“You might as well settle in,” Emma said from her spot beside me. “Sylvie won’t let anything get in the way of book club night. Not even her exhausted granddaughter. I speak from experience.”
“What book are you discussing?” I asked.
Sylvie smiled. “The Cowboy Lassos a Peasant.”
I blinked.
“This is Sexy Book Club,” Sylvie said. “When we retired last year, Frannie and I decided we’d try out some hobbies. So far this is the only one that’s stuck.”
“We started with some classics,” Frannie said. “But we got bored.”
Sylvie nodded. “Lots of big words.”
“So we started reading some of those hot romance novels.” Frannie lifted her dark brows high. “Woooo-weee.”
“Romance novels?” I frowned.
“Or as we like to call them”—Sylvie patted her iPad—“the unsung classics.”
“Twenty-first century literature at its finest,” said Aunt Maxine.
I melted into the couch cushions and stuck a cookie in my mouth.
“Now, let’s begin.” Sylvie swiped at her tablet. “Does anyone have anything to say about the theme?”
Blank stares from every lady in the room.
“Any poignant symbolism?”
Total silence.
“Okay,” Sylvie said. “Any comments about our hero, Cordero?”
All hands shot toward the ceiling.
“Ooh, me!”
“I want to go first!”
“He was dreamy!”
“I’d like to visit his prairie!”
“He can rope my doggies anytime!”
As the chatter swelled about this fictional paragon of sexy, I leaned toward my grandma. “I’ve been driving for two days, and as much as I’d love to stay and hear more about the main character’s pecs and kissing techniques, I’m about to fall over from exhaustion. Could I please have the keys to the rent house?”
Sylvie poked an entire cookie in her mouth, eyes wide.
“What are you not telling me?” I asked.
My grandmother chewed thoughtfully, shouted out an amen to something dirty Frannie said, then finally looked at me, her face a little too innocent. “Nothing. Nothing at all. I was just hoping you’d stay a night or two with me. But I know you’re tired. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
That was an understatement. Tomorrow would change my life. Turn everything around.
“The garage code is the chest and waist measurements of Vladimir Putin’s body double.”
My head hurt. “Can I just get a key instead?”
“So change in plans. You’ll be staying at the house on Bowen Street. It’s a bit smaller and has some issues. When Emma gets married and moves out, you can have her rental. It’s a bit more deluxe.”
Emma chimed in. “We could bunk up. You can help me with wedding preparations.”
I’d rather have a unity candle shoved up my nose. “That’s sweet, but I don’t mind being cramped.”
“The wedding’s not for another six weeks,” Sylvie said. “I told Emma to shack up with her sweetie and swing from the chandelier of sin, but they’re not having it.”
“How much is rent?” I lifted my cup to her lips.
“Minimal.”
“Okay.” I stood and stretched my aching back. “I’m waiting for the catch. There’s always a catch with you, Sylvie.”
“Uh-huh,” Frannie said. “That’s exactly what I told her when we got captured in Cairo in ‘82.”
Sylvie ignored this. “No catch. Goodnight, shug.” She kissed my cheek, then her lips curved into a curious smile. “Get some rest. You, my dear, are going to need it.”
Chapter Two
I pulled up to a darkened house and briefly rested my head on the steering wheel in the quiet of the night.
Two months.
I had to stay in this town two months.
There had to be a way around that. To get what I wanted and return to LA before my beloved city had forgotten me. But the terms of the will, something I’d read at least twenty times, stated that I had to keep my great-aunt’s business afloat for eight weeks, then I was welcome to sell. The business itself wouldn’t be worth a dime, but the old building in the growing downtown area would bring in some much-needed cash.
Yanking a suitcase from the backseat, I slammed the car door shut and heaved the best of my belongings toward a gray two-story with black shutters and enough Victorian personality to charm but not intimidate. Sylvie owned a handful of rent houses in Sugar Creek, and this one boasted two side-by-side front doors. I tried the key she’d finally given me in both doors, but to no avail. Seriously? I just wanted a bed, to slip beneath cool sheets and let my worry-ridden head fall into a fluffy pillow.
Leaving my bags, I walked around the back of the house, using my phone for a flashlight. Crickets chattered and mosquitoes rudely buzzed their welcome in my ear. I tripped on a step to the back deck but climbed on up, only to be faced, yet again, with two doors. The key refused to fit into one lock, but the weathered door on the left opened with no effort at all. I could practically feel the cool, crisp sheets already.
My flashlight illuminated a small kitchen with granite countertops, white cabinets, and a dining set tucked into a nook. The hardwood floor beneath my feet creaked as I stepped into the room and—
A large shadow flickered a millisecond before five hundred pounds of solid bulk slammed into my body and threw me to the ground.
Lightning exploded in my head as it hit the floor, and my scream pierced the air. I kicked and struggled, desperate to get this intruder off me, while panic overrode any rational thought. I’d taken a self-defense class years ago, but I couldn’t recall a single move. Still screaming, I thrashed wildly and tried to claw this person’s face, but he took my hands captive.
“Get off me!” I yelled. “My husband’s in the car! He has a gun!”
The intruder stilled. With one large hand still wrapped around both my wrists, he reached for my dropped phone and shined the light right in my face. My thunderous heartbeat couldn’t drown out the loud sigh from the person hovering over me.
“Husband, huh?” a deep voice said. “Maybe we should wait for him.”
Oh, geez.
I was pretty sure I knew that voice.
My attacker released my hands and rolled to his feet, the light revealing one familiar face.
“Beau Hudson.” My volume escalated with each word. “What in the name of all that’s holy are you doing in my house?”
“You’re in my house, Paisley Sutton.” He flicked on the overhead light, illuminating a tableau I would forever call The Time I Faced Death and Didn’t Wet Myself.
“This is my grandmother’s home, and I have the keys to it.” I pulled myself up to a seated position, my skull throbbing.
This interloper was the brother of my childhood best friend. His hair was the color of toffee, and those eyes, blue as sea glass. Back in the day, just to look upon him made a girl want to write poetry and compromise every moral she had. None of that had changed. He’d been the hero of the Sugar Creek football team years ago, before picking up his high school diploma and heading off to the Army. He was tall and trim, his body contoured with muscles he clearly still maintained since his military days. I only spoke to his sister about once a year, but she always gave me an update on Beau. I knew he’d come back to Sugar Creek within the last few years, lucky to be alive—yet, as his sister put it, “not quite the same.”
Beau had been the older, mature fourteen to my twelve. After sharing a plate of macaroni and fried chicken, we’d kissed at a church social. Then he ran back to school to tell everyone it had been a slobbery disaster.
He took a knee beside me, and I scooted away.
“Let me see your head.” His voice was as gruff as the stubble on his face. I’d just been attacked by a lumberjack. “Quit squirming.” He reached out a hand and skimmed it over my cheek and temple, his eyes intense on my face. �
�I could’ve hurt you.”
My skin tingled beneath his touch. “You did hurt me.”
His hand began an inspective crawl into my hairline. “I mean I could’ve killed you.”
I rubbed my aching shoulder. “I was two seconds away from ruining your life with a well-placed knee to your manly bits, so I don’t think so.” My pulse had yet to return to normal. I tried to shrug out of Beau’s grip, but he wasn’t having it. “I’m okay.”
Those blue eyes still on mine, Beau’s fingers slowly slid through my hair to the back of my head. “Does this hurt?”
“I . . . I think I’ll live.”
His gaze darkened. “You want to tell me what you’re doing in my house?”
“I told you, it’s my grandmother’s house, and I’m living here for a couple months.” Good heavens, his fingers were magic. “So I think I’m the one who should be asking the questions.”
“For the love of—” Beau’s expression darkened—“You’re the new neighbor Sylvie was so cagey about.”
I frowned, certain I had the right address. “Neighbor?”
“The house is two units. The back door you came in? It’s mine. I assume you’re living in the other half.”
I slapped away his hands and attempted to stand.
“Easy.” One strong arm curled around my waist. “We should probably get you to the ER. Have someone look at your head.”
I was related to Sylvie. We were used to people suggesting we needed our heads examined. “I’m fine. I just want to get to my side so I can sleep. Apparently Sylvie gave me the wrong keys.” Probably on purpose.
“I can get you in there.”
“Is this going to involve brute force as well?”
Brow furrowed, Beau gave my form another assessing look before he walked away, a slight limp marring his gait. He returned shortly holding a silver key. “Let’s get your luggage.”
A few minutes later I stood behind him as he opened the door to my side of the house, carrying three bags as if they were no heavier than my purse.
He took a few steps inside. “Welcome home.”
I stood in the doorway, my feet unable to carry me any further.
Welcome home.
This town had been home. Before I got plucked from a high school choir competition to round out a girls’ band. Before I traveled the world and lived large. Before life said, “Never mind!” and kicked me off the train of success.
“I hope you’re not waiting for me to carry you over the threshold,” Beau said, interrupting my maudlin thoughts.
I mustered up a smile. “You’d do anything to cop a feel.”
“Paisley?”
“Yes?”
“It’s going to be okay.”
“Is it?” I couldn’t see how.
“Sugar Creek’s not such a bad place. You loved it once.”
“It’s no longer my home.”
“We could re-create a certain church picnic—if that would make you feel any more welcome.”
“So you can go and tell your friends I’m a bad kisser?”
“Are you saying you want to refresh my memory?”
I laughed, took a deep breath, then stepped inside the living room. I tiredly took in the charming setup. Old wooden floors, gorgeous white moldings, original light fixtures, and a vintage fireplace that had more character than my last few dates combined. It was a lot nicer than the Los Angeles apartment I’d been living in. Minus a tackle from an old flame, probably a lot safer too.
“So, you’re moving back.” Beau didn’t sound any more excited than I was. He had taken a severe disliking to me in our high school years, claiming my wild ways were a bad influence on his sister. And they were.
“It’s temporary. I have to keep Sugar Creek Weddings and More afloat for a while, then I’m selling it and heading back to LA.”
“And how is the music world treating you?”
Everyone knew the music world had long since spit me out. “Great,” I said. “While I’m here, I hope to work on my next Grammy speech in peace and quiet.”
He nodded slowly, not even bothering to hide his smile. “So this shop you inherited. Have you seen it lately?”
“No. Is it worse than I think it’s gonna be?”
He grinned, a dimple forming in one stubbled cheek. “I’m sure you’ll handle it just fine.” Beau carried my big suitcase past a dining table with four chairs the color of driftwood. A vase of wildflowers sat in the middle like a little hello. “Master bedroom’s back here.” He led me down a short hall to a spacious room straight out of a HGTV show.
A giant king-sized bed occupied the center of the bedroom with matching whitewashed lamps on either side. A fluffy comforter covered the bed, a gray throw draping the end. A slipcovered chair sat in the corner with a burlap pillow emblazoned with my last name. Just waiting for me.
“Don’t get any ideas.” Beau gave the bed a meaningful glance and set down my bag. “I know you want to throw yourself at me tonight, but I’m just not in the mood.”
“You haven’t changed a bit, have you?”
I watched his smile fade so slightly, and his eyes darkened. “We’ve all changed, Paisley.” He absently rubbed his right leg, as if a memory had pained it. “This town has a way of reminding you pretty often.”
Chapter Three
With coffee in one hand, I pulled Shirley into a tight spot on Main Street. Cars circled around the square, jockeying for parking spaces like buzzards searching for prey. What was everyone doing downtown this morning? Was there some event Sylvie forgot to tell me about?
Without bothering to lock the car, I grabbed my purse and coffee and walked the flower-lined sidewalk to Sugar Creek Weddings and More.
Located in a storybook house the color of cotton candy, the little business had held its ground near the square for fifty years. Owned by my great-aunt Zelda, the place was known for putting on some of the worst weddings in the history of the state. If you wanted glam and glitz, you traveled a few towns down the road. If you were okay with sweating through your gown at Sugar Creek First Baptist and drinking watery punch in the basement, Zelda was your gal. She wasn’t known for quality, but she was known for her ability to throw a cheap wedding together in days. If a couple had reasons for a hasty, classless production that wasn’t even accompanied by some good cake, Great-Aunt Z could fix you right up.
I noticed the sign first.
Enchanted Events.
When had Aunt Zelda changed the name? I guess it was better than Sugar Creek Weddings and More, since everyone in town knew the more was the complimentary eau de mothball smell.
The door chimed the same familiar tune as I stepped inside the lobby.
But that brass bell above me was the only thing I recognized.
“Excuse me.” A woman sailed past me, carrying three wedding magazines thick as encyclopedias and speaking into her headset. “Yes, we have the governor’s vow renewals scheduled for the twenty-fourth, and then Elegant Weddings magazine has their photo shoot here on the twenty-fifth. Can you hold? Enchanted Events . . .”
I did a slow turn, wondering if the bump on my head from last night had addled my brain or sent me to some alternate reality. This didn’t look anything like Aunt Zelda’s shop. Where was the faded orange hotel carpet? The samples of polyester wedding dresses on zombielike mannequins? The lobby chairs that looked like the spoils of a bad dumpster dive? The Merle Haggard tunes on the crackling stereo? The shop had been totally renovated. It looked like . . . a real business. Walls of white shiplap, aged wooden chandeliers, seating areas with plush chairs, dark walnut floors. Workstations flanked the corners with sleek white laptops, where waiting brides-to-be sat and flipped through gleaming photos on iPads.
“I don’t understand,” I whispered to no one in particular.
A dapper man who could’ve been Idris Elba’s twin stopped beside me. “Is something the matter?”
I blinked my eyes and sniffed the air. “I don’t smell mothballs.”
“Enchanted Events is now known for more than smelling like granny’s attic.”
“What’s happening here?” I couldn’t even find the right questions to ask. “I’m—”
“Paisley Sutton,” he supplied.
“Uh-huh. And I’m supposed to be taking ownership of—”
“Sugar Creek Weddings and More. We’re now called Enchanted Events.”
“And I’m really—”
“Confused and overwhelmed.”
“Exactly,” I said. “And also—”
“Rudely late.”
Not what I was going to say. “I’m here to meet the current manager of”—I waved my hand around—“this. But maybe I’m not in the right place?”
“You’re where you’re supposed to be. Alice, get us some tea,” he yelled over his shoulder. “And you might want to spike one of them.”
“This is not my Aunt Zelda’s wedding business. Her shop was a musty, dated, relic of a thing that she hung onto for a tax write-off.”
“Then she hired me.” He stuck out his hand to shake. “Henry Cole.”
“I was in Sugar Creek two years ago. I would’ve noticed someone totally transforming her business.”
“I started not too long after your wedding debacle. But we don’t have time to revisit your travesties or hear of my miracle-working powers right now. You have at least five brides sitting out there.”
I dumbly followed him down a hall, taking in all the hustle and bustle, the charm and class.
“And those are just the ones who could score an appointment. Word of mouth is a powerful thing.”
This wasn’t word of mouth. This was voodoo. This was sorcery. “Why didn’t my family tell me about this?”
He turned a corner. “Sylvie swore us all to secrecy. Said you’d never come back if you knew the shop had gone big-time bridal, given your own nuclear bomb of a wedding.”
“My grandmother is right—I want nothing to do weddings. I’m the last person you want making bridal decisions. So I’m just going to go on home and—”
“Not so fast.” He stopped in front of a door bearing his name. “You’re our boss.”
His Mistletoe Miracle Page 16
