by Shirley Jump
“No, just wagering Michael is way too sexy to resist. Hey, I'd screw him if he wasn't interested in you.”
“Maria!”
“Come on. You can't tell me you don't look at that guy and think sex. He makes the men in Playgirl look like shaved chimpanzees.”
“And how would you know what the guys in Playgirl look like?” Rebecca asked.
“I said I didn't have a man. I didn't say my vagina had shriveled up and died.”
Rebecca sighed. “I think I should pay a visit to the gyno. Mine might have.”
“You two are taking this way too lightly.” Candace started to pace the length of the kitchen. “This is huge. I cheated on Barry. All he's done is trust me.”
Rebecca came up, drawing Candace into a shoulder hug and leading her back to the worktable. “Let me tell you something I've never told anyone before.”
Maria swiveled around. “You've been keeping a secret from us?”
She lowered her head. “At the time, it was easier than admitting the truth. What happened was—”
“Wait! Don't say anything yet. This is a big moment. It calls for dessert and some coffee.” Maria bustled over to the opposite side of the kitchen, set the Capresso coffeemaker to work, then got out a container of iced ginger cookies. A few minutes later, the three of them were seated around the table in the office, dunking and dishing.
“About three months before I married Jeremy,” Rebecca began, “I went up to Wisconsin to visit my mom for the weekend. And while I was there, I met someone.”
“They have men in Wisconsin?” Maria piped up. “Who don't wear the cheese hats?”
Rebecca laughed. “They have some very cute men in Wisconsin, believe me. Some who are ... irresistible.”
“I see a road trip in my future,” Maria said. “I love anything dipped in cheese.”
Rebecca rolled her eyes at Maria, then went on. “I met this cowboy who worked the farm down the road from my mom's place.”
Candace wagged a cookie at her. “And we all know what they say about cowboys.”
Maria nodded. “There's a reason they get a starring role in romance novels.”
“Well, he was better than a novel. Tall, sexy and damned good at everything he did.” A faint blush crept into Rebecca's cheeks. “And I mean everything.”
Maria's jaw dropped. “You ... you slept with him?”
Rebecca gave a little nod, then dipped her head, as if even now, it still embarrassed her. For a long moment, she said nothing. The office was silent, save for the steady hum of traffic outside and the occasional drone of an airplane overhead. “We ran into each other at this bar,” she began quietly. “I swear, it was the Travis Tritt that made me do it.”
“Wow,” Candace sat back in her chair. “I'd never think you, of all people—”
“I know, I know. That's why I never said anything.” She toyed with her mug, spinning the ceramic container from side to side. She stilled the coffee cup and looked up, meeting Candace's eyes. “But what I can tell you is that being with that guy told me a lot about why I was marrying Jeremy.”
“Was the cowboy that bad?” Maria asked.
“Oh no, he was good. Very good.” She blushed again.
“But... if he was so good, why did you still marry Jeremy?”
“Because what I have with Jeremy is real. And true. The kind of thing you can count on for a lifetime. His spurs are there to stay.” She smiled, a soft smile that spoke volumes about how much she loved the man she'd married. “The cowboy was gone before the end of the night and off with another woman the next time I saw him. He was only good at sex. He had no sticking power, just a lot of sex appeal. Still, I'd do what I did that night again in a heartbeat, because if I hadn't, I'd always have those doubts. And the last thing I need in my marriage is doubt.”
“So, are you telling me being with Michael might be good for me? And my marriage?”
Rebecca shrugged. “I don't know. Hell, I don't have any answers. I sure hope I find some before my daughter is dating.” She laughed. “All I know is this—if you have any questions at all about whether you're doing the right thing by marrying Barry, a few nights with Michael might clear those questions up.”
Maria slumped her chin into her hand. “It'll also give you a taste of the fun, fun world of dating that awaits you if you stay single.”
“But...” Candace grabbed another cookie and dunked it in her coffee, but didn't eat it. “What if I find out that Barry isn't the right one for me?”
“Then you've saved yourself—and him—a lot of heartache.” Rebecca clasped Candace's hand with her own. “If your love is true, it will withstand anything.”
“And if it's not, well, Tornado Michael is one hell of a good storm to tangle with.” Maria popped half a gingersnap into her mouth, then pointed at Candace. “I bet he'd wear a cowboy hat in bed if you asked him to. And don't forget to bring some Cheez Whiz along.”
Silence. The house was empty when Candace returned to her duplex on Friday night. Della must have been out again with her lingerie salesman/poet.
Barry had left two messages, the last one apologetic, saying he was taking his mother out to Springfield to visit a sick aunt and would be back by Sunday morning. Before Bernadine had arrived, Barry had always been around on the weekends, regular as rain in the spring. Once the wedding was over and Bernadine was gone, they could get back to normalcy. Soon, she told herself. Soon her life would be back on track.
“Don't worry,” Barry said at the end of the message, “I'll be home in time to help with all the wedding details. Twenty-one thousand, six hundred minutes until you're my bride!” His guffawing laughter squawked through the phone. Leave it to Barry the accountant to count down to the last minute. “Love you, darling. See you soon.”
Candace erased the message, pulled up a chair at her desk, put the half-empty box of Godiva chocolates to her right, then set about paying her bills. Just because her whole life was falling apart was no reason not to stick to her regular schedule. And since it was Friday, she was paying bills.
Concentrating on writing checks, paying bills and updating her budget spreadsheet helped take her mind off that kiss.
Barely.
When she'd finished the bills, she got out her wedding planner and flipped to the to-do list. At the top, she wrote “Barry” and underlined it. That's where her thoughts should be. On her fiancé and her wedding.
First item on the to-do list: buy a wedding dress.
She picked up a pen, then switched it to a number-two pencil and colored in the box. She was, unfortunately, done with that.
She had the Godiva in her mouth before she started to sob at the injustice of it all.
“Hello, darling,” Della called as she burst through the door. “I'm home.” She released Percy to the floor. Trifecta gave him a glare and the Pomeranian let out a whimper and scooted into the corner. The alpha dog had been established—a three-legged female who had a good twenty pounds over Percy.
Good for you. Candace patted Trifecta and shared a smile of victory with her pooch.
“What are you doing on Saturday night?” her mother asked, checking her manicure. “I thought maybe we'd, ah, go shopping.”
“Mother, I already know.”
“Know what?”
“That it's my shower.” Candace grinned. “I've known for weeks. Rebecca and Maria can't keep a secret to save their lives.”
“Oh, you always have to spoil everything. I've never been able to surprise you. Every Christmas, you had the gifts figured out before Christmas morning.”
“That's because 'Santa' never remembered to close the closet door.”
“You peeked.”
“I was hanging up my coat.”
“Oh.” Della put a finger to her lips. “I probably should have had a better hiding place.”
“Mother, it's fine. I'm not one for surprises anyway. They just make it harder to plan ahead.” Candace flipped the planner to the budget section. With
a heavy sigh, she added back in the amount she'd set aside to buy a dress. Having more money to spend on her wedding didn't make her happy, not when it meant dressing like Jessie from Toy Story 2 on steroids.
“That's the point, dear. Honestly, whatever happened to your sense of humor?”
“I have one.”
Della reached into her Liz Claiborne handbag and withdrew an emery board. “You are exactly like your father. Too sensible for your own good.”
“Dad has a retirement account and a diversified stock portfolio. He's smart, Mother, not crazy.”
Della sighed. “He's boring.”
“Is that why you left him?”
Della started filing her nails, slipping the board along the sides, then checking her progress by holding her fingers up to the light every few seconds. “How did this become a conversation about me instead of you?”
Candace shut her planner and reached for the last piece of Godiva. “Since when is there anything about me that we need to discuss?”
Della brightened, pasting on her brightest smile, the one she reserved for family gatherings where she was forced to be in the same room as Grandma Woodrow. “Let's just talk about the wedding plans, dear. That will make you happy. Did you find a dress today?”
“Why does everyone ask me that question?” She bit off half a piece of chocolate, saving the last sacred bit in the box.
“Because the wedding is the dress.”
“It is not.”
“You're not trying on the right dresses, then. The perfect wedding gown makes you feel like a Hollywood celebrity. Like the belle of the ball.”
“I'm becoming Mrs. Barry Borkenstein. There's no need for a star in front of the Mann Theater.”
Della rolled her eyes. “Honest to God, if I hadn't seen you emerge from my loins with my own two eyes, I'd swear we weren't related.”
“Mother, don't worry about the wedding.” Candace headed into the kitchen to feed the animals. And avoid her mother. “Everything is under control.”
“Have you rented a hall?” Della followed, taking a stance against the counter.
“The Sons of Italy.”
Her mother made a face akin to someone undergoing electroshock therapy. “Don't you think the Marriott—”
“Don't go there, Mother.” Bob curled his body around Candace's leg in gratitude for the Friskies.
She sighed. “A band?”
“I have a DJ all set.” Candace flaked some designer doggy food into a ceramic dish and laid it on the floor for Percy. He took one look at the bowl, turned up his nose and walked away. The Pomeranian had selected Prima Donna from the menu today.
“A DJ?” Della bit off the rest of her comment. “What about the menu?”
“Chicken. It's the white meat of choice.”
Della stifled a yawn at the predictable entrée choice. “Flowers?”
“Carnations and roses.” She busied herself with the water bowls. Why hadn't she brought the damn Godiva into the kitchen with her? Already she could feel the need for chocolate coming on again, as if the last dose had worn off.
“Carnations?” Della shook her head and pressed a hand to her forehead. “Candace, I can't let you go through with this.”
“Mother, please don't try to talk me out of marrying Barry.” Desperate now, Candace foraged in the refrigerator until she came up with a lone instant-pudding snack, tucked behind the eggs. She turned and reached to grab a spoon out of the drawer, but her mother stopped her, taking one of Candace's hands in both her own.
“Are you sure about him, dear?” she asked. “You have heard the way he laughs, haven't you?”
“Mother...”
She threw up her hands. “All right. Far be it from me to question someone's choice in men. But 1 can't let you have carnations at your wedding. For God's sake, Candace, what are you thinking?”
“That they're less expensive than lilies.”
“You, my daughter, are the complete opposite of me. Which means you'll probably only get married once. Twice at the most. Do it up right.” She grabbed her arms and gave her a little shake. “Get the good flowers.”
“Mother, they're just—” Candace stopped when she caught the look in Della's hazel eyes. Just as Candace needed the chocolate to deal with her ever-mounting stress level, her mother needed to shop. How could she deny Della this one little thing? Especially now that there was a bit of extra money in her budget to spend, since she didn’t need to buy a dress. “You know what? You're right. Why don't you take over the floral arrangements for me?”
“Oh, honey, are you sure? I'm so thrilled!” Della clapped her hands together. “Let's see; we'll need to get you a bouquet that has some calla lilies and some orchids, oh, and for accents...”
For a few hundred dollars, Candace had bought a second peace treaty. If only solving the problems of the Middle East were this easy, the world would be a much safer—and prettier—place.
8 ounces cream cheese, softened
3 cups powdered sugar
12 ounces semisweet chocolate, melted
1-1/2 teaspoons rum
Toppings: use your imagination
Oh, you can taste it already, can't you? That's what you get for going too long without indulging. Get to it quick and don't dillydally or you'll be like the Poky Little Puppy and miss all the fun. Beat that cream cheese until it's smooth, then add in the sugar. Once that's all blended, mix in the chocolate and the rum. Ah, you're almost there.
Refrigerate for one hour (tell your husband it's a new meatloaf recipe and he'll stay away from the bowl). Shape into one-inch balls and roll in the topping of your choice. Choose topping based on temptation need—the more chocolate, the worse the situation is.
The best part? They're ready to eat now. And they're so small, you can stuff one in your mouth and be done with it before anyone catches you indulging.
CHAPTER 16
Candace sat at the counter at Gift Baskets on Saturday morning, once again flipping through the pages of her wedding planner. She made lists and checked them, zipping down the different little square boxes, coloring them in a percentage of the way for each portion of the job that had been done. Flowers—60 percent now that Della was in charge. Invitations were erased back to 50 percent.
Oh, shit. She still hadn't called her half of the guests yet. Why was she delaying? Normally, she'd be chop-chop about a job like that. Get it out of the way in one afternoon.
I'm distracted, that's all. I need to clear my head, get a little air.
She stared at the box beside “buy wedding dress.” She'd filled it in yesterday, but now it felt like she'd marked it with the wrong color—suede instead of Reverie.
She made out her list of calls and double checks to make today, then closed the planner.
Order had been restored. That was much better. Goals were stacked in a pile, ready to be accomplished—just the way she liked it. The last few chaotic days had been unnerving. She'd had to start carrying a paper bag in her purse for when she hyperventilated, for Pete's sake.
Not to mention the two pounds she'd gained in two days from eating more chocolate than real food. Not exactly a balanced diet. Tomorrow, she resolved. Tomorrow she'd opt for bananas over Mars bars, salads over Godiva, oatmeal instead of a brownie for breakfast.
She only had fifteen days until the wedding. There were so many things to do and so little time. The pressures mounted again on her chest, tightening around her aorta. Much more of this and she'd need a heart transplant to get through the ceremony.
“That's it. I'm looking for an agent,” Maria said, entering the office. She dumped her purse on the counter and grabbed a cup of coffee from the Capresso.
“An agent?”
“My life is a soap opera. I might as well sell the rights to it and make some money.” She took a sip, then settled into a chair. “Might give some people at ABC a few chuckles.”
“Hey, it does provide good entertainment for us.” Candace grinned. “What happened to
get you thinking about selling movie rights?”
“Well, David and his Bambi chick sent a lawyer out to threaten me with a lawsuit for the damage to the Beemer. Something about 'malicious destruction of property.' ”
“What'd you tell the lawyer?”
“I told him, 'You bet your ass it was malicious. So was what David and Bambi were doing on that table five minutes before.' When I showed him my evidence, a.k.a. Bambi's ass imprint in my table, the lawyer backed off.”
“He gave up, just like that?”
“Not exactly.” She smiled, toying with the rim of the coffee cup. “He took a little convincing.”
“You bribed a lawyer?”
“Hell, no. I just flirted with a very cute member of the American Bar Association.”
“Oh, well, that's different.” Candace shook her head. “Not.”
Maria batted her eyelashes and gave a mockery of a coy smile. “Five minutes with me and James Nesbitt, Esquire, decided he had a conflict of interest representing David, so he dumped the two-timer and made a date with me for Saturday night.”
“My, don't you have a powerful gift of persuasion.”
“I'd rather think of it as ovaries on a mission.” She grinned. “He was hot. Damned hot especially for a guy carrying briefs.” She winked.
“You're irredeemable.” Candace laughed and went back to her lists.
Maria waved a hand at her. “Look at you and that planner. You two are glued at the hip.”
Candace shrugged and traced the outline of the black vinyl cover. “I like to keep on top of things.”
“Candace, you're not only on top of things, you're mounting them with a vengeance. You have a planner for the wedding, another one for the business, and a calendar on your refrigerator. You cross-reference and cross-check them with all the precision of Tommy Franks planning a military invasion.” Maria laid a hand on hers. “Honey, I think you need to go to Planners Anonymous.”
“Being organized is a good trait.”
“I'm saying this as your friend,” Maria said, her voice soft, her gaze meeting Candace’s. “You're obsessive. You need to loosen up a little. Let go. Then when the little things go wrong, it won't bother you so much.”
