’s one of them,” Zara noted, grinning in the guys’ direction. “I’ve been hearing all kinds of rumors, but I hadn’t laid eyes on any of them myself.”
Celeste fanned her face, as if there were a hint of a blush to mar the warm bronze perfection of her skin. “I’m pretty sure they’ll be getting plenty of traffic on their looks alone.”
Which had totally been the point when Cayla had thrown out the name. But she’d been half-joking, in one of those awkward, embarrassing, couldn’t-quite-keep-ahold-of-her-tongue-around-him moments. She hadn’t really expected them to take the suggestion.
“Well, I say we can’t just leave this as it is. We’ve got to encourage Fate a little bit.” Before Cayla could protest, Zara hopped up from her seat and crossed the bar to where Holt sat with Brax and Jonah. While Lewis Washington, one of the co-owners of Forbidden Fruit Cidery, rocked out to “Don’t Stop Believin’”, she said something to Holt in her enthusiastic, animated way. Holt glanced in Cayla’s direction and nodded.
Cayla desperately wished for the floor to open up and swallow her. That sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach got worse as Zara left the guys’ table and went to the karaoke computer. What the hell was she up to? A smug, self-satisfied smile split Zara’s face from ear to ear as she dropped back into her chair.
“What did you do?”
“Girl, I helped.” She waved a hand toward the screen on the wall that listed the next song and performers.
Holt Steele and Cayla Black. “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart”.
As Lewis reached the end of his song and Holt rose from his seat, Cayla shot her friend a withering stare. “I hate you.”
Zara just blew her a kiss. “You’re welcome! Now go on up there and flirt!”
Cayla approached the stage as if it were a gallows walk. Holt already had one mic in his hand and snagged the other from Lewis as he stepped down.
“Nice job, man.”
“Thanks! You’re not so bad yourself.”
Holt offered her the microphone, then continued to hold out his hand when she took it. Mortified all over again, Cayla thought about just stepping past him onto the stage. But that seemed rude and like a deliberate slight she didn’t intend, so she laid her hand in his. The moment those long, callused fingers curled around hers, she steadied, and the noise of the crowd seemed to mute. Did he feel that electric hum, or was it all in her head? It had been so damned long since she’d felt legitimate attraction, and God knew, it hadn’t been this… visceral with her ex-husband.
They took their places on stage, and he didn’t release her hand, didn’t look at the crowd. Nerves crashed down on her like a wave no longer held back, jittering in her belly, through her muscles. Cayla couldn’t remember the last time a man had made her nervous in a good way. She was well aware she squeaked through her first couple of lines. When they hit the “ooo hoo”s, he gave a little yank on the hand he held, spinning her into him for a joint shimmy. The move so surprised her, she laughed, missing her next line. But it loosened her up. The taciturn former Ranger was flirting. In some dim, dark recess of her mind, she remembered how to do that. So she stopped focusing on the situation, on the audience, and focused on the man instead, looking into those piercing blue eyes that seemed to spark with humor as she fell into the call and answer of the song. By the time they finished, she was grinning.
At Holt’s encouragement, she took her bow. He did the same, then escorted her off the stage.
“Buy you a drink?”
“Oh, well, I’m here for Misty’s bachelorette party, and I’ve already hit my limit. I’ve gotta pick up Maddie from my mom’s later.”
“A soda then. Or lemonade? Singing always makes me thirsty.”
“Okay, sure. Thanks.” Cayla headed for the bar, aware of the warm press of his hand on her lower back as they navigated the crowd.
They placed their orders and waited as the gorgeous black woman behind the bar pulled them together.
“So how’s everything going at your office?” he asked.
“It’s going. There are still a million and one things to do around there before I can really see clients. The painting alone is taking forever. But kid, work, only so many hours in the day.” She laughed, because she could move to a planet with a thirty-six-hour day and still never catch up. Such was life as a single mom.
“Sounds like you could use a hand. We’re all available Sunday.”
Cayla blinked at him. “Y’all have your own business to put together.”
“It’s mostly there. Got the business license today. That’s why we’re out tonight. Celebrating. Other than that, the renovation’s done, all our equipment is in. We’re just refining recipes and working out offerings and prices. We can afford to take a break to help you out. Besides—what’s that saying? Many hands make light work. Does Sunday work for you?”
“Um.” It seemed like there was probably a reason she should say no, but damned if she could remember why. “Yes?”
The bartender delivered their drinks.
“Good. It’s settled, then. We’ll see you on Sunday. Enjoy the rest of your party.” He lifted his drink in a toast, curved one corner of that mouth that so rarely smiled, and headed back to his table.
Cayla scooped up her lemonade and made her way back to her friends, wondering what the hell had just happened.