All the Pretty Girls - J. T. Ellison [54]
After her brief chat with Baldwin, she’d managed a shower and set off for work, dark-lensed Maui Jims on in an attempt to shield her eyes from an overly bright sun. When had the sun become so powerful, started giving off midafternoon light so early in the morning? She was sure that it had never glowed with such a vengeance.
She opened the door of her Xterra and got in, grimacing. She sat back in the seat, turned her XM radio on, flipped to Lucy, her favorite alternative-rock station, turned the volume to a bearable level and lost herself in the music.
She’d tried many times to figure the exact moment she’d fallen in love with Baldwin. It was his vulnerability that had attracted her in the first place. She had sensed the emptiness in him the moment she’d met him, felt it reflect in her own heart. Was it love at first sight? Was it the first time they’d touched, a casual grazing of the hands? She’d been drawn to his tortured soul, searching for her own forgiveness as she tried to help him achieve his.
She shook herself out of the reverie, her headache starting to lessen. Baldwin. He was her man now. She wished he were here with her. He would placate her with his strong hands, lift the hair on the back of her neck, murmur in her ear as he caressed her body. And she would let him. But now, so early into their happiness, she was going to blow the whole thing. Her hand went to her forehead as a wave of nausea pulsed through her. Shit.
She turned the engine over and put the truck in gear. Driving toward West End, she tried to focus on the news she had received and failed. Things felt different this morning, but she chalked that up to her killer hangover. She glanced in the mirror and gave herself a lopsided smile. She’d figure her life out later. When her head didn’t feel like it was going to explode.
She made her way through the traffic in West End and drove into the outskirts of Belle Meade. She had promised, before she was totally gone, to meet Sam at Starbucks this morning.
Taylor pulled into the lot and parked her truck. Making her way past the high-school girls in their green plaid skirts, white socks and Birkenstocks that populated the outdoor seating area, she made it to the door. An older gentleman balancing a tray of coffees kindly held the door for her with his butt. Her southern training kicked in and she gave him one of her best smiles as she passed. He grinned back a little sheepishly. Taylor with a full-watt smile on her face could bring the best of men to their knees. She spotted Sam in a cozy corner with overstuffed chairs and a small glass table loaded with drinks, cinnamon buns, a slice of iced lemon pound cake and a lonely bran muffin. Taylor snickered back a laugh. Sam’s pregnancy was getting the better of her, she was wolfing down every sweet in sight.
“There she is, the woman every man wants and every woman wants to be. Sit yourself down here before your latte gets cold, girl.”
“I don’t envy anyone my position today. I feel like shit.”
“Yeah, you’re looking a little rough around the edges. Nice shades, though.”
Taylor reached over and gave Sam a hug. She searched her friend’s face hard, wondering if there was more from last night that she didn’t remember. Sam didn’t seem perturbed, so Taylor relaxed and sank gratefully into an overstuffed green velvet chair.
She started to reach for her latte, and heard sirens. They were getting louder by the minute, and she chided herself for wondering if they meant she would have to be making a call to a scene.
“Hear that? Hope it’s nothing major.”
“Yeah, probably a Belle Meade housewife with a hangnail.” They both hooted out a laugh, it was just too easy to make fun of Nashville’s elite community, to pretend that they didn’t come from that enclave of Nashville society. When they stopped guffawing, Taylor realized that Sam was