Enlisted by Love (9 page)

He sighed and turned back to the computer, nudging the mouse to close the screen saver. The blank document he had opened earlier waited for him, still as blank as it had been when he'd arrived at his office.

He was supposed to be brainstorming. Why was he spending even ten seconds thinking about an interior decorator? As long as she did the job, he had no complaints. And what had been the point of all that sharing this morning? He wanted Greta to see past her automatic rejection, to recognize that he was a real man with a real past, someone she could get to know, and in the process discover that he was not what she supposed. But surely there was a way to do that kind of thing without looking at old photos and making everyone all misty-eyed. For example, he could —

He tossed a pencil at the computer screen. Why was he trying to think of various strategies and tactics he could use to get her to succumb to his very considerable charm? He didn't understand it. He had never had to use strategies and tactics on a woman before. In the past, all he'd had to do was put on his uniform and smile. Very restful, the kind of woman who needed nothing more than a uniform and a smile.

So what was he doing? Even though they did have their moments of connection — she was fighting hard. What was the point of trying to convince her to change her mind? Maybe it was the novelty of the situation. The reason he was thinking about her was because of the thrill of the chase. It would wear off. The danger was it might take about forty years to do so.

“Ian's the best man?” Greta demanded. It was bad enough that she had to deal with him for work reasons. But to have to try not to succumb during a social occasion wasn't something she was prepared to do. If she'd known Tess would demand that, she would have reconsidered being her maid — or was it matron? — of honor.

This morning's visit to his storage unit had been bad enough. Especially when she found herself weakening, relating to him like she might to anyone, coming perilously close to actually admiring him. That was very dangerous. No, it was more than dangerous, worse than dangerous. It was stupid.

“Why didn't you tell me?” she asked Tess. That came out more like a whine than she intended. She winced. She willed herself to stand still and not stamp a foot in irritation. It wasn't that she didn't want to make a scene — they were in her bedroom where she could make all the scenes she wanted — but Tess was on the floor, pinning up Greta's hem, and she wasn't above sticking Greta with one of the pins. Besides, it was Greta's own fault for letting most of Tess's wedding chatter flow in one ear and out the other. Maybe if she'd paid attention, she could have avoided this. She didn't quite see how, but surely something would have come to her. Maybe another skiing accident.

“I told you an old buddy of Michael's was going to stand up for him,” Tess said mildly, around a mouthful of pins. She'd been a seamstress for so long she could have a screaming argument with someone and not swallow a pin. Greta had seen this happen. She had even been on the receiving end of such a tirade once. Everyone had their talents. Greta had many talents, and that knowledge certainly kept her warm at night. She did not understand why she wanted to burst into tears.

“All you have to do is walk down the aisle with him, resisting the urge to trip him,” Tess said, spitting the pins into the palm of her hand and getting to her feet. She circled around Greta, eyeing the hem critically and making minute adjustments that only she was capable of noticing needed to be made.

“There. That's even,” she said, smoothing the fabric at Greta's waist. “Finally. You know, it would've gone a lot faster if you weren't fidgeting so much.” She took a step back and made a twirling motion with her hand. Obediently, Greta turned around in a complete circle. Tess nodded in satisfaction, then sighed and said, “You're going to outshine the bride. You're so lovely. Especially in this dress, if I may say so myself.”

“Nonsense,” Greta said, though privately she agreed the dress was beautiful. She reached for the zipper in back. “Look at you. You're young, you're sweet, you're full of life. I'm a middle aged crone fighting a losing battle against the gray.”

Tess helped her slip the dress off, then tossed it over her arm. Greta knew she'd bring it home to finish it. Where she found the time to work, take care of her daughter, spend quality time with Michael, plan a wedding — it gave Greta a headache just thinking about it. But that was how Tess liked her life, crammed full of activities and people — and dogs. Greta repressed a delicate shudder. You couldn't forget the dogs.

“Fine,” Tess said, rolling her eyes at Greta's comments. “If you're middle aged, I want to look like you when I get there. Listen, I was paying a compliment. You're supposed to say, ‘Thank you, Tess.'”

“Thank you, Tess,” Greta said. She really was an ungrateful wretch. Tess deserved every good thing and if she liked to cram her life full, then that was her privilege. Just because Greta's looked a little empty by comparison was not Tess's fault. “I do appreciate your making that dress for me. It's much better than the other options we considered.” She grimaced at the thought of the pink dress she'd almost purchased. At least she'd been spared that. The blue dress Tess was making was a little slinky — not a look Greta usually cultivated — but at least there was nary a bow in sight.

Tess leaned over and kissed Greta's cheek, which made Greta feel unfortunately like an aged aunt. She preferred being a middle aged crone. “It was easy to make,” Tess said. “It's a very simple design.”

Greta doubted very much that it was that easy, but she didn't say so. Tess liked doing things for people, and so long as Greta — or anyone else — didn't take advantage of her, what was wrong with that? Tess had a generous nature, despite experience.

“Two weeks,” Greta said meditatively as she slipped into her taupe pantsuit. “You're marrying Michael in two weeks. I can hardly believe it. Seems like just yesterday, that barista — ”

“Kevin,” Tess supplied helpfully, handing Greta the low heels she ordinarily wore.

Greta put the pumps she would wear with the dress in a shoebox to protect them until the big day. Listen to her: the big day. She was an enabler, that was what she was. She couldn't blame Tess for becoming a bridezilla if she so blatantly encouraged the behavior.

“Right. Kevin.” Greta could picture him: reddish hair, bearded, cheerful round face, encouraging Tess on the path that had led to this. “He was giving you pointers about men. Wearing your hair down, letting your true self shine through. Did you ever thank him?” She straightened the suit jacket as she slipped into her shoes, a small sigh of relief slipping past her lips. There. Now she was her usual self. Ready to face the day. Even Ian couldn't disturb her now. And he better not try.

“Are you kidding? Kevin thinks he's responsible for the blessed event.” Tess patted Greta's arm. “But I know who the fairy godmother really was.”

“Hmpf,” Greta said, repositioning the pins that held her hair in a smooth chignon. “Anything I can do to help with the festivities?” She meant but did not say “anything
else
.” She was already sacrificing a considerable amount of time, effort, and energy by agreeing to deal with Ian uncomplainingly. She glanced in the mirror over the dresser to assure herself the armor was in place and fully intact. Everything was just as it should be.

Tess shook her head. “I've got it all under control.” Greta met Tess's eyes in the mirror. Tess's definition of
under control
and Greta's were entirely different, but this was Tess's wedding, so Greta wouldn't interfere unless —
until
— she was invited. “I've even found the perfect use for Michael's mother,” Tess added, flashing with her trademark grin.

“Oh dear.”

“She's not as bad as that. In fact,” Tess said with a mischievous glint in her eye, “she reminds me a lot of you.”

“Oh, thank you.”

“I mean it in a good way,” Tess said, her tone contradicting her words. “You know … blonde, elegant, freezingly polite, overencumbered with organizational abilities. I just shake my head and say, ‘How will I ever?' and off she goes. She thinks her son is marrying an artistic ditz, but it could be worse.”

Greta had met Mrs. Manning once during the course of wedding planning. The experience had resulted in a draw. Greta would bet good money Mrs. Manning believed she won her encounters with Tess when an observer would probably note that Tess seemed to come away victorious each time. One of Tess's talents was making you think you were getting what you wanted.

Glancing at her watch, Greta collected a folder from the bed and tucked it in her shoulder bag. She had several on-site meetings this afternoon, which would take her mind off — well, everything her mind needed to be taken off of.

“I think Mrs. Manning does like you,” she said carefully to Tess. It was hard to say with Michael's mother. Greta put her daily planner in the bag and glanced around the room to see if there was anything she'd forgotten.

“Oh, sure, except for the part where I obviously bewitched her beloved only son senseless,” Tess said.

Greta couldn't really blame Mrs. Manning. Michael had acted in an entirely uncharacteristic manner when Tess came into his life. “I think when Michael's father died, Mrs. Manning just boxed up that part of herself and put it away.” Tess gave a shrug that indicated resignation, understanding, and disbelief all at once. “I think she expected Michael to do the same after his wife died.”

“As he did,” Greta reminded her.

“Right. Until I came along and bewitched him senseless.” Tess gave another grin. Then she hugged Greta and headed home, dress over her arm, whistling a line from
Finding Nemo
. Greta knew she would get a few hours of sewing in before her daughter needed to be picked up from school. Then Michael would come over for dinner —

She stared at her reflection in the mirror over the dresser. Every hair in place, calm face. But her eyes looked a little haunted today. Was she like Michael's mother, as Tess described her, putting that part of herself in a box on the shelf? She blamed it on being older and wiser, but was that a reason — or an excuse?

Greta peeked out of the small room where she waited with Tess and Belinda. The organist played a hymn she recognized but couldn't name. The church pews were full of well-wishers. Michael was already at the front of the sanctuary, standing near the altar. He seemed relaxed instead of terrified, which was probably a good sign. His mother, on the other hand —

Greta turned back to look at Tess. The bride glowed, the groom smiled, the daughter of the bride looked adorable as an honor attendant waiting to walk down the aisle with her mother. Who cared about Mrs. Manning?

Tess giggled with Belinda as she tied a bow in her daughter's hair, then kissed the top of her head. For a moment, a rush of loneliness washed over Greta. What had happened to the children Greta meant to have?

“You look beautiful,” Tess said to her. Thankful for a distraction from her melancholy thoughts, Greta smiled and smoothed a hand over her dress. She was still convinced it was slinkier than it needed to be, but she wasn't going to complain about that now.

“So do you,” she said. Tess's dress boasted all the frou frou and furbelows she had threatened, but she looked darling in the confection. Belinda wore a smaller version of the same dress, with perhaps a few more bows. Hers was a pale pink that went with Greta's pale blue dress. Of course Mrs. Manning would probably have a heart attack at the sight of the different colors and styles, but they worked fine, just fine, in Greta's opinion. And in Tess's, which was really the only one that mattered. Michael, if he had an opinion about anything, was wisely keeping it to himself.

Greta gave Tess a hug and then leaned down and did the same with Belinda. She looked her in the eye and said, “You are as pretty as a princess.”

“What about me?”

Greta swung around to see Ian bearing down on her. He wore a dark suit, and he wore it well. He was bigger and broader than was fashionable, but he stood straight and strong — what was a suit but another uniform? — and he exuded that masculine confidence to which she was unfortunately drawn. Aware of her treacherous susceptibility, she steeled herself against her attraction to him.

Knowing the advantage of a good offense, she gave him a thorough once-over. “You clean up nice,” she said. He slanted her a look. Then another. Then he hooted with laughter and said, “How do people let you get away with making remarks like that? Patronizing, condescending, and snide all at once. Yet I would seem unreasonable to object to it.”

“It's a talent,” Greta agreed serenely, and then the music started, forestalling Ian from making any further comments. She gave Tess one final hug for luck, then turned to take Ian's arm. She was unfortunately aware of his nearness, his warmth, and strength. He even smelled good, like soap and water with just the merest hint of a citrusy aftershave. Of course he would be caught dead before he used cologne.

His smile suggested he was well aware of the effect of his appearance on the less vigilant ladies in the church. She gave him a discreet but sharp elbow in the ribs and his grin widened even further.

Then he released her arm and went to stand next to Michael, who radiated calm happiness. As she took her place on the opposite side of the aisle from them, Greta noted the faint hand trembling common among even the calmest grooms. Then the music changed. In the vestibule, Tess gave a grin and took Belinda's hand and walked toward her future.

Greta's heart lifted as Tess and Belinda reached them. She beckoned to Belinda, who came over to stand next to her. Belinda's big brown eyes were wide with excitement as she watched her mother and Michael clasp hands and face the minister. They were so happy, so content and peaceful in their happiness. Even Mrs. Manning had to see that. Greta darted a glance at the front pew. Indeed, Mrs. Manning's eyes were bright with unshed tears, a crumpled handkerchief held at the ready. Greta smiled to herself. Weddings were hard on mascara, which was why she wasn't wearing any.