Always the Wedding Planner, Never the Bride (15 page)

She thought it over for a moment. "Yeah, I could do that. I just have to stop in my office first. But I could use an escort."

He returned her smile and took the stack from her arms and carried it for her.

"I can't believe we're about to get the keys to our house," she said excitedly, and she squealed. "I'm so happy, Andy." His eyes didn't quite match up with his nod of agreement. "What is it?"

"Do you have your heart set on moving in?"

A noisy
thud!
sounded from somewhere deep within her.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I was thinking. You shouldn't be stuck with Henry over there at the new house, and I'm not entirely content living under the same roof with my mother again . . ."

"Oh!" Relief washed over her like a sudden summer downpour. "You mean you want to move in first?"

"I could get Henry trained and used to the place. I'm sure they'd let you stay here at the hotel until the wedding, don't you think?"

"Yes. Are you sure? I thought it was a good opportunity for you to spend some bonding time with your mom after being gone for so long."

"I'll take her to lunch for bonding," he stated. "I don't want to live with her anymore."

"Did something happen?"

"Henry doesn't want to be there either."

Sherilyn smiled as the elevator doors slipped open and they stepped in. "Told you that, did he?"

He didn't even glance at her as he replied, "In so many barks, yes."

"Well, all right then. If it will make both you and Henry happy, who am I to say no to a boy and his dog?"

Andy turned toward her and moved close. "I love you," he said, and one corner of his mouth tilted upward.

"I love you too, Timmy. Let's not forget a doggie bag for Lassie at lunch."

Once they reached Sherilyn's office, Andy sat down in one of the two chairs flanking her desk while she unloaded her paperwork to the desk and checked her voice mail. Cecily had already called her. The lovebirds were back in.

Andy flipped over a couple of pages from the floral catalog sitting in front of him. When he noticed he had her attention, he tapped the bright orange Bird of Paradise bouquet on the page and nodded.

"Just stunning," he whispered, and Sherilyn giggled at his silliness as she erased the last message.

They headed for the door, stopping in their tracks as Fee flew around the corner and screeched to a halt in the doorway.

"So?" Sherilyn asked, and Fee squealed, shaking her head emphatically. "Yes? He said yes?"

"He said yes!" And she was off again. As the thump of her shoes trailed off down the hall, Fee called back to them. "Hi, Andy." He started to reply, then just waved his hand and laughed.

"Who said yes?"

"Sean."

"Sean . . .
Sean?"

"Yep. Apparently he's
magNIFicent."

"Isn't Fee involved with that photographer?" Andy asked.

"Was."

"Was."

"Good thing too. The minute she laid eyes on Sean, she lost her mind."

They stepped out into the corridor, and Sherilyn pulled the door shut.

"Sean. Really."

"Yep," she answered. "She thinks he looks like LL Cool J. Oh, and Montel."

"Who's Montel?"

"Williams. The talk show host."

Andy turned toward her and asked, "Do you think Sean is magnificent?"

Sherilyn shrugged her shoulders and smiled. "He's a goodlooking man. Did you want to look in on Russell before he leaves today?"

"Do we have time?" he asked and checked his watch. "Yeah, we've got time. Do you mind?"

Magnificent Sean sat perched on the chair angled into the corner in front of Russell's room, and Sherilyn looked at him

through new, curious eyes. Dark caramel skin, deeply set brown eyes, impeccable wardrobe from the navy blue rollneck pullover and jeans to the black suede MacAlister boots. He looked like a J. Crew ad, only better.

"Magnificent?" Andy muttered as they approached.

"I'm thinking yes."

"Hey, Doc," Sean said, and he smacked Andy's bicep. "Russell asked if he'd see you before he left." After a pause, he corrected, "Well. He really asked about seeing Miss Caine."

Sherilyn felt a blush of heat rise over her face.

"Did he now?"

Russell stood at the window, his back to them as Andy rapped twice and entered. When he turned back toward them, Sherilyn took note of her own teenaged version of Magnificent. Russell wore a loose-fitting white gauze smock and tight black jeans, his shaggy hair pulled back into a short ponytail. He grinned at the sight of her.

"Glad you made it by," he said, extending his hand toward Andy, but his eyes locked on Sherilyn for a few solid seconds. "I want to thank you for everything, Doc."

"Good luck to you, Russell."

He smiled at Sherilyn and asked, "Say a few more for me?"

"Count on it."

"You're a lucky man, Doc."

"Don't I know it. Want me to check the dressing on your leg?"

"Nah, Sean changed it for me earlier," he replied in his thick Australian accent.

"Doctor Sean?"

"Yeah," he answered with a hearty laugh. "It's all good."

Andy placed his hand on the small of Sherilyn's back and guided her toward the door. When they reached it, she turned back to Russell. In a spontaneous move, she stepped forward,

placed a hand on his shoulder, and planted a kiss on his stubbly cheek.

"Make us proud," she said softly. "I have faith in you."

"Well, there's your first mistake, little lady."

"Nope," she said, shaking her head assuredly. "You can do it."

Russell's eyes glistened as he looked at her. He blinked and pulled his gaze away. Turning to Andy, he said, "You'll be there to pick up the pieces when I utterly disappoint?"

Andy chuckled, and he swatted Russell on the forearm.

"Good luck to you."

"Thanks again, mate."

When the door closed between them, the space beneath Sherilyn's heart felt hollow for a moment. It was an odd sort of friendship she'd struck up with Russell Walker, but she ached a little for him.

"Take care of him, Sean," she said.

"Oh, I'm not going with him," he replied. "Mr. Burkus will take it from here. I've just been on Russell's team while he was filming here in the area."

"You're from Atlanta then," Andy surmised.

"Born and bred," he answered. "Yessir."

"Well, it was a pleasure," Andy said, shaking his hand.

"Oh, this isn't good-bye," Sean pointed out. "I'll be seeing you all this weekend."

"This weekend?" Andy repeated.

"I'll be accompanying Fiona to the Pediatric AIDS fundraiser."

Andy and Sherilyn exchanged glances, and they both nodded, wordlessly.

"I'll . . . I guess I'll see you then."

Sherilyn slipped her arm through Andy's and nodded. "See you Saturday, Sean."

They were silent on the elevator ride to the lobby and all the way out the front door.

"Where do you want to have lunch?" Andy asked her as he held the car door for her.

"Somewhere fast," she replied. "We have to be at the closing in less than two hours."

More silence out to the main road and down to the light. Suddenly, Andy looked over at her, his expression fraught with . . . something. But she didn't know what. "Andy?"

Without explanation, he maneuvered through traffic to the shoulder of the road, turned into a Shell station and parked near the hand-vacs.

"Andy, what's going on?"

"I have to tell you something," he said as he turned sideways in the driver's seat. "I've seen my ex-girlfriend twice since we've come to Atlanta."

Kerplunk.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Honestly, I don't know."

"Yes, you do."

"I don't."

"Andy, please."

He swallowed and leaned back against the headrest.

"Then why are you telling me now?" Sherilyn asked him.

"The first time, it seemed harmless. A few seconds, really. In the middle of a stadium filled with people. Just a chance meeting. Random, you know?"

She nodded.

"Then the other day was different." "What do you mean?"

"I went back to the house and found her sitting at the table with my mother, having tea. Like it was the most natural thing in the world."

She paused before asking, "Why was she there?"

"I don't know."

"Well, what did she say?"

He sighed. "She said she wished she'd said more to me at the Blackhawks game."

"Like what?"

"That she's sorry for everything that happened. She wanted to know if we could be friends . . . She hopes that we can be friends."

"Oh." Sherilyn looked a little like she did when she'd discovered she didn't like scallops at Half Shell in Chicago on their second date.

"I told her we can't."

"You did?"

Andy nodded, caressing the top of her hand with two fingers.

"Then why are we having this conversation?" she asked. "I mean, why does it feel so dire, like you have something awful to tell me?"

"It's not awful," he quickly replied. "Not at all. I just felt . . . I don't want to keep things from you. I don't want any secrets between us. In my experience, secrets have always been the start of relationships unraveling."

"That's it then?"

"That's it."

"You still . . . Are we still closing on the house today?"

"Of course," he answered.

"Really? You're not having afterthoughts? Like buyer's remorse?" Her beautiful turquoise eyes were as round as

saucers. She tucked her reddish hair behind her ear, her hand trembling slightly, looking as fragile as a child.

"I just wanted you to know," he reassured her.

After a moment, "Okay." Another moment of silence ticked by before she asked, "Do you still have feelings for her, Andy?"

She didn't so much as breathe as she waited for him to formulate his reply. Once he weighed each word, certain about the honesty at the heart of them, Andy told her the truth.

"I have unresolved issues where Maya is concerned. But you are the woman I love."

Issues about Maya.

Those three words tapped out a sort of rhythmic beat at the back of Sherilyn's brain until she could hardly stand the repetition of them. Hurrying down the hallway into the master bedroom, the words clicked along with her shoes on the mahogany floor; and as she scanned the room for one large box, hopefully marked
Linens,
the tempo of the words matched her search.

Each of her purchased corrugated cardboard moving boxes were color-coded. Blue labels went in the bedroom; green in the kitchen; red in the office. But Andy's packing efforts had morphed into what looked like moving day at the college frat house. No two boxes looked alike, and many of them had seen better days long before he'd filled them with his belongings and ran a strip of tape along the top. Some were marked—
CDs, Plates, Books,
and the occasional
BR,
whatever that meant—but most of them were not. She'd finally instructed the movers to use their best judgment, but seeing a tattered box labeled
BBall
in the guest room closet told her that they'd taken it as a license to dump.

Since her double bed had been placed in the guest room and Andy's California king filled the master, she'd hoped to find his bed linens so that she could wash them and make up the bed for him. By the time he picked up the last of his things at Vanessa's and convinced Henry to join him on the ride, she supposed it could be quite late by the time he reached the new house. Despite the fact that the music in her head—
Issues about Maya, Issues about Maya, I-I-Issues about Maya!—
tried to persuade her to leave the boxes and the linens and the upsidedown chair in the corner for Andy to deal with, Sherilyn's inner Martha Stewart inspired her to press on.

She began opening box tops, peeking inside for some hint of a pillow, a blanket, one measly king-sized sheet. The hunt led her downstairs again, and she finally happened upon a large, battered Viva Paper Towels box that produced a pillow, popping out like so much melted marshmallow cream the moment she lifted one corner. Beneath it—the mother lode! Bed linens, a comforter, a Blackhawks blanket, and two more pillows.