Entice Me Box Set: The Truth About Shoes and MenCover MeMy Favorite Mistake

by Stephanie Bond

  I shrieked. “Congratulations! When did this happen?”

  “Last night. You know, since the family meeting didn’t go as well as I’d hoped, I was starting to have second thoughts, and I figured Ted was, too.”

  “His mother will come around,” I soothed.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Ted and I love each other and we know there are always going to be obstacles, but we want to be together. That’s it.”

  I sighed happily. “It’s great that you can be so clearheaded about how you feel and what you want.”

  “I can’t explain it,” Jacki said. “When I look at Ted, everything else just seems to fall away and I just know this is right.”

  “I’m thrilled for you,” I said. “And I’m sorry I’ve been such a blubberhead about Sam that you were afraid to share your good news. And now on to the important stuff—did he give you a ring?”

  “We’re going shopping Thursday.”

  “Then why don’t the girls and I meet you at Fitzgerald’s Friday for some hardcore diamond ogling?”

  She laughed. “I’ll see you then.”

  23

  “TO JACKI AND TED,” I said, holding up my glass of wine.

  Denise lifted her glass. “And to the biggest freaking diamond I’ve ever seen!”

  Cindy lifted her glass. “And to true love.”

  Jacki grinned and we all clinked our glasses. She kept glancing at her left hand, as if she were afraid the enormous square-cut diamond might have disappeared since she’d last looked.

  My chest was full of happiness for her, so full I hadn’t been able to dwell on the sad state of my own heart, for which I was grateful. I had considered calling Sam a dozen times, and changed my mind just as many times. Even if we somehow managed to get beyond the misunderstandings and my duplicity, there was still the matter of his commitment phobia and our geographical distance and my man allergy. And overcoming those kinds of obstacles required more than…like.

  But for this evening, I pushed regrets from my mind and dished with the girls about movies and hair and ideas for bridesmaids’ dresses.

  As we were paying for the check, Denise’s attention was drawn to something over my shoulder. “Hey, Kenzie, don’t look now, but there’s a guy staring at you.”

  I gave her a dismissive wave. “Forget it—I’m taking a break from men.”

  She shrugged. “Suit yourself, but he looks pretty determined.”

  I wasn’t even tempted to turn around.

  “Oh, here he comes,” Jacki said. “Eagle Scout, two o’clock.”

  My heart blipped at the familiar reference, and despite my best intentions, I turned to look.

  Then my heart did a back handspring. Sam.

  He was walking, or rather limping, toward me, wearing jeans and a J. Peterman T-shirt (I knew Tshirts) and a cautious smile.

  “I think I’m going to call it a night,” Jacki said. “Share a cab, girls?”

  In the back of my mind, I registered their leaving, but all of my focus was on Sam and on keeping my emotions in check until I knew why he was there.

  “Hi,” he said. “I was hoping I’d find you here.”

  I smiled, positive he could hear my heart slamming against my chest wall. “We were celebrating Jacki’s engagement.” I decided to get right to the point. “What are you doing here?”

  He looked at his hands. “Actually, I brought Val.”

  My heart plunged. “Val?”

  He nodded. “She’s been wanting to move to the city for ages.”

  “Oh.” So he’d been doing a favor for Val. I sipped the last of my drink to hide my disappointment.

  “And when I told her I was coming to see you, she asked if I’d mind if she followed me.”

  My hopes lifted again. “You were coming to see me?”

  “Yes.” He shifted to his bad foot, winced, and shifted back. “The fact is, Kenzie, I don’t care why you came to Jar Hollow, just that I was able to spend time with you. I’m sorry for implying that you might have staged some of those accidents—I know you would never do something like that.” He smiled. “You once said that a person misses what’s familiar, and the truth is…I miss you.”

  I inhaled sharply. “You miss me?”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed. “In fact, I love you.”

  “You love me?”

  “Yes. I knew as soon as I saw you’d carried out my animal cages to save them from the fire.”

  “I almost left the snakes,” I felt compelled to admit.

  “But you didn’t.” He stepped closer and picked up my hand. “I saw in your electronic organizer that you were going to start looking for a nice guy, and that you made the entry after you met me. But I came to see if you have any feelings for me. Good ones, that is.”

  Astonished, I looked at our hands, palm to palm. “Yes, I have some good feelings for you.”

  He looked immensely relieved, and went into alpha mode, gesturing emphatically. “I’ve been giving this a lot of thought and you don’t have to feel pressured or anything, but I was thinking maybe I could arrange to teach some classes here in the city so I could see you more often, and…and we can just see where this goes.” He cleared his throat. “And as far as your allergy to me, well, I’m prepared to take things slowly, so you can build up your immunity.”

  “Wow, you have been giving this some thought.”

  He blushed. “I can’t live without you…partner.”

  My heart soared, and I blinked back instant tears. When I looked at Sam, everything else fell away, and I just knew it was right, as Jacki had said. He and I belonged together.

  “So,” he said nervously, “do you think we can give this a go?”

  I nodded. “I think we can give this a go.”

  He reached for me and I looped my arms around his neck and met him for the sweetest, most joyous kiss imaginable. I pulled back and looked at the love shining in his eyes and I was flooded with the feeling that as Helena’s psychic had hinted, my mother was indeed smiling down on us.

  Yet I couldn’t ignore the issues between us that remained to be resolved. “Sam,” I said solemnly, “we do have a few things to clear up before we can move on.”

  Sam straightened, as if preparing for a litany of emotional debates.

  “Exactly what is gravy anyway?”

  Epilogue

  TO HELENA’S consternation and relief, the cover curse ended with Sam, but the magazine had gained enough sales and media attention to leapfrog a couple of competitors. My Pet Personality column was a big, fat hit, expanding to a full page after only a few months. We were flooded with celebrities vying to have their pets featured—plus book interest from two publishers. Best of all, we were credited with boosting pet adoptions all over the country.

  Helena and I grew closer, especially after Angel gave birth to her three little mongrels. Luckily they took after their mother and were mostly Yorkie, with a splash of something that put a curl in their long coats. As promised, I took one to live with me, and Jacki took one. April Bromley, who had purported not to be a dog lover but had melted when Helena passed out pictures of the litter, took the remaining pup.

  Val Jessum adjusted to city living quite well…with the help of Daniel Cruz.

  Thanks to gallons of green tea, or maybe just plain old acclimation, my allergy to Sam improved, then disappeared altogether, although Sam still insisted on performing impromptu examinations under my clothes—just in case the hives had reappeared, he said.

  Sam taught me how to make gravy—white, brown and tomato-flavored. (I didn’t know there was such a thing.) Oh, and after ten months of living and loving together, he proposed and I accepted. Our bridal registry was at the Jamison Hardware Store in Jar Hollow and Neiman Marcus in Manhattan. Jacki, Denise and Cindy gave me the most splendid bridal shower—with the most special gift.

  They had the dildo bronzed.

  My Favorite Mistake

  Stephanie Bond

  1

  �
��THIS IS A MISTAKE,” I said, suddenly panicked by the horde of women pushing at me from all sides. In the minutes just prior to Filene’s Basement “running of the brides,” the crowd was getting hostile, all elbows and bared teeth.

  Next to me, my friend Cindy turned her head and scowled. “Denise Cooke, you can’t back out now—I’m counting on you!” The normally demure Cindy Hamilton shoved a woman standing next to her to make room to reach into her shoulder bag. “Here, put on this headband so we can spot each other once we get in there.”

  I sighed and reached for the neon pink headband. It wasn’t as if I could look more ridiculous—I was already freezing and humiliated standing there in my yoga leotard (the Web-site-recommended uniform for trying on bridal gowns in the aisles). February in New York did not lend itself to leotards—I was numb from my V-neck down. “This is a lot of trouble for a discounted wedding gown when you’re not even engaged,” I grumbled.

  “This was your idea, Miss Penny Pincher,” Cindy reminded me.

  That was true. I was helping Cindy with her Positive Thinking 101 class, and her assignment was to prepare for an event with the idea being that it would then become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Since Cindy wanted to be married more than anything else in the world, she’d decided to buy a wedding gown. Cheapskate that I am (an investment broker-slash-financial planner, actually), I had suggested Filene’s biannual bridal event for a good deal.

  So here we were at seven-thirty on a cold Saturday morning, poised with oh, about eight or nine hundred other freezing leotard-clad women, waiting for the doors of Filene’s to be hurled open. There were a few identifiable teams with members wearing identical hats or Tshirts. Like me, they were friends who had been commandeered to grab as many dresses as possible from the clearance racks, thereby increasing the odds of the bride-to-be getting a gown she wanted.

  “Remember,” Cindy said, her eyes as serious as an NFL coach dispensing plays, “strapless or spaghetti straps, with a princess waistline—white is my first choice, but I’m willing to go as far left as light taupe. I need a size ten, but I can work with a twelve.”

  I nodded curtly. “Got it.”

  “If you find a gown that might work, put it on so no one can grab it out of your hands.”

  I swallowed and nodded again, suddenly apprehensive.

  “And who knows,” Cindy added with a grin. “You might find a dress that you’ll want to keep for yourself.”

  I frowned. “Barry and I haven’t even talked about getting married.”

  “Good grief, you’ve been dating for two years—he’s going to propose someday, and then you’ll already have a dress. It’s practical.”

  I started to say it was presumptuous, then remembered why Cindy was there and clamped my mouth shut. Barry was…great, but I couldn’t see myself getting married…again.

  Like every time I remembered my last-minute and short-lived Las Vegas marriage to Sergeant Redford DeMoss, I got a sick feeling in my stomach. My first marriage was one of those events in my life that I wanted to expunge from my memory, like a stupid teenage stunt…except I hadn’t been a stupid teenager—I had been a stupid adult. In the three years since my marriage to and subsequent annulment from Redford, I had managed to block the incident from my mind for the most part. But since two of my best friends, Jacki and Kenzie, had recently gotten married and my last single friend, Cindy, seemed hell-bent on doing the same, the memories of my incredible wedding night had been popping into my head at the strangest moments—I couldn’t seem to outrun them.

  Someone behind me stepped on my heel, scraping it raw. I winced, not sure how I was going to outrun this dogged bunch, either.

  “They’re opening the doors,” Cindy announced excitedly.

  A cheer rose from the crowd and everyone lurched forward collectively. The two security guards unlocking the doors looked as frightened as I felt. When the doors were flung open, self-preservation kicked in—I had to match the pace of the crowd or be trampled. I squeezed through the double doors and ran for the escalator, my heart pounding in my chest. The escalator was instantly jammed, and everyone still clambered upward, some screaming as if we were all vying for front row seats at a rock concert. At the top of the escalator, we spilled onto the second floor where several freestanding racks bulged with pouf dresses. I had no idea where Cindy was and I hesitated, not sure where to begin.

  Women stampeded by me in a blur and began yanking dresses by the armfuls from the rack. It was a locust swarm. I realized I was going to miss out if I didn’t move quickly. Cindy’s order of “strapless or spaghetti straps” vanished in the wake of the disappearing gowns. I grabbed whatever I could get my hands on, draping the gowns over my shoulders until I could barely see or hear past the mounds of rustling fabric.

  Within one minute, the racks had been picked clean. As if on cue, everyone began trying on dresses where they stood, stripping to their underwear and in some cases, even further, heedless of the male salesclerks and security guards milling about. Keeping an eye out for a neon pink headband, I sorted through my spoils like a lion protecting its kill.

  I had managed to snare a white satin gown with cap sleeves, size fourteen; an off-white long-sleeved lacy number with a straight skirt, size twenty; a pinkish Gibson-girl design with bishop sleeves, size twelve; a dark beige high-neck gown with an embroidered bodice, size four; and a creamy halter-style gown with a pearl-studded skirt, size ten. My shoulders fell in disappointment—I had struck out for Cindy.

  Although…the halter-style gown was actually quite nice. I peered at the designer label and my eyebrows shot up—really nice. Then I peered at the price tag and my eyebrows practically flew off my head—a $2000 gown reduced to $249? Cindy would be crazy not to buy this dress, even if it wasn’t exactly what she was looking for. While juggling the other gowns, I stepped into the halter dress and twisted to zip it up in the back, then smoothed a hand over the skirt, reveling in the nubby texture of the seed pearls. Longing welled in my heart, surprising me, because I was the most no-nonsense person I knew—a dress couldn’t possibly have any power over me.

  “That’s perfect on you,” said a salesclerk next to me.

  “Oh, I’m helping a friend of mine,” I replied quickly.

  “Pity,” the woman said, nodding toward a mirrored column a few feet away.

  I glanced around, looking for Cindy in the frenzied mob, then reasoned I might as well walk past the mirror on my way to find her. I moseyed over and stopped dead in my tracks.

  Even over the leotard the dress was dazzling, and for a few seconds, I felt dazzling—my makeup-free face and dark blond, disheveled ponytail notwithstanding. For my quickie Vegas wedding, I’d worn a “What Happens Here, Stays Here” T-shirt, which in hindsight, had been a big red flag to my state of mind. I’d told myself a hundred times that it wouldn’t have mattered if Redford and I had been married in a lavish church ceremony with all the trimmings; but now, looking at myself in the mirror wearing this glorious gown, I had to admit that the right wardrobe would have lent a touch of sophistication to the surreal occasion.

  If I ever married again, I would wear this dress…or something like it.

  “Do you have any size sixteens?” a girl yelled in my face. “I need a size sixteen!”

  I shook my head, then realized that all around me, women were bartering unwanted gowns, some hoisting signs heralding their size. I relinquished the size four to a peanut-sized woman, and during the hand-off, the rest of my bounty was ripped from my arms by circling gown-vultures. I was still reeling when Cindy skidded to a stop in front of me.

  “There you are!” she shrieked over the melee. “I found my dress!”

  Indeed, over her leotard she wore a sweet, strapless white satin gown with a princess waistline. Laughing like a child, she twirled, sending the full skirt billowing around her.

  “It’s perfect,” I agreed. The dress was perfect for Cindy’s cherubic beauty, but I felt a pang of sadness as I glanced down at the halter dr
ess I wore…it would have to be sacrificed to the vortex of bargain-hunting brides, which had, if anything, increased in intensity as latecomers descended on the leftovers and another round of frantic stealing and swapping ensued.

  Cindy stopped twirling and stared at me. “Wow, that dress looks awesome on you.”

  I flushed. “I was just trying it on…for you. It was the closest thing I could find.”

  Cindy’s blue eyes bugged. “You should keep it, Denise. If Barry got a look at you in that dress, he’d fall on his knees and beg you to marry him.”

  I laughed. “Right.” Barry had never been on his knees in my presence—to propose or do anything else—but I had to admit, I was tempted.

  A flushed, middle-aged woman stopped and looked me up and down. “Are you going to keep that dress?” Without waiting for an answer, she proceeded to pick up the fabric of the skirt to scrutinize the pearls.

  A proprietary feeling came over and I firmly removed her hand from my—er, the dress. “I haven’t decided.”

  The woman glared at my bare left hand. “My daughter Sylvie already has a wedding date.”

  I frowned. “So?”

  “So,” the woman snapped, “what good will that dress do you hanging in your closet?”

  She was testy, but she had a very good point, especially considering the fact that I’d been lamenting only yesterday how small my closet was. Still, what business was it of hers if the dress hung in my cramped closet until it dry-rotted? (A distinct possibility.)

  Cindy stepped up and crossed her arms. “My friend is going to get married again someday.” Cindy still harbored lingering guilt over my impromptu marriage—she blamed herself for getting the flu and leaving me to spend Christmas and New Year’s Eve in Las Vegas by myself. Otherwise, I might not have fallen under Redford’s illicit spell.

  “Again? Someday?” The lady snorted and her body language clearly said that women who didn’t get it right the first time around didn’t deserve a production the second time around. Another good point. I had blown it the first time I’d walked down the aisle—well, okay, to be morbidly honest I hadn’t “walked down the aisle.” I was married in a chapel drive-through, which, in my defense, had seemed the most economical route at the time.