“Don’t. Your makeup.”
I nodded. “Thanks.”
Nice save. If I had ruined my makeup, it would have been one more thing to add to the growing list of catastrophes that was turning out to be my wedding day.
“What do we do? We have no minister and nowhere for guests to sit.”
I hated stating the obvious, but my brain was in overdrive. I had to talk it out.
“Don’t worry about the minister part. I texted Austen. He mentioned he had an officiates license from an online church. He told me he did it for a cousin’s wedding once. If he did it for his cousin, I’m sure he’ll do it for us. Just waiting to hear.”
I rested my hand on my chest. That was a relief. The chairs were a nuisance, but it wasn’t like people had to sit.
Ugh. This wedding was getting worse by the minute. Maybe we should have been married at the courthouse like I originally suggested. Tyler wanted to be romantic and have the wedding by our special meeting place.
“This is what romance gets you.” I mumbled under my breath.
“What?” Tyler asked.
Babette smirked. She heard me.
“Why not here?” Rick came out from the back.
I jumped and turned. I had almost forgotten he was back there.
I liked Rick. We all grew up together. He was nice to me when most weren’t.
Rick scratched his chestnut beard and glanced around. “I think I still have those twinkly lights from the Pickle and Darts night.”
A Fire Lake tradition. See how many pickles someone can eat without throwing up and then play five rounds of darts. Whoever wins goes home with the Golden Pickle trophy.
“That’s a brilliant idea.” I ran over to Rick and gave him a hug.
Tyler cleared his throat as he glared at Rick.
I think Tyler was still on edge with what happened with me and the Ex-Mayor.
He shook his head and glanced around, “I never thought I’d be getting married in a bar. No offense, Rick.”
“It’s a good a place as any. Besides, this bar has history. It was one of the first building built in Fire Lake. Did you know this used to be the center of town, not the edge?”
Rick, while being the local bar owner, was also a history buff.
“A hometown wedding in a historic building. I can work with that.” Babette mumbled to herself.
I smiled and moved toward Tyler, but Babette grabbed my arm. “He can’t see you until the wedding. It’s bad luck.”
Waving my hand at Tyler as he stared at me, “It’s a little too late for that.”
She sighed but relented, letting go of my arm.
I ran over to Tyler.
“It will be nice. It’s not as if we were having a big wedding anyway. Just local friends and family.”
He nodded, “Okay. The bar it is. I guess I should let Austen know.”
He reached into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out his phone. “Austen left a message. I didn’t even hear my phone ring.”
Tyler tapped his cell and lifted it to his ear. I walked back over to Rick, about to ask him if he had anymore decorations when I heard Tyler exclaim, “Oh shit.”
“What’s wrong.” I spun around and saw the look of dread on his face as he stared at his phone.
“Austen’s out. He can’t even come to the wedding.”
“What’s wrong?”
How many times did I have to ask that today?
“Austen fell on his way over to the pond. On the sidewalk. You know that part in front of Dave’s Auto and Nuts?”
Rick said, “Yes.” While both Babette and I responded, “No.”
“It’s a patch of sidewalk filled with potholes. Dave’s too cheap to get the sidewalk redone. It’s a hazard. Austen tripped and landed on his face. Knocking out his two front teeth.”
We all gasped.
“He’s been at the dentist since. Now he’s all doped up on pain meds. His dentist had to leave the message using his phone because Austen wasn’t in any shape to make the phone call himself.”
I frowned. If Austen couldn’t make a simple phone call, there was no way he could officiate a wedding.
“Welp. We’re screwed.” I threw my arms up. “One problem after another. That’s a sure sign today’s not our day, Tyler.”
“Really? You’re giving up that easily?” Tyler came over to me, his feet pounding the floor as he pulled me into his arms.
I felt a tap on my shoulder. I pulled back from Tyler and glanced over to Rick.
“What about Sheriff Garrison? Can’t he marry you?”
I stared up at Tyler. We both nodded at each other.
“We invite him to the wedding. So, he will be here anyway.” I said to Tyler.
“And that would be a dream come true of mine.” Tyler added.
I rolled my lips over my teeth. He didn’t even try to hide his man crush anymore.
“Then it’s decided. Tyler, you call the sheriff—” Rick said before being cut off.
“Already on it... Hi, Garrison.” Babette said before turning and strolling toward the pool tables in the back of the bar.
“Okay, then Tyler, you go to the tent and direct the guest to the bar. Iona and I will get to decorating.”
I raised my brows. Rick was good at taking charge. Perhaps he should do wedding planning on the side.
I gave Tyler a quick squeeze before he headed out the door. Rick and I went into his storage room and found lots of lights and white tinsel from the holidays. After a few minutes, Babette showed, flushed, announcing the sheriff would be officiating.
It took about half an hour, but we turned the bar into an adorable, down-home rustic wedding. Rick quickly moved away tables and rearranged chairs. And by the time we were done Rick’s Bar was good enough to get married in.
Once the sheriff showed up, he went to stand behind the bar and during the ceremony we would walk up to him. Instead of ordering a beer, I’d be marrying the man of my dreams.
The only place I could hide until the ceremony started was the women’s bathroom. Babette touched up my makeup and hair before wishing me luck as she left the bathroom. I stared in the mirror and wondered, was it worth it?
Was running away to the other side of the country only to come back and be forced to live with Tyler, worth it? Yes. Absolutely. I’d go through all that a million times just to say I do.
The piece I felt was missing from this wonderful day was my mother. I wished she was here to witness me marry Tyler. She loved him like the son she never had.
A tear slid down my cheek, but I quickly wiped it away.
“I hope you can see me mom because today I hold you in my heart as I take Tyler’s hand to become his wife.”
There was a knock on the door. With one last glance at myself to make sure the tear had smudged nothing, I opened the door.
Babette stood on the other side.
“Ready to rock this runway?”
I turned my attention to the bar where Tyler stood. His hands were clasped together. He seemed stiff. Obviously, he was nervous.
He was handsome in his black suit and black tie. He gave me the most awkward grin and it reminded me of all those years ago. When we met at the pond as teenagers.
I promised him my heart then.
“Yes, I’m ready to keep my promise.” I said to Babette as I smiled back at my future husband.
BURNING LOVE
She always worked alone. He refused to trust anyone with his business. One road trip later and they’d be at each other’s throats... making out.
If Bea Love did one thing well, it was landing any client no matter how much they put up a fight. She was charming but tough, smart but always willing to do what was best for the client. She won them over every time.
Until she met the most stubborn, overly demanding, and sexiest man of her life. Spending the next few weeks with him would be tough but the worst part–trying not to drool over his arms.
There’s one thing Mica Angro
v knew to be true, outsiders weren’t trustworthy. He had a perfectly good business in a small town selling his coffee beans to local businesses. It kept a roof over his family’s head and let him help raise his niece.
When a beautiful woman from the city showed up in his home ready to make him an offer too good to be true, he took one look at her and kicked her out. He realized he made a mistake when a doctor explained his niece needed help. He needed that money from the flashy deal the city woman promised for his niece.
After agreeing to travel hundreds of miles and spend weeks with her to land the deal he wondered if the trip would be one big disaster? Or would he end up giving her multiple orgasms like he kept dreaming about?
ONE
Bea
“What happens in my dad’s office, stays in my dad’s office.” I winked at Ms. Jackson. Her reddening cheeks captured the attention of my gaze.
She licked her bottom lip and sighed. “I know it’s so bad. But sometimes I can’t help myself.”
With the strength of a cat watching a mouse struggle under its paw, I bit back my smirk and nodded. “Go on. I won’t tell if you don’t.”
She leaned forward, and I focused on her hand as she reached for the silky, gold-covered, plump morsel.
With the clink of the carrot charm on her bracelet as it struck the crystal, she plucked the foil-wrapped chocolate from my dad’s candy dish.
Both our eyes darted toward the door. We were still alone. She sighed in relief while I held my breath.
“I have such a sweet tooth. I fully admit,” she popped the round candy into her mouth and bit down with a moan, “I’m a chocoholic and a coffeeholic. Anything with sugar and caffeine. Ha,” Ms. Jackson garbled out while chewing on the sweet treat.
I nodded as if I could relate. It was all part of the plan, and it was going smoothly.
The plan didn’t involve me relating to her about chocolate or sweets of any kind. Chocolate was not my thing. Eating for me was a necessity, not something I did for pleasure. Now coffee I could relate to that, but that wasn’t why I was here.
My twin sister, Olivia, ate for pleasure. Now that she lived on the side of a mountain in Maine and not at home in Washington, DC with our parents, she had been eating lots of bacon and hash browns.
Olivia might need an intervention, but perhaps it was the cool, clear mountain air that turned her food savage?
I was a city girl. My city-developed brain couldn’t comprehend these pan-fried food cravings. I understood chocolate to a degree—it was sweet and creamy. I knew a lot of cityfied people who ate chocolate like it was life-giving oxygen.
But greasy diner food wasn’t something that people who wanted to get ahead in the world ate on a regular basis. My ultimate goal in life was to run my father’s business one day. Like how Olivia craved artery-clogging food, I salivated over thoughts of sitting behind that monstrous, old-fashioned mahogany desk of his like an oil baron from the turn of the twentieth century.
Would I be forced to smoke a cigar? I hoped not.
But that was my plan. Not taking up smoking but proving to my father that I was perfect for the future of his company. That I could land him a much sought-after client before he even entered the room.
Eight years ago, when I turned twenty-one, right after graduating from my university, I interviewed and got an entry-level job at my father’s company. He may not have believed in me, but within five years, I was running the marketing department.
My father was old-fashioned and not in a good way. He was my dad, and despite his outdated thoughts on so many things—including his own daughter—I still loved him.
Did his loving son, Konrad, have to work his way up in the company? No. Konrad was given a cushy management position the day after he graduated.
But was I bitter? Oh, you better believe I was upset. I may be one of the youngest of my dad’s eight children, but I was the smartest, the most hard-working. And if the bond Ms. Jackson and I had formed in the last five minutes was any indication, the most charming.
Perfect for running a multi-billion-dollar business.
“There’s a particular type of coffee I can’t get enough of. They only sell it in a small town in Maine. I’m addicted,” I gushed as I patted her arm, taking advantage of our newly formed friendship over food.
She lifted a perfectly manicured black eyebrow. “Really? I do love coffee. Where in Maine?”
The coffee affection was true. It was the only thing that I sucked on that I loved. Well, the second most adored thing I savored. The first was cock, but I didn’t think Ms. Jackson was a close enough friend to discuss that in my father’s home office, yet.
“I’ll tell you what. When my father comes in, you tell him you’d love to sell your family’s produce to our stores in the Del-Mar-Va region, and I’ll gift you my last bag of the dirty blend.”
Her pale-painted pink lips frowned, which I knew wasn’t a good sign. Despite her unhappy face, it was her fingers that gave her away. They twisted around themselves like a neon sign telling me Ms. Jackson was considering my offer.
I knew my father wanted the Jackson Family Farm produce for his locally grown section of our regional stores. I also knew he was planning to offer her way more for those fruits and vegetables than they were worth.
I had studied the locally grown market, which had been trending up in the past decade, though it was a slow rise. My father counted on a spike. It was part of his revamping of his stores—make them more community friendly.
As much as I loved the community idea for the store, I knew they would take time to produce a hearty enough profit.
“Look,” I glanced back toward the closed dark wooden door and lowered my voice, “I shouldn’t be doing this, and my father won’t be happy, but how about if Love Foods offers you this for your produce.”
I grabbed the blue Post-It note pad and wrote down a low-ball figure—much lower than my dad planned to offer.
Sliding the pad of paper toward her, I watched as her dark brown eyes widened.
It was more than she was expecting.
“Now, this is just a temporary price. Don’t think you would be locked in. I know other companies might be giving more, but we’re a family business, and you have a family business. She bit her lip and kept her gaze on the paper.
Now it was time to play the part needed to land the deal.
I stood, and after a big sigh, I turned toward the door.
“It was wrong of me to do that without my father. Let me go get him, and we can work with—” I was stopped by a hand on my arm and the loud thwack of a powder-blue upholstered chair hitting the floor.
“No. I mean.” She let go of my arm and cleared her throat. “As long as it’s not a binding contract . . . A year you say?”
I nodded while clasping my hand, waiting for the inevitable yes.
“I think a trial period of a year is perfect.”
Right as I was about to shake Ms. Jackson’s hand, the door flew open in the usual startling way my father had with entering a room.
“I do apologize for my delay, Ms. Jackson. I wasn’t feeling my best this morning. I do hope my daughter was helpful in answering your questions.”
He reached over and shook her hand before waving for her to take a seat. She moved toward the chair, picked it up, and relaxed back into it with glazed eyes.
“Very much, yes.” She smiled as if I just gave her the best orgasm in the world. And a part of me believed I had.
My father nodded but slid his eyes toward me in uncertainty. He watched me as he moved behind his desk and sat.
I raised my chin, and with a smug smile, knowing I had satisfied one person today, I walked over to my father’s desk and placed the Post-It in front of him.
“What’s this?” He lifted the blue paper and furrowed his brow.
“The first-year price Ms. Jackson and I agreed on for her family farm to sell their produce to our stores.”
“But it’s so . . . Uh, you did this
, Bea?” My father looked up at me with a mix of confusion and something else I had never seen in his eyes before. It was either admiration or constipation. I knew my father enough to accept that it was the latter.
“Oh, yes, she did. Now that is the price we agreed on. And, if I’m not mistaken, there’s a bag of coffee in the deal as well.”
I nodded.
Ms. Jackson stood, and I watched as she wrapped her hand around most of the chocolates in my father’s dish, taking them with her. She found her purse on the floor and shoved the candies inside.
That woman’s addiction was bad.
“Just draw up the paperwork and send it over. I’ll have my lawyer look it over. If it’s good, I’ll sign it and have it back to you by the end of the week.”
My father, still a bit shocked, stood and nodded. I showed her toward the door and asked Jacoby, my father’s assistant, who had a smaller version of my father’s desk just outside the door if he would grab the bag of coffee for Ms. Jackson. I made sure he added it to my coffee-extravaganza basket.
I liked making baskets for people to brighten their day. I made sure I always had one made up and at the ready wherever I went. Surprising, a stranger with a basket of goodies was fun and gave them something to smile about. You just never knew who needed a little bit of cheer.
Once I knew she was taken care of, I made my way back into my father’s office, ready for the praise I had earned.
Not only had I landed the deal my father had been working on for the past month, but I saved him money in the process.
He would be a fool not to make me next in line to take over.
Taking a deep breath and patting my shoulder, I opened the door to my father’s office with a smile.
What I found inside was the opposite of what I had expected.
Not only was my father frowning and yelling into the phone to Konrad about getting his ass over here now, but when his hazel eyes darted up to meet mine, his face grew red.
It was already red from the screaming, but it looked like the inside of a red velvet cake now. All I had to do was slather cream cheese frosting on his bald head, and I was sure Ms. Jackson would ask for a bite.
Lost and Found (books 1-3): Small-Town Romantic Comedy Page 45
