Ready to Wed (10 page)

My throat tightened. I thought I’d done such a good job of showing everyone those things didn’t hurt me. How had he seen? How could he remember that long ago?

“You care about people, D.J. You always have. That’s why I tried to protect you, even though you fought so damn hard against it. And like it or not, I’m not leaving you alone anymore to deal with it yourself, so get used to it.”

I wasn’t sure how I’d gotten so lucky to have him move back when I needed someone the most—someone who really saw me. But the fact that he was here and not backing away made my heart expand and press against my rib cage. I leaned forward and hugged him, dropping my head on his chest.

And for the first time since I could remember, instead of feeling like a failure because I couldn’t hold back my tears, it felt like just the release I needed.

Chapter Eleven

Brendan handed me a cup of coffee over the bar in his kitchen. The early morning light filtered in between the blinds on the patio door, sending stripes of way-too-bright golden sunshine across the tile and into my eyes. Slamming back beers while playing video games until 2:00 a.m. probably hadn’t been the wisest decision, but it’d proved to be the perfect way to turn a bad day into a pleasantly fuzzy one. Of course the drinking meant no driving, and even though Brendan tried to be all chivalrous and let the emotional drunk girl sleep in his bed while he took the couch, I eventually out-stubborned him. My back didn’t even ache the way it usually did when I woke up. His couch was definitely a keeper.

“Creamer?” I asked as I wrapped my hands around the warm mug.

Brendan pulled the plain, boring kind out of his fridge. Not my usual hazelnut preference, but anything that helped facilitate getting the caffeine into my system would do.

After my breakdown, I thought I’d be embarrassed, but mostly I just felt like I could finally move on to the next stage of my life—the real way instead of the on-paper way. “Thanks again for last night.”

“Anytime.” Brendan settled on a stool across from me. “Actually, I was thinking…” He peered into his coffee and I froze with mine halfway to my lips, unsure if I was going to like whatever came next. “You know, I do have two empty bedrooms. I was planning on getting a spare bed for one of them already. If you want, you could live here.”

Mornings weren’t my strong point, and it took my brain a moment to connect his words and get what he was saying. “Live here? With you?”

One corner of his mouth twisted up. “I thought I might be a better option than a stoner pizza guy, but I could see how it’d be a tough choice.”

“What you’ve got to ask yourself is if you’d really be willing to live with someone who’d been rejected by that dude. I’d guess his bar ain’t near as high as he was, and I didn’t even reach it.”

Brendan casually shrugged. “I’ve always been a sucker for the guys no one else cheers for.”

“As a fellow Niners fan, I’m pretty sure I’d have to say the same.” I smiled at him and seriously considered the idea. Brendan was the kind of person who just jumped without looking. I liked lists and risk analysis charts and to know there was a soft landing ahead. What if moving in ruined the easy vibe we’d settled into? Being around him chased away the darkness always tugging at me, and I needed that in my life.

“I just figure we get along, I’ve got plenty of room, and it’d be better than you moving in with a stranger who might be a complete weirdo.”

“Yes, it’s far better to know my roommate’s a partial weirdo from the get-go.”

He laughed, the deep sound echoing through me. “Exactly.”

As a fan of plans, I was surprised by how much I enjoyed our impromptu, completely unstructured hangouts. Living together would just be the extreme version of that, right? All the fun, all the time? The more I thought about it, the better the idea sounded. “I’ve already got a bed, so no need for you to buy one. I’d pay rent of course, and pitch in on everything. And—”

“Ooh, there’s an ‘and.’”

“Be nice,” I said, shooting him a mock scowl.

“That’s not gonna be easy. I—”

I slapped a hand over his mouth. “I was saying be nice about my ‘and.’ I know I had a mini-breakdown last night, but I can take care of myself. I don’t want you to do this if I’m just a pity project. You don’t need to take care of me.”

He raised an eyebrow, and I slowly dropped my hand from his mouth. “That was a big ‘and.’” He nodded, not quite able to pull off the serious expression he was taunting me with. “No pity. Got it.”

He tipped back the last of his coffee, set his mug in the sink, and leveled the tie draped around his neck, sliding the fat end down to match the skinny end.

Was that really it? Didn’t he need to know more? “As you saw yesterday, I’m a bit OCD about cleaning and organizing. Do you mind me touching your stuff?”

He paused mid-tying his tie, and the grin that curved his lips seemed to be in on a secret I wasn’t. “Have at it.”

Was his voice rougher than usual? My cheeks were suddenly hotter than they were supposed to be.

Brendan pulled his tie straight and began looping it over again.

“Here.” Since my dad had to dress up on game day—something he grumbled endlessly about—I’d learned to tie ties. Being in the wedding biz, I’d gotten quite good at every kind of knot there was, and even bow ties stood no chance against me. I readjusted the silky fabric, and with a couple swift crosses and tugs, had it perfectly in place.

Brendan smoothed his hand down it. “Thanks. This one’s a bit short, so it always gives me trouble.”

There it was again. The deep voice.
Calm down, hormones. It’s just his usual voice.
Obviously my lack of sleep was getting to me. I needed more coffee. I picked up my cup and took a gulp large enough to take out my taste buds for a while.

As Brendan walked by me, he dragged his hand across the small of my back, and I started second-guessing my decision to live with him, considering I was becoming all too aware of every glance and touch.

But then he asked, “So, roomie? When would you like to move in?” and I found myself diving right in without looking for the landing.

…

White dresses filled the space around me, a sea of tulle, lace, and satin, each begging to be taken off the rack and held up to see if it was the one. I’d done the dance with several brides, and had even had that moment myself. You justify how expensive the gown is by telling yourself you get married only once—ah, the optimistic, love-deluded thought. Mine hadn’t even been worn long enough to count, and I never wanted to put it on again. Nothing said bad luck like your something old being the dress you already failed to get married in. Really, I should sell it and at least get a bit of monetary compensation to help ease the pain.

Still, it stung less and less by the day, which gave me hope that someday soon I’d look at wedding-related items and get an inkling of that love-deluded optimism. I just couldn’t see myself continuing to do what I did for years and years without it.

“Almost ready,” my client said from inside the dressing room. “This zipper is giving me a bit of trouble.”

“If you need my help, let me know.” There were plenty of brides who didn’t involve me in the finding of The Dress, simply showing it to me after they’d picked it out. Occasionally they’d ask what I thought of certain styles, what I thought would flatter them, or what was in style right now. But Molly insisted I be at the shop to give my opinion. After all, as she put it, I knew who wore what when it came to the biggest weddings, and she simply couldn’t have the same dress anyone else had already worn. Her girlfriends sat in the chairs facing the dressing room, flipping through a book with bridesmaids’ dresses inside.

“Got it!” The door swung open and Molly came out in a strapless mermaid-style gown. Her skin mushroomed over the tight bodice, and I was scared we were one wrong move away from a wardrobe malfunction. Even though she was a skinny girl, the seams looked like they were about to pop.

“What do you think? I’ll probably wear my hair up.” She gathered her dark hair in a twist, and when she lifted her arm, it only emphasized that the dress was a good two sizes too small. The zipper in the back wasn’t even all the way up—so much for “got it!”

I glanced at the bridesmaids to see if they’d be helping me break the news about the wrong fit. From the way they were blinking and avoiding looking too closely, I had the feeling they agreed but wouldn’t be voicing it.

“Um.” I hesitated, working out how to word it delicately. “You’re a very skinny girl, but I don’t think that size is showing off your best features. You’re going to need to move during your wedding, so you might be more comfortable in a…” Hell, they hired me for my opinion, so I went ahead and blurted it out. “Larger size.”

“Well, it doesn’t fit
now
,” she said as if I was being the ridiculous one. “But I’m going to lose two sizes by my wedding. If I buy one that fits now, I might not be motivated enough to lose all the weight. Two sizes in four months, right, Kayla?”

The maid of honor looked up and flashed her a thumbs-up signal. “We got this, girl. I’m gonna order mine smaller, too. Then we’ll have no choice but to make it work.”

Okay, Kayla just went from not-helpful to enemy-of-the-bridal-state. “Look, I’ve done a lot of weddings, and that has never once worked out well for a bride. First of all, you’re tiny already. Your fianc
é
loves you for who you are, and who you are now. I doubt seeing your ribs will make him love you more. Buy the dress in your current size, and if you do lose weight and it’s a little loose, you can have it altered. You can always make it smaller, but there’s no making it bigger.”

“But if I—”

“Nope.”

Her mouth opened and closed like a fish struggling for air.

“You make one wrong move in that and you’re flashing everyone at the ceremony. Do you want to Janet Jackson your grandparents?” Seriously, didn’t any of my brides read my column? I’d done a whole article on this kind of thing.

“No,” Molly said, her lips pressed into a pout.

“Why’d you hire me?” I asked.

“Because you’re the expert,” she replied, and while I could’ve done with a little more enthusiasm, at least she knew where I was going. “Fine.” She glanced at the salesgirl, who’d reappeared at the wave of my hand.

“Can we try that in two sizes up?” When the salesgirl went to find it, I turned back to Molly. “I’m here to make your wedding perfect. It’s my top priority, and I’m not going to let you down.”

A few minutes later, Molly came out in the proper size, the fit perfect and the zipper all the way up.

Her bridesmaids gasped and Kayla shot to her feet. “That’s it! It looks amazing!”

I fluffed the bottom layers. “I haven’t had many brides doing the mermaid dress lately, but I hear it’s making a comeback, so you’ll be unique
and
in style.” So I hadn’t actually heard it, but surely somewhere, someone was making it the newest trend—styles tended to cycle every few years, but really it was about finding the right gown for the bride’s body shape that also fit her personality. I straightened and took her in again. “It’s totally stunning on you.”

“It’s the one, I’m sure of it.” Tears bordered Molly’s eyes. “Oh my gosh, I’m getting married!” She hugged me so enthusiastically I nearly tipped over—hazard of the biz and something I’d gotten accustomed to, although I obviously needed to amp up my game. Molly’s bridal party got in on the group hug. I was better than I had been at Erika’s wedding, or even the other consults I’d had, but I still didn’t feel the tingly hope thing. The shortage of air on the other hand, I felt that. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was becoming allergic to weddings.

Chapter Twelve

I was studying the fabric swatches, place settings, dried flowers, and napkins laid out on the dining room table when Brendan came over and refilled my coffee without my having to ask. He even set the hazelnut creamer I’d bought next to my mug. Despite my best attempts to convert him, he’d insisted on sticking with his plain creamer.

We’d fallen into a nice, comfortable pattern over this past week. I’d moved in, we both worked long hours, and then our evenings were mostly filled with watching TV, heavy on the ESPN.

Brendan looked over my shoulder and I caught a whiff of his aftershave. “I didn’t know orange, purple, and blue went together, but it looks pretty good.”

“That’s because it’s rust, amethyst, and cerulean. With a hint of jade thrown in.” I moved the jade and amethyst place setting over the cerulean fabric that’d make up the tablecloths at Valentina’s wedding to make sure it worked.

Brendan cast me a suspicious sideways glance. “Now you’re just making up colors.”

“Pretty sure I know every color there is now. The first few months I had a couple of brides surprise me—one requested cement. With dusty plum and blueberry. It was one of my favorite color palettes, actually.”

“Cement? What’s wrong with gray? It’s the same thing.”

“Not romantic enough, duh.” I smiled and nudged him with my elbow.

“Silly me. Nothing’s as romantic as the color you used to trip on and leave half of your skin and blood behind.”

I laughed. “Okay, you got me there. How’s pewter? Romantic enough for you?”

“I’m swooning just thinking about it.” He took a sip of his coffee and then lifted the
Beacon
out from under the pile of my fabric swatches, my “Keeping Your Cool” article folded up. “Is this yours?”

“Yeah. I meant to throw it in the recycling.” I reached for it, but Brendan kept it away and his eyes scanned down the page, his lips moving slightly as he read. The corner of his mouth twitched here and there. I’d never watched anyone read my articles before—it made my pulse skitter and my face get hot. And everything I’d ever written suddenly felt stupid and unimportant.

“Hmm. Interesting stuff. Guess I’ll have to start reading it more.”

“Planning to tie the knot soon, are you?”

He made a sort of strangled choking noise in the back of his throat. I raised an eyebrow and he set his coffee mug on the counter, where he often left it instead of walking it to the sink.

“I saw that,” I said. “There’s a story behind that noise.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Brendan tried to walk past me, and I put my hand on his chest to stop him. “B.S.”

He cracked a smile. Since I used to go by D.J.—short for Dakota Jane—I’d taken to calling Brendan Scott B.S. whenever he exaggerated. Which used to be a lot, especially when we were in grade school.

“That’s a story for another time.” He tapped me on the head with the newspaper. When my jaw dropped, his smile widened. “Don’t give me that mad glare, or I’ll have to report to your anger management officer.”

I gave him a gentle shove, but he caught my arms, his reflexes crazy fast. Then I was noticing the way his long fingers wrapped around my elbows, and my heart rate quickened. He leaned in, and for a moment, I thought he might kiss me good-bye.

For a moment, I thought I might want him to.

But he reached behind me for his keys, his body bumping into mine, one hand still wrapped around my elbow. “Let’s go to a movie tonight. There’s that new zombie one that just came out.”

Did he seriously not realize our bodies were touching? Was he completely unaffected by it? Not that I wanted him to be affected. I licked my suddenly dry lips. “The one with all the brain-eating,” I said, though I didn’t know which movie he was talking about. It all came to brain-eating eventually in zombie movies, right?

“That’s the one. I’ve got tomorrow off, so I can stay out late. Please tell me you still like your movies bloody and violent.”

His warmth was seeping into me, his voice comforting in the way I told myself was because he knew my movie preferences, and hello, we
were
friends. “The gorier the better, I always say.” That much was true. I’d grown up watching movies with Dad that he probably shouldn’t have let me watch. Even after I started planning weddings—or maybe because I did deal with love so much—I liked to escape with what a lot of girls told me were “guy movies.”

“Awesome. Tonight, then.” I swore there was a flash of something in his brown eyes, but I couldn’t tell what exactly. Excitement? More?

My imagination was running away with me. That had to be it. Needing a distraction, I shoved my fabric samples into my bag. “I didn’t realize how late it’d gotten. I’ve got an appointment to get to.” Now that I did notice the time, it wasn’t even a lie. Valentina was coming by my office first thing to look at the fabric, make a few other decisions regarding flowers and the cake, and so we could order individualized party favors. Traffic was often slow this time of day, and I liked to get to my office with enough of a head start to set up before my clients arrived.

My binder was too huge to go in with the fabric and my laptop, so I put the bag over my shoulder, stuck the lid on my to-go mug of coffee, and attempted to balance my binder and keys in the other hand.

“Need help?” Brendan asked.

I hugged the binder to me, shifting the bag, since it was trying to swing forward and throw off the balance I was struggling to maintain in my heels. “I’ve got it. I’m an independent woman now. Self-sufficient and everything.”

“It’s okay to have help now and then, you know.”

“I’ll remember that if I ever need it,” I said. “Have a good day, and I’ll see you later for the movie.” The door took me two tries and I nearly dumped the binder and my coffee, but I finally got it open. Locking it was going to be tricky, but before I could dig out my keys, I heard Brendan engage the dead bolt from the other side.

I just have to make it to the car
, I thought as my arms started to burn—I really needed to figure out a way to bring less crap home every night. Two trips would probably make it easier, but it seemed like a waste of time when I could easily suffer through a few minutes.

When I rounded to the driver’s side door of my car, the rim of my tire was on the ground, the black rubber underneath it completely flat.
Are you kidding me? Can’t I get a break, like, ever?

This
so
wasn’t on my to-do list. I tossed my bag and binder in the car and headed to the trunk. Brendan was pulling out of the garage, but he parked in the driveway and got out of his truck, heading over to me.

I set the spare tire on the ground and then reached for the jack, making a shooing motion with my free hand. “I got this. I don’t want you to be late to work because of me.”

Brendan eyed me, his lips pressing into a skeptical line.

“I’m serious. I don’t need help. And I can call Valentina and push our appointment back. No big deal.” Actually, it threw off my entire well-planned day, but that was life. Especially mine lately.

“Didn’t we just talk about how it’s okay to need help?”

“We did, and I said I’d ask for help if I ever need it. Which I don’t. My daddy taught me how to change a tire.” I positioned the jack under the car and pumped it until the flat tire was hovering above the ground. Luckily I was wearing slacks today, although the heels weren’t doing me any favors. I glanced up at Brendan. “Go already.”

Brendan crossed his arms. “Not gonna happen.”

“So you’re just going to stand there and watch?”

“Unless you’re going to let me help?”

Yes, it would be easier to have him do it, but the point of my new life plan was to get back to the girl who didn’t get hurt because she counted on herself, and she knew how to take care of things
without
help. I’d already moved in with him. I refused to rely on him any more than I already had to. “That’s a negatory, good buddy.”

Brendan laughed, and as frustrated as I was about his hovering, the noise made me smile. I gave the lug wrench a good twist, but
holy crap
the lug nuts were on tight. I could feel Brendan’s stare, so I cranked harder. Finally the nut came lose—pretty sure I only popped one eye blood vessel, too, so score! The second came undone after a few muttered swear words, and a struggle that left sweat forming across my forehead. By the third one, my arms were burning. Jeez! Had they welded the damn things on? I was sure those screw guns were quick and all, but they made being a modern girl who didn’t need help more difficult than it needed to be.

Brendan readjusted his weight from his right to his left foot, not even bothering to fight the amusement playing across his features. “Ready for some help?”

“No.”

I stepped onto the wrench, gripped the side of my car, and jumped. The thing didn’t even budge. I jumped again. Nothing. My options were go inside and get sneakers so I could properly jump up and down, or let Brendan help. My pride objected to the latter option, but I was pretty sure it was leaking out of me by the second as it was.

Brendan held out a hand.

I reluctantly took it and stepped to the ground. “It’s the heels.”

“That’s why I rarely wear them. They’re a bitch when chasing down bad guys, too.” He rolled up his sleeves, crouched next to the flat tire, and gripped the wrench. The muscles in his forearms stood out as he slowly turned it. “These really are on tight.”

“See. I told you,” I said, reverting back to my nine-year-old self, apparently.

“I’m impressed you got two off.” He held up a hand as I started to open my mouth. “It’s a genuine compliment; just take it instead of arguing with me.”

I clamped my lips shut, watching as he continued to work the last two nuts free and then secured the spare tire in place. Admittedly, he was faster than I could ever be. Well, the kind of silent admitting, because I wasn’t going to say it out loud. Not to mention, watching the show wasn’t exactly hard on the eyes. Was there anything sexier than the muscles in a guy’s forearms?

He stood, and it took me several seconds to realize he was handing me the wrench. My fingers wrapped around the metal. It was warm from the sun, but not nearly as warm as the heat starting to wind its way through my core.

Manly displays of strength must have some hypnotic power that made girls stupid—another point for taking care of things myself. Apparently it was the only way to avoid having dirty thoughts about my roommate that had nothing to do with the fact that he was actually dirty.

Oh holy crap, look at those black-smudged hands
. I thought of them trailing across my body, putting black streaks over my skin. It was so the opposite of what I usually wanted. I shook off that thought and shoved the tools back in my trunk. My feelings for him were slowly morphing into something that left me feeling off-center, and it had panic rising up and squeezing my chest. “Here.” I thrust the package of wet wipes I kept for wedding-related dirt emergencies at him and then cleaned my own hands.

“
Don
’
t stress yourself out over your appointment, okay? It
’
ll still be there when you get there.
”

Plenty of people had told me I was too uptight about my schedule, but the way he did it actually calmed my racing pulse instead of made it beat faster.

“
See you later, Deej.
”
He climbed into his vehicle, and I got into mine. He let me go ahead of him, ever the gentleman. I used to get mad at him for things like that back in the day, because I didn
’
t want the other guys to look at me as a weak girl. I supposed there wasn
’
t anyone else around right now, and it was nice, though not helping on the independent woman front.

As soon as we split off in different directions, I called Jillian. “I think I’ve got a problem.”