Page 21 of Satyrday Night Fever
He knew what he must look like. Dirty. Sweaty. Shirtless like some romance novel cliché come to life. He should probably feel embarrassed about that. He didn't. What he felt was something far more dangerous.
Hope.
"Marigold!" He raised a hand in greeting, forcing his voice into something casual as he strode towards her. "Wasn't expecting you."
She started towards him, and he watched her gaze travel down over her bare chest. Her cheeks went faintly pink.
*Interesting.*
"I tried calling," she said as she got closer. "You didn't answer."
"Phone's in the shop. I tend to leave it there when I'm working." He gestured at himself, at the obvious lack of pockets. "Not a lot of places to put it."
"I can… see that."
The pink in her cheeks deepened, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning.
"I brought the vendor applications," she continued, holding up her folder like evidence. "For the festival. The deadline's next week and we need to review them before the committee meeting. I thought…" She trailed off, seeming to realize for the first time that they weren't alone. "Oh. Hello."
Rachel had paused halfway to her car. Now she pivoted smoothly, her expression transforming into something that might have passed for warmth if you didn't look too closely.
"Marigold! What a coincidence. I was just discussing festival business with Thallos myself."
"Were you?"
"Mmm. I was offering my assistance. As a senior member of the Chamber, I feel it's my duty to support our newer… participants."
The pause before participants was infinitesimal, but he caught it. From the slight tightening around Marigold's eyes, so did she.
"That's kind of you," Marigold said evenly. "We appreciate any help we can get."
"Of course you do." Rachel's gaze swept over Marigold's outfit—a simple cotton dress and sandals, practical for a summer morning—with the kind of dismissive assessment that somewomen chose to weaponize against each other. "I love your dress, by the way. It's so… comfortable looking."
Something hot flared in his chest.
"She looks beautiful," he said, before his brain could catch up with his mouth.
Both women turned to stare at him. *In for a penny,* he thought, and doubled down.
"The dress, I mean. It suits you, Marigold. You look very…" He searched for the right word, aware that he was navigating a conversational minefield. "Elegant."
The pink in Marigold's cheeks flamed into full red. Rachel's smile went fixed and sharp.
"How sweet," Rachel said, her voice like honey poured over broken glass. "Thallos has always had such unique taste."
"And such clear preferences." He met her eyes squarely. "Speaking of which, Rachel, I believe you were leaving?"
The silence that followed was pointed enough to draw blood. Rachel held his gaze for a long moment, something dangerous flickering behind her polished exterior. Then she laughed—a bright, brittle sound—and shook her head.
"Of course. I have appointments anyway. Busy, busy." She swept past Marigold without another glance, her heels grinding against the gravel with unnecessary force. "See you at the meeting, darling. Both of you."
The endearment was aimed at him, but her eyes cut to Marigold as she said it.
They watched her car disappear down the drive in a cloud of dust.
"Well," Marigold said finally. "That was…"
"Yeah."
