The Marrying Type

by Laura Chapman

  “That’s the point you’re focused on?” Elliot tapped her manicured fingers on the table top. “Our nocturnal activities?”

  “Absolutely. How was he?”

  “I’m not saying.”

  “Come on.”

  “No.”

  “Please?”

  “Fine, I’ll tell you this, and only this, because I’m a lady, and ladies don’t go around bragging about their conquests. But . . .” Her cheeks flushed again, and she struggled to say the words. “Being with Eric was an education. A mutually satisfying, enjoyable, and thorough education.”

  “I can’t figure out how you do it,” Smyth said. “You tell me nothing juicy, yet you’ve made me blush.”

  A laugh bubbled out of Elliot. “Can we please move on?”

  “Absolutely.” He nodded, straightening his posture and raising his wine glass to his lips. “After you answer a few more questions for me.”

  “Fine,” Elliot relented, a mix of annoyance and relief at having someone to talk to about her concerns. “I’ll tell you anything you want if you promise to keep your questions G-rated.”

  “I accept your terms.” Reaching across the table, Smyth and Elliot shook hands. “First, how’d you meet?”

  “Eric and I had a class together—British Literature.” Elliot toyed with the rose petal still resting on the table. “A couple of weeks into the semester, I was studying in the library. We had a paper due at the end of the week, and I wanted to wrap up the research early.”

  “Naturally.” Smyth smirked. “You always were the little overachiever.”

  “Eric came over to ask me a few questions about the paper. We went on to discuss our latest reading, and before long, he was sitting with me at the table talking about everything except our assignment.” She laughed to herself. “Eventually we were getting enough glares from other people in the library. So we grabbed a couple of coffees and kept up our conversation on a bench outside.”

  “What kind of coffee did you drink?”

  Elliot blinked. “Does it matter?”

  “Yes. I told you I wanted details.”

  “Okay.” She closed her eyes to think. “This was in September, which meant we were probably drinking pumpkin-flavored lattes.”

  “He likes pumpkin?”

  “Who doesn’t?” Elliot stared at the lilac bush next to the porch like she had hundreds of times before in the past. “By the time we finished our coffees, I’d learned he was a third-year mathematics major, trying to tie up the last of his required courses—namely our Brit Lit class. He was at UVA on a national merit scholarship—”

  “He’s a smarty pants.”

  “Probably the smartest person I’ve ever met.”

  “Not if he let you go,” Smyth said.

  “You’re sweet, but he had good reasons.” Elliot mindlessly played with her pearl pendant necklace. “Eric was working on the first version of the Cav, and for whatever reason, he trusted me enough to tell me everything, even though I was a stranger.”

  “You might not get it, but I do.” Smyth patted her hand. “You have this air about you that makes a person want to spill their deepest, darkest secrets.”

  “When I gave him my number he promised to call later. And he did —that night. Within a week, we were basically inseparable.”

  “What did you do?” Smyth wiggled his eyebrows, and Elliot shook her head.

  “Everything. We did our homework together. I sat and read while he worked on his programming. I reviewed his business plan for the Cav before he sent it to a few interested venture capitalists. I asked him to read my poetry.”

  “You write poetry?”

  “I did back then.”

  “Why’d you stop?”

  She shrugged off his question. “I haven’t been inspired.”

  Smyth made no comment, but his gaze said everything. He wasn’t buying her excuse. “What was your relationship like?”

  “Considering we were kids, Eric and I had a mature relationship.” She plucked a petal off of the rose. “We talked. We shared interests. We were crazy in love. I never realized how much I could care about another person. I probably never will again.” She pulled another petal. “We never argued. Not until the end.”

  “What happened?”

  “During spring break, we went to California.” Elliot smiled wistfully. “Daddy wasn’t worried. I mean, what father wouldn’t rather hear his nineteen-year-old daughter was headed to wine country instead of Mexico?”

  “You can’t get into too much trouble when you’re carded wherever you go.”

  “Exactly,” she said. “We went to meet a couple of potential investors for the Cav. They were impressed with his product, and with him. And they made him an offer if he was willing to move west in May to get started.”

  Smyth’s eyebrows shot up. “You sat in on his meetings with—”

  “Yes, and they were as smart and impressive as you’ve heard.”

  Eric had almost had a panic attack on their way to the meeting. They’d had to pull over and trade places in the rental car because he hadn’t been sure he could drive. When they’d walked into the building, she’d pulled him aside to adjust his tie. She’d said, “No matter what happens, I’m proud of you.” He’d kissed her forehead and went into the board room and gave a flawless presentation.

  “We picked up a bottle of champagne and toasted to his success,” Elliot said. “We were a little drunk on champagne, happiness, and the opportunities waiting for us. When he asked me to marry him, I figured the alcohol had gone to his head. But when he fell on his knees and promised to love me forever . . .”

  “You said yes,” Smyth finished. She nodded.

  “We kept our engagement quiet for the rest of the semester. We’d planned to move out to California together a couple of weeks later and get married sometime that summer. After we finished classes, we packed up our dorm rooms and came here to tell my father.”

  She fell silent again. Smyth released the breath he’d been holding. “What happened?”

  “Of course, Daddy put his foot down. He made plenty of good points about how I was too young and that I should earn my degree. He told me how difficult it was to start a marriage and business at the same time. How we had the cards stacked against us. But I didn’t care.”

  “You were in love.”

  “I was.” Elliot watched the pile of rose petals grow larger as she finished her story. “But when Rosalyn, my mom’s best friend, asked if I was really ready to leave my home forever . . . I told Eric I wanted to wait to get married until after I finished school.”

  “And he wasn’t okay with that?”

  “No. He wasn’t.” She frowned. “He accused my family of thinking he wasn’t good enough for me. We got into a fight, and . . . he said if I wasn’t willing to take a chance on him then, how could he trust me later?” The last petal fell from the rose, and she dropped the stem. “I begged him to stay, to give me time, but he left, and I never saw him again.”

  This time, she allowed Smyth to comfort her. He gently patted her hand and waited for her to speak.

  “Ever since, I haven’t been able to watch the vows at weddings,” she said. “Not without crying.”

  Smyth’s forehead crinkled. “How do you manage that? You’re a wedding planner.”

  “We planners are usually more important before and after the ceremony.”

  “True enough, but why?”

  “After I broke down at Libby’s wedding, while I was still in college, I realized I might not be ready.” Elliot let out a shaky breath, tears threatening to come out now. “When I sobbed through Marissa and Chase’s ceremony the summer after graduation, I gave up on trying. Every time I imagine what might have been, my heart hurts.”

  Her voice broke. Smyth tightened his hold on her, but she pulled back.

  “I’ve sent hundreds of brides down the aisle. And each time, I have to turn away before they say their vows. It’s the only way I can get through these
events without envying the brides to the point of hating them.”

  “No one would blame you.”

  “But I do.” She wiped away a tear that managed to escape. “In the end, I put on a brave face and go about my work. I do the job I was raised to do, and no one is any wiser about my failure in love.”

  Smyth walked around the table and wrapped his arms around Elliot. She rested her head on his shoulder and cried while he patted her on the back.

  “You’re a good friend,” she said at last.

  “You’re a good friend,” he replied.

  She pushed back and accepted the handkerchief he offered. “If I was such a good friend, you’d be the one telling me what happened to you in California, and I’d be the one promising everything would be okay.”

  “We have plenty of time to cover my sad story,” he said. “You’ve been holding on to yours for the better part of a decade. I can wait my turn.”

  “Don’t take forever like I did.” She flashed him a grin through teary eyes. “It can’t be good for your health.”

  Smyth pulled her back in for another hug. As she listened to her friend murmur words of support, Elliot wished she would have opened up to him sooner. He’d done more for her than hours of therapy and pounds of candy and cake ever had.

  ELLIOT NEEDED A FEW moments of peace to reboot after her appointment the next morning. Handling the brides and their equally headstrong mothers proved more exhausting than she’d anticipated. The four women had specific—and unique—plans for the reception, which was being held in Charleston after the brides had a small wedding in New York. Ultimately, Elliot helped force the mothers to back down. They’d managed to select table linens and place settings with only one outbreak of tears and no family feuds declared.

  If only all of her clients were that easy.

  Kicking off her heels, she curled up on the chaise lounge for a power nap. Fifteen minutes—twenty tops—and she’d be fresh for her afternoon consultation.

  An hour later, she stirred awake to a beeping phone. Crap. Was she late for her meeting? She checked the time and released a sigh. The next meeting didn’t start for another half hour. And the beep was a new text message, not an angry phone call. She had a new message from Eric.

  Elliot bolted up. The jolt of excitement and anticipation woke her better than a bucket of cold water.

  Sadie’s reconsidering the calla lilies. Wants hydrangeas for the bridesmaid bouquets.

  That’s an easy switch. White blooms?

  Yes. I hate that I get what any of this means.

  Elliot grinned. She imagined his inner tough guy had more than reached the amount of ribbon and tulle he could handle.

  You’re becoming quite the pro. Should I worry you’ll steal my job?

  Not a chance.

  Why not? We can trade.

  You want to attend stupid board meetings?

  I could handle them.

  I have no doubt. Still . . . there are a lot of . . . difficult people to work with in this industry.

  She let out a short laugh and typed back.

  I’ve worked with my share of dicks.

  The phone fell silent. Had she crossed a line? She chewed on the pen cap. Her words might not have been strictly professional. Not in a traditional sense. But they weren’t that offensive.

  The phone beeped again.

  “Thank God.” She released her breath and checked his response.

  You made me drop my phone down the stairs.

  You shouldn’t be texting and walking.

  You should be . .. I’ve got nothing.

  You win.

  Victory.

  He messaged back almost instantaneously.

  Don’t let it go to your head.

  Do you even realize what you wrote?

  Frowning, she scrolled up the list of messages and landed on the one in question. “I’ve worked with my share of dicks.” Her jaw fell open. She hadn’t meant the response to come off so . . . pervy.

  Get your mind out of the gutter, Warner.

  Too late. We’re both already in it. Might as well stay put.

  Her cheeks flushed; her heart pounded in her chest. At the same time, she ordered herself to relax. A bit of friendly banter was good. It meant they’d cleared the air. But it didn’t mean they’d be falling back into any old habits. Unfortunately.

  THE TWO SHOEBOXES OF photos would take hours to scan and load into the slideshow. She still had a flash drive of digital pictures to add to the mix. Elliot wished Claire was around to help with the project, but she’d basically been MIA since May.

  Elliot worked silently sorting through decades of memories. The project surprised her a little. Not the slideshow. It was hardly the first time she assembled a slideshow for a wedding reception. But she was surprised the request came from Eric.

  Her surprise paled in comparison to her bemusement when he appeared at the front door half an hour earlier with the photos and two cups of coffee.

  “It hardly seemed fair to make you do the work alone,” he’d explained. “With only a couple of weeks until the wedding and everything else you’ve done, my guilt got the better of me.”

  She’d accepted the cup. “If you keep this up, I’ll never have to buy my own coffee again.”

  He’d grinned. They said little after that, both equally busy working on their part of the project.

  The quiet was pleasant enough. One week ago, Elliot figured the peace between them would last until they busted Heloise out of jail. Instead, Eric became friendlier than ever in their brief email and phone exchanges, which had increased significantly. She took the kindness as his appreciation for her help. He might hate her for rejecting him years ago, but he was still polite.

  As for the change in frequency, well, that easily came from the fact that less than two weeks stood between today and his sister’s wedding. With him playing the part of brother, father, and best friend to the bride, he obviously had a lot of questions and opinions. He contacted her almost as much as one of her brides.

  She refused to believe the unspoken truce would last after the wedding. Sipping her coffee, she cast a curious glance sideways. He did not notice her close watch as he opened the lid on another box. He chuckled softly, and her grin came instinctively.

  “Check this out.”

  He handed her a picture of himself and Sadie. In it, he held two meatballs over his eyes, and Sadie was covered in spaghetti sauce. Elliot examined the photo more closely, and her heart twisted. Even as a little boy, he had the same smile on his face now. She blinked hard and handed the photo back to him.

  “Lovely.”

  “What can I say? I’ve always been naturally charming.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

  They went back to work, occasionally exchanging laughs or rolled eyes as they shared photos. Elliot found a picture of Eric covered in Christmas bows with his sister beaming next to her handiwork.

  “I told you I was good at celebrating Christmas,” he said. “I wasn’t lying.”

  She smiled at the reference to their one holiday season together. She met his gaze and caught the sparkle.

  “Remember that December?” he asked. “You told me you were the best at celebrating Christmas—”

  “But you insisted you were even better,” she finished. “We did something Christmas-related every day between Thanksgiving and winter break.”

  “We went ice skating, caroling, and watched every holiday movie on TV.”

  “I won.”

  “You did not,” he protested. “I did everything you did. I even went to The Nutcracker with you.”

  “But you fell asleep! Your eyes were closed before Clara went to bed. Do you realize how embarrassing it was to have to wake you up when you started snoring during the snowflakes' dance?”

  “But I bought you a peppermint mocha at intermission and never blinked in the second half,” he said.

  “You’re right. You’re very impressive.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I sti
ll won. I did every Christmas challenge we came up with. I even let you talk me into taking trays from the dining hall to use as sleds because we didn’t have any real snow or sleds.”

  Eric laughed. “You were horrified when we snapped one of them in half.”

  “Because it made us vandals and thieves. I already felt bad about borrowing something without asking.”

  “Your moral compass always did point due north.” He shook his head. “Your conscience is clear, though. I returned the trays and offered to pay for the broken one.”

  “You did?”

  “I had a friend who was one of the shift supervisors at the dining hall. I told him what happened and gave him a couple of dollars to buy a replacement.” Eric set the photos aside and turned his full attention to her. “He told me it wasn’t a big deal, but you were worried.”

  Elliot almost dropped her pile of photos and stared at him.

  He met her gaze. “What?”

  “You never miss anything,” she said. “I guess I can't blame my recent string of bad luck on those stolen trays giving me crappy karma. You took care of it.”

  “Bad luck?”

  Elliot shrugged, mentally swearing at her slip. Her heartbeat increased, each beat louder and faster than the last. But something else distracted Eric.

  “What’s that?” He pointed to the ground. Aside from the Oriental carpet on the hardwood floor, she didn’t catch anything out of the ordinary. “On your foot,” he clarified.

  “Oh.” Sticking out her bare foot, she showed off the small tattoo inscribed on the side. “I finally worked up the courage to get one a few years ago.”

  “No way. Did your father suddenly change his mind about tattoos?”

  “No.” She let out a short laugh. “He almost had a heart attack. He only calmed down after he realized people wouldn’t see it when I wear shoes. Then I told him what it said . . .”

  “What does it say?” He pulled her foot into his lap to inspect it more closely. His thumb ran across the words, sending a flutter into her stomach.

  “‘Where there is love there is life.’” She watched his face closely. “It’s from . . .”