"I wanted to recreate something we did back in Chicago, something that would bring back a good memory."
"This was a good choice."
Colored lights and lasers lit up the place like a carnival show, blinking out the rhythm of 1970s disco, and Andy covered Sherilyn's gloved hand with his own as they moved about the rink. He hadn't been out on the ice in far too long. He'd almost forgotten how much he loved it. His preferred activity on the ice involved a puck and a hockey stick, but skating had been one of the first things he and Sherilyn had found in common after they'd met.
In front of them, a mother held the hands of two adolescents, both of whom possessed far more aplomb on the ice than she, and a couple of teenagers skated alongside them with eyes devoted only to one another.
"Did you come here with your mother?" Sherilyn asked, eyeing the mother and children ahead of them.
"Ha!" he popped with one hard chuckle at the thought. "Not to skate. She's more of a sit-on-the-sidelines-and-watchwhile-sipping-hot-cocoa kind of mother. My dad and I skated though." The memory warmed him. "He used to try and convince her to give it a try by saying things like, 'Ice is just water that refuses to let people go swimming in it, Van.' But she would just wave her hand at him and sit down somewhere."
"We'll take our children skating together, as a family," Sherilyn declared, and he looked at her carefully. She looked almost angelic amid the artificial fog and brilliant lasers, with the soft cloud of the pink scarf tied loosely around her throat and the puffy mounds of fur over each ear.
When she caught him looking at her, she blushed. "What?"
"You are so beautiful," he told her, and he raised her hand to his lips and kissed her gloved knuckles.
"And you are blind."
"Blinded by love," he teased.
She called him out on the retort. "You're a cornball," she said, and they laughed together as they skated around the large circle, hand-in-hand.
Maya skipped across the path of his thoughts just then. If she'd ever made him feel what he felt just then, he sure couldn't remember it. Maya's exquisite appearance and charismatic charm never could quite make up for the fact that she coolly kept him at arm's length. Warning flags had been popping into the air throughout their two-year relationship, but he'd deftly looked away each time in an unconscious effort to deny their existence. Until he couldn't. Until he opened a door, turned a corner, and came face-to-face with the truth: Maya Collins could not be trusted with the most foundational and imperative things of life.
Sherilyn, on the other hand . . . She was true-blue. In every way. Andy knew he could trust her with anything, from his fears to his secrets, from his musings to his deepest dreams. And there was no drama with Sherilyn. Their relationship was easy. Smooth. How often these days could any guy really say that about the woman he intended to marry? Wasn't there always something?
"What do you say we score some hot chocolate," Andy suggested as they left the rink, and Sherilyn nodded happily.
"With marshmallows."
"Whipped cream," she corrected.
"Whipped cream it is then."
He helped her to the bench where she plunked down with a thump. He smiled at her and turned to walk away. But—
Andy did a double take. He narrowed his eyes and moved in closer to her.
"Honey, what is that on your face?"
Sherilyn's pink-gloved hands popped immediately to her cheeks, and her bright eyes opened wide. "I don't know. What?"
"Are you all right?"
"Well . . . yeah . . . Why?"
"You look a little . . . swollen."
"Swollen?"
"And bumpy."
"Bumpy! Andy, you're scaring me."
"Well, it looks like something's wrong. Some sort of allergic reaction, maybe?"
Sherilyn hopped to her feet and thudded along on the blades toward the ladies room. On her way in the door, two exiting women stopped to gawk at her for a moment, and one of them gasped, causing Sherilyn to reel around toward Andy and squeal at him before she wobbled through door marked Women.
"It appears to be an allergy of some kind. It says here that you're not allergic to anything other than aloe vera."
"Not that I know of."
"Perhaps a fabric or something that's touched your skin. Have you been exposed to anything new?"
Sherilyn pondered the question, replaying everything that may have touched her face. "My friend let me borrow the earmuffs and gloves I was wearing today. Could that be it?"
"You've never worn them before?" the doctor asked, rubbing his latex-gloved finger over her cheek.
"No. And there was a matching scarf too. I had that around my neck."
"That's probably it then," he told her, and he stepped back and peeled the glove from his hand. "The Benadryl should take effect soon. Some people find they get a little drowsy, so you may want to head straight home. In the meantime—" And he began scribbling on his small, white pad. "—I'm going to give you a prescription for some hydrocortisone cream that may help with the itching."
"Thank you," she said, accepting the prescription and looking it over.
"And I'd return that scarf to your friend immediately." Sherilyn chuckled as the doctor disappeared on the other side of the flimsy white curtain. In just a few seconds, Andy poked his head through the opening.
"Okay to come in?" he asked.
"Of course."
Andy stepped up to her where she sat perched on the metal table, and he pecked her temple with a quick kiss.
"Are you going to live then?"
"Probably. Unless I borrow anything else from Emma." Andy tilted his head curiously. "I'm allergic to the earmuffs, or maybe the scarf."
They both looked at the garments balled up on the chair as if checking them for radioactivity.
"Excuse me," Andy called to the nurse who happened to pass the cubicle carrying a plastic bag marked boldly with the last name Carnes. "Can I get one of those bags?"
"At the desk."
Andy gathered up the scarf, gloves, and earmuffs and carried them out into the hall. When he returned, the handle of the bulging bag was safely snapped shut.
"My hero," Sherilyn teased melodramatically.
"Fighting for truth, justice, and freedom from polyester," he returned. "Ready to head out?"
"More than."
She hopped down from the table and slipped into her coat. As they ambled down the corridor toward the emergency room exit, she brushed the shoulder and sleeves of the coat in an effort to clear any fibrous remnant of the culprit. She paused to examine her face and throat via the shiny metal plate on the sliding door.
"When I was nine," she told Andy, stroking her neck and squinting into the reflection, "Lacey Beauchamp and I decided it would be a great idea to start at the top of a hill of leaves and roll down to the bottom. That night, I had poison ivy over every inch of my body. My mom used cottonballs to dab calomine lotion on me, and she put oven mits on my hands so I wouldn't scratch."
"I'll bet you looked cute." Sherilyn glanced up at Andy, her eyes misted over with tears, her heart squeezing into a tight little ball in her chest.
"What?"
"That's the first memory I've had of my mother for a really long time. I guess seeing myself all red and blotchy brought it back to mind."
Andy slipped his arm around Sherilyn's waist and pulled her close to him, kissing the top of her head as they walked out the door.
The snow had begun to fall again, and it looked like silver glitter against the white light of the tall lamps lining the parking lot. The wind kicked up, and Sherilyn withdrew into the ruffled collar of her coat. Andy angled his head downward, and the two of them took off at a full run toward the car.
The Dos & Don'ts of Bridal Registry
DO review a wide array of stores, online registries, and local shops before narrowing down your choices.
DO make a list of the top ten or twenty items that you really need. This will help you narrow down the r
egistry choices.
DO consider registering at more than one place.
DO NOT limit yourself to just household goods. Some couples who may be moving into a new home or embarking on a multi-destination honeymoon might benefit from a registry at a home improvement chain or a travel store.
DO NOT choose only those high-ticket items that you might want but cannot afford. Give your wedding guests a lot of options, from inexpensive essentials to those higher-end items you're hoping for.
DO NOT go crazy with the registry, adding every appealing item in sight. Take your time and create a balanced wish list.
DO remember that variety is key, but so is the personality and style of the bride and groom.
14
I want something different, you know? Something unique. Like no other wedding before."
Sherilyn didn't think it necessary to tell Samantha Parker that every bride felt that way. She simply smiled and nodded.
"Well, I think your vision for a Christmas Eve ceremony gives me a lot to work with, Samantha. I'll put together a wedding inspiration collage for you this week, working with your colors and notes. I'll email it over, and we can get back together again to review it."
"That would be so great," she beamed, shaking her dark brown hair back with the sharp flick of her neck. "I want candlelight and shimmer, and truckloads of dark red roses."
"Don't forget to email me that photo of your wedding dress," Sherilyn reminded her as Samantha knotted the thick belt of her coat.
Samantha's purse thumped against Sherilyn's back as the woman pulled her into an unexpected embrace.
"I just know you're going to help me make this the most wonderful day of my life."
"Well, I'm certainly going to try," she said with a smile.
"Oooh! I hadn't noticed it before," Samantha exclaimed, and she grabbed Sherilyn's left hand and shook it from side to side, tapping her ring with two fingers. "You're engaged too!"
"Yes."
"That's so cool. When's your wedding?"
"We've only just begun to plan it," she admitted. "We haven't set a date yet."
Samantha clicked her tongue and shook her head. "Wasn't it you who told me that should be a bride's first decision?"
Sherilyn felt crimson heat move over her face and neck.
"We just moved here from Chicago, so things have been a little out of whack."
"Well, don't wait too long," she said softly. "If he's the right one, you don't want him to get away."
Sherilyn smiled. "I don't think Andy's going anywhere."
Her client gave her a sideways glance, pregnant with skepticism, before she said simply, "Don't wait too long, Sherilyn."
After Samantha left, Sherilyn set about gathering her notes and stacking them atop the bright pink laptop. She reached into the drawer of the desk and produced the last chunk of the chocolate bar she kept hidden there, its wrapper twisted shut at the end. She popped it into her mouth and crumpled the wrapper in her fist as a silver-haired woman wearing a neon pink sundress with large yellow polkadots appeared in the doorway. She held a large, floppy straw hat in her hands, and she gasped when she saw Sherilyn.
"I haven't seen you in such a long time," the woman said, and she pulled Sherilyn into a hug. "Where have you been? We're going to the beach. You should come along!"
"I'm sorry, ma'am. Are you . . . lost?"
"Lost? I don't really like that show. Too much shouting."
The woman smiled, and the wrinkles on her face rallied to form a perfect, sweet frame. Sherilyn knew that smile—
Emma rushed through the door and cried, "Aunt Soph?" At the sight of her aunt, she heaved a huge sigh of relief, resting her hand on her heart.
Of course! She hadn't seen Emma's aunt for years—was it the Christmas before she returned to Chicago?—but she would have known that smile anywhere.
"Aunt Sophie, don't do that. I didn't know where to find you."
"Oh, don't be silly, Emma Rae. I'm right here, and so are you. Have you met my friend Sherilyn?"
Emma smiled at Sherilyn and replied, "Yes. I have. Isn't it wonderful to see her again?"
"I want her to come to the beach with us today."
"Well, if we were back in Savannah," Emma explained, wrapping her arm around Sophie's shoulder and guiding her toward the door, "and if it was summer, that would be a wonderful idea. But we're in Atlanta now, remember?"
"Are we?"
"Yes. And it's snowing outside, Aunt Soph. So we need to find your coat."
"I'll bet Sherilyn knows where it is." Sophie leaned in close and inspected Sherilyn's face. "You know, a little rubbing alcohol will clear those blemishes right up."
"Oh, they're not blemishes. I had an allergic reaction to—"
"It's nothing to be embarrassed about. Maybe you're eating too much chocolate?" The woman had noticed the wrapper in Sherilyn's hand.
"Oh, no, I—"
Sophie turned and vacated the small office with Emma in tow, and Sherilyn closed the door behind them. Draped across the wingback chair across the corridor, she spotted a long mink coat.
"Sophie? Is that it?"
Sophie looked at her vacantly at first, then she followed the path of Sherilyn's pointed finger toward the coat. She approached it cautiously at first, picked it up and rubbed the fur across her cheek. After a moment's thought, she carried the thing to Sherilyn and handed it over.
"I don't want to hurt your feelings," Sophie whispered. "But do you have any idea how many little animals gave their lives for you to wear their pelts? They do amazing things with faux fur these days, my darling. Perhaps give it some thought."
And with that, Sophie patted the coat where it rested over the fold of Sherilyn's arm, and she walked away.
Emma watched after her for a moment before grabbing the coat away from Sherilyn.
"She's spending the day with me," she cried before racing off behind her aunt. "Soph? What did I say about wandering off without me?"
"You said not to do it, dear," she replied without even looking back.
Sherilyn checked her watch. She had two hours before her next appointment, and she could put the time to good use pulling up images for Samantha Parker's collage. She stopped by Susannah's office for a cup of coffee, but she wasn't there and Jackson's door was shut. She heard muffled voices from inside as she dumped three packets of sugar into the cup and filled it from the fresh pot.
Balancing her laptop and the stack of paperwork on her arm, she grabbed the cup of coffee and meandered down the hall, around the corner, and into her office. She'd only just dropped it all to the desk and sat down when her door slammed shut and she jumped back up to her feet.
"G'day, love."
"Russell!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"
"Shhh, don't give me away, hey?"
"Aren't you supposed to still be in rehab?"
"I'm rehabilitated," he said in his charming Australian drawl. "I'm out on good behaviah."
"Gee. Why don't I believe you?"
He grinned from one ear to the other as he rounded the desk and perched on the corner of it. "Don't tell me you're not happy to see me."
"That depends. How long are you staying? And does Jackson know you're here?"
"Jackson, right. I tried to appeal to his sense of humanity, love, but he turned on me. Called Alan straight away and told him to get me out of his hotel."
"And?"
"And . . . I was hoping you and your doctor friend would take some pity on me and put me up for a while."
"What?" she cried, wheeling her chair back a couple of feet and staring at him. "Are you joking?"
"Just for a couple of days, love. You can manage me for that long, right?"
"I can't manage you for a couple of hours, Russell. You're unmanageable."
He gripped the invisible arrow in his heart and yanked on it. "That was harsh. You're not willing to give me a burl?"
Sherilyn tapped her fingers on the arms of her chair and sighed. "Ru
ssell, what does that mean?"
"Give me a burl. A try." He raked his long hair back away from his face with one hand and groaned. "Come on. I haven't been to a bottle store since before the last time I saw you. I'm not drinking, I'm stone cold sober, and I'm just looking for somewhere to crash until my mate arrives to take me out."
"Your mate."
"Yeah, love. This is Fair Dinkum. He's on his way here to get me now."
"And it's going to take him two days to get here?"
"Yeah. He's biking."
"Biking?"
"Biking. Motorbiking. Harley?"
"Oh. A Harley-Davidson."
"Yeah, he's trailing one for me as well. We're going on a rideabout. That's the rehabilitation I need. The road and some anonymity with a bloke who's known me since I hopped out of my mother's pouch."
Sherilyn leaned back in her chair and narrowed her eyes at him. "Is this the truth?"
"It is. I swear."
"Can't you just tell Alan how you—"
"Listen," he began, and he leaned forward and touched her hand. She hesitated to deem the look in his green eyes as sincerity, but it sure was a good imitation. "I'm a commodity to just about everybody I know now. I need to be off on my own for a while. Can you understand that?"
She sighed. "I think so."
"Will you help me? Hide me out until J.R. reaches town?"
Sherilyn nibbled the corner of her lip as Russell's intense eyes gobbled her up.
"Best behaviah," he promised, raising two fingers in a scoutlike vow. When she still didn't respond, he grinned at her and said, "You have my word."
She rubbed her forehead and groaned. When she looked up at him, Russell winked. "Yeah?" he asked. When she didn't reply, he asked again. "Yeah?"
Andy pressed the code into the keypad and pushed the front door open. Henry skidded down the hall toward him and thumped into his leg.
"Careful, buddy. Pace yourself."
He dropped his briefcase on the table next to the stairs and sorted through the stack of mail he'd retrieved from the box, most of it addressed to the previous owners. He dropped those to the pile he'd been building to pass back to the mail carrier for forwarding or return.
Always the Wedding Planner, Never the Bride Page 14
