Stand-In Groom bob-1

by Kaye Dacus

  “And do you still attend there?” Interest in the subject lent a new warmth to George’s handsome features.

  Anne’s heart skipped a beat when his brown eyes twinkled. “I do, although sometimes it’s hard to make it to Sunday morning service when I have a late evening wedding the day before. Are you—did you grow up going to church as well?”

  He shook his head. “No, I prayed to receive Christ as my Savior about twenty years ago. The head of staff at my first professional position was a Christian. We read the Bible and prayed together every day before we started work.”

  “Do you still keep in touch with him?” She smiled up at the waiter who came by to clear their plates, then returned her focus to George.

  “He passed away five years ago, just after I came to the States to work.” George’s eyes softened as he spoke of his mentor. “I couldn’t attend his funeral, and while I do miss being able to speak with him, I know I’ll see him again.”

  His openness made Anne even more uncomfortable. Every detail she learned about him served to reinforce her attraction to him. She couldn’t allow herself to feel this way about a client. She wasn’t sure what to say, and silence once again settled between them.

  They were saved from a moment of awkwardness when Jenn returned to the table. “How were your meals?”

  “Very good, as usual,” Anne told her cousin, but Jenn wasn’t looking at her.

  “The fish and chips reminded me of a pub in London we frequented when I was a boy.” George smiled politely.

  Even though she hadn’t known him long, just from watching him carefully today and in their past few meetings, Anne was starting to be able to read his facial expressions. He was better at controlling his reactions and schooling his features than she, but his eyes gave him away. His beautiful eyes that were the color of sun-brewed iced tea… the very same eyes that were now looking at her askance.

  “Anne?” Jenn nudged her. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. I just zoned out there for a second.” Heat crawled up her cheeks.

  Jenn removed the cap of her pen with her teeth to write something on her order pad. Speaking around the cap, she said, “I asked what site y’all are going to visit next.”

  “Oh. Comeaux Town Center. Then Benoit Hall.”

  “Lafitte’s Landing has those two beaten, hands down.” Jenn tore off the sheet she’d written on and put it facedown on the table in front of Anne. “George, great to meet you. Hopefully I’ll see you around again soon.”

  He nodded noncommittally.

  Jenn leaned over and kissed Anne’s cheek. “Annie, I’ll see you back here for dinner Thursday night.”

  “I should be here, but don’t be surprised if I’m late.” Anne picked up the ticket and slid out of the booth.

  “I’ll save you a seat.”

  “Thanks.” She gave her cousin a quick hug. As soon as Jenn walked away, Anne reached into her small purse and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill, which she left on the table.

  George reached for his wallet, but Anne stopped him. “I never make a client pay for a meal. Company policy.”

  He looked uncomfortable but didn’t argue with her.

  Anne looked down at the check. Rather than a receipt for their lunch, it was a note in her cousin’s chunky, loopy script. She read it as she walked toward the door.

  He’s hot. Find out if he has a brother and let me know.

  —J

  Anne smiled and shook her head. When would her cousin figure out that she was a wedding planner, not a matchmaker?

  Chapter 9

  At eight o’clock Tuesday evening, fourteen hours since the beginning of her workday, Anne locked the front door of her office and turned off all the lights. But after two hours of draining mediation, Amanda and David’s wedding was a go for Saturday.

  Her back ached between her shoulders, and she rolled her neck to try to work out the stiffness. Next stop: home, where she would fill the spa tub with hot water and her favorite tea-therapy essential oils and try to release some of this stress. Her stomach rumbled, and she adjusted her plans to include running by Rotier’s on the way to get her favorite grilled chicken club sandwich.

  The sandwich never made it out of the car. In the ten minutes from the restaurant to the converted Victorian triplex, she’d wolfed down the club and most of the large order of french fries. Her eyelids drooped as she parked between Jennifer’s red classic Mustang and Meredith’s white, late-model Volvo SUV.

  She’d rather hoped the girls would have gone out tonight so she could be sure of some private time to unwind. Even though each had her own apartment—Meredith on the ground floor, Jennifer on the third, and Anne in the middle—they rarely, if ever, hesitated to drop in on each other if the mood struck. Especially Jenn, who couldn’t seem to comprehend why anyone would ever want to be alone.

  Anne waved bugs out of her face as she fumbled to find the key to the back door. Maybe they should replace the incandescent porch light with a bug zapper.

  She smiled and crossed the threshold. With the deposit for the Landry-Laurence wedding safely tucked away in the bank, she could get an architect out to start redesigning this place back into a grand single-family home. She hadn’t told the girls yet, just in case something fell through. But it was time for all of them to move on, live by themselves.

  Thursday night at the family singles’ dinner would be the perfect time. That way she wouldn’t get fussed at for leaving someone out of the telling.

  The wooden stairs creaked, and she winced, hoping neither of the girls would notice. The rear entrance opened into her kitchen. She snapped on the lights…and groaned. A couple of cabinet doors stood ajar, and half of her mixing and serving bowls sat on the previously empty countertop.

  “Hey, Anne—” Meredith stopped in the doorway.

  Anne dropped her bags on the kitchen table, shrugged out of her suit jacket, and waved toward the mess. “Jenn?”

  Meredith nodded, stepped back out into the hall, and bellowed her sister’s name. “She came down a couple of hours ago to ‘borrow’ some flour—and sugar and eggs and baking soda. I didn’t realize she needed something to mix it all up in, too.”

  Anne leaned over to replace the stack of bowls in the cabinet under the sink. “Looks like she needed the mixer, too. How a woman who has her own business—”

  “You rang?” Jennifer bounced into the room. “Oh, sorry. I was about to come down and put all that away, Anne.”

  Meredith sat at the table, and Jennifer hopped up to sit on the counter beside the refrigerator. So much for a quiet evening and a long, hot bath.

  “So—are you going out with him?”

  “Going out with—no, he’s engaged!” Why in the world would Jenn ask that when she knew George Laurence was a client?

  Jenn’s pixie-esque face crumpled into a frown. “Danny Mendoza’s engaged? Then what’s he doing sending you flowers?”

  “What are you—?” Anne turned and for the first time noticed an enormous floral arrangement in the middle of the table. She must be more tired than she thought to have missed it. Meredith plucked the card off its stick and handed it to her. The flap on the tiny envelope hadn’t been sealed, thus explaining how Jenn already knew who’d sent them. Anne opened it and read the note:

  Anne—

  Sorry I’ve missed you the last few times I’ve called. I hope to talk to you soon and look forward to getting to know you better.

  Danny Mendoza

  What was wrong with him? He’d stood her up a week and a half ago, and she’d been avoiding his calls since then. Why wasn’t he getting the hint?

  “Obviously he cares enough to drop a wad of money on flowers.” Jenn cupped a stargazer lily and inhaled its spicy fragrance. “Are you going out with him again?”

  “What again? I haven’t been out with him yet.” Anne concentrated on putting the card back into its sleeve. She worked with April’s Flowers enough to know Danny had indeed “dropped a wad of money,�
� as Jenn so eloquently put it. Over two feet tall and about as wide, the bouquet featured not only the dark pink and white lilies, but also deep red roses, purple delphiniums, pink gerbera daisies, blue phlox, violet veronicas, lilac blossoms, and white hydrangeas.

  “How could you not see them when you came in?” Meredith fingered a velvety rose.

  “Have you seen the two arrangements in my living room? I have two others at my office, in addition to the purple tulips I get from April’s Flowers every time they get some in stock. The florist shops around here like me to keep them in mind when making recommendations to clients, so I get at least two or three deliveries every couple of weeks.” She turned the vase so the large purple bow faced forward. “I don’t think that going out with someone whose schedule is as hectic as mine is a good idea. When I meet the right man, I’ll know it.”

  The image of George Laurence flooded her mind’s eye. Why did he have to be engaged? She tried to stop the flutter in her heart, but the memory of their conversation over lunch yesterday—his gentle humor, his deep faith, his expressive brown eyes, his to-die-for accent—wouldn’t go away.

  “Oh, really, Anne!” Jenn slid down from her perch, arms crossed. “When are you going to give up on the idea of love at first si—” She jerked and grabbed for the cell phone hanging from her tiny waistband. “Sorry, gals, it’s the restaurant.” She whizzed out the door, phone to ear.

  “Don’t mind her.” Meredith stood and stretched. “She and Clay Huntoon broke up.”

  Anne frowned. “Clay Huntoon? The sports reporter for Channel Six who sings at church occasionally? Did I know she was seeing him?”

  Meredith smiled and shook her head. “That’s how she met Danny Mendoza—Danny and Clay work together.”

  “I swear she changes boyfriends like socks.” Anne fingered the waxy petal of one of the stargazer lilies. “Do you think maybe that’s why she’s so keen to find out if I plan to see Danny again? Do you think she might be interested in him?”

  “Dunno. Maybe.” With a shrug, Meredith crossed to the door. “Hey, have you heard from Major O’Hara the last couple of weeks?”

  Anne shook her head. “No, why?”

  “He asked about you this afternoon—mentioned we haven’t worked any events with you recently, was wondering how you are, and said he’d probably give you a call to see if you have any small events he might pick up freelance.”

  “Really? Are things so slow there that he has time to cater non-B-G events? I mean, it must really eat into the time he gets to spend with Debbonnaire.”

  “You really are behind the times, Anne. Major and Deb broke up before Christmas. She wanted him to propose—after dating only two months, if you can believe that.” Meredith pressed her lips together. “Well, I’d better get going. I’ll tell Major tomorrow you’ll be calling.” Meredith pulled the door closed behind her. “Good night, Annie.”

  “ ’Night, Mere. No, sweet dreams instead.” She grinned when Meredith stuck her tongue out at their long-standing joke.

  After putting her kitchen to rights, Anne slid the chain lock into place and put a pot of English toffee–flavored decaf coffee on to brew.

  The news that Major O’Hara was once again available hadn’t struck her the way it would have a few weeks ago. Twenty years ago, when he’d started working for Aunt Maggie, fifteen-year-old Anne had been sure she was going to marry him one day. Although he seemed to enjoy flirting with her, he never hinted he would consider asking her out. Then she met Cliff Ballantine and allowed her relationship with Major to fall into a comfortable friendship.

  She forced Major’s dimpled smile to replace George’s sharp features and brown eyes in her imagination. If she was going to obsess about someone, better for him to be someone available. She concentrated on Major, trying to remember the last time she’d seen him. Hadn’t it been at church a month or so ago?

  Had George found a church to attend yet?

  “Stop it.”

  She carried her laptop computer into the bathroom and set it on a low stool. Perching on the side of the tub, she held her hand under the faucet, and when the water reached a comfortable temperature, she measured out two capfuls of the black-tea-and-red-currant bath oil.

  Going back into the kitchen, she filled a latte mug with the richly scented coffee, doctored it with a bit of half-and-half and sugar, then went into the living room to grab a DVD. She hadn’t indulged in a bath and movie evening in quite a while.

  Not even twenty minutes into My Fair Lady, Anne stopped it and brought up the computer’s media player to listen to music instead. Why did Professor Henry Higgins remind her of George? Was it his influence over Courtney that made her seem older than her nineteen years? Had he seen her as a diamond in the rough and fallen in love with her as he taught her etiquette? Or was he just a wealthy man who wanted a beautiful wife and decided to get one young enough that he could mold her into the kind of woman he wanted her to be?

  How had they met? He self-admittedly had never been to Bonneterre before. In fact, aside from the New York area code on the business card he’d given her, she wasn’t sure where he lived.

  And where had his money come from? Probably some old, aristocratic family in England, with the legacy fortune passed down to and doubled by each successive generation.

  Closing her eyes, she sipped her coffee as the strains of Frank Sinatra’s “Come Fly with Me” wafted through the steamy room.

  She’d opened up with him over lunch yesterday more than with anyone outside of Meredith and Forbes. Not even Jenn knew all of the details of Anne’s parents’ deaths or of why she had started her own business.

  The next song started, and rather than picturing Dean Martin, she could clearly imagine George Laurence serenading her with “Return to Me,” her favorite song.

  She jumped out of the tub, not caring that she splashed water all over the rugs and tile floor, and turned the music off. Jamming her arms into her bathrobe, she fled to the kitchen, where she grabbed her planner and flipped to the address book.

  “Please let him still have this number.” She picked up her cell phone and dialed. It rang once…twice…

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Major, it’s Anne Hawthorne….”

  * * *

  Soft amber light pooled on the brick walkway from the faux gas lamp outside Anne Hawthorne’s office. George stopped. Why had he come down this way? There weren’t any restaurants on this side of Town Square.

  He had to stop thinking about Anne Hawthorne. He was here to do a job, and once finished, he’d go away. She would stay here with her family and her successful business.

  Maybe if he confided in her—no. If he told Anne he wasn’t the groom, he would be breaking the contract, and it would put her in an awkward position with her cousin Forbes. Anne would ask questions George couldn’t answer, and that would only make matters worse.

  After lunch yesterday, though, he was hard pressed to deny the growing attraction he felt for her. He wanted to spend more time with her, wanted to be the one to whom she told all her secrets, in whom she confided her dreams and fears. Asking her to go out socially was out of the question as long as she thought he was the groom. He couldn’t do anything to compromise his employment or Anne.

  Why was he still here? Nothing he could do or say would justify his lurking outside of Anne’s office at nine o’clock in the evening. He crossed Town Square toward the lights and music emanating from the Riverwalk. He fruitlessly wished Anne had still been working so he could have invited her to dinner.

  He grimaced. Yes, a romantic dinner with someone he’d spent the last two weeks purposely deceiving. What a brilliant idea.

  He chose an open-air café, and the hostess showed him to a small wrought-iron table. He took the chair that faced the river. Although his stomach clenched with hunger, his appetite was gone. Nothing on the menu piqued his interest. He ordered a Caesar salad and let the waitress talk him into trying their peach-flavored iced tea.

 
What did Anne do outside of her work? His own job was such that he was always on call, necessitating that he drop his own plans whenever his employer wanted something. Anne was self-employed. She could set her own hours. What interests did she pursue? Did she have hobbies?

  He’d had a glimpse of that outside life yesterday when she turned on the music in the car. To hear the strains of his favorite singer coming from her stereo… He’d never met another woman who enjoyed listening to the classics. Most women thought he was odd for not enjoying the latest noisemakers.

  With whom did she spend her free time? Obviously, she had family in town. He shook his head, remembering her cousins. Jennifer Guidry—pretty, young, and flirtatious—had mentioned seeing Anne again on Thursday night. Not for the first time did he wish he had a group of friends or relatives to spend time with. Although he guarded his personal space and private time jealously, he still needed fellowship and companionship.

  Lights from the buildings behind him twinkled on the surface of the river. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the small table.

  Are you testing me, God? Is this attraction supposed to be a test of my ability to keep my word to my employer while not lying to Anne? How am I supposed to do both?

  He gave the waitress a tight smile as she set the glass of tea down. Absently, he lifted it and took a sip, then groaned. It had taken him years to learn to enjoy cold tea, but he’d forgotten restaurants in the South always overloaded theirs with sugar.

  He flagged down another server and requested a glass of water with no ice and a slice of lemon.

  He envied Anne. She’d found what she enjoyed doing and had created a flourishing business. He was jealous of Jennifer Guidry’s precocious success as a restaurateur. The girl couldn’t be thirty years old yet had built a restaurant that seemed to thrive in an out-of-the-way town when the chances for failure in the food-service industry were high.