by Linda Seed
“Maybe … ah … maybe we should take a look at the house,” Daniel suggested.
Lacy’s book collection was getting to be a problem.
It wouldn’t have been an issue if she’d lived in a regular house or even a small apartment, but the Airstream had precious little storage space for the essentials, let alone for things like the romance novels that constituted Lacy’s one true indulgence.
She looked at the box crammed with books that she’d pulled from the storage nook beneath her bed, and tried to think about which ones to donate to the Friends of the Library.
She couldn’t get rid of the Jennifer Crusies or the Susan Mallerys, obviously. She’d had to say goodbye to some of her Nora Roberts novels, despite her love for them, because there were just so damned many. The Robyn Carrs could go either way.
On the other hand, maybe she should keep everything. After all, she wasn’t going to live in the Airstream forever. She’d either be moving into Brandon’s apartment or into a house in Cambria, once he found one he liked enough to make an offer.
The idea of a house gave Lacy mixed feelings. On one hand, moving into a home—an actual house that wasn’t on wheels—would bring her one step closer to her dream of having a big, noisy family like the one she’d had growing up. On the other hand, a house came with so many things: furniture, kitchenware, clothes, appliances—maybe even knickknacks. Lacy had grown attached to her minimalist lifestyle in the years she’d been living in the stripped-down, streamlined confines of the trailer.
Well, things were going to change, she thought. A lot of things were going to change.
Lacy considered the box of books, crammed a couple more into it, and then put the box back in the cabinet beneath the bed. No sense in doing away with her excess belongings now—not when she was about to increase those belongings exponentially.
With that done, Lacy thought about all the things she should do before her shift at Jitters started that afternoon. She needed to take her laundry to the house and wash it. She needed to stop by the Cookie Crock for a few basic grocery items. And she needed to get started thinking about the wedding.
She and Brandon hadn’t set a date yet. He’d wanted to, but Lacy had argued that the date would be influenced by the venue they chose. What if the place they really wanted wasn’t available for the date they’d selected? What if the venue—wherever it turned out to be—was more beautiful during one season than another? What if the cost of renting the place was dramatically different one time of the year versus another?
Brandon couldn’t argue with the logic of Lacy’s argument, and neither could her mother. But now they were both pushing her to choose a venue, showing her websites, magazine spreads, and brochures for hotels, churches, restaurants, and wineries.
Lacy’s mother was growing increasingly exasperated with Lacy’s indecision. But it had to be right, didn’t it? You only got married once—at least, you should only get married once. Where was the sense in rushing it?
She walked to her tiny kitchen table, where she’d left the information her mother kept giving her. By now, she’d amassed a sizable stack of pages Nancy had printed from the Internet, each page adorned with Nancy’s barely readable scrawl:
Your cousin Brian’s best friend got married here—it was lovely. Or, Book early, they fill up months ahead. Or, in one case, Your father and I can send a deposit today!!!
Lacy picked up the stack of papers, flipped through a few of them, and then plunked them back onto the table with a sigh. She went to her bed, picked up the paperback romance that sat open on the shelf over the mattress, and flopped down onto the bed with the book.
Maybe the story would inspire her to start planning the wedding. And if it didn’t, well, there was always tomorrow.
The upshot of Vince Jordan’s visit was that Daniel had given him a deposit, and Vince had taken photos and measurements and had promised to start on some plans. Daniel had told him what he wanted, but said he was open to ideas, as long as it fit into his budget for the project.
Now, with Vince gone, Daniel was starting to get excited. Expanding the studio was one thing. He needed that if he was going to attract more clients like Eden. But the house? That was something else. That was pure luxury.
Daniel had been living in the little house south of Cambria for about six years, and he liked it, maybe even loved it. But there was no denying it was small, old, and outdated. When he was younger, that kind of thing hadn’t seemed to matter much. How much luxury did a guy like him really need? But as he grew older, now into his midthirties, he began to want more. More comfort, more convenience. More room. More style—one that didn’t include harvest gold appliances and dark brown grout.
Another factor was his financial situation. Because of the Eden job, he had more money now—with additional set to come in when the installation was done—than he’d had in a long time, maybe ever. And money had a way of getting spent if you didn’t do something with it. It seemed to Daniel that renovating the house would be a good investment if he ever decided to sell the place. He’d likely get all of his money back, and then some. And in the meantime, he could enjoy it in the form of a bigger, more aesthetically pleasing house.
His personal life was another area that needed some work—it had been a long time since he’d been in a relationship that was anything more than brief and casual. But he could worry about that later. Right now, he could work on the house. And he could work on getting the Vegas thing off the ground—literally.
The job he’d been commissioned to do for Eden, a tropical-themed hotel and casino, was a ceiling fixture inspired by the Dale Chihuly installation at the Bellagio. Of course, Eden wasn’t paying the forty million that had reportedly been put out for Fiori di Como. They weren’t paying one million—not even close. That was why they’d hired Daniel Reed instead of Dale Chihuly, and that was also why the Eden installation would be a fraction of the size of the one at the Bellagio.
Still, it was the biggest commission Daniel had ever done, and it represented months of work, months of stress over the fact that the thing would make or break his reputation.
The glass was done, packed, and cluttering up his studio—a vivid illustration of why he needed more space. The pieces were ocean-inspired, in keeping with Eden’s tropical island theme. But not ocean-inspired like some of Chihuly’s work, with its shapes mimicking sea kelp and coral. Daniel’s pieces were inspired by the water itself, the white-capped waves of wind-whipped seas and the gentle undulations of a body of water at rest. Done in shades of blue, green, and white, when it was lit from above it would make the viewer feel that he was standing beneath the ocean’s surface, looking up into sunlight filtering through water.
At least, that was the hope.
He’d let Eden know that the pieces were done and ready for transport, and they were sending some guys out from Vegas with a moving truck to pick them up and drive them to the hotel. He hoped to God they knew what they were doing, because one broken piece could delay the unveiling, which was scheduled to happen in just a few weeks.
Daniel would have to go out there early to supervise the installation, because positioning the pieces together would be like assembling a jigsaw puzzle—one of those really confusing ones, where everything was close to the same color. He’d written up detailed instructions, complete with diagrams, but he couldn’t trust strangers to do the job right. He had to be there.
The thing about the comped rooms came up the day of Vince’s visit, while Daniel was on the phone with the reservations desk at Eden, arranging for his accommodations.
“Of course, Mr. Reed. We have your room reserved, at no charge, for the dates you requested, covering the period of the installation and the unveiling.” The guy recited the dates. “And, of course, we can give you complimentary rooms for any guests you’d like to invite to the event.”
Daniel raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You can?”
“Certainly. We’re not at capacity for that weekend, so you
’re welcome to invite friends or family as our guests. How many rooms will you require?”
Daniel did some quick mental calculations. “Five? I’ll have to ask who can make it, though.”
“I’ll put you down for five, from the Friday before the unveiling through Sunday. You can confirm the number when we get closer to the date.” The guy on the phone was crisp, efficient, and professional. And right now, Daniel wanted to kiss him.
A Vegas getaway with his friends seemed like just the thing to relieve the stress of finishing this job.
He just hoped he wouldn’t blow all of his earnings at the blackjack tables.
Chapter Six
“Vegas, baby!” Rose said, raising a fork in triumph.
“In your case, literally,” Gen said, pointing her soup spoon at Rose’s baby bump. They were all gathered at Kate’s dining table around platters, bowls, and crocks full of Jackson’s rejects.
Jackson had been testing new crab recipes for the menu at Neptune, and he’d declared that the crab puffs, crab pasta, crab soup, and crab cakes that sat in front of them were not fit for the restaurant’s diners. He’d also been experimenting with wine pairings, which had resulted in five open bottles of various varietals, each of which had only a few ounces missing.
After Jackson had left for work, Kate had looked at the abundance of food and wine in their refrigerator and had decided that the only thing to do was to invite the girls over for a crab-themed feast. The occasion presented a perfect opportunity to celebrate the news about the Vegas trip.
“God. I can’t wait to sit by the pool and drink a mai tai,” Kate said, between nibbles on a crab puff. “I’ve never even had a mai tai. It just sounds like something someone should drink by a pool.”
“I want a mai tai,” Rose said, scowling at the glass of iced tea she had in front of her instead of wine. “Once this baby’s born, I’m having a mai tai.”
When Daniel had called everyone to tell them about the comped rooms, a flurry of excitement had rippled among the group. A Vegas getaway, on its own, was enticing enough. But doing it with a crowd of friends had even more appeal. Lacy was probably the most excited, because she’d never been to Vegas.
Lacy couldn’t say exactly why that was true. Las Vegas was only six hours from Cambria by car, so it was a natural choice for a three-day weekend. But for whatever reason, she’d never been there. Probably because she’d rarely been anywhere.
Born and raised in Cambria, Lacy had often longed to see the greater world. When she was growing up, it had been impossible for her family to travel very far with the expense of six children. Family vacations then had usually meant camping, or a road trip to Disneyland. But Lacy craved more. She craved New York City, Boston, New Orleans. She craved Europe. Cambria was great—she loved it in the deep, immutable way she loved her family—but at times, she felt that love was a little bit smothering, much like her own mother’s affections.
“Last time I went, I stayed at the Bellagio,” Kate said, sipping a smoky chardonnay from her wineglass. “This was before Jackson. I got a hot rock massage. Bliss.” She closed her eyes in memory.
“I want to see the fountains at the Bellagio,” Lacy put in. “They sound amazing.”
“That’s right. You’ve never been, have you?” Rose asked. “How is that even possible?”
Lacy shrugged. “I don’t know. I just … never have.”
“Well, you’re going to love it,” Rose said. “I’m going to need you to get drunk for me. I mean, you have to get drunk for yourself first, obviously. But then, after that, get drunk once for me.” She rubbed her belly affectionately with one hand.
Lacy sighed theatrically. “The things a girl has to do for friendship.”
Kate’s house had one of the best ocean views in Cambria. Situated on a hill in the Marine Terrace neighborhood, the house had one wall of windows that offered a nearly one hundred and eighty degree vista of crashing waves, blue horizon, and dazzling sunsets. The sun had already set in a blaze of oranges and reds, and now the dusky shades of twilight were darkening the sky.
The sky was never fully dark in Las Vegas, Lacy supposed.
She considered herself lucky to have been invited on the trip. Daniel was a friend, yes, but in the twice-removed way of people who had to accept each other because of their mutual relationships. If he’d left her out of the Vegas gathering, it would have been completely understandable. And yet, he’d invited her. Or, more accurately, Kate had invited her at Daniel’s prompting.
Lacy had been finishing up her shift at Jitters that day when Kate had called her cell.
“Do you want to go to Vegas in a few weeks?” Kate had asked.
Lacy, a little uncertain what the hell Kate was talking about, had replied, “Sure, but I can’t afford it.” Her paycheck from the coffeehouse was woefully meager, and tips were rare.
Then Kate had explained that the trip would be for the unveiling of Daniel’s installation, and that the rooms would be comped.
“And he invited me?” Lacy asked, confused.
“Well … yes. In a circular sort of way.”
The way Kate told it, Daniel had offered a free room to Kate and Jackson, and then had said he had an extra in case she knew anyone who might want to go. Like maybe … I don’t know … Lacy. That’s how he’d said it. As though he hadn’t had her in mind at all, but was scrambling to think of someone, anyone, who could fill that extra room.
It was kind of cute, when Lacy thought about it.
She had looked the way she looked since puberty, so she had the experience to know when a man was interested in her but was trying to pretend he wasn’t.
This—this invitation-that-wasn’t-an-invitation—was Exhibit A.
It was clear to Lacy that he was attracted, but that he was trying to avoid the appearance of impropriety because of her engagement to Brandon. Lacy found it endearing, and if it meant a free trip to Las Vegas, so much the better.
“I wonder if Brandon will be able to clear his schedule,” Lacy said.
The other three looked at her.
“What?” she said. “He has weekend office hours.”
The others didn’t say anything, and instead focused on their various crab dishes. Kate poked her crab bisque with her spoon.
“Okay.” Lacy put down her fork and raised her voice slightly. “What’s the issue here?”
Gen was the one to venture an answer. “It’s just … Brandon doesn’t seem much like a fun-loving, Vegas party guy.” She shrugged and offered a weak smile.
“That’s true,” Rose said. “He doesn’t.”
“Well …” Lacy picked up her napkin, fiddled with it a little, and then threw it back down onto the table. “That doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy himself! It doesn’t mean he can’t … I don’t know … see the sights! See a show! Enjoy a nice restaurant!”
“Of course it doesn’t,” Kate reassured her in a soothing voice. “You’re right.”
“Now, Jackson,” Rose said, raising her pierced eyebrow skyward. “I’ll bet that guy knows how to party in Vegas.” Jackson had a reputation with women—earned before he’d started seeing Kate—that suggested a certain level of hedonism that would mesh well with the what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas ethos.
At that moment, as if on cue, Jackson came in the front door of the house, looking exhausted after a day of work at Neptune. He looked up, saw them sitting around the table full of crab, and scowled.
“You weren’t supposed to eat that,” he said.
“Oh. God. I’m sorry. Did you need it for something?” Gen asked.
“No, no.” He ran a hand through his thick auburn hair. “It’s just … It’s crap. That’s the stuff that wasn’t good enough to serve at the restaurant. I was gonna throw it away when I got home.”
“The hell you say.” Rose moved to block the crab dishes with her pregnant body. “You’re going to have to get through the both of us to take it.”
“Aw, it’s fine.” He waved
away her objection. “It’s just … I can do better. You should taste the stuff I was working on today. The puffs have just a hint of horseradish—”
“Jackson,” Rose began, testing her theory. “What are you looking forward to most about the Vegas trip?”
He gave her a Jackson look, the one that said you were a fool if you didn’t already know the answer to the question you’d just asked. “Hookers, obviously.”
“You didn’t really just say that.” Kate picked up a potholder she’d used to bring hot dishes to the table and hurled it at Jackson.
“What?” Jackson raised an arm to deflect the potholder. “I meant for Daniel. The guy hasn’t gotten laid in months. Or so he tells me.”
“Still. Ew,” Rose said.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ve gotta take a shower. Excuse me, ladies.” He disappeared into the little house’s lone bedroom with its attached bath.
“See what I mean?” Rose asked when he was gone. “Brandon would never think of hookers.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” Lacy quipped.
“Lacy has a point,” Kate allowed.
“Ryan would never think of hookers either,” Gen said. “Unless he was worried about them.”
“Aww. He’s such a sweet guy,” Rose said.
“He is,” Gen said fondly. “I’m lucky. And married life is … well. It’s great.”
They all looked at Lacy.
Somehow, she didn’t think it was because they expected her to be equally happy after her own wedding to Brandon.
Lacy and her friends spent the next couple of weeks thinking about the Vegas trip, planning which shows they wanted to see, which casinos they wanted to visit, which restaurants they wanted to try, and where they wanted to shop. They’d made a group trip down to San Luis Obispo to buy new bathing suits—all except for Rose, who said she wouldn’t be caught dead in one in her current condition.
Kate and Gen experienced a certain amount of angst about what they would pack, uncertain whether to lean toward comfort, fashion, or a balance of both. Rose was more fixated on the unfairness of the fact that the trip would be happening during her nine-month sobriety. How was she supposed to have Vegas-level fun and protect her unborn child at the same time? Obviously, the baby came first. But she moaned that the trip would have been so much more satisfying had it happened several months earlier.
