He turned slowly to find Georgie, the wedding frau, and Hans staring at him.
“It’s never a bad time to work in a little fitness,” he offered, coming to his feet and clapping the dust from his hands.
“We need to have a discussion,” the frau said as Hans spread a handkerchief-sized velvet strip onto the table in the room.
“Did everything go okay with the dress selection?” he asked as all those workout endorphins surging through his veins evaporated.
Georgie’s expression softened. “I found exactly the style I want. I think you’re going to love it, too.”
“Then, what’s the issue?” he asked.
The frau sat, and he and Georgie joined her as she unfolded the velvet fabric to reveal four rings.
“That’s the ring I thought you’d like. It’s made of pavé diamonds,” he said, feeling like a damned ring expert, then shared a look with Hans, who replied with an approving nod.
Georgie chewed her lip. “It’s just…”
“Just what? You don’t like it?” he asked.
“It looks like something my mother would choose,” she answered with a weak smile.
His heart sank. She was right.
He stared at the sparkling band. “I guess I can see that.”
“I was thinking of going more simply with matching bands,” she said and touched two silver bands—the choices she must have made with the wedding frau.
“I like the idea of matching bands. I didn’t even realize it was an option.” He reached for the rings Georgie chose, but Hans slid the bands away.
“No, no, those won’t work,” the old man said with a shake of his head.
“Why not?” Georgie asked.
“They’re white gold, Miss Jensen, and Mr. Marks has a nickel allergy,” Hans replied.
Jordan met the man’s gaze. “You didn’t tell her?”
“Hans wasn’t with us for ring selection. It was only Miss Jensen and me,” the frau answered.
Georgie frowned. “I had no idea there was nickel in gold. And when did you find out you had a nickel allergy?”
“I’ve known about it since I was a kid. I hadn’t thought about in years. It’s not like I wear jewelry.”
Confusion and something akin to doubt flashed in her eyes.
First, it was their blood types, and now it was his allergy. These weren’t huge unknowns between them, but at this moment, with the look on Georgie’s face, he wanted to get the hell out of there.
Hans handed Georgie the titanium band. “Your fiancé isn’t allergic to this metal. It’s titanium.”
“It’s lovely. Is titanium common?” she asked.
“It’s a newer choice. But quite popular,” the frau answered.
Georgie slid the large titanium band on her ring finger then gasped. “What about my engagement ring? I haven’t seen it since this morning.”
More like since the wedding frau’s minion basically pickpocketed it off her finger.
“No need to worry. It’s right here,” Hans said, removing it from a velvet bag. “I’ll be the one resizing it.”
Hans handed her the antique engagement ring and slid it on with the titanium band.
“Old and new,” Hans said with a chuckle.
“I love it, Jordan. What do you think?” she asked.
He took her hand into his. Despite the rings being too big, he loved it, too.
It worked.
Georgie removed the rings and handed them to Hans.
“There we are,” the wedding frau said, flipping a page in her notebook. “And no need to worry. Your rings will be sized for you and ready by the time you return from bridal boot camp.”
“What are you talking about?” Georgie asked.
“Boot camp. It’s exactly what you need,” she answered.
At the sound of boot camp, he was ready to do a damn cartwheel. He may not know about rings or flowers or fondant, but as a CrossFit trainer, he knew boot camp. He loved it. And how different could a bridal boot camp be from one of his training sessions? They probably added a wedding spin to it. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. Finally, this was something he understood!
The wedding frau tore out a sheet of paper from her notebook and handed it to Georgie.
“That’s the address. My people will let them know you’re coming,” the frau instructed.
Georgie blinked with a puzzled expression. “When do we leave?”
What looked like one hell of a mischievous glint sparked in the wedding planner’s eyes.
“Tonight.”
5
Georgie
“You leave for a bridal boot camp tonight? But you just got engaged this morning! And how do you have time for boot camp? Your wedding is in two weeks?” Becca exclaimed.
Georgie leaned over and rested her elbows on the bookshop’s counter and cradled her head in her hands as Becca patted her back, and Irene smoothed the hair away from her face.
“Was that just this morning?” she said, staring at the wooden surface.
Between the Wake-Up Denver television proposal, followed by the Hydra of Denver’s champagne breakfast engagement party, where, by the way, she received no champagne and no breakfast, and then, the whirlwind bridal speed date through the Denver wedding underground, she could barely see straight.
Oh, and thanks to whatever they signed for the wedding frau, the planner’s assistant had informed them they weren’t able to breathe a word about anything they’d experienced this morning.
She couldn’t even tell her best friends she saw a giant container of sex toys with super-charged batteries.
“I’m so sorry I couldn’t make it to your engagement party,” Irene said, rubbing her belly. “This morning sickness is the real deal. And it’s not limited to only the morning! What jerk named it morning sickness?”
Georgie straightened and smoothed her apron. “Don’t feel bad. Jordan and I were only there long enough to see my mother in hyper-socialite mode before we had to leave.”
“For the whole wedding planning thing, right?” Becca asked with a sly twist to her lips.
Georgie cringed. “Hold on. They gave me a glow in the dark card for what I can say about the wedding.”
“Why would they give you a glow in the dark card?” Irene asked, sharing a perplexed look with her younger sister.
Georgie shook her head. “No, not glow-in-the-dark. It’s called the Glomar response.”
“What the hell is a Glomar response?” Irene asked, continuing to rub her hint of a belly.
Georgie grabbed the card from her purse, then cleared her throat. “I cannot confirm or deny that I have engaged in a contract with the entity known as the Denver Wedding Frau,” she said, reading the laminated slip of paper the assistant had given her.
“So, you can’t talk about anything related to your wedding? All we get is the date?” Irene asked.
Georgie sighed. “Think of my wedding like Voldemort, the event that shall not be named.”
Hermione gave her an imaginary high five for her cleverness.
“But it’s in two weeks! How will you get invitations out and have everything ready?” Becca pressed.
“She who cannot be named takes care of everything, and my mom has been generating and updating a wedding invitation guest list since I turned twenty-one,” Georgie answered.
Irene stopped rubbing her belly and cocked her head to the side. “Your mom has a database of people to invite to your wedding?”
Georgie bit back a weary grin. “Please, don’t tell me this surprises you?”
Irene sighed. “I guess not. Your mom is very…”
Georgie knew what her friend was thinking. “Lorraine Vanderdinkle is very, very. That truly sums it up,” she answered.
Becca’s brows knit together. “Could you at least tell us where you’re having the ceremony? Are you doing it locally, or will a fleet of unmarked cars be picking up the guests and driving everyone to a top-secret location?”
Georgie tossed the glo-whatever card under the counter, glanced around the shop, making sure nobody was within earshot.
“It’ll be at the Botanic Gardens at sunset,” she whispered.
Becca pressed her hand to her chest. “That’s so romantic.”
“I love outdoor weddings,” Irene added, then frowned. “But what about the weather? We are talking about Colorado in October. Snow, rain, blistering heat—anything can happen this time of year.”
Georgie waved her off. “We’ve got that covered. It’s going to be unseasonably warm that day.”
“How do you know?” Becca asked, her voice brimming with disbelief.
“In addition to everything wedding related in this city, our wedding planner, let’s call her, the Matriarch of Matrimony, seems to control the weather, too,” Georgie answered.
“Wow! The Matriarch of Matrimony sounds quite formidable,” Irene remarked.
“She certainly seems to know her stuff when it comes to weddings. And she’s not even scared of porcelain dolls,” Georgie added.
“Wow, there’s no way you could get me near a porcelain doll,” Irene whispered with a sage nod.
“And what about bridesmaids?” Becca asked with her sly grin back in place.
Georgie pinned the woman with her gaze. “Is that your not-so-subtle way of asking if you’ll be in the wedding?”
“Come on, Georgie! It’s not every day your famous friend gets married.” Becca huffed.
“I’m hardly famous, you guys,” Georgie answered.
“Fine, infamous! Do you like that better?” Irene teased.
Georgie chuckled and shook her head. “Yes, I’d love for you both to be my bridesmaids.”
The sisters squealed and hugged each other.
“I knew it!” Becca exclaimed. “Seriously, Georgie, where would you be without us?”
Becca was teasing, but her friend’s words went straight to her heart.
While she’d only known the sisters a couple of years, they’d become an integral part of her life.
Georgie reached for Becca and Irene’s hands. “I’d probably be working some job I hate to pay the bills. If it weren’t for you two, I don’t know where I’d be.”
“And don’t forget the giant douche canoe, Brice Casey. You do kind of owe him, too,” Irene reminded her.
Georgie released her friends’ hands and leaned against the counter. “Isn’t it crazy. If I hadn’t agreed to meet Brice for a date, and he hadn’t told me he couldn’t date me because I was an eight, I probably wouldn’t have even started my blog—or met you, Irene. And then you wouldn’t have introduced me to Becca.”
“The universe works in mysterious ways,” Becca said, nodding with an overdone contemplative expression.
“Any muffins in this universe?”
Becca gasped, dropping the theatrics. “Mr. Gilbert, I’m sorry! We got to talking, and I forgot about the muffins,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron and placing the baked treats onto a large plate.
“Did Marjorie send you up here?” Georgie asked, eyeing the man.
“What?” he answered with a mischievous grin as he pressed a hand to his ear.
Georgie clucked her tongue playfully. “I see you’re playing the my-hearing-aid-is-on-the-fritz game again.”
She’d known Gene Gilbert and his wife Marjorie for her entire life. Friends of her deceased grandparents, she’d always thought of them as family. Gene, however, was quite a sly dog. His hearing aid batteries would often run out of juice at the exact moment when he and his wife were due to meet up in her bookshop with Marjorie’s knitting club, who, on a side note, also enjoyed ogling Jordan.
She wasn’t sure who was more excited when Jordan opened his gym next door. Her, or the horny blue-haired brigade as Gene now called the gaggle of octogenarians, currently settled in the cozy seating area near the shop’s front window.
Becca hurried off to deliver the muffins to the ladies, and Mr. Gilbert settled himself on one of the stools she’d had installed in the new coffee shop area of the bookstore.
Gene glanced around the bustling space as shoppers perused the shelves. “You’ve come a long way, kiddo.”
She followed his lead and took in the shop. Six months ago, she wasn’t even sure she would be able to keep the lights on, but now, it seemed like all her dreams had come true. But a needling pang of anxiety festered in her chest.
“Don’t do that, Georgie,” Mr. Gilbert warned.
She tried to school her features. “Do what?”
“Get all worried.”
“What makes you think I’m worried?” she asked, knowing that was probably the question every worried person threw back when they were attempting to seem unbothered.
Good God, though! After today’s wedding bonanza, she was surprised she was still standing.
“Your grandmother Jensen used to do that, too. When things were going well, she’d get nervous and drive your grandfather bonkers,” Mr. Gilbert offered.
Georgie swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I never expected so much so fast.”
The man chuckled. “All I can tell you is that life moves fast, and I have to say, watching you get engaged on morning TV was quite an experience. But I guess all the kids your age are TV stars these days with the internet. Do you know, there’s a fellow who films himself eating beans every morning?”
A peaceful warmth washed over her. A conversation with her favorite eighty-year-old was just what the doctor ordered to calm her frayed nerves.
She dusted a few muffin crumbs into her hand. “I did not know that.”
“Beans, Georgiana!” Gene exclaimed as she caught Irene’s eye, and the women stifled a laugh.
“That reminds me,” Irene said, glancing at her watch. “I need to stop at the market for beans. We’re making chili for dinner tonight.”
“Are you going to film yourself eating it?” Gene asked.
“Probably not tonight, but I’ll let you know,” Irene answered with a teasing quirk of her lips as Gene shook his head.
Her friend picked up her purse. “And don’t worry about Mr. Tuesday, Georgie. He can stay with us for as long as you’re gone.”
Georgie hugged her friend goodbye, then turned to Mr. Gilbert.
“Just because something is on the internet, it doesn’t mean you have to watch it.”
The man scoffed. “I was so damned proud I figured out how to get to your CityBeat site, I clicked on the first thing that popped up. Oh yeah, and congratulations on your engagement, by the way! I would have told you at your party, but you didn’t seem to be there.”
“This wedding is a little non-traditional, to say the least,” she replied.
“And your mother is certainly happy,” Mr. Gilbert continued.
Georgie eyed the man. “You know she lives for a good champagne fountain.”
“And I know your dad’s looking down on you from heaven and smiling, too,” Gene added, his gaze softening.
Georgie felt her chest swell with emotion. “I wonder what he would have thought of all the hoopla?”
And then it hit her. She didn’t have her father to walk her down the aisle. Sure, there was her stepfather, Howard. He’d always been kind to her and would probably do it if she asked. But he was always working or away on business.
She’d lived in the man’s house for years but rarely saw him.
Her mother had fallen into the role of a Denver socialite and a pageant mom more than the life of a wife. Still, she and Howard seemed happy in their own doubles-tennis, drinks at the club way. But that wasn’t the kind of marriage she wanted with Jordan.
“Your father would have seen that you were very much in love, Georgiana,” Gene answered, pulling her from her thoughts.
Her father was a renaissance man. He’d loved fixing cars and reading literature. He’d awakened her love of reading and all things book related. Losing him as a girl had been dreadful, but she’d found comfort and companionship with the books her father
had gifted her before he’d passed. She’d discovered her literary trifecta, the fictional helpers she knew in her heart her father had sent to guide her.
She wiped a runaway tear from her cheek as the excitement of the day got to her. “I think you’re right.”
After his death, Gene and Marjory Gilbert had been a godsend, taking her to the library between beauty pageants. A few months ago, when she was worried she wouldn’t be able to keep the bookstore going, it was the Gilberts, bringing in their friends to buy books and purchase her baked goods, that had allowed her to get through the hard times.
She met her old friend’s gaze and knew what she needed to do.
“Would you walk me down the aisle, Mr. Gilbert?” she asked.
Gene tapped his hearing aid. “This thing must be on the fritz. It sounded like you asked this old codger to walk you down the aisle,” he teased, but his playful expression dissolved into a teary smile.
“Well?” she asked, her gaze growing glassy.
He steepled his hands and stared at his wedding ring. “Marjorie and I weren’t able to have children. Did you know that?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t know.”
“We’ve always thought of your father as a son and you as a granddaughter, especially now that your grandparents have passed.”
“You have?”
He patted her hand. “Why, sure! What do you think we’re doing here in your shop all the time? Do you think we eat those muffins because they’re good? We order them because we love you,” he added, with a cheeky grin, but the shine in his eyes betrayed his snarky words.
She wiped another tear from her cheek. “Hey, codger, I’ve watched you eat three of my chocolate chip muffins in one sitting.”
“Maybe they’re not that bad,” he countered.
“So, are you in on this crazy wedding? Will you walk me down the aisle?” she asked.
The man nodded. “I’d be honored to stand in for your dad, Georgie.”
“What’s all this?” Marjory asked, patting Gene’s tear-streaked cheek as she joined them at the counter. “You’re not reading Chicken Soup for the Soul again, are you? Sweetheart, you sobbed for days.”
Gene kissed his wife’s cheek. “No chicken soup books, dear. Georgie asked me to walk her down the aisle.”
Own the Eights Gets Married Page 7
