of laughter from the head of the table drew their attention in that direction. “Like I said,” Polly reiterated, her gaze resting on Gage, “really, really gorgeous.”
Skye allowed herself a moment to study him. “Yeah.” She took in his rumpled black hair and tanned complexion. His cheekbones were chiseled, his jaw firm and beneath two dark slashes of brow were his incredible eyes. His beard was heavy enough that he had noticeable after-five stubble that only served to draw attention to his mobile mouth and white grin.
“No wonder you broke up with Dalton,” Polly said.
Startled, Skye jerked her head toward her friend. “I didn’t break up with Dalton because of Gage.” She didn’t want to think about why she’d broken up with Dalton. Crossing one leg tightly over the other, she rubbed at her upper arms with her palms.
A husky male laugh drew her attention back to the head of the table where Gage was now engaged in flirtatious banter with their waitress, Tina. As Skye watched, the server toyed with the name tag pinned to her blouse, drawing attention to cleavage she could swear hadn’t been on display when she’d ordered her swordfish and steamed vegetables. Clearly Tina had made a wardrobe adjustment for the man of honor’s benefit.
“See?” she told Polly. “That’s the kind of woman Gage finds appealing.”
Her friend glanced over. “What kind of woman is that?”
Skye made a vague gesture with her hand. The kind who can bear to show some skin.
“You’re twelve times more beautiful than that hussy.”
“I wasn’t fishing for compliments,” Skye said, grimacing.
“I’m not giving any,” Polly said. “Just the facts, ma’am. But if you want an opinion, I suggest you ditch the boy-wear and play with makeup again. I know you have pretty clothes in your closet. I remember when lipstick and mascara still mattered to you.”
Skye did, too, but now peace of mind mattered more. Though it was true that baggy sweatshirts and medicated lip balm hadn’t exactly brought that about. Head down, she ran her fingertip around and around the edge of her water glass.
“Want to dance?” came a voice, close to her ear.
Skye’s head popped up, her eyes widening at Gage’s hovering form. He wanted to dance? He wanted to dance with her? It was then she noticed that the sun had set, leaving the sky a fading orange. The tiki torches plunged in the sand at the corners of the deck were flaming now, and the atmosphere at Captain Crow’s was starting to pump. Customers were two-deep at the bar. People were moving about the small parquet dance area to Bob Marley’s “Three Little Birds.” Griffin and Jane were out there, wrapped in each other’s arms. Tess was dragging her husband, David, in their direction, though he was laughing and protesting at the same time.
“Dance?” Gage said again.
He’d probably been sitting too long, Skye thought. He’d always been on the go as a kid and there was good reason his sister labeled him “restless.” She knew for a fact that he only slept six hours a night—one of the personal details he’d shared in his letters.
An amused glint entered Gage’s blue eyes as she continued to hesitate. “Am I speaking the wrong language?”
“You’re asking the wrong girl,” Skye said. “Polly will do it.”
“What?” Polly looked up from the phone cradled in her palms, her thumbs poised over the touch screen. “He didn’t ask me.”
“You like to dance.”
“I’m texting with Teague.” She shook her head. “He’s having an emotional emergency.”
Skye glanced up at Gage again. “Teague White. Remember him? He spent summers here, too.”
He blinked. “Tea— No! Tee-Wee White?”
“Not so tee-wee anymore,” Polly muttered, her thumbs tapping away. “More like big fat idiot.”
Not fat, Skye mouthed to Gage.
He laughed, then bent to grip her elbow and tug her to her feet in one quick move. “Let’s dance, Skye.”
Freezing, she stared at the large, masculine hand circling her cotton-knit-covered arm. Her common sense warred with her fight-or-flight response. Don’t bolt, she told herself. Or punch him. Either option would only bring up embarrassing questions.
“You okay?”
“S-sure.” As sure as someone could be who’d broken up with her boyfriend because she’d developed an aversion to being touched.
Before she could think of how to get away from the situation without sacrificing dignity or courtesy, he was towing her toward the other couples moving to the music. One song ended and another began, ukulele notes and the sweet voice of IZ Kamakawiwo’ole singing “White Sandy Beach of Hawai’i” floating through the air like feathers.