by Stewart, Anna J. ; Sasson, Sophia; Carpenter, Beth; Jensen, Muriel
It was on the tip of his tongue to remind her that he hadn’t been the one to make the offer, but he loved Helen and this wasn’t the moment for any more jokes. The Manning-Palmer family seemed to be in a sort of wedding reverie, still looking around the great room and envisioning something he couldn’t see.
He patted Helen’s hand. “Happy to do it.” He sent a glance Cassie’s way, wondering if she could, indeed, do all she claimed she could. He hoped so. He now seemed to be in partnership with her in this whole dreams-come-true, happily-ever-after fantasy.
Sarah put his concerns into words, but not in quite the way he’d have framed them. She was clearly willing to believe. “I can’t wait to see how you pull this off,” she said, giving Cassie’s shoulders a squeeze. “Wow. What a holiday. What a reunion!”
“Should we get together tomorrow to make sure we’re on track?” Helen asked. “I’m a little worried about the flowers. Our flower shop is small and…”
“I can get those, too,” Cassie said. She seemed to have a sudden surge of internal power because her eyes were brighter and her cheeks were glowing. “Just decide what you want, Corie, and let me know. Sometime tomorrow for sure. We can have them sent to your florist and ask her to work with us.”
The women stared at her openmouthed. She brushed away their shock with a casual backhanded gesture. “It’s fine,” she said. “The whole world of modeling revolves around glamorizing products and people and sites. We’ll make it happen. But, what do you want to do for music?”
“What?” Grady asked. “You can’t get the London Philharmonic? Or Beyoncé?”
She sent him a scolding look, but before she could reply Ben said, “Why don’t we ask the Wild Men?”
Cassie frowned, clearly fearing for the plan. “Who?”
While the rest of the family applauded the idea, Grady explained. “It’s a singing group Jack and Ben belonged to as teenagers. They all went to school together. They recently did a fund-raiser talent-show thing here and brought the house down.”
She smiled and expelled a breath. “Great. Can you ask them?”
“Yes.” He grinned. “I’m sure they’ll love to do it.”
CHAPTER FIVE
GRADY AND CASSIE stood side by side in the doorway, smiling and waving as the family left. The moment they were out of sight, she turned to him. “Thank you for agreeing to do this. I apologize that I didn’t ask first. But, Corie seems to love the idea, and that’s very important to me.”
“Sure,” he said, following her into the foyer and closing the door. “I hate this sort of thing, but I’ll do it for Ben.”
She looked at him over her shoulder on her way into the kitchen, an eyebrow raised. “What sort of thing? Weddings?”
“Fuss,” he replied, opening the dishwasher door while she filled the sink with water and added soap. “All that glamour that trips us in to an unreal place.”
She tried to justify her feelings about it. “I haven’t seen my sister since I was a toddler, and she’s been through so much. I can help make this wedding beautiful for her, and I’d like to do that. Glamour isn’t about pretensions. It’s just giving your best attention to the moment because it’s important.”
With the tray in the dishwasher only half-full, he pushed it in and closed the door. He carried the frying pan she’d used that morning and placed it on the counter beside her. He smiled, but his blue eyes were judgmental.
“Then I guess you should, but I doubt that she needs you to turn her wedding into something that would be held at Notre-Dame Cathedral. She just needs you to be her sister—and in this case, her maid of honor.”
“If you recall,” she said, dropping the skillet into the sudsy water, “I was photographed abusing a deaf woman and having a meltdown the world saw on television. I’d like her to remember me for something else.” She plunged her hand into the water and turned her back on him.
He came to stand beside her and lean back against the counter while she worked. “Is that what all this extravagance is about? You’re trying to make up for the Ireland thing?”
“No!” She gestured with a soapy hand and accidentally flung suds onto his cheek. She gasped in apology and brushed the suds from his cheekbone with a dish towel. “No, it’s not about that. It’s a wedding. They should all be beautiful, but I have the ability to make it absolutely fabulous.”
“That’s not going to make the marriage last any longer.”
Now she was tempted to throw suds at him deliberately, but she drew a breath instead. “Of course it won’t. But it’ll enrich the moment and go just a little way to paying Corie back for all the hard times she’s endured. Don’t you believe in weddings?”
“I believe in marriage,” he insisted. “Just not weddings that make us believe the more money we pour into things, the more fuss we make, the better it’ll be.”
Another dark look. “It isn’t going to cost you a dime.”
“I’m not worried about that. I just hate the…the…”
“The fuss. I know. You’ve said that a couple of times.” She pulled the pan out of the sink and rinsed it under hot water. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep it under control.”
He sighed heavily and took the pan from her. She wondered if he feared for his safety. “Let’s just call a truce and try to coexist in harmony until after the wedding. Okay?”
She grinned at him. “Afraid of me, aren’t you?”
He grinned back. “Little bit,” he admitted.
Later, once she was dressed more comfortably in a hooded red sweatshirt pulled over her jeans, she sat in the middle of her bed, making notes.
Castle Props in London had the floor chandeliers she needed, and the one that would hang from the loft. They promised to ship them tonight for either late delivery tomorrow or the morning of the following day.
For tulle and ribbon, she called Louise, a seamstress for Josie Bergerac, her favorite Paris designer.
“You’re getting married?” Louise asked excitedly.
“No, my sister is,” she replied, and heard the sigh of disappointment. “I need yards of tulle and Caribbean-blue ribbon. Can you help me?”
“Of course. How many yards?”
“Forty?”
An exclamation of amazement crossed the Atlantic. “Are you decorating Madison Square Garden?”
“Ha, ha. No, Lulu, but a pretty large living room in a log home. It’s going to look spectacular.”
“I’ll send it in the morning. Cassiopeia?” Louise used the name the fashion press had given her early in her career.
“Yes?”
“I believe it’s the tradition in romance novels for the maid of honor to run off with the best man.”
“Believe it or not,” Cassie said, “I’ve already done that. Actually, he’s one of the groomsmen. And he helped me leave Texas when the paparazzi descended.”
“Texas?”
“It’s a long story. The log home is his. But I’m afraid we’re not the stuff of romance novels.”
“Well, that’s disappointing.”
She had no idea.
“This will ship in the morning,” Louise promised.
“You’re a doll, Lulu.”
* * *
MELANIE STORM, THE REALTOR, was short and plump, with dark hair in a short, feathery cut. She had freckles in abundance, cocoa-colored eyes and a gamine face that, along with her height, made it a little hard to take her seriously. Her services had been a gift to Grady and Ben from Jack and Sarah as congratulations for starting their PI business.
When she began to take Grady around to locations she thought might be appropriate, he forgot that she was short and freckled. She knew every detail of every location, and suggested some pros and cons he wouldn’t have thought about.
By the fourth l
ocation, an office space in the same building as the Bay Bistro, he admired her style.
“This is a little smaller than the other places we’ve looked at, but there are two offices, two restrooms, a small area that would be a waiting room, and a small kitchen. Rent’s a little higher, but it’s recently been re-carpeted. I know everyone’s doing hardwood floors now, but in the kind of business you’re going into, warmth and quiet are good things. The building has Wi-Fi, but I suppose by the nature of detective work, you’ll want your own system. Here we are.” They stepped off the elevator and he couldn’t help remembering his earlier experience that day with Cassie, and the serious fear in her eyes.
Melanie turned right off the elevator, rounded a corner and unlocked an oak door with a window trimmed in clear, leaded-glass squares. She ushered him in before her and stayed near the door, checking her phone while he wandered.
“The building was restored years ago,” she said, following him slowly as he walked around the first office. “But they kept the crown molding and the chair rails.” She chuckled. “It’ll give you a sort of Old World detective atmosphere.”
He smiled at that, looking around the office that was maybe ten by ten. Through the window, he saw the lot next door, a day-care center with toys strewed all over the yard. There was a very small bathroom at the back of the office.
The second office was smaller, possibly eight by eight. It also had a very small bathroom at the front. He went out across the hall and found a long, narrow kitchen with a row of cabinets and a small refrigerator. “Last tenant left the fridge. I can’t vouch for how well it works.”
“Well, I like it,” he said, taking another walk-through. “But my partner has to see it and he’s getting married on New Year’s Day, so this is probably second in line in his priorities.” He took out his cell phone. “I’ll take some pictures so he has some idea.”
“Oh, don’t bother.” She handed him a sheet of paper with all the space’s specs and the address of a website that showed the place in detail. “He can look it up online and take his own tour. I don’t have anyone else interested right now, so we can wait until after the wedding. If I do get a nibble, I’ll let you know.”
He was impressed by her eagerness to accommodate them. “That’s very kind. Thank you.”
Well, that was a relief, Grady thought as he drove home. The office space at the mill seemed like a definite possibility to him, if Ben agreed, and he couldn’t think of anything better than being just a hallway away from the Bay Bistro.
Being a hallway away from Cassidy Chapman was another matter. Before this afternoon, he’d been bracing himself for the minor uproar caused by simply being part of a wedding. Now that uproar was going to be in his home, and the beautiful woman responsible for all that was going to be there, too.
How had he gotten into this?
Ego, he guessed, turning up the road that would lead him home. A supermodel had asked him for help and he’d obliged without a second thought. Served him right.
The house was quiet when he arrived. He knew it wasn’t empty because Cassie had no way to get anywhere. The accordion closures above the loft railing remained open. He stood in the middle of the great room and called her name.
She appeared at the railing, a polite smile in place. “Hi,” she said. “Did you find an office?”
“Maybe. Depends on whether or not Ben likes it. I’m going to email him some photos, then I’ll microwave that casserole my mother left. Will you be ready for dinner in about fifteen minutes?”
“Sure.”
“Coffee with dinner? Only other thing I have is beer.”
“Coffee’s good.”
“Your dulce de leche or is that just for breakfast?”
“Whatever you have. I have to start the day with dulce de leche, but for the rest of the day, it doesn’t matter.”
“All right. See you in fifteen.”
She disappeared into her room and he took off for the small room off the kitchen where he kept his computer and printer and other stuff that didn’t fit anywhere else. He wished he could put the blue armoire from his mother in there, but he knew she’d expect it to be visible when she came. And she wouldn’t be shy about asking where it was.
He and Cassie chatted over dinner. She told him she was expecting a delivery from Castle Props tomorrow, and possibly one from a Paris designer. That news rattled the resolution he’d just made about coexisting, because standing chandeliers and French designers were so contrary to all he knew, and made him uncomfortable. But she said the words with such ease and confidence that he had to believe it was going to happen.
“Just wanted you to have a heads-up. And…” She looked suddenly apologetic. “Would you mind if Corie, Sarah and Helen meet here with me tomorrow to talk about the flowers? That way I can be here to receive the Castle Props stuff.”
“Sure. Do whatever you need to do. Until the wedding, I’ll just work around you. My life will go back to normal after.”
“After I’m gone?” she asked.
He nodded. “Right. I have Java Chip ice cream for dessert.”
“Java like coffee?”
“Yeah. With chocolate chips.”
“Sounds heavenly.”
He got up to get it and pulled down two bowls. “You’re going to have to fast for weeks when you go back to your normal life.”
She shrugged as though it didn’t matter. “I’ve done that before. Once I modeled ski clothes and forgot that it had been a couple of years since I’d skied. I broke my femur. I went home to recover and the nurse my father hired was a wonderful cook.
“And another time when I was seventeen, Paul Preston dumped me right after I went with him to the Grammys.”
“Paul Preston the rock star?”
“Yes.”
“Wasn’t he too old for you? I mean, he’s forty now, so when you were seventeen, he was…”
“Thirty-two. Yes. But I was scared by the new world I’d entered as a model, and he was big and sure of himself and I was flattered by his attention.”
He got that. Same thing had happened to him when she’d picked him out for her rescue.
“Anyway, after that, I drowned my sorrows in macarons.”
“If I wanted to drown my sorrows, it wouldn’t be in coconut.”
She put both elbows on the table and watched him scoop ice cream, a memory smile on her face. “Not macaroons with a double o, but macarons…” She gave it a French roll of her tongue.
He went a little weak.
“It’s like a cookie cake with a flavored cream center. They make all kinds of them, but my favorite was salted caramel. Oh, my! They’re hard to describe.”
He carried the bowls to the table. “So you OD’ed on macarons?” She laughed when he tried to copy her accent.
“I did. But two weeks later, I learned that Eterna Cosmetics wanted me as their spokeswoman. I quickly recovered and went to the gym. I was myself again, maybe even better, before shooting began the following month.”
“So, all it’ll take is a couple of weeks in the gym to erase all the signs of Texas and Beggar’s Bay?”
Her expression sobered slowly and her blue-sky eyes became as dark as dusk. “Nothing,” she said, picking up her spoon, “will ever erase Texas or Beggar’s Bay.”
CHAPTER SIX
IN THE MORNING Grady went to rent wedding clothes with Jack, Ben, Gary and Soren while Cassie made a coffee cake with streusel topping for her meeting with the Palmer women. Corie brought Rosie, who seemed delighted to be part of the feminine proceedings.
“I’ve been thinking about this,” Cassie said as they all gathered around the kitchen table, Rosie tucked in between her new mother and her new grandmother.
Sarah stabbed her fork into the coffee cake and said with a shake of her he
ad, “I can’t believe you just whipped this up before we got here. It’s only nine thirty. You are going to be a marvelous addition to this family.” She put the bite into her mouth and groaned in approval. “Wow. Did you learn to make this in Paris?”
Cassie laughed. “I think it’s in the Betty Crocker cookbook. Nothing brilliant about it. You add butter and brown sugar to anything and you’ve got something swoon-worthy. So, back to the matter at hand.”
Sarah turned to Corie with a haughty expression. “She’s going to be marvelous but bossy.”
Corie made a so-what sound. “She’s a Manning. You’re married to one. You know what they’re like. Well, she’s a Manning-Chapman, and Jack’s a Manning-Palmer, so they’ve compromised a few gene pools, but they are all the same. Please give her your full attention or she’ll take away our coffee cake.”
Corie put an arm protectively around hers. “Go on,” she said to Cassie.
“I was thinking,” Cassie said again, “that maybe I don’t have to send for flowers. We’ll see what you think about this idea, then we’ll call your local florist and see if she can do it. It’s pretty basic, but beautiful. Even the simplest flower seems to raise an occasion to an elegant event.”
They were listening, except for Rosie, who was eating all the streusel off her coffee cake. “What about dark pink Gerbera daisies, pink roses and delphiniums, maybe, for a little blue to coordinate with your Caribbean blue? It’s not even close in shade, but that’s better, because it won’t look like we tried to match it and failed.”
Corie opened her mouth to speak but Sarah put a hand on her arm. “I have the perfect solution!” she said. “To the blue, I mean.”
Everyone leaned toward her. “When I was living with Ben and Jack after my apartment caught fire and Jack had just come home, I dried some gorgeous blue hydrangea that are now the most amazing shade of gray blue with pink in it. They’d be perfect with pink roses and Gerbera daisies. In fact…” She dug her phone out of her purse and scrolled through her photo album until she found the flowers.
