Always the Wedding Planner, Never the Bride (20 page)

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Authors: Sandra D. Bricker

BOOK: Always the Wedding Planner, Never the Bride

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"Look," Russell said from the sofa, Henry all the way in his lap now and curled into a large shaggy ball, "I'm sorry, you two. I didn't mean for it to be a wedge, honestly."

Sherilyn shot Andy a glance; one last stab at dragging him over to the dark side.

"Maybe I can rent a car and drive south to meet him. Or—"

"No, no," Andy surrendered, and Sherilyn pushed herself toward him and slid her arms around his neck.

"Thank you!"

"You'll call Sean."

"I will."

"And you!" he said, pointing at Russell. "There's no return to the bottle. There are no parties, no inappropriate or offensive behavior."

"None," he vowed with a nod.

"And you'll wear clothes at all times."

"I'll shower in them."

"I'm serious," Andy warned him. "I'm not messing around here."

"I got it, mate. And I'm mighty grateful."

Andy produced his cell phone and handed it to Sherilyn. "Call Fee. She'll know where to find Sean."

She looked him in the eye with meaningful intensity and smiled. "Thank you, Andy."

"Yeah," he said with a sigh as she took the phone from him. "Whatever."

Mario Lopez, live from The Grove, told
Extra
viewers about Russell Walker's stint at rehab and how it had ended abruptly when the star disappeared from the thirty-acre facility outside of Atlanta. Speculation had him "hiding in plain sight" in Manhattan, or possibly in seclusion at the Atlanta home of longtime friend Elton John.

"I've never even met Elton John," Russell declared, shaking his head at the 52-inch screen. "Longtime mates. Bunk!"

Sherilyn giggled from the other side of the long counter, looking up from chopping onions for only a moment.

"Does Elton John even still live in Atlanta?" Sean asked, towering over her as he set a plate lined with sliced tomatoes next to her.

"I have no idea."

He shrugged and asked, "What next?"

"How about pickles?"

"You got it."

"In the door of the refrigerator."

Sean retrieved the jar of dill pickles and set about slicing them into spears on the cutting board while Sherilyn transferred the chopped onions to the plate next to the tomatoes.

"Sean, are you listening to this?" Russell called out from the living room.

Sean simply nodded, and Russell hopped up from the sofa and lumbered up to the counter and sat on a bar stool across from them.

"You look quite domestic, the two of you there." Sean grimaced, and Sherilyn smiled.

"Where's the good doctor?"

"He should be home any time," she replied.

"Fiona's due in about thirty minutes," Sean informed them.

"I think Emma and Jackson may stop over too."

Russell clicked his tongue and shook his head. "The doc clearly said there were no parties allowed. You two rabblerousers will have some explainin' to do."

"No parties hosted by
you,"
Sherilyn clarified. "This is a barbecue with our friends. That's different."

Russell walked over to the glass overlooking the backyard and laughed. "It's gotta be forty degrees out there. You're going to fire up the barbie?"

"Unless it's raining or snowing—and even sometimes then, come to think of it—Andy is a grilling maniac."

"You don't say. We have something in common. Think he'll let me lend a hand?"

"Maybe. Now I have a crock of baked beans going, and hamburger patties all made up for The Grillmaster. Fee is bringing potato salad."

"Burger buns at the ready," Sean added, holding up several packages.

"Sodas chilling in the garage," she said, looking around the kitchen. "Coffee made. You've got the grill fired up. What am I forgetting?"

"Dessert!" Russell called out to them.

"Emma has that handled. She's bringing Pavlova in your honor."

"Sweet!"

The thud of the front door closing sent butterflies into flight in Sherilyn's stomach. She grabbed the apron from the back of the dining chair, rounded the kitchen counter and hurried down the hall, reaching Andy just as he unbuttoned his coat.

"You might want to keep that on."

"Oh?"

"We have a hungry crowd on the way."

Andy grinned, rebuttoning his coat. "I'm grilling?"

"I've got everything all ready for you."

Sherilyn unfolded the dark green apron and placed it around Andy's neck, smiling at the bold white letters on the front spelling out
The Master.
As she reached around him and fastened the ties at the back of his waist, Andy kissed her on the lips.

"Has he gotten into any trouble?"

"No," she replied happily. "I am pleased to tell you he's been a perfect houseguest."

"We can probably thank Sean for that."

"No doubt." Just as Andy started down the hall, Sherilyn tugged on his arm and softly added, "He wants to grill with you."

Andy's face curled up into the frown of a teenaged boy who couldn't get the car keys from his parents. "Oh, man, does he have to?"

"I think it would be nice if you let him." Andy thought it over and whispered, "I don't want to be nice."

"I know. But I'll bet you will be anyway, won't you?"

She thought he might just stomp his foot when he said, "Yeah. All right. Fine."

Sherilyn grinned and rubbed the elbow of Andy's suede coat. "You're a very nice man."

"But he's not flipping anything. That's my job."

"Okay. All the flipping is reserved for you."

Andy's spoiled brat face melted away into a broad grin. "You're the perfect woman, do you know that?"

Sherilyn tossed her hair and sniffed. "Yeah. I hear that all the time," she said as she passed him by.

It wasn't until she'd reached the kitchen again that Andy called out, "Where? Who tells you that all the time?"

Russell was settled on the sofa again, Henry happily coiled into a ball under his arm. Sherilyn tapped her finger frantically on the counter until Russell looked up, and she shook it at him before pointing to Henry, and she used her free hand to draw a cutting motion across her throat. But Russell deciphered her meaning just a moment too late.

"Oh, look at this!" Andy exclaimed as he walked into the room and stopped in his tracks. He folded his arms across his chest and glared at Russell and Henry. "You've pilfered my dog?" Looking at Sherilyn over his shoulder, Andy observed, "He's been here twenty-four hours, and Henry doesn't even get up to say hello to me anymore."

At the sound of his name, Henry looked up at Andy, his ears perked. In one fluid motion, the dog flew from the sofa toward him and sat down beside him.

"That's more like it," Andy said, scratching him behind the ear. "Good dog."

"What kind of jumper is this?" Russell asked, looking Andy over from head to toe.

"This is my grilling apron," Andy informed him. "And I'm wearing it over my jacket because it's cold out there."

Russell didn't disguise his amusement, and he let out a hearty laugh as his eyes met Sherilyn's.

"If you're going to join me out there, you'd better get your rear end off the sofa for a change and put on your coat."

Russell leapt up and rushed toward the door. "Well, c'mon then."

Sherilyn retrieved Russell's coat from the hall closet and pushed it into his chest. "And get some shoes on," she told him before grabbing the tray of hamburger patties and the spatula and handing them over to Andy.

"Hey, Sean," Andy said with a nod.

"Doc. Good to see you."

Although he did slip into the black peacoat, Russell walked straight out the door in bare feet. Andy shook his head and glanced at Sherilyn before he followed Russell out the door.

"He's a handful," she commented to Sean when they had gone.

"Both hands and a wheelbarrow."