Before another word was exchanged, J. R. accepted the card key from the clerk, turned around, and walked away.
"See you tonight," she called after him, and J. R. lifted his arm and shot her a backwards wave. "Do you know where to go?"
He couldn't help himself, and J. R. laughed out loud. He felt fairly certain that, if anyone could adeptly tell him where to go, it was Sherilyn.
Audrey raked the hairbrush through her platinum hair before using the large-barrelled curling iron to add a few waves. Kat stepped into the doorway behind her, waiting until their eyes met before asking, "Am I underdressed?"
She skimmed the outfit: short blue gingham dress beneath a light blue cardigan with pearl buttons, bare suntanned legs and cute little white sneakers with blue laces. A simple crystal cross dangled from the braided ribbon choker around her neck. As always, Kat looked like a commercial for sunshine. Or a new fruity lip gloss.
Audrey gazed over her own reflection. Pleated crepe trousers, dark mustard with a high waistband; a white silk tank and a short black bolero jacket with scrollwork on one shoulder; strappy wedged sandals; dark eyeliner and mocha frosted lips.
"Am I overdressed?" she countered.
"Oh, hush. You always look like you stepped off a runway or through a movie screen."
"Wait. Is that good? Or bad?"
"It's good, silly. Are you ready to go?"
On their way toward the door, Audrey asked, "Did you get Jackson anything?"
"Espresso machine for his office."
"Are you kidding?"
"No. Well, it's from Russell and me both. Why? What did you get?"
Audrey dug through her handbag for a moment before producing a roll of breath mints. "Minty fresh breath?"
Kat giggled as they closed the door behind them. "We'll add your name to the card."
"So how are you getting there?" she asked in the elevator.
"With Russell."
"Oh." Audrey paused for a moment. "Motorcycle?"
"He rented a car so we four can all go over together."
"Oh, Kat, will J. R.—"
Before she could complete the thought, the elevator doors slipped open.
"There's my Kit-Kat," Russell greeted them, his arms open wide. Kat stepped into his embrace, and J. R. stood behind them like the match to Audrey's uncomfortable bookend.
Russell gave the cross around Kat's neck a tender caress.
"Love this. One of yours?" Kat nodded and smiled happily.
Audrey and J. R. didn't exchange a word as they stepped into line, side by side, and followed behind Russell and Kat.
"Hey," J. R. tossed at her.
"Hey," she returned.
"Can we add Audrey's name to Jackson's gift?" Kat asked Russell.
"Sure."
"Oh, a gift," J. R. grumbled. "Can I get in on that? Will you add mine too?"
"You two ever attended a birthday party before?" Russell teased. "It's customary to pick up a little something for the birthday boy."
Audrey glanced at J. R., and he shrugged.
"Wait until you guys see Jackson's birthday cake. Emma used the recipe for his favorite brownies, and she used them to build—"
"Spoiling the surprise, Kit-Kat."
"Whoopsie. Sorry."
"Is that Jackson and Emma?"
"I think so."
"Well, you can't pull up and park," Kat urged. "The party is a surprise."
Russell countered. "But there are twenty cars on the street in front of the house, Ducks. I think he probably has it figured out."
"Well, go around the block! Just in case."
J. R. caught a glimpse of the amusement in Audrey's pretty amber eyes and he snickered, darting his gaze away from her and out the opposite window.
On the third circle around the block, Emma and Jackson still stood there in the same spot.
"Russell!" Kat reprimanded, but Russell slowed the car, and Emma waved him down and jogged over to them.
Audrey lowered her window and Emma poked her head inside. "Are you guys here for Jackson's birthday party?" she asked as her fiancé stepped up beside her.
"Shhh," Kat urged, nodding toward him.
"Oh, Jackson knows. He knows every year."
Audrey grimaced, and Jackson added, "They give me a surprise party at the same sister's house each and every year, and then spend the whole night congratulating themselves for keeping the secret and pulling off the surprise."
"The only real surprise for him from one year to the next is the theme."
"The theme." Audrey repeated. "There's a theme?"
"Jackson's family is very southern, and every party is an extravaganza. Last year, the theme was Cirque de Soleil. They had acrobats on the back lawn."
J. R. laughed at the visual Emma conjured up.
"But three years ago—that one holds the record for Most Likely Thrown by Someone Who Has Never Met Me," Jackson cackled. "Oscar night."
"As in the Academy Awards?" Audrey clarified, and Russell belted out rolling laughter.
"A red carpet and everything," Emma told them. "I'm so sorry I missed that one."
"Sure she is," Jackson cracked.
"And every year, they think you're surprised," J. R. recapped.
"You never told them that you know?" Kat asked him.
"He doesn't want to ruin their fun," Emma said with a chuckle. "So go on and park the car, and go on inside. Tell them you saw us arrive, so they can get ready to yell surprise."
"So what's the theme this year, by the way?" Jackson asked, and Emma began to hum as she stared idly at the clouds. "Oh, come on." But she only hummed louder.
J. R. offered Audrey his hand as she followed him out of the back seat and, when she accepted it, a current of warm electricity jiggled up his arm. He wondered if she felt it too, and the way her eyes locked into his for several beats told him that she did.
From the entryway, J. R. could see that the large adjoining room teemed with people there to celebrate Jackson's birthday. The guests ran the gamut from very young to very, very old.
"Russell Walker?" one of the women said in a thick Southern drawl. "What a pleasure to have you join us!"
"It's a pleasure to be had," he said. Then, hamming it up like only Russell could, he added, "Hey, everyone! The guest of honor is coming up the driveway right now."
"I'm Jackson's sister, Norma," the woman half-whispered to their small group before urgently rounding up the guests. "Did you hear that? Jackson's on his way inside right now. Does everyone have a horn?"
A horn? J. R. thought, just an instant before Audrey turned to him and whispered, "A horn?"
He chuckled as party horns that looked like small megaphones were jammed into their hands amid a chorus of shushes.
"Anybody home?" Emma sang from the foyer.
"George?" Jackson called out. "Georgiann, are you here?"
"In here, sugah," an older version of Norma replied. "Come on ee-in."
J. R. stepped back, and the moment Emma and Jackson rounded the corner, the guests roared in unison: "Suh-priiise!"
Emma feigned astonishment far more convincingly than Jackson, with her brown eyes big and round, her hand to her heart for only an instant before she burst out laughing. Jackson looked down at her and loudly asked, "Did you know about this?"
"I did," she told the room with a grin wide enough to be shared by everyone. "I knew! Madeline, Norma, and I cooked it up together, and Georgiann offered her home."
J. R. watched the hostess as she beamed. "Happy birthday, little bruthah!"
"Thanks, everyone," Jackson told them as he moved from guest to guest, shaking hands, kissing cheeks, and smacking backs. "J. R., good to see you." Then, leaning in closer, he added, "Be sure and get some of my sister's crab cakes before they're gone. They're killer."
"Will do," he replied with a chuckle. "Thanks for the tip."
He wondered how Jackson knew there would be crab cakes when he didn't know the theme, but Emma answered the musing
as she passed behind her fiancé.
"Norma's crab cakes are Jackson's favorites. They make the menu every year. Except not this time." She gave him the impression that she had a delicious secret burning a hole in her resolve to keep it. "But he's right. They're awesome!"
J. R. recognized a few people in the room, but not many of them. When his eyes landed on Sherilyn and her husband, Andy nodded at him and began to make his way toward him.
"Diverse group, huh?" Andy said with a sideways grin.
"Very."
Andy produced a cigar from the pocket of his jacket and handed it to J. R. "We're pregnant," he announced. "Have a cigar."
J. R. took it and smacked Andy's back. "That's awesome, buddy."
"Thanks," he said, tucking one of them, still wrapped in cellophane, into the corner of his mouth. "We're really excited. You can't smoke it here. No smoking at Georgiann's house, not even outside. Can't stop me from chomping on it though." After a short pause, Andy leaned in close and added, "Truth is I don't smoke 'em. But it's tradition for a new pops, right?"
J. R. laughed. "Well, congratulations, man."
"Thanks. Hey, wait til you see what Emma's pulled off for this party, man. You like football?"
"Sure."
"Well, Jackson and Emma are die-hard Falcons fans. He's going to wet himself." With a nod toward an open veranda, he asked, "Get you a drink?"
"Nah, I'm good for a while."
"I'm gonna grab one. See you later."
Emma floated toward him, tugging Audrey behind her by the arm. She pressed her hand to J. R.'s back and urged him to come along. "Let me introduce you guys around."
The next fifteen minutes were comprised of a sea of faces and names that J. R. knew he'd never quite remember. But both he and Audrey nodded and smiled, shook a few hands, and made polite conversation with a couple of Jackson's football cronies and their wives, Emma's parents Gavin and Avery, Jackson's assistant Susannah Something, a pastor named Miguel, and an elflike woman who only lit long enough to ask if Emma had seen Anton.
When Fee and Sean appeared from the other side of the crowd, J. R. guessed that Emma felt safe abandoning him and Audrey into their safe hands.
"Good to see you again, Sean!" J. R. said as he shook Sean's enormous hand. "Audrey, have you met Fee's intended?"
"Sort of. But not really, at the Jack-and-Jill," she replied, grinning at him. "Sean, it's great to see you."
"You as well."
"Audrey is a dress designer from New York who did the dress for the wedding where the groom's appendix burst," Fee filled him in. Turning to Audrey, she stated, "Sean was Russell's bodyguard after he fell out of the sky into Sherilyn's lap, and before J. R. arrived to mop up the mess."
J. R. laughed. He liked Fee. "Thanks for the recap," he told her.
"It's like that game," Audrey observed. "The one with Kevin Bacon."
"Yeah, but it's the Six Degrees of The Tanglewood Inn," Fee joked.
Looking around him, J. R. remarked, "Now there's a game that could keep on going into next year."
"At least," Fee said, leaning against Sean who looked like a large, well-dressed wall next to her. The two of them were oddly well-matched. Despite the obvious differences—she with ultra-pale white skin, and he a dark African American; Fee's tattoos and piercings, and Sean's clean-shaven face and bald head—still, they were a perfect fit somehow.
"Do I smell hot dogs?" Audrey asked softly.
"Have you seen the spread?" Fee asked them.
"Not yet," she replied.
"Dude. You have to go see."
Audrey looked up at J. R. with a curious smile and a semiarched eyebrow. "Shall we?"
"I think we must."
He followed Audrey toward the wall of glass that had been pushed to one side, allowing wide, easy access to an enormous stone veranda. To one side, huge barbecue grills sizzled with hamburgers, hot dogs, and chicken, and long rectangular tables flanked the perimeter. A dozen or more picnic tables dotted the grounds, and bright white paint measured out the back lawn in yards, like a football field, with huge goalposts on either end.
A loud shout drew their attention, and J. R. laughed as Jackson and his friends reacted to the arrival of several very large black men in Falcons jerseys. Jackson grabbed Emma and twirled her off the ground.
"Is this the best fiancée a man could have?" he bellowed. "To turn my birthday into a tailgating party with Falcons players? Are you kidding me with this?"
Emma beamed as he looked her in the eye for a long moment. "You did all of this, didn't you?" he asked her softly. She shrugged, and he pulled her into a deep kiss.
The players passed thick black markers from one to the other as they signed a jersey spread out on Jackson's back.
"I know just enough about Jackson," J. R. told Audrey, "to know that this is some kind of dream-come-true for the guy."
"Are you into football too?" she asked him.
"Sure," he replied with a shrug. "I mean, I watch it sometimes. I don't schedule my Monday nights by it or anything. I prefer NASCAR myself."
"That's car racing, right?"
He nearly snapped his neck, but she met him with an amused grin.
"Yanking my chain," he surmised. "Okay. I see how you are."
"I couldn't resist." Her smile dazzled, and J. R. felt a little diminished in its light. "You know what else I can't resist?"
He could only wish he knew the answer.
"Hot dogs."
He chuckled. "Hot dogs?"
"I know. Kat tells me all the time how disgusting they are, and Carly always wants to tell me what's really in them because, apparently if I knew, I would never eat one again. Although that's doubtful. I mean, is there really anything like a couple of dogs with mustard, ketchup, and relish?"
"Mustard and ketchup?" He grimaced at the thought.
"You can't have one without the other," she replied. "Are you telling me I'm going to have to educate you on the crafting of the perfect dog?"
"Why don't we grab a couple of plates," he suggested. "You dog it up, and I'll make a play for the burgers."
"No dog?" she asked, seemingly appalled. "Whatever floats your bun, I guess."
J. R. followed Audrey to the buffet tables where they loaded up plates with potato salad, baked beans, and cole slaw. Audrey came more alive at every serving tray.
"Carb heaven," she commented as she dropped a spoonful of macaroni salad to her plate. "Wouldn't this party just drive Carly right up the wall?"
"Would it?" he asked, smearing mayonnaise on both sides of a hamburger bun.
"Haven't you ever noticed how she is about food? Every meal has to have all the right colors."
"Colors." He thought back, trying to remember that quirky detail about Devon's bride.
"Yes. A dinner plate cannot just be green or brown. It has to have other colors too. It's the color chart of nutrition."
"Well, your plate looks very colorful," J. R. observed. "I would think she'd be quite proud." Audrey's laugh was lyrical. "The ketchup is red, the mustard is yellow, and the relish—"
"Green," she finished for him. "I guess you're right. I'm far more Bob Harper than I thought."
"Who's Bob Harper?"
"Oh, he's the hot trainer on The Biggest Loser who goes around yelling at people for not eating right."
He didn't mention that the clarification didn't help. J. R. just nodded tentatively and reached for a few rings of Bermuda onions. Then with a second thought about eating onions, he changed course and grabbed a couple of thick, red tomato slices instead.
J. R. snagged two bottles of root beer from a large tub of ice and followed Audrey along a flagstone path toward an unoccupied picnic table on the lawn. Once seated, and just as they started to dig into their feasts, Audrey's attention pushed right over J. R.'s shoulder. The golden flecks in her brown eyes shimmered, and she blinked one time slowly.
"Is that Ben Colson over there, talking to Russell?"
J. R. turned around
. "It looks like him."
"I have every CD he's ever recorded. He's amazing."
"Yeah, he's all right," he commented, but just as he lifted his burger to his open mouth, Audrey smacked the table and he paused.
"I can live with the denial of the hot dog, but Ben Colson isn't just all right, young man. That's like . . . like saying your Harley is just a ride!"
He glared at her playfully. "I'll forgive you for that once. Don't say it again."
Audrey grinned. "Do you think he's going to perform?"
"If I know Russell . . . and I do . . . he'll have company."
She giggled as she took her first bite from the hot dog extravaganza she'd concocted.
"Ohhhhh," she groaned. "This is so good!"
J. R. watched her closely for a minute as she devoured her prey. "You do enjoy your frankfurters," he observed, and Audrey laughed.
"When I was a kid, my granny let me pick any meal I wanted on my birthday. Every year, it was a comfort food carbfest. Hot dogs, baked beans, macaroni and cheese, and fried onion rings."
"Really." He found it hard to believe she looked as good as she did, eating like that.
"Oh, yeah. I should have weighed two hundred pounds by the twelfth grade, right? Me and food," she said, pressing two fingers together, "we're likethis. Which probably explains why I'm such a fan of The Biggest Loser, right?"
Again, the reference dropped to the ground.
"But Granny was smart, and she trained me well. Everything in moderation and all that. Not that I liked it or anything. I'd rather eat hot dogs and junk food every day for every meal, but that wasn't going to happen in my granny's house. Oh, and she used to watch this TV show where some lady sat in a chair doing exercises for old people, and Granny would make me do them with her." Audrey shook her head at the memory and brushed a wave of ice-blonde hair away from her face. "She was such a trip, my granny. She—" Stopping herself, a blush of embarrassment stained her face. "And why am I telling you all of this?"
"Because I'm interested?" he asked with a smile.
Before he could say another word to encourage her, an elderly woman appeared out of nowhere and sat down next to him. She wore a cherubic smile and a mint green party dress with wrist-length gloves that looked like something straight out of a southern cotillion.
Always the Designer, Never the Bride Page 11
