Ready to Wed (6 page)

“You look different, too.” His gaze ran down me, lingering on my red suede Mary Jane heels. “For one, I never expected you to be so girly.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

He wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “I’m not disappointed. It’s just, well, you lived in jeans, baggy T-shirts, and jerseys. You could throw a curveball that’d make any guy jealous.”

“Stop or you’ll make me blush,” I said, swiping a hand through the air, and got rewarded with a big grin.

“And now here you are wearing a skirt and heels and planning weddings. How did that happen?”

“It’s more of a control thing than the dresses, cakes, and fancy decorations, even though I’ve learned to love those things, too. During my last few years of high school, my girlie side kicked in and I found that I actually like getting dressed up. And that I could dress like a girl and still play sports—I was on the soccer team, since the football team seemed reluctant to have me. What with my dad being the coach, I probably could’ve pushed for it, but at that time, I wanted to have something separate from Dad—but something he’d still be proud of.”

“I’m sure he was.”

“He came to all of my games. One even overlapped with football, and he let the assistant coach take over for that game. I still kind of can’t believe it.” Movement in the back of the restaurant caught my attention. Antonia was talking to a tall, scrawny guy who looked like he’d just gotten out of high school. She pointed at me, and I had the feeling he was the nephew she suddenly wanted to set me up with.

I ducked behind Brendan, using him to hide me, though it was too late anyway.

“What are y— Oh.” Brendan chuckled. “He looks like just your type, D.J. Probably barely made it out of jailbait age.”

I gripped the back of his shirt. “You’re so not helpful.” I tipped onto my toes so I could peek over Brendan’s shoulder and see if Antonia was still pointing at me. Not sure what hiding was going to accomplish, but it seemed like the thing to do.

Antonia came up front—alone, thankfully—and handed us bags of food that smelled of garlic and marinara and made my stomach rumble in anticipation. I did my best to hide the fact that I’d been using Brendan as a shield. Though I did notice he was a rather sturdy one.

We took the food and got back into Brendan’s truck. As he drove, he bobbed his head to the music, humming along with the radio, and I relaxed back in the passenger seat, glad to have someone to chill with on a Friday night.

“So, how do you like being back?” I asked. “And what exactly do you do at the casino?”

“So far so good—some of my best memories are here.” He glanced at me and warmth flooded my chest. Then he looked back out at the road, the streetlights outlining his profile and the way he draped his arm over the steering wheel. “I take care of security for our high rollers and make sure no one steals from the casino. And if they do, I make sure I grab them before they get away. There’s a lot of carding for underage gambling and taking care of people who get drunk and disorderly, too. And a lot of behind-the-scenes stuff that I can’t really talk about.” He said it lightly, but I could tell he was higher-level, and that he took his job seriously.

“You go with your James Bond self.”

The headlights from a car coming the opposite way flashed across his curved lips. “You never finished telling me how you got into planning weddings. You were too busy hiding.”

“Well, if I knew you were practically a spy, I would’ve asked for a cooler avoidance technique.” I readjusted the seat belt and twisted my back against the door. “It all started when a teammate’s mom got married, and I went to the wedding. I was awed by all the flowers, decorations, and waiters serving fancy meals. Everyone looked so happy, too. I started wondering how it’d all come together. It looked like a challenge, and I wanted to know if I could pull off something like that. So I looked into planning, and since organization has always been my thing, it just fit. And I like that no matter how many weddings I do, they’re always different. Problems inevitably arise, and I get a rush when I take care of them and manage to pull off another wedding.”

Except for mine. I totally failed at that, no awesome adrenaline rush included.
I quickly shook off that unwanted thought and shrugged. “Plus, I get to boss people around.”

“You always did like to do that,” Brendan teased, and I smacked his arm.

He turned into a newer subdivision and pulled into the garage of a tan two-story house with Spanish roof tiles and a tall palm tree in the front yard. Within a few minutes, we were seated at the table in the kitchen, digging into dinner. As our conversation hit a lull, my mind started spinning. At first it was focused on how nice it was to be with Brendan again, laughing and joking the same way we used to, but then I was thinking about how different he and Grant were. Not just in looks, but Brendan’s decorations were sparse and there were piles of clutter here and there that, okay, I kind of wanted to sort and put away. Even though he was fairly neat already, Grant hired a maid to come in and clean, and his decorations were pieces he’d picked up in high-end galleries. He’d minored in art, so he knew the history behind each painting, too.

I had a feeling Brendan’s pictures had a history that went something like, they came with the house. Not that I was really into art or cared about that kind of thing. I just tended to look at a person’s style, vehicle, etcetera, and see if I could guess what his or her personality was like. When it came to brides and grooms, I was about 75 percent right.

“You like it?” Brendan pointed at the picture hanging on the wall that I’d been studying.

“Where’d you get it?”

“Came with the house.”

A smug zip went through my core.

“I’m going to decorate eventually,” he said. “I’m thinking movie posters.”

“In the kitchen?”

“Why not?”

I shrugged, because I couldn’t think of any reason besides it wasn’t usually done, and that didn’t seem like a good enough one. “I suppose you’ll have sports stars and 49ers posters plastered on your walls, too, just like you did when you were a kid.”

“Yeah, my bedroom—the only room I’ve decorated so far—still has some. But now they’re framed, because I’m way more mature and fancy.” He nudged my knee with his hand. “Don’t act like you’re not gonna be impressed by my signed and framed Steve Young jersey.”

“No way. You have a signed jersey?”

He nodded, a crease forming in his cheek as he grinned. “Not so smug about mocking my decorating choices now, are you?” He stood and held out his hand. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

I slapped my hand in his and let him pull me up. The living room had a giant television on one wall and a large sofa with recliners and cupholders facing it—all function. I spotted a PlayStation in the entertainment center, too, so he clearly still liked his games. It’d been years since I played. I wasn’t bad, but I never could sit there for hours on end like Brendan and the rest of the guys, and I was always trying to get them outside instead, hellacious Vegas heat be damned.

Brendan pushed open the door of his bedroom. Like the kitchen, there were piles—clothes strung here and there, and the top of his dresser was a mess. But there on the wall were a couple of 49ers posters, one for the Colorado Avalanche, and a Steve Young poster. All were nicely framed. Then there was the scarlet jersey in the middle, Steve Young’s name scribbled across the white number eight.

“Not only is it signed, I was
there
when he signed it. Got it the year he retired.”

Brendan and I used to always watch the games together, and we agreed the 49ers quarterback was the best, hands down. Dad was there, too, yelling at the players and then giving a simple nod when they did something good, the same way he did on the field with his own players.

“Well, I’m definitely impressed, and it’s totally awesome you got to be there. Still not what I’d decorate my bedroom with, but it’d definitely go in the den or entertainment room”—I flashed him a smile—“along with your maturely framed posters.”

My email chime went off. I only had an alert for clients, because I assured them I was available when they needed me. They had my cell, too, but some brides preferred emails, and I preferred those brides. “Excuse me. I’ve got a wedding Sunday, so just gotta check if it’s urgent, or something I can add to my to-do list for later.”

It wasn’t Erika, this weekend’s bride, but one with a wedding scheduled this winter.
I regret to inform you that I’ve chosen to go a different way…
I scanned through the rest, my muscles tensing. From some of the phrasing about not being sure I was equipped to handle her wedding, I was sure she’d read Phoebe’s column. The woman had come in a couple weeks ago, pleading with me to take over because she was so overwhelmed. I’d already gotten her location booked and started on her invitations. All that work wasted, and I’d only have a puny deposit to show for it. So on top of having limited funds already, my clients were going to start dropping like poisoned-by-Phoebe flies. Because a guy I had no control over chose to not marry me. If anything, they should question my choice in fianc
é
, not my ability to plan a wedding.

“Everything okay?” Brendan asked.

I turned my phone to silent and put it away. “Peachy.” With a side of Temperamental Tangerine.

He gave me a look that he wasn’t buying it.

“I could use a drink. Guess we should’ve picked up some wine to go with dinner.”

“Well, you’re in luck, because I have a couple of bottles waiting for an occasion like this.”

Once we were in the kitchen, Brendan poured two glasses of wine. I took a few generous sips, but I was still thinking about that email. Surely I wouldn’t start losing clients over something so stupid. I’d finally gotten my business up and running the way I’d always wanted it to. If I did go back to Grant, though, I wondered if people would view that as a success because it all worked out, or as a failure because I went back to a guy who’d stood me up. Not that I’d make huge life decisions based on what others thought.

Things are complicated, far more than one paragraph in a paper can cover with a couple of condescending lines.

I swirled my wine in my glass and glanced at Brendan. “What would you do if you found out you had a kid you never knew about?”

Brendan froze, his glass barely touching his lips, and then slowly lowered it. “Uh, I don’t know. Why?”

“I mean, would it freak you out?”

“Hell yeah.” He tilted his head, looking like he expected more explanation, but I wasn’t ready to drag out all my dirty laundry—or more accurately Grant’s—for him to see. As comfortable as I was with Brendan, I wanted to keep everything happening with Grant separate right now. Each aspect of my life in its own space, just like I was dreaming of doing to that pile of mail scattered on Brendan’s counter. Apples and oranges were just scattered on the counter, too, no nice bowl to hold them.

I took another drink of wine, draining my glass, and then stared out the patio doors. “Cupid would love to run around that yard.” I glanced at Brendan. “Cupid’s my dog. My last apartment had one tiny strip of grass for the entire complex, and it was hard for him to be cooped up all the time.”

Brendan joined me at the patio door. “What kind of dog?”

“Black Lab. He’s with my ex now, until I get my own place.” So much for avoiding talk of Grant. Our merged lives made it so damn inescapable.

“That sucks. You can’t have him where you are?”

I shook my head. “Like I said, I’m sleeping on a couch right now, so there’s very little room, not to mention Jillian’s complex doesn’t take big dogs.”

“Well, if you want to keep him here, you can. I’ve got plenty of space, and I run in the mornings…”

I bet you do
, I thought as I checked out his physique. For the second time tonight. Then I felt weird, because this was Brendan. But, like, Brendan 2.0.

“…take him with me,” Brendan continued. “Then you can visit anytime. Really, it’d be nice for me.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. I’d give you a key so you could come by whenever to see him.”

“You’re offering me a key to your house? Just like that? What if I come in and trash the place while you’re gone?” More likely I’d find myself cleaning and organizing, but there was no way he could know that.

The beginning of a smile tipped the corners of his mouth. “Are you going to come in and trash the place?”

I shook my head.

“My instincts said as much. I know in some ways we just met, but it doesn’t seem like that much has changed. Except for the clothes and job, and…” He looked me up and down as if he was assessing the differences, and I fought the urge to squirm. Was he thinking of me the way I’d just thought about him, or had I had too much wine? “Okay, maybe a lot of things.” He leaned against the doorframe and shrugged. “But not who we are. I know you better than you think, D.J. Halifax. After all, how many times did we sleep over at each other’s houses growing up?”

“Every weekend we could get our parents to agree to. Until you proposed, and my dad totally freaked out.”

Brendan’s eyes lit up—the same brown eyes that used to say so much with just a look.
Go long. Sneak out of the bushes on three. We’ll ditch these guys in a few.
“That’s right. After that, I was banished from slumber parties.”

“I tried to explain to him that we were the kind of engaged where there was no kissing, but I think it was the first time he realized I might actually kiss a boy someday.” An image from my ninth birthday popped into my head. Brendan and me sitting up in the olive tree in my backyard. He asked me if I’d marry him when we were “old, like twenty or something,” and I told him sure, but that in order to be properly engaged, I’d need a ring—I’d been quite proud of my knowledge of the subject. Brendan took a grape Life Saver out of the roll he’d had in his pocket and tried to shove it on my finger. Since the hole was too small, he sucked on the candy, checking it every few minutes until it fit. And that was how I’d become engaged at nine, only to have my dad promptly remove the sticky, dirt-coated “ring” as soon as I informed him of my betrothal, and tell Brendan that he was no longer allowed in my room and couldn’t sleep over anymore. Over the next four years Brendan had sneaked back to my room now and then, when my dad was at practice. He and I had never kissed, though, and I found my gaze drifting to his lips now.