After a moment, Audrey greeted her tentatively. "Hello."
"Hello, dear."
The woman smoothed her gloves before pressing the full skirt of her dress and smiling at J. R. "Is this your beau?" she asked Audrey.
"Um, no. He's just a friend."
"Whatever you say, dear."
"J. R. Hunt," he introduced himself. "And this is Audrey Regan."
"It's an honor to meet you both," she told them sincerely.
J. R. shifted. "Are you one of Jackson's sisters?"
"No, this is Emma's aunt," Audrey pointed out, and the woman tilted her head as she looked at her.
"Have we met?"
"At the hotel."
"Oh." After a moment's thought, she gazed at J. R. "Jackson is my nephew. He married my darling Emma Rae."
Married. They're not married.
"It was a beautiful ceremony," she expounded. "Her father walked her down the aisle, and Jackson looked so handsome in top hat and tails. Emma Rae wore my Parisian lace veil, and the air was thick with the scent of magnolias. There were doves in golden cages, and afterward we all dined on cornish game."
J. R. and Audrey exchanged flickering smiles.
Live birds in cages and dead ones on their plates. It sounds dreadful.
"Waiters in tuxedos served the most delightful sweet tea in crystal glasses," she continued. "I wonder if they have any of that here today."
"Why don't we go and find out?" J. R. suggested.
"Could we?"
"Of course," he said, and he pushed up to his feet and offered her his arm.
When the sound of a harp drew their attention, Audrey shrugged and pulled her cell phone from the outside compartment of her purse.
"I'll be back," J. R. told her as she answered it. Then he smiled at the woman on his arm and asked her, "Ready?"
She nodded sweetly, and he escorted her up the path and toward the veranda.
"I see you've met Aunt Sophie," Emma exclaimed as she crossed before them, and she planted a kiss on the woman's cheek.
"She's quite charming," he told her with a smile.
"Look who you're telling," Emma said with a chuckle. "I'm her biggest fan."
"Do you know J. R., Emma Rae?"
"I do, Aunt Soph. He's become a friend to all of us at The Tanglewood."
"Your aunt has been telling me about your wedding," J. R. disclosed.
"Oh." Emma chuckled. "The one on the beach in Savannah? Or the one where Jackson wore a top hat?"
"The latter."
"Oh, it was such a lovely day, wasn't it, Emma Rae?"
"Indeed," she replied, tossing J. R. a toothy grin.
Jackson's Favorite
Fudge Cashew Brownies
Preheat oven to 350 degrees
2 sticks butter
2 cups granulated sugar
1 cup cocoa powder
4 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 ¼ cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking powder
½ cup halved cashews, plus additional for garnish
Melt butter and pour into large bowl.
Add sugar and cocoa, mixing with wooden spoon
or rubber spatula.
Add eggs and vanilla, continuing to stir.
In separate bowl, sift flour, salt, and baking powder together;
then add dry ingredients to butter-sugar-cocoa mixture;
stir in ½ cup cashews.
Mix well, and pour mixture into a greased 9"x 13"
baking pan.
Bake for approximately 30 minutes.
After cooling, cut into small squares.
Layer two squares and fill with cocoa or chocolate icing,
then frost top and garnish with additional cashew halves.
8
How did you get this number?"
"Kim Renfroe gave it to me. I hope you don't mind."
Audrey didn't know how to respond to that. Why on earth would Weston LaMont want her number anyway?
"I was hoping we might take a meeting, if you're interested," he told her, and Audrey squinted at the torn label on her bottle of root beer for a long moment.
"About what, exactly?"
"I felt badly about the way things went with Kim. I think she pitted us against one another, and I—"
"Oh, you know, there's no need, really. I appreciate your call, but it's just business. I get that."
"That's very gracious. I hope you'll harbor no hard feelings."
His words dispelled any residual mystery about whether Kim had made a final decision yet. Audrey clearly heard the dregs of her design career as they tumbled to the ground.
"You are a brilliant designer," she told him, her eyes closed, rubbing her temple. "I'm honored to have been considered alongside you."
"Well, now you're just twisting the knife," he said with a chuckle. "At the very least, I think you should slam the phone down on me right this minute."
Don't tempt me.
"Don't be silly," she said instead. "The business of design is very personal. And for a bride, it's that much more so. She has to weed through us until she finds just the right fit. I just wasn't it for Kim. I wish you both the best, Mr. LaMont."
"Wes."
"Wes," she repeated. "Thank you so much for calling."
As she disconnected the call, Audrey was torn between her excitement that a designer with the reputation of Weston LaMont had just casually requested that she call him Wes . . . and the utter despair of reality. She'd gone into her association with Kim Renfroe knowing full well that her financial life depended on it. She'd been at the end of her rope, and now Audrey felt the whoosh of the air passing by as the frayed rope released her and she plumeted to the ground.
"It's over." She hadn't meant to say it aloud.
I'm sunk.
She felt a little dazed as she pushed to her feet and picked up her purse. With her free hand, she grabbed the soiled plates and bottles from the table. She carried them across the lawn to the veranda, deposited them in a tall trash can, and kept on walking, right into the house.
"The powder room?" she asked a random party guest, and the woman pointed at a hallway. She proceeded toward it without breaking stride. "Thank you."
The locked door told her that the bathroom was occupied, so she leaned against the wall across from it. Staring straight ahead, she controlled her breathing into steady ins and outs.
In with the good air, out with the—
The door across from her opened, and Audrey forced a smile to her face.
The woman gave her a good-natured grin in return and teased, "Next?"
"Thank you. That would be me."
Audrey stepped inside, closed the door behind her, and flicked the lock. Crossing quickly to the toilet, she pushed down the lid and descended into a full-on cry before she even had time to sit down. She placed her hands over her face and sobbed into them, careful to choke back the audio that threatened to let everyone beyond the door know that some lunatic from the party had locked herself in the bathroom so she could get her hysteria on.
A few minutes later, a light knock on the door jolted her. She sat erect, her lips parted and her eyes wide.
"Yes," she finally managed. "I'll be right out."
"Take your time," an unfamiliar voice replied.
Audrey hopped up and crossed to the mirror.
"Ohhhh, maaaan," she whispered when she saw her own reflection.
Swollen eyes leaked streams of black eyeliner, and a red knob gleamed at the center of her face where her nose should have been. She tugged a glob of tissue from the roll and dabbed at the mess underneath her eyes, then blew her nose into it. When she finished, she lifted the lid to the toilet, dropped the tissue into the bowl and flushed.
"Just one more minute," she promised the person on the other side of the door as she ran cold water over her hands. With the tip of her finger, she tidied up her smeared lips and eyes, dried her han
ds, and approached the door.
With her hand on the knob, Audrey closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, releasing it slowly before opening the door. As she did, the harp in her handbag sounded, and she grabbed for it as she passed the woman waiting on the other side.
The screen announced the caller as Carly, and Audrey peered into a nearby room that looked like an office before she depressed the green button.
"Hey, Caroline. How's Dev?"
She left the door slightly ajar behind her and sat down on a floral settee by the window as Carly caught her up on details such as his growing appetite and the various levels of his pain since his return from the hospital.
"We were talking about the reception, and I think we're going to plan it for Tuesday night."
Audrey counted down the days until Tuesday. Thank goodness Emma had offered to comp a room for her and Kat . . . although she would probably let Kat go back to New York to begin the conversion process from design business to living space . . . and perhaps she could place the ad for—
"Aud? Are you listening to me?"
"I'm listening," she fibbed. "Go on."
"I asked J. R. to have you call me. Did he give you the message?"
"No."
"Of course not. Well, can you tell Sherilyn I need to talk to her about the party?"
"I'll find her before I leave and tell her to give you a jingle."
"Audrey, is everything all right?"
"Yes. Fine."
"Don't lie to me. What aren't you telling me? Do you want to come over after Jackson's party?"
"Oh, no. I'm really beat. I'll come over tomorrow, if that's okay."
"Of course it's okay. But I really wish you'd tell me what's going on. I've known you since time began. There's no fooling me."
"I know," she admitted, and Audrey grinned and shook her head. "I know. We'll talk tomorrow. I promise."
"Okay then. Call me when you wake up in the morning."
Audrey disconnected the call and tucked the phone into her bag. She thought about finding Kat and pulling her aside, then discounted the idea. Kat would be somewhere hanging on Russell Walker's every word, and Audrey wanted her to enjoy it while she could. Reality would dawn soon enough. No need to push it along.
She gazed out the window behind her. Jackson's party had been confined to the view from some other window. She was thankful that this view looked out over a small sloped hill. Green velvety grass carpeted the way to a colorful garden bordered on all sides by a short knee-high wall of stacked stones.
Audrey wondered what it must be like to live this way. To throw a party like this one, every single year, without ever wondering how to also keep the lights on. She leaned back against the arm of the settee and sighed. Before the breath had been fully expelled, emotion crested again and tears spilled down her face in streams.
No, she told herself. Do not lose it, Audrey. Buck up and be strong.
She sat upright and braced herself on the edge of the couch, her teeth clenched and her expression chiseled into one of strength. She dried the tears with the back of her hand and drew in a sharp breath as she reminded herself that this was no time to falter. A hundred virtual strangers did not need to see her break down, and Jackson's festivies needn't be dampened by the sudden collapse of someone's life. There would be plenty of time for tears later. Back in New York. But not here, not now.
"There you are!"
She jumped to her feet as J. R. pushed the door open and occupied the doorway.
"You've got to see Jackson's birthday cake. It's a football field of brownies!"
"Really," she managed, pushing the embers of a smile to her face. "Brownies?"
"Hey," he said softly as he closed the gap between them. Taking her hand, he asked, "Are you all right?"
Without losing the smile, she shook her head and admitted, "Not really."
He led her to the settee and told her to sit down, and he joined her there, tenderly rubbing the back of her shoulder. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"Not so much," she replied.
"Okay. Then we'll just sit here and be quiet for a minute. Will that help?"
"Probably not."
"No. Can I do anything?"
"Uh-uh."
"Do you want me to leave you alone?"
She sighed. "No."
A few long, silent seconds ticked past before he told her, "Then you just tell me. What do you want to do?"
Leave.
Run away.
Go for a ride on that motorcycle of yours.
Her thoughts squealed back to that night when he'd whisked her away from Carly and Devon's party. They'd stopped at a park, and . . .
Audrey turned and looked into J. R.'s steely blue eyes. He arched an eyebrow as he held her gaze. "What?" he finally asked.
Shifting from his eyes to his mouth, Audrey felt her lips begin to tingle.
"Are you all right?" he asked. "Did you think of something that—"
Without another moment's thought, she lurched forward, slipped her arms around his neck, and kissed him.
"Thank you so much for bringing me up here," Audrey said as she gazed out over the landscape before them. "It's just beautiful."
"Devon and I used to fish in that stream down there when we were kids," he told her.
"It's funny that we both grew up in the area," she commented. "You know, and then we both left. And we come back and . . . Sorry. I'm rambling. Anyway, I've never been up here before. It's beautiful."
"It seemed like a good spot to unwind."
"It is. Very relaxing."
Russell had surrendered the keys to his rental, they'd wrapped up two huge brownies in napkins emblazoned with Falcons logos, grabbed a couple more bottles of root beer, and they'd escaped the party for a while. As much for a change of scenery as for the opportunity to put a little space between him and those kisses of hers. Even the firmest resolve to do the right and gentlemanly thing could be shattered with enough of that!
"So you were telling me about the designer who called you," he said, pausing to bite off a corner of the large brownie in his hand. "Oh, man, these are great."
"I know, right!?" she exclaimed, and she took another bite out of hers. "Weston LaMont. He stormed the bridal market about two years ago. He's a genius with draping, and he's sort of famous for creating these unbelievable body-hugging silhouettes."
"And that's good."
"That's very good. He's based here in Atlanta, so when Kim made her plans to come here to see Carly's dress, I guess she had the revelation to meet with LaMont too. Well. Wes. He told me to call him Wes," she added with a downward turn to her luscious red lips.
She chomped down on the brownie like an angry dog with a long-awaited bone. "I don't know," she said after a long silence. "I don't know."
"This opportunity with Kim Renfroe," J. R. surmised. "That was pretty important."
"It was all I had left. I've been at this for so long," she said with a sigh. "I'm out of options."
The pain of the admission was unmistakable, and he reached out and caressed her face. "No. There's always another option. Sometimes it takes looking for it at a different angle, but it's always there."
He could plainly see that she wasn't buying it.
"You have no idea how broke I am," she told him in a raspy, weary voice. "How long I've been at this, how hard I've worked to . . ."
And the girl crumbled right before his very eyes.
J. R. slid next to her and took Audrey into his arms. To his surprise, she acquiesced, melting into his embrace with complete surrender. Her entire body trembled as she sobbed, and the vibration of her cries burned his chest where her head stayed buried. Ten minutes must have passed, maybe longer, before she slowly withdrew, wiping her cheeks dry with both hands and pushing her platinum hair straight back from her tear-streaked face.
She looked up at him and smiled. It was a pure smile, untainted by her usual perfect black-lined eyes and impeccable scarlet lips. It was the s
mile of resignation; the aftermath of her meltdown, the unmistakable remnant of war.
And she looked exquisite.
He ran his thumb along the line of her jaw and gazed into her amber eyes.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"For what?"
"I needed a soft and safe place to fall. You gave it to me."
So many thoughts raced through his mind, so many crazy notions about what should or could come next. Instead of surrendering to the appeal of any one of them, J. R. inhaled deeply.
"Any time," he promised.
"Audrey, I don't want to go back yet."
Kat stood before her with those big chocolate doe eyes even more wide and round than usual, the corners of them misted with emotion as she stared at Audrey, playing with her necklace, an eye-catching double strand of floating, multi-colored gems.
"You don't need to stay, Kat. I'll just be here long enough for Carly and Devon's party, and I'll be right behind you."
"No, I want to stay. I mean, am I not invited to stay?"
Audrey didn't understand this reaction.
Until she did.
Realization dawned like a fast-moving thunderstorm on the horizon. "Ohhh. It's Russell," she said, nodding. "You don't want to leave Russell."
"I know it sounds crazy, but I've really fallen for him, Audrey. I can't bear the thought of leaving while he's still here. I mean, it's not like I'll probably ever hear from him again. I know that. But—"
"No, no," Audrey said, waving her hand. "I get it. As long as you don't mind working that much harder and faster when we get back to New York . . . and of course you'll have to share this hotel room with me because I can't afford to put you up in another one . . . you can stay. We'll go back to New York together."
Kat surprised her with a spontaneous hug. "Thank you. I just want to get as much time with him as I can before we go back to the real world. That's crazy, right?"
A knock sounded at the door before she could reply, and Kat grinned. "That will be Fee. I told her you would help with alterations to her dress, and I'm going to show her how to create finger waves."
"And you were going to mention this to me . . ."
Always the Designer, Never the Bride Page 12
