Page 3 of Mixed Signals
TWO
LAYLA
I finish signingthe check and follow her line of sight, straight to the man effortlessly moving through the crowded tables clustered together on the beach. Not my date. Of course not. Bryce is about as memorable as a crumpled up gum wrapper shoved in the bottom of my purse.
No, the man making his way towards us is tall. Easily over six feet. Brown, glowing, gorgeous skin. I don’t get a good look at his face because he’s busy looking over his shoulder at the group he just wandered away from, shouting something with a laugh. He’s wearing a colorful Hawaiian shirt that should be ridiculous, but with the top three buttons undone I can only focus on the jut of his collarbones, the material of the sleeves clinging to the curve of his biceps. The fabric is stretched too tight there, like the shirt can’t possibly contain the strength of him.
I stare at the dancing pineapples on his broad chest, distracted. I keep staring at them as he slides right up to the bar next to me and places both his hands flat on the bartop. His forearms flex and I resist the urge to drag both of my palms down the sides of my face.
What is it aboutforearms?
Je-sus.
“I’d like another piña colada, if it’s not too much trouble. The birthday boy is getting antsy.”
Celia looks like she’ll happily give him more than a piña colada. I hide my smile behind my fingertips and finally glance at his face. I almost sputter in surprise.
“Caleb?”
Caleb Alvarez. The same man I’ve seen at least twice a week for the past five years without thinking about his chest once. He comes in every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday and orders exactly one croissant and a coffee. Just cream.
Caleb ishere, so far away from our little town.
At a beach bar.
Wearing an almost indecently unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt.
His head snaps to the side and his brown eyes widen. I watch in fascination as the deep rich brown grows warmer in recognition, a ring of amber around his iris. Never in my life have I noticed the color of this man’s eyes. I’m really having a moment, taking him in like this. Hair ruffled by the ocean breeze and all that warm, olive skin on display. A smile kicks up the corner of his mouth and I have to swallow compulsively three times in a row.
“Layla,” he says, a sweet combination of surprised and delighted. It’s the exact same way he’s always said my name, but it sounds different here with the salt and the sand. My mouth goes dry.
“Hey, Caleb.” I gesture to one of the pineapples ringed in bright orange flowers on his chest. My mind is blank—wiped completely clean by three tiny buttons. “Nice shirt.”
I’ve seen Caleb in a crewneck sweatshirt a couple of times. Worn jeans and boots that lace at the ankles. T-shirts, in the summer. I never had an … event … over any of that.
He smooths his hand down the buttons, a faint pink lighting up his cheeks. “Ah, well. Alex insisted.”
He jerks his chin over the tables. I follow his gaze and spot Alex Alvarez—our quiet, unassuming, small town bookstore owner—doing some drunken version of a salsa with a beautiful redhead, the both of them in equally terrifying Hawaiian shirts.
“We have a tradition,” Caleb explains.
“Clearly.”
“He loves a strong pattern. And a cohesive theme.”
I guess that makes sense. I’ve seen Alex’s window displays. They’re always a bold look. Last Halloween, there was a town petition about the graphic interpretation ofThe Rocky Horror Picture Show. I blink back to Caleb’s shirt.
“I can see that.”
“He also likes making his entire family look like a bunch of idiots in public places.” Caleb curls his hand around the glass Celia slides over to him and gives her a thankful smile. We sigh in unison.
“What are the chances, huh?” He leans one elbow up on the bartop and gives me a slow, unfurling smile. Whew—okay. I definitely haven’t noticed those dimples before either. “Out of all the bars.”
“Yeah,” I say, still distracted. My brain is trying to align this version of Caleb with the one in my head. It’s … not working out so well.
What sort of voodoo is this Hawaiian shirt?
His eyes flick briefly over my green dress and his smile melts into something earnest and sincere, the faint pink on his cheeks deepening into a rich, ruby red. “You look beautiful.”
