Three weeks have flown by with two weddings down and the other is tonight. I grab my best Burgundy suit and walk it out, hanging it in my car. I throw my bag into the trunk with all of my accessories, toiletries and any other emergency thing I can think a new bride and her planner might need.

I get a second chance to make a first impression tonight with Frank Rex. He’s all I’ve been able to think about. I invited him to the Banks’ wedding tonight up in Walnut Grove. It’s got a rustic California Ranch theme that seems to be the craze this year. This bride has really good taste and vision for what she wants. It’s all come together very smoothly, so hopefully, Frank’s fears for his bar will be laid to rest and he’ll give me full reign for Aran’s wedding.

It’s 7:00 am, and I’ve got to get on the road. It’s a ninety-minute drive out to the ranch from San Francisco without traffic. I should get there right about the time the florist and other vendors arrive for setup. My tent installers were out there late last night getting set up. They sent photos, and it’s simply gorgeous. I love tents at weddings.

I’m making great time driving in absolutely zero traffic once I get out of the city. It’s foggy in San Francisco, but that’s burnt away out here in the country. The sun is shining and the farmers are already out and about completing their chores. I can smell fresh cut grass and fertilizer. I check the time on the car clock, just about the time I see the first road sign for the Knightsen exit.

I wonder if he’s up and working already. He seems like a work-a-holic, but I guess that’s better than being an alcoholic in his line of business. He didn’t appear to drink heavily. He was actually quite fit looking when I saw him outside the booth or sitting at the bar. There isn’t a paunch gut overhanging his waist, or a double-chin drooping down.

Yes, even I’ll admit he’s handsome for his age. He’s definitely one of those broody, mysterious men if you think that’s sexy, and good lord almighty I do. I wonder how old he is. He’s got to be close to my age, possibly in his forties. I wonder if he’s married?

Oh shit. I look up and see that I got off at the Knightsen exit and I didn’t mean to. The Beer and Brood Tavern is right in front of me, damn that man. He’s got me all flustered. Is he married? Why do I even care? He hates me...he said it himself...”with their high and mighty attitude”. I snarl my lips repeating his words.

I’ve never met a wedding planner with that attitude. We are the most congenial people you’ll ever meet in having to deal with such a monumental day and corralling hordes of people to bend to your will to make the wedding a success.  Usually, we drive people crazy with our perfectionism and high attention to detail. It can be nerve-wracking at times, especially with brides that are of the same nature. We are customer-service oriented. High and mighty?

He must be married and dealt with a bad wedding planner to have that philosophy towards them. I’m going to have to change his mind. That’s all. There’s a tap, tap, tap on my car window and I jump and scream, scared from my thoughts of him. 

I turn and see it’s him. His face is flushed red and his shirt is soaked in sweat. He must have been jogging and stopped in for breakfast because now he’s holding a cup of coffee and a rolled-up bag from a local bakery. I roll down the window and flash him an overzealous smile. “Good morning, Frank,” I say in a high-pitched, unfamiliar voice. Damn, too sugary sweet on the good morning, Bella. Tone it down a little.

“Are you lost, wedding planner?” he asks with a tiny bit of attitude.

“You know my name is Isabella. Isabella Asante,” I say. “Please call me Isabella, or Bella if you’re more comfortable with nicknames.”

“No, that’s okay,” he replies, “I already have a name that I call you.”

“Oh yeah?” I ask. “What would that be?”

“Oh no!” he laughs. “That’s for me to know and you to find out. You’re going to have to figure it out.”

“Would I like this name you have given me?” I ask, raising my eyebrow in question. He smiles and shuffles his feet, taking a sip of his coffee. His body language tells me no because he looks nervous attempting to dodge my question.

“Some people don’t mind it. Some women are even proud of it and call themselves that name all the time, straight out. So, it just depends,” he remarks slyly.

He seems like he’s teasing me, but who knows. I can’t read him.

“Did you need something this early in the morning?” he asks, unrolling the bakery bag and releasing the scent of sugar. Glazed sugar to be perfectly descriptive. Damn, I love glazed donuts, but I don’t indulge because of their fat content. He pops a donut hole into his mouth and chews, mouth closed at least. He’s not that much of an uncivilized beast. I watch every movement of his jawline as he pushes the sweet, doughy goodness around in his mouth before swallowing.

Fuck. I don’t really have a readily available excuse as to why I pulled up to his bar at 8:15 am on a Saturday morning. Shit, shit, and triple shit. My eyes watch him dig another donut hole out of the bag, and he pops it in following the previous one, smiling smugly as he waits for my answer.

“Those really aren’t a healthy choice for breakfast at your age?” I advise, in case he is unaware of the concept of health maintenance. Although, from my vantage point, it doesn’t matter. He looks phenomenal but I don’t need to tell him that.

“Not that I have to explain myself to you, but I just finished jogging fifteen miles and thought I would enjoy my walk home,” he replies, popping another bit of round deliciousness into his mouth. He’s got a little bit of glaze hanging from his mustache, and just as I notice it, the tip of his tongue comes out and swipes it up. “And you haven’t answered my question. Why are you here so early?”

Damn it. That was gloriously erotic watching his tongue dart out and escape back in quickly.  I squirm in my seat because now my panties are damp, and I still don’t have an answer for why I’m here.

“I had a second thought about the tents for Aran’s wedding since putting up the ones for my client tonight, and I wanted to see if it would work visually, but I don’t think it’s going too,” I let the words rush out, hoping I sound more in a hurry than blatantly lying.

“Oh, I see,” he grumbles under his breath. “I thought you might have missed me. It has been a few weeks.

“Excuse me?” I ask, my voice coming out deep and angry, incredulous even. His face looks up to mine from his bakery bag. “Why would I miss someone that hates me, which, by the way... I find really hard to believe because I’m a pleasant person?”

“You’re about as pleasant as the re-setting of a broken bone,” he mumbles.

“I heard that,” I snarl, removing my seatbelt and getting out of the car.  We are face to face, practically nose to nose since he didn’t back up when I opened my car door. “And stop mumbling. Speak with clarity if that’s how you truly feel. Be a man who stands behind his words. Men who mumble are weak and afraid. Are you afraid of me, Frank?”

“I could never be afraid of you,” he says, looking me directly in the eyes. His face is solemn, without a hint of emotion on it. His forehead wrinkles slightly, but his stance is strong and commanding. He towers above me, but I don’t feel small near him. We went from teasing to angry in less than ten seconds flat.

I glance at the clock on my dashboard. “I’m late,” I advise him, placing my hand on the door handle to pull it open. His warm hand covers mine, while the other grabs my waist. His chest presses me back against the passenger window of my car. His hand on my waist glides up and sweeps the side of my breast, before wrapping around my throat. He leans in and presses his lips to mine.

I can taste the glaze of the donut on his lips, as his beard scrapes the sensitive skin on my cheek. He takes the kiss deeper as I get lost in tasting the sugar on his tongue. Our tongues mingle and entwine softly; he gently sucks on mine, pulling it into his mouth more fully. His thumb caresses my cheek as his other hand moves up to squeeze my hip more firmly.  I can feel his hard-on against my belly and my knees buckle. He grips my hip harder, holding me upright.

My arms snake up to hold him to me, clinging for more of his kiss. He’s a strong man. I can feel the corded muscles of his shoulders as he continues to nip at my lips. His forehead presses into mine, before burying his face deep in my hair, nuzzling my neck. He sighs, and his warm breath flutters the hair on my neck, warming me. His chest expands in a deep inhale, “Honeysuckle,” he breathes, before pulling away and walking across the parking lot. He never looks back at me.

I lean against my car dazed and slightly confused. This man is a walking, talking contradiction. He hates me, he likes me, and he wants me— all at once.  Beware the many moods of Frank Rex.

He walks to the far corner of the lot and enters a gate before disappearing within. Is that where he lives? I should march over there and demand some answers, but I’m running really late now. And besides, I will get my answers tonight. That is, of course, if he’s still coming to the wedding. Shit, smacking myself on the forehead, I could have asked him that.

I peel out of the parking lot determined to thoroughly think about what the hell just happened and figure out if I can get it to happen again, but first, I have a wedding to get to.

Unfortunately, my mind won’t let him go. He’s the first man that’s ever made me feel weak and wanton at the same time. My mind is buzzing on the business level of how to please him for Aran’s wedding to be the best it can be, and on the personal level with how to please him by being the best woman I can be. The question is: Can I do both at the same time?

As I get back on the highway, each passing mile clears my mind the further I get from Knightsen. What the fuck am I thinking? He’s business. He’s a resource for a job. I can’t begin a relationship with him. For Christ’s sake— he’s Aran’s family, and I consider her a good friend. It would be weird and uncomfortable. Secondly, I can’t honestly be with a moody man. It’s not my style, nor do I possess that level of patience.

Pulling into the ranch, the many different vendors are already hard at work putting everything exactly where it’s supposed to be. I love it when great ideas develop into exceptional plans, and well-executed plans become a perfect reality. This is going to be one hell of a fantastic wedding. But I’m late and have to rush to catch up on my duties.

Lynne waves her arms wide to me like she’s trying to flag down a taxi in New York City. Her bright, neon pink clipboard catches my attention as her arm-flapping just about makes her take flight.  She’s standing outside the reception tent with a dour look on her face, so I instantly know there’s a problem that requires my assistance. There will be no crises today— I simply won’t allow any. I am calm. I am cool. I am collected is my mantra. Put everything in focus, and focus on everything is my philosophy and work ethic. Perfection will rule this day.