She rubbed her hands together to warm them, holding them in front of the heating vents, until, at the stoplight, he bundled her hands between his and rubbed warmth into her chilled fingers as the reflection from the red light washed over his face. He didn’t look at her, studiously watching traffic, instead. There was nothing sexual in his touch at all. But still, awareness arrowed through her as memories from the other night flashed through her mind. She’d really had a very good time with him. Maybe she could bend her rule about repeaters, just this once.
No, she didn’t want to set foot on that slippery slope. Hadn’t it ended in disaster before? From two nights directly into a relationship and then to endless bickering and bitterness. No, better to just indulge in a taste from time to time. When the light changed, he made the turn into Mamacita’s parking lot and drove her as close to the door as possible. When he noticed the lack of an awning, he handed her his oversized black umbrella.
“Here. You don’t want to mess up your hair.”
She took the umbrella, her fingers brushing his. Their eyes met in the dim light of the car. She wanted to lean over and kiss him, sink into that sinful mouth. Instead, she said, “Thanks for the ride. Enjoy your takeout.”
“See you around.”
Lauren heard the echo of her own farewell to him the other night. She didn’t have time to think about it, dashing inside to manage the warring bridesmaids and the unhappy families.
On Saturday night, Kyle’s first glimpse of Lauren came through his viewfinder as she walked down the aisle. Her long bright orange dress hinted at her slim figure beneath. She’d piled her beautiful hair in loose curls on top of her head, leaving her lovely shoulders bare. In a flash, he remembered tracing the freckles on her collarbone, first with his fingertips followed by his tongue, as she’d sprawled over his lap.
Her vibrant hair shimmered in the candlelight. The entire effect—her dress, her hair, the lighting—gave her the impression of a column of flame as she strolled down the aisle. She totally outshone the bride. Kyle couldn’t take his eyes off her, snapping far more shots of her than he needed. Just in time, he turned his lens toward the bride as she started down the aisle, her elderly father at her side.
Though he saw Lauren several times over the course of the evening, especially as she posed for group portraits, they were both so busy they didn’t have the opportunity to speak until the dancing started, late in the evening. She stood, off to the side of the dance floor, keeping a watchful eye on the floor, playing with her pearls.
By now the candles were low in their holders, creating pools of light around the room and casting the dance floor into shadows. Lauren rolled her head on her shoulders and stepped out of one heel. Her toes, topped with bright purple polish, wiggled on the floor, before she switched feet. Her shoes must be killing her again. He wondered if she’d like a foot rub.
“You look lovely,” Kyle said.
“I look like a sunburned traffic cone,” Lauren answered, shaking her head. “This is the worst bridesmaid’s dress I’ve ever worn, and that’s saying something.”
“You look like a sunrise.” She smiled at him, meeting his gaze. “You’d look beautiful in a burlap bag.”
“Now I’ll blush and look like a traffic cone on fire.”
“Is it inappropriate for me to say you’d look even better out of the traffic cone?” He winked at her, offering her a bite of his second piece of overly sweet coconut wedding cake, the only food he’d managed to get all evening. She hadn’t had much time to eat, either. His stomach growled uncomfortably and his feet throbbed in his shoes. He’d had no idea how busy wedding photographers were.
“No thanks.” She shook her head and said, “No repeaters, remember?”
“I remember.” He sighed. He may not understand her rules, but he would respect them, no matter how much he’d like to see her again. He handed off his empty cake plate to a passing waiter.
When the silence stretched between them, she said, “Thanks for the rescue last night.”
“No problem. How was your rehearsal dinner?”
“I got there in time to head off most of the arguments.” Lauren shrugged. “How are you enjoying the wedding?”
“I’ve never worked so hard in my life. I nearly missed the bouquet toss entirely.”
When she looked over at him, a furrow above her nose, bunching up her freckles, he continued, “This is my first wedding, as a photographer anyway. Leigh took Hunter to a birthday party at the glow-in-the dark golf course for some lucky six-year-old.”
“A six-year-old’s birthday party? You drew the easy duty.”
Kyle laughed and met her eyes, awareness shimmering between them. He gestured to the camera dangling around his neck. “I’d ask you to dance but…”
“Perfectly understandable. Thank you, anyway. My toes are killing me in these shoes.”
“Come out for waffles with me and I’ll give you a foot rub.”
“Thanks. But no.”
“The no-repeaters thing again?”
She shrugged.
“Didn’t realize it extended to meals, too. Okay then. See you around.”
Chapter Four
The following Tuesday morning, Lauren and Erin sat in their favorite turquoise and bubblegum pink booth at Blueberry Hill diner, holding their weekly staff meeting. Maybelline brought Lauren her usual cinnamon rooibos tea without being asked. Lauren sipped it, wrapping her chilled fingers around the steaming white ceramic mug, grateful for the warmth.
Maybelline dropped Lauren’s usual Belgian waffle on the table, the plate clattering over the well-worn surface. Lauren sighed, thinking of Kyle asking her out for waffles at the wedding on Saturday. Perhaps she should have gone.
She glanced out at the windswept beach, empty now on a cold December morning. Beyond the waving sea grass, the churning winter sea reminded her of Kyle’s too-green eyes. She’d spent the past several days being inconveniently reminded of him at every turn. Lauren usually didn’t think of her hook-ups at all once their time together passed. What made Kyle so different?
“How was your trip to Savannah, Erin?” Maybelline raised her voice loud enough to be heard above the always-playing 50s hits on the jukebox.
Erin smiled, a light blush covering her high cheekbones. Maybelline laughed, “Met a man, did you? Good for you! Aren’t I always saying that it’s a crying shame you two beauties are single. How about you, Lauren? Meet anyone recently?”
Lauren rolled her eyes at Maybelline’s raised eyebrows and butter-wouldn’t-melt-in my-mouth expression. “If I did, I wouldn’t let them stick around for long.”
“Just haven’t met the right one yet, sweetie,” Maybelline answered, her beehive shaking as she shook her head.
Seeking to head off their old argument, Lauren said, “Tell her about Matthew, Erin.”
That was all the invitation Erin needed. Maybelline pulled up a chair to hear the whole tale. Digging into her waffles, Lauren listened to her friend gush about this guy she’d just met. She’d known Erin since the first day of high school and had never once seen her like this about a man. Maybe this whole thing was more serious than she thought.
“And then what happened?” Maybelline asked breathlessly.
“Dylan showed up and…” Erin trailed off when other customers stopped at the gleaming chrome edge of their pink and turquoise Formica table.
“Erin! I’d like you to meet my new associate.” Joe Mitchell, their favorite wedding photographer, clapped Kyle on the shoulder as he and Erin shook hands.
Lauren’s heart stuttered and she sucked in a breath. He really was as gorgeous as she’d remembered. Ralph called to Maybelline from the kitchen and she bustled away as Kyle turned to Lauren with a smile.
“He’s working with Leigh and me,” Joe said, “covering some weddings with us.”
As she and Kyle shook hands, Lauren said, “Oh yes, we met at the Sorenson wedding this weekend. I’m so sorry. What was your name again?”
&n
bsp; Kyle’s eyes widened and he drew in a sharp breath, but Lauren looked quickly at Erin. She didn’t want to remember how brilliant his eyes looked as he knelt between her legs or how he’d felt inside her or even how sweet and sexy his kisses were.
“Kyle Rawlings.” After a perfunctory handshake, Kyle dropped Lauren’s hand and turned back to Erin with a wide smile. Lauren found she missed the warmth and buried her hands in the pockets of her oversized sweater. Lauren wanted to taste that smile again and resolutely shoved the thought away. “I’d love to show you my portfolio sometime and see if we can work together.”
“Kyle used to be a war correspondent. We met on a dusty road outside Baghdad years ago, both trying to get the same shot. Somehow, we became friends. He’s interested in learning the wedding photography ropes,” Joe said. “He’s got quite an eye. You definitely want to recommend him to your brides, Erin.”
“I’d love to hear more about that, Mr. Rawlings but…” Erin checked the time on her phone and stood. “I’ve got a lunch date.”
“A lunch date?” Lauren demanded. “With who?”
“Matthew.” Erin smiled at her, as she shrugged into her coat.
“Matthew who lives in Chicago?” Lauren asked.
“The wonders of video chat. Yes, gotta go. Don’t want to be late.” Erin nodded, heading for the door. She called over her shoulder, “Maybe you can show Lauren your portfolio, Mr. Rawlings.”
“He must be some guy.” Maybelline called to Lauren as she dropped plates off at the table behind them and headed to the counter with Joe for his takeout order.
“He must be.” Lauren scowled after Erin. Kyle dropped into the booth across from her, the light from the neon milkshake across from him turning the ends of his hair pink. Joe departed with a wave before Lauren and Kyle said a word to each other.
“Thanks for covering for me with my boss,” Lauren finally said, playing with her fork and carefully not meeting Kyle’s gaze.
Kyle nodded. “Thought you all were best friends.”
“We are. It’s just she’s very rules based. Structured.”
“And you broke the rules with me?” Had his voice always been so raspy? Stubble shadowed his jaw and his dark hair was windblown, giving him a sexy, just out of bed look. He shifted in the booth, stretching out his right leg and bumping against hers. She wiggled closer to the wall, away from his firm legs, as he looked her full in the face again.
“Yes, I did.” Lauren nodded. “When I first became a bridesmaid, it was something of an all-you-can-eat buffet. I mean, so many yummy young men in tuxes. What’s a girl to do?”
Kyle smiled at her, a crooked grin on his pretty mouth. He really was quite handsome and Lauren sipped her tea suddenly aware of her heart thumping hard in her chest. “Well, who wouldn’t want that?”
“Like a kid in a candy store.” Lauren agreed and Kyle laughed. Men rarely got her quirky, offbeat sense of humor.
“So, since we’re here, I’m going to grab a sandwich.” Kyle grabbed the always-sticky laminated menu, but didn’t open it. “What’s good here?”
“Maybelline’s husband makes a mean cheeseburger.” He ordered and Lauren pointedly ignored Maybelline’s wide smile and wink at her as she left. Inveterate matchmaker, that one.
“So, why is a former war correspondent taking wedding photos in Boston?”
“Well, that’s a long story.”
“Got a lot of waffle here to eat.” Lauren took a bite, waiting him out.
“I got fired.”
Lauren froze with her fork halfway to her mouth. He shifted in the booth and glanced out at the clouds scudding across the silver gray winter sky.
Finally, Lauren managed, “Why?”
“I got accused of staging a photograph.”
“What does that mean?”
“In Afghanistan, I was embedded with a squadron. Outside Kabul, the lead Humvee drove over an IED. After the explosion, I leapt out of the vehicle, starting shooting pictures.” Maybelline brought his burger to him and Kyle toyed with a French fry before continuing, “A little kid, not more than two, toddled out of a nearby hut. No one around. No one to watch him. He was carrying an empty water bottle under his arm, like it was a prized toy.”
Kyle swallowed, wiping his hands on his jeans and meeting her gaze again before continuing, “I saw him through the viewfinder, heading for the road. I ran over, grabbed him up, and set him back on his way in the opposite direction. Then, I started taking photos again. I snapped a few shots of the kid…and here I am.”
“You got fired for taking a toddler’s picture?”
“Not exactly.” Kyle blew out a breath and then, in a rush, like he just wanted to get the story over with, said, “As the kid toddled away, he stopped to look at a dying soldier, who smiled back at him. I caught the shot. The picture made the front page of the Globe, went viral, there was talk of a Pulitzer…”
Lauren thought she knew the picture he referred to. It’d been all over the news for a while. She nodded and he continued, “And then, the reporter I was with accused me of moving the kid deliberately to get a better, more heart-wrenching shot.”
“I see.” Lauren watched him munch on his fries and then shook her head. “Or not, actually.”
“I broke the cardinal rule of photojournalism. We’re just supposed to report the news. Not make it. We don’t get involved.”
“You rescued a kid,” Lauren argued.
“Shouldn’t have taken a photo of him, I guess. He reminded me of my buddy’s kid and…” Kyle shrugged, giving her a half-smile. “I was just shooting, in the field, in the zone. My editor published the shot and here I am.”
“Did your editor get fired, too?”
Kyle shook his head, a wry grin twisting his mouth.
When the silence stretched for a bit, she asked, “How did you become a photographer?”
“Well, I have an IED to thank for that, too.” Kyle bit into his gooey cheeseburger.
Lauren finished her waffle and, pushing her plate aside, waited for him to continue.
“After high school, I joined the army. Near the end of my second tour, just outside of Baghdad, my army caravan hit an IED. I was on the far side, in the back. Suddenly, I’m bleeding out on a dusty road in Iraq with my buddies in pieces next to me. When I was recovering at Walter Reed, learning to walk again, my therapist suggested I needed a hobby. Woodworking didn’t appeal to me so I signed up for a photography class. Once I got out of the military, I started as a stringer, a freelance photographer. And eventually got on staff with the Boston Globe.”
“And here you are.” Lauren swallowed against the ache of unshed tears in her throat. Somehow, she doubted Kyle would welcome sympathy.
“And here I am,” Kyle said. “Taking wedding photos. I didn’t pose that shot. I did save that kid. What’re you gonna do? You want to see that portfolio now?”
Lauren nodded and he pulled a tablet out of the black backpack he carried with his battered camera inside. He made the case into a stand and set it between them. She flipped through the photos, a mix of casual and posed shots, some landscape and some portraits. Kyle excelled at using unexpected angles to highlight unusual lighting or aspects of the photos. He was a gifted photographer. No doubt he’d do well in the wedding business, especially if he managed to highlight special details of the couple’s day.
“They’re gorgeous.”
She flipped to a photo of a family smiling for the camera under an autumn tree, the colorful leaves cascading down in the background. She didn’t realize at first that the man’s left arm was missing.
“Wounded warriors?” She asked and Kyle nodded. “You do beautiful work, Kyle, but…”
“But what?”
“Are you really interested in doing weddings?”
“Are you?” Kyle raised his eyebrows at her.
“Touché,” Lauren said and smiled, “We’ll definitely add you to Always a Bridesmaid’s list of recommended photographers.”
“You know that means we’ll see each other at weddings and all.” Kyle pointed out and Lauren nodded, biting her lip. “I understand that you don’t do more than one-night stands.”
“That’s right.” Lauren tilted up her chin, bracing herself for his argument why he should be the exception.
“Can we at least be friends?” Kyle stuck out his hand and, slowly, she placed her hand in his oversized palm.
“Of course.” Relieved, Lauren smiled, pulling her hand away and ignoring the thrill that coursed through her from just his simple touch. “I’ve gotta head home. Get some work done.”
“Great. Thanks for meeting with me.” Kyle stood, tossing some bills on the table. They parted at the door of the diner. “See you around.”
After she’d left Kyle, Lauren walked around town for a bit, to give Erin some private time. Winter in a Massachusetts Bay town was always brutal and it was only December. It would get much worse before it got better. At least it wasn’t snowing.
Chilled, Lauren returned home. She hung up her coat and rubbed her hands together and scrutinized Erin sitting at her desk in the bay window. The sunshine picked up highlights in her blonde ponytail as she pecked away at her keyboard. Always focused and obsessed with her endless to-do list, her friend built her professional bridesmaid business from nothing in less than six years to support not only herself and her younger brother, but also Lauren, too. Though Lauren’s art was her passion, she couldn’t yet support herself entirely from the profits yet. Until then, Lauren loved working with Erin and helping joyous brides create their magical day.
“How was your phone sex?”
“We did not have phone sex.” Erin shook her head, her ponytail bouncing, never looking up from the complicated spreadsheet she’d been working in. “We had Skype sex.”
“When can I meet this guy?” Lauren grabbed her own laptop and flopped onto the couch, pulling the battered coffee table toward her to prop up her feet. She really should relent and get a desk but there was just nowhere to put it in their crammed apartment. With Christmas just over a week away, she’d been flooded with orders for her various craft creations, especially her paintings. Maybe someone would buy her oversized triptych and give her a very Merry Christmas.
Once a Bridesmaid Page 3
