Straight from the Hart

by Tracie Banister

  I shrink back, asserting, “We’re not a couple.”

  “Not currently anyway,” Alex feels the need to clarify.

  I turn to glower at him for sharing too much personal information and realize how close we’re standing. My bare shoulder is pressed up against his, which is clad in a snug-fitting, short-sleeve Henley that’s a faded blue-gray, and we might as well be holding hands with the way our knuckles are brushing. No wonder the docent thinks Alex and I are a thing—we are acting way too comfortable with each other. Maintain a professional distance, Vanessa!

  “Sounds like there’s a story there,” Lucy says, her eyebrow arching in interest as she retracts her hand.

  “And it’s not worth a reread,” I assure her because I really don’t want to talk about it. This is supposed to be a tour of the hotel, not my romantic past with Alex. “What’s next?” I ask.

  “I saved the best for last. You are going to love it!” Lucy claps her hands together with gleeful anticipation. “Follow me.”

  CHAPTER 36

  I gasp in delight when we reach the final stop on our tour.

  “This is amazing!” I exclaim, moving forward as if in a trance, my eyes glued to the stunning exterior of The St. Francis of Assisi Chapel. With its classical, Spanish-style architecture that includes intricately carved stonework all over its façade, I feel like I’m standing outside the basilica in Mexico City. Through the chapel’s open doorway, I can see an amber glow emanating from the candlelit chandeliers hanging from the ceiling of the vestibule.

  “This is the region’s only hotel chapel, and we host hundreds of weddings here every year,” Lucy tells me.

  “I can believe it. This place is like something out of a fairy tale.”

  Even the gallery outside the chapel is spectacular with the beautiful tilework beneath our feet that has terra cotta slabs mixed in with gray stone and the clay planters all around us that have lush greenery and colorful flowers spilling out of them. I can easily envision photos of a newly married couple framed by the chapel’s doorway with the bride’s veil being lifted by a breeze so that it streams out behind her.

  “Ooooo, a fountain!” Noticing the large stone structure that’s topped by a naked boy spitting water out of his mouth, I rush over to take a closer look and am charmed to see red rose petals floating in the water of the fountain’s basin. What a lovely, romantic touch!

  I feel a hand wrap around my arm and warm breath tickle my ear as Alex leans into say, “I think this one’s a little young for you,” referencing my drunken groping of a certain statue last night.

  “You’re hilarious,” I say dryly as I turn to look at him, “but I refuse to be embarrassed by something I don’t even remember doing. For all I know, you made the whole thing up.”

  A grin spreads across his face. “Thought you might accuse me of that, which is why I have photographic proof on my phone. I can send you copies if you like. I’m thinking you can use them in an advertising campaign for Straight from the Hart: Even the stoniest of men can become a romantic with Vanessa Hart’s help!”

  I have to press my lips together to keep from cracking up because that was pretty funny.

  “No use trying to hide it,” Alex says with smug satisfaction. “I can see the laughter in your eyes.”

  “Really? Are you sure that’s what it is?” I murmur, my lips are just a few inches from his now and I’m staring deep into his eyes.

  Alex’s dominant right hand is still on my arm, so it’s out of play for the moment, which makes it very easy for me to reach around his left side and pluck the phone right out of the back pocket of his jeans.

  “Aha!” I shout in triumph, twisting out of his grasp to hold the device over the fountain.

  His face pales. “You wouldn’t. My whole life is on that phone.”

  “I know. Think of all the important info you’d lose if it got dunked—contact names, phone numbers, business texts, your clients’ schedules. When was the last time you backed up to the cloud?”

  He never remembered to do that when we were together, so chances are it’s been quite a while. To further torture him, I swing the phone back and forth between my pinched fingers like it’s an acrobat on a trapeze, except instead of a safety net below there are several inches of water and a hard basin where the phone would likely meet its end.

  “Fine. You win. You outsmarted me. Give me the phone.” He stretches out a hand for it.

  “And I’ll delete the photos of you getting your freak on with Poseidon.”

  “Mmmmm, I think not. I don’t care for your word choice. What Seidey and I do in the privacy of his fountain is really no concern of yours,” I assert with a twitch of my lips, then lower my hand so that the phone is even closer to the water.

  “Nessa!” Alex shouts, lunging for the phone, but I jerk it away before he can get his hands on the device and take off.

  He chases me around the fountain, but there’s really no hope of me outrunning him since I’ve got on espadrilles with a three-inch wedge heel that were constructed for fashion, not athletic pursuits. I shriek when he grabs me from behind and lifts me off the ground, then squirm around in his arms, giggling, as I try to escape.

  “Stoooop!” I order in between chuckles. “You know how ticklish I am!” I blush at the memory of some of the epic tickle fights we got into back in the day. They always started out innocently, but more often than not ended up with us naked.

  Alex’s fingers dance over the most ticklish part of my body on my left side below my ribcage and I squeal in protest, warning, “If I drop this phone, it’ll be your fault!”

  “Ahem.” I hear someone lightly clear her throat and I cease my struggle to glance up and see Lucy, our long-forgotten docent.

  “My apologies for interrupting, but I need to get back to the museum for my twelve-thirty tour.”

  Alex sets me down and removes his arm from around my waist.

  “Of course,” I say, smoothing down any wrinkles our horsing around might have inflicted on my summery, green-and-white polka dot dress. “Please, don’t let us keep you.” I tug my belt buckle, which is now totally off-center, back into place. “Thank you so much for your time today.” I feel the featherlight touch of Alex’s fingers on the flesh of my upper arm and turn to see him sliding my dress’s ruffled strap back onto my shoulder.

  “It was my pleasure. You’re welcome to pop inside the chapel and have a look around. There are some people prepping the space for a wedding that’s scheduled for later today, but they won’t mind.”

  “We’ll do that. Thanks again for sharing your wealth of knowledge about the inn and its history with us. I appreciate this place even more now.” With one of his charming smiles, Alex offers Lucy his hand, and they shake before she leaves.

  “Phone.” Alex’s hand is now extended toward me.

  “Not so fast.” I wake up his device and flip it around to face him. “Fingerprint please.”

  He presses his thumb to the phone’s screen to unlock the device, then I pull it back and click on the Photos app. I cringe when I see the shots he snapped of me frolicking in the fountain last night. Dear God, did I really stick my tongue in that statue’s ear? That’s just disturbing. I hereby swear never to drink tequila again, not in a margarita, not in a shot glass, not even in a Bloody Maria at one of Viv’s brunches.

  Seeing the horrified expression on my face, Alex says, “Told you,” with a grin. “You were feeling yourself last night—no inhibitions whatsoever. You were trying to wiggle out of the halterneck part of your dress and would have given that bellboy quite a thrill if I hadn’t waded into that fountain when I did.”

  “Delete, delete, delete.” I can’t get rid of these incriminating photos fast enough. “Now, it never happened,” I declare, passing the phone back to Alex.

  “Oh, it still happened . . . up here.” Alex taps his forehead with one of his infernal smirks.

  “Let’s check out the interior of the church, shall we? Oh, wait!” I halt A
lex by smacking a hand against his chest. “Are you going to break out in hives or run screaming from the church as soon you see all of the decorations for the,” I lower my voice to spell out, “n-u-p-t-i-a-l-s?”

  “I’ll be fine,” he says, pushing my hand down. “I told you I was an integral part of planning the Js’ big day, remember?”

  “Riiiiight. So your gamophobia doesn’t extend to other couples then.”

  He scrunches up his face in confusion. “My what?”

  “Gamophobia. It’s the fear of marriage and commitment. Men are more likely to have it than women, according to my mother who diagnosed you after we broke up.”

  Alex expels a breath of frustration and rakes his hand through his hair, which is sans product and looking attractively mussed. “Why can’t a guy decide marriage isn’t for him without people thinking he’s a complete jerk or has a mental health issue?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe these feelings of persecution are something you should discuss with a therapist. Dr. Hart’s off for the weekend, but you can call into her show bright and early Monday morning.” Returning the smirk he gave me a minute ago, I stride over to the chapel and enter through its large doors.

  “Wow!” I don’t even say the word aloud, I just mouth it reverently as I stand in the vestibule, trying to absorb the magnificence of this church.

  The ceiling is vaulted with big, wooden beams running across the width of it and there are huge stained glass panels on the walls of the nave that remind me of a Tiffany lamp. A red carpet separates the pews, which are actually rows of red-velvet-and-mahogany chairs, and leads up to a gleaming gold altar that stretches up to the ceiling. Several people are affixing floral arrangements to the pews, and the jewel-toned bunches of dianthus and peonies are so gorgeous and work wonderfully in this dramatic, traditional setting by bringing just the right amount of color and modernity that I have to stop and give my compliments to one of the florist’s assistants. I continue on to the altar, where there’s a step up and a platform where I assume the bride and groom will stand. A few steps above that is a table draped in white and covered with flickering candles. On either side of the table, there are pedestal floral arrangements that are larger versions of the ones on the pews and the vibrant reds, pinks, and purples really pop up here with the ornate gold altar serving as their backdrop.

  Feeling very inspired by my romantic surroundings, I murmur, “This place is perfect,” to myself.

  “For what?” Alex wonders in a regular tone of voice when he appears at my elbow.

  “For me to try out my new stand-up routine,” I deadpan, and for a minute, it looks like he’s taken me seriously and is trying to think of a nice way to tell me I should stick to my day job. “This is the perfect place for Jax and Jaz to get remarried!” I tell him the real reason for my excitement.

  “And why would they want to do that?”

  “People renew their vows all the time. It’s romantic to pledge your love to someone all over again, especially in front of God.” I gesture at the altar. “The Js’ first wedding was all about the pomp and circumstance. A zillion people were there, it was covered by the media, they were basically giving a live performance for everyone else’s benefit. If they renew their vows here, just the two of them, it will be intimate and special and signify the start of a new chapter in their lives. They won’t be doing it to please or impress anyone but themselves.” I love this idea!

  “So I’ll contact Lucy and set up a time on Wednesday for her to give the Js the same tour she gave us minus the snoozy, historical stuff—”

  “It wouldn’t hurt either of them to learn something while they’re here,” Alex interjects.

  “This is supposed to be a romantic getaway for them to reconnect, not a school field trip,” I remind him, then start pacing in front of the altar while I formulate a plan.

  “Okay, so ghosts, birds, a kiss under the arch, then I’ll have Lucy bring the Js here. She can shut the doors behind them and put up a closed sign to keep the public out so that Jax and Jaz can soak in all of this delicious atmosphere by themselves. I’ll arrange to have every single candle lit and a couple of these flower pedestals done with all-white blooms. Nothing too ornate so that Jaz doesn’t figure out that she’s here for her own wedding. When they come up to the altar, Jax can take her hand and drop down on one knee. Hmmmm . . .”

  I stop pacing to muse, “Should I have Jax prepare his proposal in advance so that he’s sure to say something really sweet and meaningful, or would it be better for him to improv on the spot? I wonder what he said to her when he proposed the first time. He was kind of vague about that when we discussed their history. He just said he popped the question in Paris, so I imagined this swoony scenario with him taking her to the top of the Eiffel Tower at sunset where he had champagne and a violinist—”

  “It was at the airport,” Alex informs me. “Jax proposed to Jaz at a newsstand when she was picking up some magazines for their flight home to LA after they were done filming Time and Time Again. He said, ‘We should get married.’ She said, ‘Okay,’ and that was that.”

  My jaw drops in dismay.

  “Jax asked Jaz to spend the rest of her life with him in a grimy airport terminal? No, wait, he didn’t even ask her; he just made a statement! That’s so . . . I can’t even.” I shake my head. “I’m going to blame that huge, romantic faux pas on Jax being young and stupid at the time. But that does mean he owes Jaz a proper proposal this go-round, one that shows thought and care and takes her feelings into consideration. I’ll have to ponder this some more and I need to find an officiant who can be hiding in the back until the Js need him. Also I’ll definitely have to tell Jax to think about what he’s going to say before they get here because he clearly can’t be trusted to get it right on his own.” Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I prepare to make a list of all the things I need to do to make this climactic moment of the Js’ trip fabulous and memorable.

  “You could just write the proposal for him. That way you’re assured that things will go exactly the way you want them to.”

  “I’m not going to put words in his—” I glance up from my phone and that’s when I see the mischievous glint in Alex’s eyes.

  “You’re kidding,” I deduce. “And you probably think all of this,” I wave the hand that’s not holding a device at the decorated altar, “is silly, or a waste of money, but I create once-in-a-lifetime experiences for my couples, ones that make them fall even deeper in love, and details are important. I worry about them so that my clients don’t have to. They can just relax, focus on each other, and enjoy.”

  “And you’re incredible at what you do. Truly,” Alex says when he sees me furrowing my brow suspiciously. “I had no idea how much work went into being a romance concierge until I spent time with you on the job, and now I can really appreciate how demanding it is. You’re always on the clock, always thinking of ways to make your clients happy and improve their relationships, always juggling a dozen balls in the air. And there’s real value in the service you provide. I’ve seen firsthand with Jax and Jaz how you make a difference in people’s lives.”

  I’m not sure whether to cry or throw my arms around Alex’s neck because I’m so moved by his words. He really gets it and me. He understands how much I put into my work and what it means not only to me, but my clients. I help them create beautiful, lasting memories that can solidify or reinvigorate their relationships and remind them how magical love can be. Being a romance concierge isn’t just a job to me; it’s a mission. In a world where everyone’s so busy and distracted and we spend more time on our phones and computers than we do interacting with our significant others, I want to remind people not to take each other for granted, to listen, share, and connect, and most of all, to make their partners a priority, not just on special occasions, but every day.

  “Thank you,” I say, my voice filled with emotion as my eyes meet his. “That’s nice to hear, especially—” Before I can get too sentimental and start s
aying mushy things I’ll regret later, my phone emits a bell-clanging noise. I cringe because it sounds ten times louder than usual in the quiet confines of this chapel. Cringing, I turn off the alarm as quickly as I can and call out, “Sorry,” to everyone.

  “Do we have somewhere else to be?” Alex wonders.

  “The spa. You can skip it if you want, go do some work or something.” I haven’t seen him on his phone once since we met at the restaurant for dinner last night, which is very unAlexlike. Surely he’s got some celebrity hands to hold or fires to put out.

  “Nope. My assistants have it under control. And I’m here for the couple’s experience this weekend, remember? The spa is a big part of that, so let’s go get waxed, buffed, and polished.” He offers me his arm.

  I chuckle, tucking my hand in the crook of his elbow. “You make it sound like we’re cars going in for a detailing.”

  As we walk back up the aisle arm-in-arm, the classic Hall & Oates bop, “You Make My Dreams Come True,” starts to play and everyone in the chapel stops what they’re doing so that they can clap and smile at us. I realize the person in charge of music here is testing out the recessional song for the couple who’s getting married later today and they think Alex and I are the bride and groom. Before I can set everyone straight, Alex takes a bright pink peony that’s given to him by one of the flower arrangers and hands it to me.

  I’ve been a bridesmaid a few times and attended too many weddings to count, but I’ve never been the one getting married, and it feels really nice to have all of this good will directed toward me. So I hold the peony as if it were my bouquet and float out of the church with a smile on my face like this really is the happiest day of my life.

  CHAPTER 37