by Lauren Layne
Heather took a sip of wine and waited, more curious than she was tense. Her mom had never been the tough-love type. More the free-love, really.
“I worry that you rely too much on external validation.”
Heather blinked in surprise. External validation? Not her mom’s usual MO, and she wondered if she’d seen it on Oprah.
“Explain,” Heather said slowly.
Her mom reached out and took Heather’s hand. “I love you to death. I love that you love New York, I love that you chased your dreams. But, Heather, sweetie, New York has always been your dream. Not mine.”
“I know that,” Heather said slowly. “But I don’t think it’s unreasonable to want to share those dreams with people we care about.”
“Of course not,” Joan said. “But I don’t think that’s why you want me to come to New York so badly. You want me to come to New York so I can tell you that you’re doing the right thing, that you’ve made the right choices. So that I can reassure you that the goal you’ve been chasing all this time is the right one, and that you have everything you need to make you happy.”
“You don’t think I’m happy?” Heather asked.
“I think you’re on your way,” Joan said carefully. “But I think you know there’s a piece missing, and you’re hoping that I, or your boss, will assure you that you’re wrong.”
“Whoa. What does Alexis have to do with this?” Heather asked.
“You’re looking for the same thing from her as you are from me. Validation.”
“Well, yeah, I kind of need her validation to get the promotion,” Heather countered.
“And this promotion will get you what, exactly?” Joan asked gently. “More money, and that’s good. Prestige, and that’s good, too. But I don’t think that’s why you want it so badly.”
Heather started to take another sip of wine, only to realize she didn’t really want it. She set her glass aside. “Okay, Mom. Help me out here. Why do I want the promotion, then?”
“I know why you became a wedding planner, sweetheart, and it’s not because you love churches and carrying around safety pins for emergencies or because you love bossing people around, although you’ve always been startling good at that. I know the real reason.”
Heather looked away, and her mom squeezed her hand. “I know you planned weddings for me and the men I dated. I know you wanted a father, and a family. I know you wanted the white wedding, not because of the wedding itself, but because of what it represented. Stability. Happiness.”
“I was happy with you, Mom,” Heather said, her eyes watering.
“And I with you, but you wanted more for yourself. As well you should.”
“So why do I feel like I’m being scolded for wanting more?” Heather asked.
Her mom smoothed a hand over Heather’s hair, shoving the curls back. “I just worry you’re wanting the wrong thing. I worry you think happiness is your address and your job, and while those are important factors, you’ve pursued them at the expense of other things.”
“Like what?” Heather sniffed.
Although she already knew, really.
Boyfriends.
Relationships.
Love.
Heather had been telling herself that she hadn’t fallen in love because the time hadn’t been right, that she hadn’t had serious relationships because she’d been focusing on her career.
But the truth was, Heather had been focusing on the Manhattan zip code and the promotion because they were easier. Not easier to achieve necessarily, but less painful if she failed.
But if she tried for love and failed—if she tried for her own wedding, and it didn’t happen—it wouldn’t just be her pride that was broken.
It would be Heather.
She started to cry harder, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on why. She only knew that some tiny, unidentified part of her was being brought forward, and it was as painful as it was necessary.
“Oh, sweetie,” her mom soothed. “Should I not have brought this up now?”
Heather let out a mangled laugh. “Well, it is Christmas, Mom. Couldn’t have hit me with this tomorrow?”
“Perhaps I should have,” Joan said, playing with Heather’s curls. “Are you mad?”
Heather shook her head and rested her head on her mom’s shoulder. “No. Not mad. Confused as heck though.”
“Yes, love can be that way sometimes,” her mom said with a sigh.
Heather frowned. “Who said anything about love?”
Her mom pressed her lips to Heather’s forehead and smiled. “Your phone’s ringing.”
Heather lifted her head and listened. Sure enough, her phone was ringing on the small table by the front door. “Who’d be calling me on Christmas?”
She picked it up, her hand faltering a little as she saw the caller ID. She picked up. “Josh?”
“Hey, 4C. Calling to wish you a merry Christmas. Are you as fat and full as I am?”
“More so,” Heather said with a smile.
“Really? Come back to New York so we can compare belly bulges. We can make it sexy.”
Heather laughed. “That’s one thing even you can’t make sexy.”
“You’re just saying that because your mom’s around. Tell her I say hi, Mrs. 4C.”
“What makes you think I’ve told her about you?”
“Oh, 4C. You’re so cute when you try to play coy. Put on your coat and go outside so I can talk dirty to you about the pie my mom made. And then you can talk dirty back by telling me about the banana bread you’re going to make me when you get home on Wednesday.”
“Not happening,” Heather said as she shrugged on her coat. “Not now, not ever.”
She put her hand over the mouthpiece. “Mom, I’ll be right back. Just going to talk in privacy for a while.”
“You take your time,” Joan said as she took another sip of wine. “I’ll just be here gloating.”
Heather’s eyes narrowed. “Gloating about what?”
Her mom gave a secret smile. “I’m confident you’ll let me know when you figure it out.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
DOES THIS SEEM WEIRD to you?”
“The fact that I’m willingly wearing a suit right now? Yes. Yes it does,” Josh said, tugging at the collar of his shirt.
“Please,” Heather said with a wave of her hand. “You look like you came out of the womb in that thing.”
It was true. Josh Tanner in his usual T-shirts and low-slung jeans was mouthwatering. But Josh Tanner in a charcoal suit, sans the tie, the white dress shirt open at the collar lending the ensemble just the slightest casual touch, was downright breathtaking.
Josh caught her hands, which had been fiddling with her clutch, cradling both her hands and the small gold clutch between his own. “Talk to me, 4C. What’s weird? Why are you all fussy?”
She bit her lip, tasting the sparkly lip gloss she’d applied on the cab ride over to Seth and Brooke’s place.
“This,” she said, jerking her head toward Hamilton House, the quiet building in front of them, the entire top floor of which Seth had purchased and turned into a gorgeous home for him and Brooke.
“Going to your friend’s party on New Year’s Eve?”
She resisted the urge to kick him with her pointy stiletto—also sparkly, given that it was New Year’s Eve, and she’d busted out every glittery, shimmering item in her possession for the occasion. “You’re being deliberately obtuse. I mean us going to a New Year’s Eve party. Together.”
He pretended to take a shuddering breath as though on the verge of tears. “Don’t cry, Tanner. Don’t cry. She doesn’t mean it.”
Heather laughed and stepped closer. “You know what I mean. People might get the wrong idea about us.”
I might get the wrong idea about us.
/> Heather had been doing a lot of thinking in the days since her conversation with her mom on Christmas, and although she didn’t have any answers, one thing was becoming abundantly clear.
She wanted a hell of a lot more than what Josh Tanner was offering, and didn’t have the faintest clue about what to do with it.
In fact, Heather had decided on her New Year’s resolution:
Winning Josh Tanner’s heart.
A huge task, to be sure, but an important one. Perhaps the most important one of her life.
And one she’d deal with. Tomorrow.
But tonight she wasn’t going to worry about anything other than enjoying herself and enjoying him.
Seth and Brooke had decided to host a big party, complete with expensive invitations and a top-notch caterer and cocktail attire. Of course, Brooke had insisted that Heather extend the invitation to Josh on her and Seth’s behalf. Heather knew what her friend was up to—giving Heather a reason to invite Josh without having to ask Josh as her date.
Clever, sneaky Brooke.
But when Heather had straightened his collar earlier that evening, and when he’d zipped up her little black dress and helped her with her necklace and kissed her shoulder and told her she looked beautiful . . . well, it felt like a date.
And as they stood out here in the winter night, her hands cradled in his, they felt like a couple.
“Think of it this way,” he said, pressing his lips to her forehead in a casual display of affection that she’d been noticing more and more of lately. “You can pay me back for all the sex by serving me your friends’ fancy champagne.”
“Uh-uh,” she said, tapping a nail against his chest. “I pay you back for all the sex with sex.”
“That you do,” he said, glancing down at her low-cut dress. “Have I told you how hot you look tonight?”
She smiled. “Several times. Just like I’ve told you several times that this is absolutely not the night that I endeavor to try your taxi sex.”
“Damn,” he muttered, releasing her hands so that he could touch a strand of her hair. “I still don’t understand how you got it like this.”
“I didn’t ‘get it’ like anything. The salon that I forked over triple digits to blow it out got it like that,” she said, batting his hand away. “Don’t touch it. You’ll make it frizz.”
In honor of the holiday, Heather had treated herself to a lengthy hair appointment, complete with a rare blowout. Her stylist had undertaken the impressive feat of wrestling her curls into smooth, flowing straightness.
Heather wasn’t turning her back on her curls, but the change was nice. It was emboldening to feel a little different. Reckless, almost.
“Come on, sexy,” he said, putting a hand on her back and guiding her toward the front door. “Let me show you off.”
But as what? she wanted to ask. Your girlfriend? Your lover? The neighbor who lets you into her pants most nights?
She pasted a smile on her face, and by the time the elevator opened into the top-floor apartment, the hum of tipsy partygoers and big band music luring her in, she felt herself relax slightly.
Brooke swept upon them, as bubbly and golden as the champagne she pushed into their hands. “You’re here! Heather, honey, you look amazing in that dress, and I’m digging the hair! Josh, you’re passable. A little puny in the shoulders, maybe.”
Josh laughed and bent to kiss Brooke’s cheek. “Thanks for having us. You look beautiful.”
Brooke laughed. “Damn, you’re pretty and good with the compliments. You’re lucky I’m taken. Heck, for that matter you’re lucky that you’re taken.”
Josh stiffened a little, and Heather gave Brooke an eyes-wide seriously?! look, which Brooke either missed or pretended not to see, linking her arm in Heather’s and pulling her away.
“Josh, you mind if I steal her for just a sec? My best friend’s visiting from California, and I want to introduce her to this one. Seth is hiding out in the kitchen, if you’re interested in a bromance.”
He waved them off. “Go. But you bring her back to me,” he called after Brooke.
His tone was joking, as it usually was, but Heather felt a distinct little thrill at the slight possessiveness in his voice. Maybe she’d imagined the way he’d freaked out when Brooke suggested he was taken.
“Do I even need to tell you how right you guys look together?” Brooke said loudly into Heather’s ear, raising her voice to be heard over the music.
Heather shook her head and sipped her wine. “I can’t even deal with that right now. Neither can he. That’s next year’s problem.”
“Got it,” Brooke said, squeezing her hand. “Tomorrow we’ll scheme, tonight you celebrate the fact that you’re gorgeous and here with a delicious man.”
“Speaking of gorgeous, can we please talk about this dress,” Heather said, stepping back and giving her friend a once-over.
“What, this old thing?” Brooke said on a laugh, running a hand over the short, shimmery silver dress. “Is it too slutty?”
“It’s fabulous. Where the heck have you been hiding those legs?”
“Under three layers of leggings and pants, trying to survive this monstrosity you guys call winter. Oh look, Alexis is here. With Logan,” she added in a sing-song voice.
Sure enough, their boss and Logan had arrived at the same time, although Heather wasn’t entirely sure that Alexis was even aware of it. Alexis was dressed to kill in a short white dress, her dark hair down around her shoulders instead of wrapped up in its usual chignon.
No doubt about it. Her boss looked hot.
As did Logan. No sign of tweed or elbow patches tonight, just a light gray suit and a skinny black tie. He’d opted for contacts, apparently, which made his brown eyes even more piercing than when they were hidden behind his glasses.
Yummy.
Alexis, as usual, hadn’t seemed to notice that Logan was nearby, much less that he looked like an even sexier version of James Bond.
Poor Logan.
Or maybe not, Heather thought, as a striking black-haired woman walked up and wound an arm around Logan’s neck and pulled his head down for a kiss that lasted just a bit longer than the standard greeting smooch.
Heather’s gaze flicked back to Alexis, and her boss didn’t look quite so oblivious now. Nor did she look happy as the curvy dark-haired woman led Logan away by the hand.
“Speaking of New Year’s resolutions, you think those two will get their act together?” Brooke said.
“Beats me.” Heather took a sip of champagne. “I can barely figure out my own love life, much less theirs.”
Brooke grinned. “Aha, so you do admit you have a love life.”
“Sex life,” Heather quickly amended.
“Riiiiight,” Brooke said, raising one perfectly arched eyebrow.
Luckily, Heather didn’t have time to dwell on her accidental use of the L word. Soon she was swept up in introductions with Brooke’s California friend, then a couple of people from Seth’s work. She was especially delighted to run into Maya Tyler, Seth’s younger sister, the one who’d actually been a client of the Belles last year, up until she’d learned her fiancé was planning to use her inheritance to settle a gambling debt. It was hard to feel too bad for the pretty blonde though, given the fact that she’d found what seemed to be a very happily ever after with a longtime family friend.
Heather lost count of how much time had passed or how many times she refilled her champagne. Instead she let herself have fun, catching up with friends she hadn’t made nearly enough time for this fall, even connecting with a handful of old clients who had become friends of the Belles one way or another. There was nothing quite like seeing the bride and groom whose wedding you’d killed yourself over as a happy, content husband and wife.
This is why she did what she did.
The happine
ss. The forever kind of love. That was everything.
And it might have been the reason she kept avoiding Josh throughout the evening. Just a tiny bit.
She’d caught glimpses of him a handful of times, making sure he wasn’t feeling abandoned, but this was Josh. As far as she could tell, he’d become the best friend of just about every person he talked to.
Still, even as he laughed and charmed his way through a roomful of strangers, he seemed to sense whenever her gaze was on him, and his eyes would seek out hers, locking onto them from across the crowded loft, following with a wink, or a chin lift, or even a small two-fingered wave.
Mine, she thought every time, without fail. He’s mine.
Damn. She was definitely going to have to figure out what to do about that. Tomorrow. She’d figure it out tomorrow.
Heather tilted her champagne glass to her lips, only to realize it was empty. She headed toward the makeshift bar for a refill, but her footsteps faltered when she sought Josh out in the crowd once more and saw him talking to a stunning brunette.
His hand was on the other woman’s back, his head bent down toward hers.
Heather’s fingers tightened on the glass. Just two seconds ago, she’d admired the way he could work a crowd, but this felt different. The way the woman looked at him was different, the way they stood close was different.
She felt jealousy, hot and stabbing, rush over her.
She knew then. The woman Josh was talking with was an ex-lover. It was written all over their body language.
Which . . . fine. She knew he’d slept with other women. Lots of them. It was just seeing one of them . . .
She closed her eyes and counted to five, but the suffocating misery didn’t fade.
Air.
Heather needed air.
She opened her eyes and stepped backward, only to back into a very firm, very close male body.
Josh. She didn’t have to turn around to know it was him. She knew his touch. His smell. His taste.
But she didn’t know him. Not really.
His hands closed around her elbows, but she jerked free and headed toward the exit.
