Layered in shades of blue and gray, the dusk sky was the perfect backdrop for the Tennyson neighborhood shops, now beginning to flick on their outdoor lighting. The upbeat, eclectic vibe usually lifted her spirits.
Usually.
She set off down the sidewalk in the opposite direction of Jordan’s gym. It was the most direct route to get to the park. But it wasn’t the only reason she’d gone that way. An intrusive, foreboding thought she’d managed to ignore for the past two weeks, thanks to filling her days with work, work, and more work, reared its ugly head.
What if Jordan didn’t want to be with her?
What if he regretted proposing?
If she saw him, she’d know. She’d see it in his eyes.
This limbo they’d been living the last two weeks had provided a buffer, but the clock was running out. In a matter of time, she’d either be married or single.
She continued down the sidewalk but slowed her pace when a woman in a flowing white dress and bracelets stacked up her arms, whipped off a pair of Gucci tinted glasses.
“Pumpkin, what a surprise!”
Georgie froze, and even Mr. Tuesday seemed at a loss, cocking his doggy head to the side.
“It’s me, pumpkin,” purred the yoga-fabulous hippie, standing in the middle of the sidewalk.
“Mom?” Georgie asked with the same confused head cock as Mr. Tuesday.
Lorraine Vandedinkle was a Chanel woman. Her daily attire included tailored suits, expensive silks, and bras that cost as much as a down payment on a time-share. And diamonds. The woman usually dripped in the sparkling gems, that is, until now.
“What are you wearing?” Georgie asked, as the being that had taken over her mother’s body leaned in for a set of air-kisses.
“What the psychic energist suggested,” the woman replied.
“Where’s your assistant, Nicolette?” Georgie asked, glancing around for a competent adult to explain the complete one-eighty change in her mother.
“Nicolette and I parted ways. She’s a Sagittarius,” her mother whispered back as if it were a criminal offense to be born between November twenty-second and December twenty-first.
Georgie took in the giant crystal hanging off a chain around her mother’s neck and the pound of turquoise rings, clicking along with the bracelets.
“What the hell is a psychic energist?”
“Language, pumpkin!” her mother said, then stilled and raised her palms. “Did the universe, or did Buddha tell you to use coarse language?”
“Um…Buddha,” she answered, silently apologizing to the deity for throwing him under the bus.
“Then, curse away!” she answered with a grandiose wave of her hands.
Georgie glanced down the street toward her shop. It looked like the same neighborhood, but this version of her mother must have fallen through the space-time continuum.
“Could you define psychic energist, Mom?” she asked, not knowing where else to start.
“Of course! Cornelia Lieblingsschatz set me up with her.”
Georgie’s brows knit together. “Why would the wedding frau set you up with a psychic energist?”
Her mother went all Namaste and pressed her hands together. “Cornelia, in all her vast wedding wisdom, saw that Bobby, Hector, and I have a gift.”
“For?” Georgie asked, stretching out the word.
Her mother’s features grew somber. “For perceiving and identifying psychic energy given off by wedding favors.”
Georgie watched Mrs. Yoga-Fabulous-Psychic-Energy-Vanderdinkle for a beat, then two.
Maybe her mother had eaten a tray of pot brownies?
No! She hadn’t touched carbs since 2003.
“Mom, what does that mean for those of us not psychically gifted?” she pressed, still totally at a loss.
Before her mother could reply, a voice coming from behind answered.
“It means your mother and I have been visiting every candle shop in the city.”
Georgie turned to find Howard Vanderdinkle, striding toward them.
“Howard, dear, it’s more than just the candles,” her mother chided.
“Right! There have been the chocolate shops and the nurseries with the potted succulents,” her stepfather answered with the hint of a wry grin pulling at the corners of his lips.
She watched him closely. Despite the man being her stepfather, she didn’t know him that well. But she sure as hell never imagined the business-minded venture capitalist frequenting shops with scented candles and house plants.
“Potted succulents?” Georgie repeated, trying to get back to whatever crazy track she’d landed on. This conversation had passed twilight zone zany and had gone straight to Willy Wonka weird.
“Yes, I have a gift for communing with them…and cacti. But we didn’t want anyone to get pricked, so I’m focusing my energy on those fuzzy succulents,” her mom answered as if her response sounded even a fraction close to normal.
Georgie nodded, unsure if there was a proper response when learning your parent communicated psychically with plants, chocolate, and candles.
She decided to switch gears.
“Mr. Tuesday and I are out for a little stroll.”
Lorraine took a step toward her and moved her hands around.
“Yes, I’m getting that energy off you. I sense you need to walk,” she answered, nodding to Howard.
“How about you go tackle the candles, honey, and I’ll join Georgie on her walk,” the man offered.
Her mother did the weird hand thing again. “Yes, I can feel your energy pulling toward Georgiana. I’ll meet you at the Prius in twenty minutes,” she said, then flitted, actually flitted, into the candle shop.
“Mom’s being driven around in a Prius?” she asked, still watching her mother flit and flow through the shop’s window.
Howard suppressed a grin. “No, your mother is driving a Prius.”
Georgie gasped. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope, she’s got them in six colors to match whatever her aura is that day,” he replied, unable to hold back a chuckle.
Georgie’s eyes widened. “Wow, the Denver Wedding Frau—”
“Knows how to handle a motivated mother-of-the-bride?” Howard finished.
Georgie gave her stepfather a teasing grin. “I had a different adjective in mind, but we can go with motivated. But I thought everything with the favors was done?”
“Cornelia has your mother double-checking the energy. That’s what we’re doing today,” Howard replied with that wry expression.
“That frau doesn’t miss a beat,” Georgie answered.
“She certainly doesn’t,” he agreed with a knowing twist to his lips.
It was odd he called the wedding frau by her first name, but she dismissed the thought as Howard gestured for them to start walking, and she fell into step with a man she’d never joined for a stroll before. Sure, when she was a kid, she’d gone places with Howard, but her mother was always there, too.
They walked a few blocks in silence before Howard spoke.
“I owe you an apology, Georgiana,” the man said, stopping her in her tracks.
“An apology for what?”
“For not making more of an effort to get to know you when you were growing up,” Howard said, clasping his hands behind his back as they continued down the sidewalk. “I worked a lot, especially when your mother and I first married. But you and I never got to spend much time together, did we?”
“You were always kind to me, Howard,” she answered, working to keep the surprise from her voice.
“But we’ve never talked, really talked, have we?” he mused.
The man was right. They hadn’t.
They’d each occupied different parts of her mother’s world. She and her mom had done pageants, and her mother and Howard had traveled, spent time at the country club, and attended numerous charity engagements and galas. When they were all together, the activity had centered on her mom.
“No, come to think of it, I don
’t think we have,” she replied.
“But I have gotten to learn quite a bit about you these past few years,” he said as they rounded the corner.
She frowned. “How so?”
“Your CityBeat blogs,” he answered.
“You’ve read them?” she exclaimed, now unable to keep the surprise from her voice.
She would not have put Howard in the Own the Eights or More Than Just a Number target audience.
He nodded. “I have. I like to keep an eye on what’s going on there.”
“Why?” she asked.
“This may come as a surprise to you, but many years ago, one of the subsidiaries of my venture capital company gave Hector and Bobby the seed money to start CityBeat. My company is no longer associated with them, but I like to keep my finger on the pulse of past ventures.”
“I had no idea,” she said on a stunned breath.
“I know a good investment when I see one,” the man replied.
A good investment.
She could sure use advice when it came to that.
“How do you know what’s worth investing in and what’s not?” she asked, training her gaze on the sidewalk.
“In its simplest form, the equation is risk versus reward,” Howard answered.
“So, you want to take on the least amount of risk?” she pressed.
“Not always. When I read Bobby and Hector’s proposal years ago, I saw two college kids with a lot of potential but little business experience,” he answered.
“Then, why did you choose to give them the money?” she asked.
“Because, no matter how many times you run the numbers or pore over the forecasts, you’ve got to trust your gut. If it says yes, it’s worth listening to.”
She sighed. Unfortunately, her gut was all over the place.
She glanced down at Mr. Tuesday, padding alongside her. “I could use some investment advice. Could I run it by you?”
Howard nodded.
“I thought I wanted to invest in a company—more like merge with another company. Everything seemed perfect. The potential for long-term growth looked promising,” she began.
“I’m sensing there was a hiccup in this potential investment merger,” Howard commented with a sly expression.
Hiccup? Try an alpaca-sized, shit-shoveling, lemon verbena-scented hiccup.
“Under extreme stress, vulnerabilities were exposed,” she replied, doing her best to stick to business jargon.
“That can happen,” her stepfather agreed.
“Should I walk away?” she asked, her throat growing tight.
Howard mulled over her question as they circled the block and headed back toward the candle store.
“Can I tell you a story, Georgiana?”
“Sure,” she replied.
“Before I met your mother, I was an even greater workaholic than I am now. Even then, I had teams of people working for me and could have easily spent my days golfing but chose to stay active in the company. I thought to maintain my level of success, I had to spend all my waking moments focused on business. I used to worry any deviation from the plan would decrease my profits. But your mother changed that. She helped me discover other parts of myself, other interests, other strengths. It wasn’t always easy. I never enjoyed all those charity functions, but she made me see the impact I could have on the community. Now, I know she sometimes comes off as a bit of a socialite.”
“Sometimes?” Georgie teased.
Howard chuckled. “But she cares. She truly cares and wants to bring people together, and she’s brought out the best in me.”
“I don’t know if Jordan and I bring out the best in each other,” she said as the words she’d kept locked away for two weeks came tumbling out. She froze. “I mean…” she stuttered, trying to think of something to say to counter her admission.
“I know this merger you’re considering is your marriage, Georgie,” Howard replied gently.
Panic welled in her chest. “How did you know I was talking about me and Jordan?”
Howard glanced over and raised a skeptical eyebrow. “A long-term investment that also included a merger?”
“I guess I wasn’t fooling you with that,” she replied, then gasped. “Mom doesn’t know anything, does she? I haven’t said anything. We haven’t decided anything.”
“No, and I think you and I can agree that allowing her to continue in her role as a wedding psychic energist is for the best.”
“I don’t want to let her down. I don’t want to let anyone down. And the money I know you and mom have spent. It must be a fortune,” she replied as the weight of her situation sank in.
“Let’s not worry about that, Georgiana. You know it’s not an issue for us,” he replied.
She released a tight breath. “But, still…”
She’d been so preoccupied she hadn’t even considered the cost of…of calling off a wedding.
It was too hard even to allow her mind to go there.
Howard rested his hand on her shoulder, halting the anxiety tornado inside her, as they stopped a few shops down from the candle store.
“Listen, you’re right to view your marriage as a merger. It’s the greatest merger anyone can make, and love, Georgiana, is the ultimate investment because, with love, you’re not investing money, you’re investing time. And time is a finite commodity. No amount of cash can buy you more. That’s why it’s such an important decision on who you’ll share it with.”
She held the man’s gaze—this man, who for years, she’d thought of as kind but distant. She’d never taken into account he and her mother had something special she’d never noticed.
Lorraine Vanderdinkle emerged from the candle shop—all flowing outfit and jangling jewelry. She slid on her tinted glasses, then waved to them with what Georgie used to call her mother’s drinks-at-the-club smile stretched across her face. But now, she realized her mother was truly happy and deeply in love with Howard. A relationship she’d thought had been built on brunch at the Ritz and summers in the Maldives was a partnership grounded in mutual affection.
“With the time decision,” Georgie began.
“Yes,” the man answered, his gaze fixed on her mother.
“Is your gut a good barometer on making that choice?” she continued.
Her stepfather hummed a gentle chuckle. “No, Georgie, it’s not. When it comes to that decision, it all depends on your heart.”
11
Jordan
Jordan stared at his phone, recording his every move, as his jump rope sliced through the air in quick, punishing whooshes.
“Double-unders are not for the faint of heart,” he bit out, keeping his body straight and his abs tight as the rope passed under his feet in two revolutions for each jump.
Whoosh, whoosh!
Whoosh, whoosh!
He dialed up his pace, demonstrating the CrossFit-style of jumping rope. But this video wasn’t only a tutorial for the blog. It was all he could think to do to combat the irritable buzz of nervous energy coursing through his body.
He hadn’t slept a wink all night—the night before the Shakespeare Shuffle also happened to be the night before what was supposed to be his wedding day.
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Elbows in. Light grip. Maintain those small circles with your wrists,” he bit out, going faster.
Whoosh, whoosh!
Whoosh, whoosh!
“There is no room for mistakes. This exercise demands precision and determination. CrossFit ropes are thinner than your average rope, so if you lose focus for even a second…Dammit!” he cried as the rope whipped his shins.
So much for precision and focus.
“Son, what are you doing?” his father asked with a groggy voice.
Jordan dropped the rope and rubbed his shins.
That was a great question. What the hell was he doing?
He’d been a wreck since he’d packed a bag and left the one person he didn’t know how to live without.
&nbs
p; A wreck, not knowing if Georgie meant their time at boot camp was over, or if they were over.
During the drive back, after they’d been booted from wilderness boot camp, anger and humiliation had consumed him. But that heated emotion wasn’t what had compelled him to leave without a word between them.
Anger and humiliation felt terrible. And yes, he’d indulged himself by spending a decent amount of time countering every one of Georgie’s lemon verbena blog posts zingers with a zinger post of his own. But they could have worked past the tit-for-tat blog clash. No, what he feared went far deeper. It might even be ingrained into his soul.
Was she right to say it was over? Did she sense something he hadn’t realized until now?
His disappointment and his unchecked ambition had made him act like the one man he never wanted to emulate again.
Deacon Perry.
His former boss.
His mentor for more than a decade.
Deacon was the man who’d changed his life. The man who trained him. Deacon showed him not only how to transform his body but his entire life.
He’d idolized the man.
But he’d been blind to his faults.
A philandering husband. And absent father. He’d almost lost Georgie in his desire to follow in his former mentor’s footsteps.
But, at his core, was he any different from the man who’d let him down?
He’d left the bungalow for two reasons. First, he hadn’t had the strength to stay and ask her if it was really over. And second, he needed to know who he was before he promised to love, honor, and keep Georgie forever—if she’d take him.
He loved her too much to allow her to marry a monster—even if he were the monster.
He didn’t want Georgie to suffer the pain Maureen had endured being married to the thoughtless, arrogant, and entitled, Deacon Perry.
But time was running out.
Jordan stopped the recording and sank into a kitchen chair, making sure not to meet his father’s gaze. “I was putting together a jump rope tutorial for the blog. The acoustics are better in here.”
His dad sat down across from him. “Talk to me, son.”
“I told you, Dad, I was making a—”
“No, tell me what’s going on with Georgie?” the big man said, cutting him off.
Own the Eights Gets Married Page 16
