Romance Reset
Page 12
Lincoln received his son, and Amelia was struck at how utterly sexy he was with his arms bulging as he held the tiny bundle of blue.
This. This was what she’d wanted.
Him. Them. This precious moment that represented all the love she had to give and the family she had taken on when she’d taken her vows. Breanne and Brendan had thrived in college, making the dean’s list both semesters. They’d just finished their finals and had moved back to Carolina Cove in time to find summer jobs and help with the babies, both of them excited to meet their baby brother and sister. For the last several weeks, their home had been filled with laughter and fun, baby showers, and last-minute preparations. With all the kids under one roof, she knew it would be bursting at the seams as their family got to know one another and settled into a routine.
Amelia pressed a soft kiss to her daughter’s wrinkled forehead and whispered her love to the scrunched-up little face. Lincoln sat next to her on the bed, and after a bit, he asked if she wanted to meet her son. Lincoln gave her their son for the swap, and she held both babies in her arms, looking up to find Lincoln struggling to contain his emotions. “What? What is it?”
“You,” he whispered, clearing his throat gruffly as he bent over them and pressed a kiss on her temple. “If not for their stubborn mama, I would’ve missed out on this, and now I can’t imagine not seeing you like this, with them. I love you, Amelia.” His voice choked as he whispered the words, and tears trickled down Amelia’s cheeks as she watched her husband cradle their little family, his arms wrapped around hers.
Lincoln kissed her again, lingering over the caress before shifting to hold his daughter for the first time. “Hey, you,” he said, settling her against him. “Let me see you. What’s your name, huh? Who are you? Tell me.”
* * *
I HOPE YOU ENJOYED READING AMELIA AND LINCOLN’S STORY. IF YOU WANT THE SCOOP ON BABY NAMES, AND TO READ MORE ABOUT LINCOLN AND AMELIA, CARTER, MAC AND MARSALI, PLEASE CHECK OUT THE REST OF THE MAKE ME A MATCH SERIES! AND GOOD NEWS—MARSALI’S STORY (BOOK 3) APPEARS BRIEFLY IN THE CUPID TO THE RESCUE ANTHOLOGY. FOR A VERY LOW PRICE YOU GET EIGHT FABULOUS STORIES. PREORDER IS AVAILABLE, SO SNAG YOUR COPY TODAY!
UNTIL THEN… CONTINUE READING CARTER HAYES AND ELIZA BELLEFONTE’S STORY IN RULES OF ENGAGEMENT.
* * *
RULES OF ENGAGEMENT EXCERPT:
Wedding planner Eliza Bellefonte smiled at the happy couple and watched as they made their way onto the dance floor inside the tent dominating the seaside location.
Beneath the crisp white canvas, three hundred natural bamboo chairs with white cushions matched white-draped tables. Atop those were sand-colored runners twisted with fairy lights and soft teal ribbon, assorted white flowers, and white candles. The displays ran the length of the tables and twinkled in time with the ten thousand lights in various sizes stretched above their heads. Thankfully the sides of the tent were open, allowing the sea breeze to lower the heat created by the press of people, candles, and lights.
The very young, very spoiled bride had insisted on taupe and white for the foundation to make it more “beachy,” even though she’d also demanded the tent have a floor to keep all that awful sand contained. Eliza remembered hearing that request—the hundredth or so at that point—and biting her lip to keep the smile pinned to her face.
Why bother with a beach wedding if sand wasn’t a welcome guest?
But the bride was always right, even if she was neurotic about sand—on the beach.
Eliza forced her thoughts away from the couple of the day and focused on the cashier’s check processing its way into her account via her bank’s phone app. One must never be too cautious, and this bridezilla had made Eliza a little too nervous with last-minute switches that always came with a comment about not paying if it wasn’t “just right.”
Eliza had contracts in place to cover her own interests, but negative social media or having to get her attorney involved however briefly could end in disaster for her business. It paid to be overly cautious—and overly accommodating. None of it mattered so long as she got paid.
When the darling’s daddy had handed over the last of the payment this morning, Eliza had taken no chances and excused herself to quickly snap a photo and send it on its way. After the months of planning, ordering, preparing… she’d earned every penny and then some.
“Gorgeous,” Marsali Jones said. “As always.”
Eliza turned to find her best friend of the last six years standing behind her, another woman at Marsali’s side. “Hey,” she said with a smile after muting the mic she wore, leaning into Marsali’s quick hug. “I didn’t see your name on the list. What are you doing here?”
Given that Marsali was a professional matchmaker and friends with Hollywood A-lister Oliver Beck, it wasn’t unusual for Marsali to appear at functions with a number of Wilmywood’s movie production crowds. Bridezilla’s groom was part of that movie-making group but—
“I’m Amelia’s plus-one today,” Marsali said, introducing Eliza to Amelia Porter, a set designer. “When she said she hadn’t been able to get in touch with you and her fiancé couldn’t make it, I volunteered to come and convince you to pull off a mini-miracle for her.”
“A miracle?” Oh, boy. That’s why Amelia’s name sounded familiar. She’d been dodging the woman’s calls for the last several days. “Ah, now I remember,” she said. “As you can see, I’ve been a little busy, but I’d planned to return your call once all of this was over,” Eliza said, waving a hand at the interior and crowd. “When’s the date?”
Amelia exchanged a glance with Marsali before making eye contact with Eliza.
“Two weeks,” the woman said, grimacing. “I know. It’s asking a lot because it’s a huge rush, but if I want a wedding instead of just a date at the courthouse, it’s the only way. I’m… kind of on a time schedule and we don’t want to take a year to plan something. But we want small and intimate, special,” she added, “since it’s my first and only.”
Eliza ignored the first and only comment and focused on the schedule. Two weeks? With her calendar booked solid? She glanced at Marsali.
“You and I both know you can totally pull it off. And,” Marsali added, “they’ll happily pay you whatever it takes to make it happen in that time frame.”
“After seeing how amazing this is, I really want you to plan it, Eliza,” Amelia said. “Please. Say yes.”
Eliza stared out at the large area scattered with lounges and love seats tossed with white and soft teal pillows. Every table held crystal and china and vases of jasmine, rustic and custom-made driftwood holders cradling tea lights, and glittering seashells. Outside, tulle billowed in the breeze, looped across the custom arch and anchored with roping and gigantic flower arrangements.
Like Amelia, so many wanted the perfect wedding but had no clue of the effort it took to make such things happen. The venue, lighting, seating, props, gowns, catering, band, staff, fittings, setup and takedown labor. No matter how simple a bride said she wanted a wedding to be, it always turned into more.
Weddings were a production, and the deeper the pockets the bride and groom—or their parents—had, the bigger and more elaborate things tended to get. But Eliza had yet to fail her clients. Whatever they wanted, they got. After all, happy customers fueled her healthy bank account and the reassurance those numbers gave her state of mind.
“Eliza?” Marsali nudged her arm. “I’ll help however I can. I know it’s late notice but… I’d consider it a personal favor. They’ve got a great personal story, and it deserves a celebration the likes of which only you can pull off. Please?”
Eliza shot both women a glance before she inhaled and opened the book she carried everywhere with her. She had copies of her copies, because when she couldn’t find something digitally, she always fell back on her trusty paper bible of wedding information. “Two weeks,” she murmured. “What day?”
“A weekend would be best but… any evening. You make it work,” Amelia sai
d. “And we’ll make it work, too.”
Wow. Now that was an unusual comment. Usually the bride had one date in mind and refused to budge from it, demanding the world stop whirling and shift around her date accordingly. “I… have a Thursday evening open two and a half weeks from now. My weekends are taken. Sorry.”
“Ink us in,” Amelia said with a happy smile, her hands clasped in front of her like she wanted to dance and tried to contain her excitement.
“Ink, huh? We haven’t discussed my fees,” Eliza murmured.
“If you can do something like this on a small scale in that time frame? Ink,” Amelia said, nodding her head to confirm her words while giving Eliza a steady look.
Yeah. This had taken fourteen months to plan. Two weeks? Sure, no problem. “Do you have your gown?”
“No.”
“Venue?”
“No.”
“Color scheme?”
Eliza glanced up and found Amelia beginning to look a bit wild-eyed and panicked. A soft laugh left her chest, and Eliza shook her head and snapped the book closed. She really needed to investigate panicked-bride hazard pay. “Meet me after the reception is over and we’ll talk specifics then.”
“But you’ll do it?” Amelia said.
Eliza agreed with a nod, rattled off the Thursday evening date just to confirm it, and Amelia and Marsali gave her quick hugs in response.
“Thank you. Thank you so much. Oh, I have to call Lincoln and tell him we have a date. I’m so excited! Excuse me.”
Marsali remained after Amelia hurried away, and once the woman was out of hearing range, Eliza stared up at her taller friend and lifted a single eyebrow high. “Are you trying to put me in an early grave?”
Marsali laughed and wrapped an arm around Eliza’s shoulders, squeezing.
“Nope. I’m trying to show you that there are actually special couples out there who have the forever kind of love, and Amelia and Lincoln are one of them.”
“Uh-huh.”
Marsali released Eliza and stepped in front of her to get her full attention.
“You amaze me. How do you make a living planning weddings that look like something out of a fairy tale or catalog shoot when you don’t even believe in love?”
“Easy. It’s called financial security.”
“You’re so jaded.”
“Yeah, well, you’re delusional, Miss Matchmaker. These two?” she said, lowering her voice to a cautious whisper. “I give them nine months and that’s being generous.”
“Eliza. That’s awful.”
“Hey, I’ve been doing this since I was sixteen. The rose-colored glasses have long since shattered. I’ve learned the signs, and trust me… they don’t have it.”
“What signs?”
“He’s twice her age and it’s his second marriage because Flirty Child Bride broke up the first, and there’s no prenup. He was also in the bar last night with his hands all over a waitress, while she—”
“No need to continue,” Marsali interrupted. “I like my naive state where I can still believe in love. Don’t ruin it.”
Eliza chuckled at her sweet friend’s expression and hooked their arms, tugging Marsali toward the bar. “That’s because you’re in love with love. And a Hollywood hottie.”
“Stop it. I am not.”
“Hmm. Lie to yourself if you like. Me? I see how you eye your Ollie.”
“Shh. Keep your voice down,” Marsali said. “He has other friends here, you know.”
“So you admit it?” Eliza asked Marsali.
“Absolutely not. Oliver is… a friend. Who, I might add, lives in LA while I’m here. Besides that, he only sees me as Mac’s little sister.”
“Which is why Mac’s little sister needs to focus on her best-selling book—congrats again, by the way—and nothing else.”
“Thank you. The flowers were lovely. You shouldn’t have.”
“You’re welcome.”
“But you’re still cynical,” Marsali muttered.
Eliza shifted her weight on her aching feet and wished once again the bride hadn’t been so anti-sand. The hardwood floor wasn’t nearly as forgiving. “I’m realistic. Love gets most everyone to the altar, but it does nothing to keep them married.”
“That’s called commitment.”
“Not arguing there.”
“That’s it. I’m fixing you up no matter how much you protest. I don’t care what you say, I’m going to find the perfect man for you,” Marsali said. “He’ll sweep you off your feet and you won’t know what hit you.”
Eliza stared up at her taller friend and shook her head wryly. “Wanna bet?”
* * *
CARTER HAYES left his house, crossed his rear deck, and headed next door. Mac’s home stood between Carter’s and his brother Lincoln’s, and ever since moving in, he had acted as the in-between for the three bachelors.
“Hey, you made it. How’s Piper?” Mac asked.
Carter jogged up the stairs to Mac’s second floor. “Quiet but getting back to her usual self,” Carter said. “I reminded her that her cousins will be home for visits and will hang out with her on video chat sometimes until then. She isn’t happy but she’s adjusting.”
Lincoln’s twins had left for college a week ago and were settling in, and Piper hated that her cousins wouldn’t be around for her first day of kindergarten. Now that she was going to school like the “big kids,” she wanted them to be around to acknowledge the fact. “Breanne recommended another friend of hers to babysit,” he said, referring to his niece. “They’re inside watching a movie.”
“Another babysitter?”
Carter glared at Mac. “The last one didn’t work out.”
“What happened?”
“Don’t ask.”
Mac started chuckling and Carter glared at his friend. “It’s not funny.”
“Ah, but it is. Little Miss Hottie came on to you, didn’t she? I saw her getting out of her convertible in her cheerleading uniform.”
Carter swiped a hand over his face and rubbed hard. “That girl had just turned sixteen. If Piper ever—” He broke off, unsure of what he’d do other than lock his daughter up in her bedroom and not let her out until she was forty.
Some men would’ve moved on the babysitter without a care for the consequences, but having a daughter of his own and not wanting to go to prison for statutory rape, Carter had fired the girl on the spot.
“It’s that bad-boy look,” Mac stated with a grin. “The muscles, Harley, and tatts? You’re the triple crown.”
“Bite me. And give me one of those,” he said, wagging his fingers for a bottle of water. He’d rather have a beer but these days it paid to have a clear head. Especially when teenage girls were in his house. “Where’s Linc?”
“His text said he’s finishing up some work but would be over soon.”
“He’s working crazy hours trying to get a handle on things before he and Amelia get married,” Carter said. He wondered if their nightly “guy” ritual would continue after Lincoln tied the knot or if their buddy hang-out sessions would dwindle down to the two remaining bachelors. Time would tell. “How’s Marsali?”
He asked the question to get a rise out of Mac, and sure enough, the man drew back and glared at Carter with all the animosity of a friend with a hot sister.
“Watch yourself,” Mac said, pointing a finger at Carter.
“Just asking.”
“Gentlemen,” Lincoln said. “What are we arguing about?”
Lincoln had managed to leave his house and join them without Carter’s awareness. “Marsali.”
“Carter’s hot underage babysitter.”
Carter grimaced and shook his head at his older brother. The last thing he needed was Lincoln reverting to old times when he had a right to lecture as his legal guardian. At thirty-three, Carter was a grown man and Lincoln had lost that right.
“Marsali isn’t your type,” Lincoln said.
“Definitely not,” Mac added.
“No,” Lincoln and Mac said in unison.
“Why not?” he said, just to egg them on. He really wasn’t interested in Marsali, though his statements about her hotness were totally accurate. She was a little too… sweet for him, though. And there was the fact she was his buddy’s little sis. “You always tell me I’m looking in the wrong places and that’s why I’ve found the wrong women. Maybe Marsali and I—”
“Do you want me to kill you?” Mac demanded. “Keep talking.”
Carter surrendered the argument with a chuckle. “You should know by now I’m not interested. Piper may need a mama but I’m living proof not everyone is cut out for the job.”
“Barflies seldom are,” Lincoln added with a pointed stare.
Carter didn’t comment and the subject changed to Amelia’s whereabouts on this humid August evening.
“She’s at a wedding for an associate. She wanted me to go but I had to some work to get done. Marsali recommended a wedding planner but she’s proven hard to get in touch with.”
“Wedding planner, huh? No justice of the peace?” Carter asked, knowing his brother wasn’t the kind of guy who liked the fuss.
“It’s her first and I want her to get what she wants.”
“Eliza’s good,” Mac said. “If anyone can plan something fast and keep it looking nice, she’s the one.”
Lincoln’s phone bleeped and Carter watched as his brother read the message and smiled.
“What? Amelia sexting you?” Carter asked.
“No, but the girls apparently stayed after the reception to plan our wedding. Amelia needs a ride.”
“As does my sister,” Mac said, shaking his head while staring at his own phone screen. “Apparently someone gifted them with champagne and they’ve enjoyed themselves.”
“Well, I’m due some entertainment,” Carter said, standing when they did. “I’ll tag along. Piper’s babysitter is good for another two hours.”