Aside from a family cat that had lived only a few short years, Andy had never had a pet of his own, though he'd always wanted one. Partial to dogs from a very young age, he liked
them best when they were large and playful, just like Henry. He'd believed finding Henry in the backyard on the very day that they chose their new home had been something of a good sign of things to come. He realized now that he couldn't have been much more wrong.
"Hey!"
Andy smiled at Emma. "I think it's all de-Henried."
She returned the smile, and rubbed his arm. "Sorry, Andy."
"Nah, it's all good."
"Jackson and I are having dinner with my dad tonight. Why don't you and Sher join us?"
"I'll have to see how she feels."
"Okay. Morton's Steakhouse at seven."
"Thanks for all your help, Emma."
"Anything for Sher."
It occurred to him how rare—and accurate—the statement actually was. He had no doubt there was nothing on earth the two of them wouldn't do for each other.
"And I thought Sherilyn didn't have any family," he said, slipping his arm around Emma's shoulder as they headed down the hall.
"Oh, you thought wrong, mister."
"I can see that."
Just as they made it to the bottom of the stairs, the front door burst open and Sherilyn raced past them.
"Andy! Andy!"
"Here," he called out, and she spun around and thundered back to him. "What did the doctor say?"
"I think—" She paused, blinking back the confusion. "Oh, hi, Em."
"Hi," she replied with a laugh.
"I think we have it all figured out. It's not Henry I'm allergic to. It's the conditioner stuff that the groomer used. It has aloe vera in it!"
"How do you know?"
"Dr. Benson helped me figure it out. So I called the groomer. I remembered the name because I thought it was funny." Looking to Emma, she explained, "Happy Tails. You know," and she sang to her, "Happy Trails to you . . . until . . . we meet . . . again."
"Sherilyn?"
"Oh, sorry. So I called them, and I asked what's in their organic conditioner that they used on Henry and, sure enough! It has aloe juice in it!"
"Oh, Sher." Emma touched Andy's shoulder and shook her head.
"What? This is good news!"
"Yes, I just wish we'd solved the mystery a few hours earlier."
"Why?"
Andy sat down on the staircase and shook his head.
"Why?" she repeated. "What's happened?"
"Andy found a home for Henry."
"No."
"He left with the little boy down the street about two hours ago."
Fee sauntered into the hall and looked around at them.
"This isn't good news?"
"No," Emma told her. "Sher's not allergic to Henry after all."
"Ohh," Fee said, and she sidestepped the stairwell and stood in front of Andy. "Dude. Sorry."
Andy wanted to tell her he was sorry too. But the misery in Sherilyn's eyes inspired him to keep silent.
"No biggie," he said casually instead. "At least we know what it is now."
Sherilyn knelt down in front of him and took his hands into hers. "Maybe we can get him back!"
Emma rubbed Sherilyn's shoulder and shook her head. "No, Sher. You should have seen that kid's face when he left with his new dog. You can't go and take him back now."
Sherilyn looked at Andy for a long moment. He thought he saw resignation behind the sadness in her eyes—until she leapt suddenly upright, stamped her foot and cried, "Sure I can!"
And with that, his fiancée flung open the front door and ran through it.
Andy fumbled to his feet and chased after her, finally catching up to her at the driveway of the house next door.
"No, Andy. He'll understand. I'll make him understand. And I can buy him a new dog. Any dog he wants!"
He almost wanted to laugh, and he decided one more time as he looked at her that he had chosen the right woman with whom to share his life. She'd ruined him, in fact. No one else would ever do now that he'd found Sherilyn Caine.
"Honey," he said, smoothing her hair with the palm of his hand. "You didn't want a dog anyway."
"I know," she sang. "But he's . . . grown on me . . . and . . ."
"Hey. Don't start lying to me now."
"Okay, he didn't grow on me. I don't really like him at all, if you want to know the truth. But I've never been much for dogs, Andy. I could learn to love him. I know I could."
She turned to continue on her quest, but Andy grabbed her by the sleeve of her coat. "Sherilyn, look at me," he said, and she reluctantly raised her eyes. "My hopes are all pinned on sharing my life with you, not Henry."
"But—"
"He's a dog, honey. A great dog, but just a dog."
"A great dog?" she quipped. "Really?"
"Hey now."
She smiled halfheartedly. "I just don't want you . . . to resent me."
"I couldn't."
"Aaron will be walking him around the neighborhood, and you'll see him sometimes and—"
"I wouldn't."
"You might."
"I won't."
She glanced down the street at the brick ranch where Henry now lived, and she groaned. "I'm so sorry about everything, Andy."
He slipped his arms around her and held her close to him, kissing her on the top of her head. After a moment, they started the walk, hand-in-hand, back to the house.
"Do you want to have dinner with Emma and her dad tonight? They're going to Morton's."
"Gavin? Really? That sounds good." But her subdued tone and soft voice betrayed her stab at enthusiasm.
When they reached the front door, Sherilyn paused and planted a kiss on Andy's lips.
"What was that for?"
"You know what for."
"Tell me," he said, grinning.
"You know."
"Yeah. I know."
On her way to the consultation room, Sherilyn passed Sean and Fee in the lobby. Not that they noticed, of course. Their
arms clasped around one another's waists, staring into each other's eyes as if all the secrets of the world could be uncovered there, Sherilyn felt pretty certain that the two of them wouldn't have been deterred by an earthquake or the sudden collapse of a small building.
She'd been on the verge of greeting them, her lips barely parted, when Sean raised his hand and cupped Fee's face in it, and whispered something to her—something soft and sweet— and Sherilyn thought better of the interruption.
Brittany Lund wore navy blue slacks and a matching blazer over a bright white blouse with pearl buttons. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and with her hands folded neatly in her lap, she looked a little like an ad for a local charm school.
The mother of the groom sat next to Brittany, light blueframed readers perched beneath the bridge of her nose, glancing over a leather-bound menu from the restaurant.
"Hi, Brittany. Mrs. Pendleton. How are you both today?" Beverly Pendleton didn't look up. She only nodded curtly, but Brittany grinned at her.
"Hi, Sherilyn. I love what you sent me. Just loved it."
"I'm so glad. Mrs. Pendleton?" Sherilyn sat down at the desk and leaned forward, trying to catch the woman's eye. "Did you love it too?"
"Yes, it was fine," she said as she closed the menu and laid it to rest atop her lap. "I do have a few revisions."
Of course you do.
"All right. Let's work down the list, and we'll discuss them as we go along."
Sherilyn opened her pink laptop and clicked on the icon titled Pendleton-Lund.
"Brittany, did you have any trouble accessing the checklist? Your user name and password worked?"
"No trouble at all," she said, smoothing back her alreadysmooth hair. "It's all very organized. It's comforting to know I'm in such good hands."
"Good. Comforting is good," Sherilyn said with a smile. "That's one of the mo
st important parts of my job. Let's start with your homework."
The preliminary section of the bride's checklist appeared before her, and she saw that the first three items had been checked off by the bride.
"Excellent. Announce engagement, check! Select wedding date, check-check! Hire the wedding planner, check-check and check. You didn't have any trouble using the site?"
"None at all."
"And you've seen all of my notes for what I've accomplished thus far?"
"I have."
"Good. Then let's get to your concerns, Mrs. Pendleton. We have the English Rose ballroom reserved for a guest list of two hundred. I thought, with the black-and-white theme and scarlet accents you requested, we would go with white tablecloths and an overlay of black lace with white silk runners embroidered with—"
Before she could turn the screen toward them to display the photograph she'd taken of the suggested table setting, Beverly Pendleton turned her nose in the air and sniffed. "It's all wrong," she said without even glancing at the photo.
"Beverly, I really think—"
The woman interrupted Brittany, and shook her head emphatically. "No, dear. You are to do the thinking about how to be a good wife to the future governor of the great State of Georgia. I will do the thinking about how best to present you as my son's new bride."
Brittany deflated as if she'd taken on a slow leak. And Sherilyn's heart went down with her, the poor girl.
She decided right then to call Vanessa the minute Beverly Pendleton left the building. Suddenly, she appreciated her future mother-in-law from a whole new perspective.
"Forgive me, but I was a bit surprised when you called."
"Were you?" Sherilyn asked, pouring a fresh cup of tea from the china pot.
"Oh, don't get me wrong. It thrills me to know you're interested in cultivating a relationship with me, Sherilyn."
She set down the teapot and smiled. "I really am, Mrs. Drummond."
"Vanessa."
"I consulted this morning with a bride and her motherin-law, and seeing their interaction just really drove the point home. We're going to be family, and I want to get to know you, let you get to know me."
"I'm so happy to hear that."
"Not that I'm any big authority on what a family dynamic looks like."
"You're doing fine so far."
Vanessa's perfectly coiffed honey hair shimmered as a ray of sunlight backlit her perfectly from the window, and her smile seemed as warm as that sunbeam.
"Emma runs the tearoom with her assistant, and they've come up with a perfect menu. Did I tell you Emma's going to be my maid of honor?" Vanessa nodded. "Anyway, in spring and summer, they serve afternoon tea out in the courtyard. But now that the weather's turned so cold, they use this section of Anton Morelli's restaurant."
"It's charming," she commented.
Sherilyn picked up an asparagus and prosciutto sandwich cut into a dainty triangle, and she nodded as she took a bite.
"Tell me, how are the wedding plans going? Have you gotten your dress?"
Sherilyn's face fell, and she paused long enough to swallow the bite of sandwich.
"Yes," she replied. "Twice."
"Oh, dear. It's difficult to make a decision?"
"It's kind of a long story. But I seem to be at a dress deficit at the moment. Emma and I are planning to go shopping again tomorrow morning."
"I don't suppose you'd be interested in having a look at . . . my dress."
"Your dress?"
"The one I wore when I married Andrew's father. It's in storage, but I can easily call and ask them to make an appointment for you to have a look."
Sherilyn's hand touched her heart, and she sighed. "Vanessa. That's such a generous offer."
"It's nothing very fancy, you understand. Simple and elegant. And you are under no obligation to wear it. But if you like it, you have carte blanche to alter it in any way you see fit. I know a young woman like yourself might want to update it, and . . . Well, if you'd like to see it in the morning before you visit the shops you have in mind for your excursion with your friend, I'll make the call this afternoon."
"I would love to. I would really love to."
Afternoon tea with her future mother-in-law had been a greater success than Sherilyn had even dared hope when she'd dialed Vanessa's number earlier in the day. She walked her through the hotel lobby, pointing out the magnificent
carved front desk and spectacular staircase on their way to the elevator.
Sherilyn pushed the button for the fourth floor as the doors slipped shut. "The Tanglewood used to be a grand Georgian boutique hotel, and Jackson's wife worked here for years. She had this wonderful idea about converting the place into a wedding destination hotel and, after her death, Jackson made it happen. I think he was a little out of his element at first," she added with a grin. "But Emma came along to help him, and—"
"The rest is history," Vanessa finished for her.
"Right."
On their way toward Sherilyn's office, she noticed Susannah watering the plants on the credenza behind her desk, and Sherilyn paused in the doorway.
"Susannah, I'd like you to meet Andy's mother, Vanessa Drummond."
"Oh, how nice to meet you," the woman said, and she placed the watering can on her desk and smiled.
"Is Jackson in?" Sherilyn asked.
"He is. Emma's with him. Go ahead in."
Sherilyn touched Vanessa on the arm, and they proceeded toward the door.
Emma sat perched on the corner of his desk, and Jackson leaned back in his chair with his hands clasped behind his head as they entered.
"Are we interrupting?"
"Not at all," he said, standing. "Come on in."
Grinning at Emma, Sherilyn said, "I think you all met at the fundraiser, but—"
"Of course," Emma chimed in, and she hopped down from the desk. "Andy's mom. It's so great to see you again."
"You too, Miss Travis."
"Did you meet Jackson Drake?"
"Momentarily, after dinner. It's a pleasure to see you again," she said. "Your hotel is breathtaking."
"Thank you," Jackson replied with a warm smile.
"Fiona hooked us up with afternoon tea downstairs," Sherilyn told them. "I thought I'd show Vanessa around a little while she's here. And Em, Vanessa has offered for us to go and have a look at her wedding dress, the one she wore when she got married!"
"Really!"
"I thought we could go and see it in the morning." She glanced at Jackson and added, "We were going shopping for another dress tomorrow."
"Another dress?"
"Don't ask." "She keeps losing them," Emma added with a chuckle.
"For someone as micro-organized as Sher, it's hard to believe, isn't it?"
"I don't lose them," she quickly told Vanessa. "They just keep . . . disappearing."
"Oh, right. That's the story we're sticking to. I forgot," Emma teased.
"Well, as I told Sherilyn, it's nothing fancy. I'm a bit of a minimalist when it comes to fashion. And I don't even know if it's her taste, but I thought I'd make the offer and she can decide. No obligation."
"It's a lovely offer," Emma told her. "I can't wait to see it."
A few more minutes of pleasantries, and she and Vanessa continued on their way to Sherilyn's office. At the door, Emma caught her eye. Quickly raising two thumbs, Emma grinned at her and mouthed, "Score!"
"I know!" she mouthed in return, nodding her head.
As they turned the corner and Vanessa glanced back at her, Sherilyn smiled. "Down the hall to the left."
Emma checked the paper in her hand and read from Sherilyn's scribbled notes.
"The address is 1765. That must be it." Sherilyn steered around the corner and into the parking lot and slowed to a stop in front of the two-story building.
"Matheson Fur Storage?"
"Oh, Sher. You don't suppose her dress is made of mink or something."
"Of course not." Sherilyn looked back at
the building and cringed.
"That would just be too delicious!"
"Delicious? What kind of friend are you?"
"You heard her, Sher. You don't have to wear it. But I want to hear how you turn her down after you find out it's a fulllength, beaded mink wedding gown."
Emma cackled like a hyena, and Sherilyn smacked her on the arm.
"Stop it!"
"Oh, come on. It's funny. Admit it."
"I will not. Because it isn't."
Once parked, the two of them filed inside, and a bell on the glass door jingled as it opened.
"Oh, Sher." She turned toward her and Emma seriously advised, "Be sure to ask them if any animals were harmed in the creation of Vanessa's wedding dress."
"Hush!"
"Can I help you?"
"Yes. My name is Sherilyn Caine, and I—"
"Ah, Miss Caine," the gentleman behind the counter exclaimed. "Miss Drummond told us you'd be stopping in. Please. Follow me."
Sherilyn and Emma filed behind him, the perfectly round bald spot on the back of his head leading the way.
"You do know that it's . . . it's a wedding dress I'm here to see," she pointed out, and the man chuckled at her over his shoulder.
"Yes, ma'am."
"It just seems like your specialty here is . . . well . . . fur."
"We store all kinds of expensive, fragile garments, Miss Caine."
"Then the dress isn't made out of mink?" Emma chimed in. "That's a shame."
Sherilyn flicked her with two fingers, and Emma giggled. The small room hurt her eyes a little as they entered. Cream walls and ceiling, cream carpet on the floor, and several mirrors to magnify the creaminess. Mr. Forrester, as noted on the rectangular tag on his lapel, led the way to a black vinyl bag hanging on one of several hooks on the far wall. He unzipped it and yanked it from the bottom, revealing a full-length gown. Even against the creamy white room, the white dress made them both gasp when they saw it.
Always the Wedding Planner, Never the Bride Page 19
