The Sweetheart Sham

by Danielle Ellison

  “We have to deliver the chairs.”

  “The chairs will be fine if we’re ten minutes late. The party is next week.”

  “I don’t want to, Beau.”

  “I’m not leaving until you get in this water,” I say. I can be as stubborn as her if I want to. And right now, I want to.

  “I don’t have dry clothes.”

  “This from the girl who once beat Jake Lexington in a pie eating contest.” I position myself around the rope swing.

  She crosses her arms. “It’s pie.”

  “And from the girl who challenged three boys to a race on Newmans’ farm—and beat them all by five minutes.”

  “They said I was slow because I was a girl.”

  “And from the girl who once single-handedly took out a whole group during a game of flashlight tag.” I’m taunting her on purpose and it’s getting to her, so I keep going. “The girl who took first place five years in a row in the town shooting tournament. The same one who once caught an eight-pound fish, beating out Old Man Hanner. That girl is afraid to be wet?” I say.

  “Are you challenging me?”

  I raise my eyebrows. “You say you’re still that girl. Prove it.”

  At that I run back and leap on the swing, a yell tearing from my throat as I crash land in the chilly water. When I pull my head above again and clear my eyes, she’s standing there in her underwear and bra. I barely have time to admire her before she’s midair, crashing into the water. She comes up and she’s smiling a large, bright Georgia Ann smile. We stare at each other, water glistening off her face in the sunlight.

  She’s never been so beautiful.

  “Race you to the rock,” she says.

  “You remember the rock?”

  She pauses and the air seems frozen between us. “I remember everything about this place.”

  Then she’s gone, swimming down the river. I have to push myself to catch up to her. Once I do, she’s won and she’s got this cocky smile on her face. “You used to be faster.”

  “Used to be?”

  “You’re too old now, I reckon.”

  “I’m three months older than you are.”

  “That’s all it takes.”

  I reach over and grab her, pull her toward me. She screams a little. “Take it back or else.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” she gasps.

  She tries to swim away from me but I catch her again. “Say you’re sorry.”

  “Never.”

  “Okay,” I say. I hold onto her and pull us both underwater. When we come up and she splashes me, I splash her back. We’re both laughing and I reach out for her again.

  “I can’t believe you dunked me,” she says.

  “I’m not sorry.”

  She laughs. “I’ll get you for it later.”

  “Promise?” I ask.

  She’s in my arms, no words between us. I can’t help but study her face. Two years has only made her prettier, stronger, smarter. I’ve missed my friend every day since then.

  “I really am sorry, Georgia Ann. I’m sorry I didn’t fight harder to make it right with you. I wasn’t here when you needed me.”

  I’m so close to her it would be easy to lean in and kiss her and to show her how much I still miss her and care for her. But I can’t do it. Not when there’s Will and my dad—and I will not be anything like my dad. I won’t kiss someone else’s girl, no matter how much I want to.

  She bites her bottom lip and runs her eyes across my chest and down my arm that’s connected to her waist. “We should go,” she says, pulling away from me. “I’ll grab our clothes.”

  After, we’re back in the car, back on the road. The air from the windows being down pushes the cab of the car. Her phone sits between us in the cup holder next to mine. I look over at her. Her hair is damp, sticking to her face and neck. Her shirt is wet from where her pink bra is making a water seep through the fabric. I try not to stare at her breasts too long.

  She smiles, which makes me smile, too.

  “What?”

  I shake my head. “Music? You can pick.”

  She reaches over and switches the stations. It stops on an old-school country song from when we were kids. Her face is giddy with excitement as she starts singing along. It’s a duet, so she only does the girl part. She looks at me expectedly when it’s the male’s turn. I sing along, too.

  The best moment is when she props her feet up on my dashboard, like they’ve always belonged there.

  Chapter Nine

  Georgie

  Lyla appears beside me. “Everything looks so gorgeous, Georgie. Your mom is the best.”

  I keep my eyes focused on Jo, one of Mom’s little worker bees, as she hangs a letter banner up from the ceiling: future mrs. montgomery.

  “A little higher,” I say, and she pulls on the string to move it up. “Too much.” She releases some of it. “Perfect!” I shout when it lines up to Momma’s exact requirements. She’d be the first to notice if something in this room is off or missing. No one else might but that’s part of what makes Momma the best.

  “Thanks, Lyla. I’m glad you were able to come help. Momma about flipped her lid when Casey called in sick.”

  “We don’t want anyone puking in the begonias,” Lyla says with a smile.

  Begonias. Good Lord. Last year at the Spring Fling Dance that’s exactly what happened when Momma made one of her employees come in anyway. The Belles were in charge of the event, but that didn’t stop Momma from bringing in trained reinforcements. Everyone was dancing and the poor thing got up on stage with Momma to hand out the Miss Spring Fling crown. The next thing we all knew she was tossing cookies off the stage right into the begonias that lined the stage. That was bad enough, but then the crown went toppling down into the mess—and bless her heart, but that poor girl never came back to an event. Momma learned a lesson too: if someone is sick, let her stay home.

  “Besides, that’s what friends are for,” Lyla adds. She holds up the nameplates. “Was there a decision on using these?”

  “Emma Claire wants her friends to sit wherever and move around. Trust me, it was a whole thing.”

  When she said “less formal,” Momma and Mrs. Stanguard both about lost their heads. When she said she wanted a self-serve buffet, the fireworks went off. Momma said in the kitchen that night, “We might as well all take off our shoes and run around barefoot drinking out of Mason jars.” Daddy just nodded in agreement, but I know part of him got a kick out of the whole situation. Open seating and a buffet—with servers—was the compromise.

  “No nameplates then. Got it,” Lyla says, tossing them back into a box. “What else do y’all need?”

  “Let’s just do a walkthrough and make sure all the tables are set correctly.”

  Lyla’s been around long enough to know what Momma’s definition of “correct” is. All the Belles are taught that from the beginning and it’s drilled into us, tested at every turn. In the center, dinner plate with salad plate on top. Three inches southwest, or at ten o’clock, the bread plate and knife. Dinner fork to the right of the plates, smaller salad fork right of that, and the napkin placed at least one inch from there. Cake fork and dessert spoon immediately above the dinner plate with water and wineglasses at two o’clock from there. A cup and saucer should sit at three o’clock with a soupspoon, teaspoon, and knife lining up back to the plates.

  This is as informal as Momma gets.

  But she was right about how amazing these chairs look. The woman does have style.

  Beau pops into my head, the way he looked at me when we were driving to get them a couple of days ago. It took all I had to keep my eyes on the road and not on him, to keep myself in check. And when he took me back to that spot on the river…well. A girl could lose herself over a thing like that, over a boy like him. Seeing him there reminded me of what we had. Yeah, we were young, are young, and we didn’t even get to figure things out, but there’s something between us. Always has been.

  Plus, his a
pologizing to me, I don’t know. It makes it easier to be less mad at him over it. I didn’t know his daddy cheated; what would I have done in that situation? Hard to imagine. There sure are a lot of things I wish I could say to him, but I’m “with” Will. Real or not, I made a commitment to my best friend and I’m not going to let any leftover feelings for Beau Montgomery get me riled up.

  That’s all they are. Leftovers. Really old, moldy ones that needed to be tossed out with the trash. I won’t get hurt again. I opened up to Beau once and he left me. Even if I understand more of the reason why, I can’t just welcome him back with open arms. Not when in six weeks he goes back to his real life in Atlanta. I’d be risking too much if I tried anything with Beau, not just myself but also Will. I can’t—I won’t—risk exposing him.

  “Hey, Georgie,” Jo, Momma’s summer intern, calls to me from across the room. “You should get back here.” Then she disappears into the swinging kitchen door. Hell’s bells. That’s not a good sign. As I approach the kitchen, there’s a big clash of metal on the ground. That’s not good, either.

  Momma’s red faced, her hands on her hips, staring at this scared-looking chef.

  “Do you not understand the words coming out of my mouth?”

  The chef shakes his head. “I understand you, ma’am, but it’s not in my paperwork. My team is supposed to deliver the food and set up.” He holds out a clipboard for Momma. “You can read my orders, right here.”

  “Where is Chef Dante?”

  “I’m his partner, Pete. I told you already that there’s no guarantee which of us you will get on the day of the event; it’s in the contract.”

  Momma puts a hand on her temple.

  “What’s going on, Momma?” I ask.

  She looks over her shoulder at me. “What’s wrong is that it’s impossible to get anyone to keep their word. I never should have worked with a caterer I don’t know.”

  “Emma Claire wanted them, Momma, and it’s her shower.”

  Momma’s eyes widen. Wrong words. “I know whose shower it is, Georgia Ann.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say.

  Momma sighs. “There are no servers. How does a catering company not bring servers?”

  “It’s a buffet,” Chef Pete says.

  “I have instructions that you were to bring six servers to cover the various buffet stations.” Her voice is climbing higher and higher. “Are these people supposed to reach in and serve themselves? That’s now how this works.” He gets a weird look on his face, because yeah, a buffet does work that way—but not in Momma’s world.

  “Emma Claire will understand,” I start.

  Momma looks like she’s going to go off on me, but before she can, Jo pops back in.

  “Sorry, Mrs. Monroe, but the bride is here.”

  Momma shoots Jo a dagger look, as if it’s her fault, and Jo scurries out the door. Momma looks back at the chef. “Fine, fine. Get everything ready with your team, and this better be the best food I have ever tasted.”

  The chef nods. “Dante and Pete’s is the best in Columbia for a reason.”

  “Yes, well, we will see, won’t we?”

  He runs, literally runs, away from Momma. I love her but she’s scary. The poor guy. Momma pulls her shoulders back and straps on her party planner “all is perfect” face. “I need to go check in. I don’t know how I’m going to tell Mrs. Stanguard that her ninety-year-old mother will be serving herself today.”

  Momma always says that if you fail to deliver on something you promised and planned for, then you lose your client’s trust—and trust is everything. I can’t let her go through this without trying to fix it.

  “Don’t say anything,” I say. “Not just yet.” An idea is brewing in my head and it’s a little crazy, but it could work. “We still have twenty minutes until the guests start arriving, and some more time before we need to serve them. Let me try something.”

  “What are you going to do?” she asks.

  “I don’t want to say in case it fails, but go. Give me twenty minutes.”

  Momma nods and heads out into the dining room, and I grab my cell phone and dial Will. As soon as the line clicks to a connection I say, “I need you at the bridal shower right now.”

  “For what?” Will half whines.

  “The caterer didn’t bring servers. So put on a black suit and get over here or I will invoke Commander of the Groomsmen status,” I say. Finally one of his weird ideas works in my favor. Commander of the Groomsmen was his way of saying I was in charge, and when I invoke it I’m like the Hulk. Well, I’m about to Hulk-out.

  “You’re going to call all the groomsmen?”

  “No, just the ones who live here.”

  “So me and Beau.”

  I pause. Crap. “Yes. So you and Beau.”

  Will tells Beau that I need them to come in a suit, and I hear him say okay in the background. He doesn’t even question it, which is exactly like the Beau I remember. He’s always been someone who helps without question. I reckon he still is.

  “We’ll be there,” Will says

  “You have twenty minutes.”

  “Got it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Anything for you, Commander,” Will says as he hangs up. I smile. Okay. This is totally going to be fine. Two servers are better than zero, even if it’s going to take a miracle to pull it off.

  Eighteen minutes later, Beau and Will walk in the front door. Lyla and Jo have been filled in on the plan, so we’re already waiting for them and ready when they arrive. Will hugs me as soon as he sees me. “You look stressed,” he whispers.

  I pat him on the shoulder. “Always observant.”

  “It’s what I do.”

  Beau is behind him but his eyes are on me, and dang nambit, I wish he didn’t look so cute in a suit. And not in a suit. “Thank you for coming, too,” I say.

  Before Beau responds, more male voices trail into the entryway. I gasp. Literally, gasp. At the door in black suits are Chris Howell, Jake Lexington, and Spencer Newman.

  “I know I look hot, Monroe, but don’t pee on the floor in excitement,” Jake says with a smirk. I lose the smile and send him a scowl.

  “What is all this?” I ask.

  “Reinforcements,” Will says.

  Reyes enters, straightening his tie, and he’s wearing a brown pinstripe suit that I know for sure he wore at Halloween when he was Doctor Who. But it’s the thought that counts.

  “How did you do this?”

  “Beau’s idea. All I did was send the text,” Will says.

  I look at Beau, and his eyes are already on me. Maybe he never moved them, and the thought gives me a shiver.

  “Will said you needed us, so here we are,” Chris says.

  “Plus, I owed you from Communications last year,” Spencer adds.

  “Not like I was doing anything better in this town,” Jake says. “They promised lots of pretty women to look at.”

  “And cake,” Reyes chimes in.

  Wordlessly I hug Beau. I don’t know what else to do. He’s completely saved the day by doing this.

  “Thank you,” I whisper. I stay in his arms maybe a second too long because it feels good there, it feels right. Then I remember the task at hand and snap back into reality.

  “Jo, take them all to the back and show them what they need to do. I’m going to find Momma, then I’ll meet you back there.”

  Momma is floating around the room, making sure everyone is happy as guests arrive. She’s talking to one of the bridesmaids, and I wave her over when she makes eye contact. Momma’s smile fades a little when she sees me, the stress coming through only a fraction—and this isn’t even the wedding. “Our problem has been solved. We have servers.”

  Her face lights up. “How? Who?”

  I point over to the buffet where Jo and Lyla are leading the boys to their spots. “I called Will, and then he and Beau got the others.”

  “That’s really sweet of them,” she says. “It’s a little
abnormal to be served by teenagers, and I only have the budget for four.” I’m sure she adds that when she sees that Reyes doesn’t match the other guys.

  “They’re all working for cake.”

  Momma smiles and claps her hands together. “Wonderful! I can spin it as one of the special things about Culler—that everyone is willing to jump in and help and support each other. You’ve saved the day here, daughter of mine.”

  Momma walks away back to the crowd, and I study Beau from across the room. He laughs at something that Will says. I did not save anything—he did.

  …

  Will, Beau, and Lyla are waiting for me near the door. I have a rolling suitcase full of Momma’s supplies. I’m tired and starving, but when I see them, the boys both smile my way. It makes my heart glad. In some ways, having them both here makes me feel whole again, even if it’s temporary.

  Will rushes over to take the suitcase from me. “That was some party.”

  “I’ve never been around so many gossiping women at once,” Beau adds.

  “Wait until the debutante ball this winter,” Lyla says. “It’s going to be so crazy.”

  “The world will not be ready.” I add, and then I take Will’s empty hand in mine as we walk. It’s more out of habit than not, but I am ultra aware of how Beau tenses up by it. “Did Momma give y’all cake? I’m starving.”

  “Me too,” Lyla agrees.

  We stop and Will tosses the suitcase into Momma’s car. She’s still inside, but she was finishing up the last room before she heads home. I told her I’d stay, but she insisted I go out with my friends.

  “Pizza it is,” Will says. It’s after ten, so the whole town is basically closed and it’s really the only thing still serving food at this hour. They stay open just because they can. Mayor Dobbs hates it, but the town outvoted him. “I’ll drive us,” Will adds.

  It’s probably faster to walk it from here, but I’m too tired to complain. We all pile into Will’s car and head over to the pizza place. There’s only one empty booth so Lyla and Will claim it as ours while Beau goes up to order us a pizza. I follow him to help carry the drinks back.