CHAPTER TWO
The aromas wafted into my face like a blanket of happy as Leo opened the door for me. Meat, spicy, sweet, and salty all hit me at the same time, and the instant comfort of something frying in grease sent my mouth watering. Southern comfort food. I had never been one to claim the healing powers of it, but in that one moment I wanted it all.
It had to be noon or so, and my anxious stomach knew it. I would have been chowing on the grand spread my almost-mother-in-law arranged by now. Married. Micah Blankenship.
The relief that rushed over me was tangible, warming and chilling my skin at the same time. That had to say something, right? Surely that meant I’d made the right decision—even if my method was questionable.
“Micah Blankenship would be eating right now, though,” I muttered as I eyed a plate of pepper-crusted pork loins and homemade mashed potatoes being devoured at a nearby table.
“What?” Leo said, startling me.
“Nothing,” I said, moving to rake my hair back, then remembering it was manhandled into place by what were evidently lethal weapons.
A blonde waitress with an intimidatingly full tray of orders looked at us questioningly. Not the way the rest of the room was looking at us, like we might be aliens, but like we might just add to her workload.
“Table?” she asked in passing.
“Bar is fine,” Leo said. “Is Nick McKane working today?”
“Bathroom?” I asked.
“Grab a stool,” she tossed over her shoulder. “He’s in charge today but we were slammed and he’s helping Dave. And back corner to your right.”
I laid a hand on Leo’s arm as I moved around him, withdrawing it immediately as I felt his warmth and our eyes met. Why did I touch him like that? Familiar. Intimate. Like a lover. Or, at the very least, an extremely good friend. The question was all over his face as much as it bounced around my brain. Why? Hell, I was in no place to form logical thoughts. Maybe because it felt like we’d just gone through war together. But then no, that was really just me, because all he did was drive to where he was already headed anyway. I’m the one who jumped ship and turned my life upside down.
“Sorry,” I whispered.
There was amusement in his eyes.
“Want something to eat?” he asked under his breath.
God, yes. Like a giant pig with a side of cow.
“I’m okay,” I said, my stomach growling loudly right as I said it. I slapped a hand over my belly. “Go do what you have to do. I’ll get a salad or something maybe after I—figure out what I’m doing.”
Which I needed to do pretty damn quickly, I thought, as I weaved my way among the tables of smiling, curious diners. The longer I stayed there, dressed like a cake topper, the more that tongues would wag. The more that happened, the higher the likelihood that someone would find out who I was and rumors would get out. We did business here in Charmed, and Thatcher would have a shit fit if any of the local florists pulled their orders—especially wedding orders—just because one of the owners flaked out making a public scene on her own wedding day.
He would also not be happy if he heard it all secondhand. I needed to find a phone—
I pushed open the bathroom door sporting a sign with a stick figure in a skirt, and stopped short as the door shut behind me. The sight of myself in the mirror was too much.
Hair was all over the place. Not just sticking out from the pins, but falling down my neck, arcing straight up from my scalp, sticking to my forehead, and frizzing in very unflattering turd curls from each ear. That wasn’t even the worst part.
“Sweet Jesus,” I muttered.
My face looked like I had indeed been in the war I mentioned earlier. In it, lost it, came back for more punishment. The thick black eyeliner and mascara that the makeup artist had applied so perfectly for my portrait had bled way south. Heavy smoky eye shadow had gunked up to the north, and it appeared that my sexy, tiny, little drawn-in Marilyn mole I’d added to amuse myself had morphed into a fully grown beetle on my face.
No wonder Leo had suggested I clean up.
I began attacking my face with soap and water as the door opened.
Great.
“Oooh, I love your dre—” the lady began, stopping as we met eyes in the mirror. “Oh, honey. You okay?”
Something resembling a choked laugh came out of my throat. I shook my head.
“I’m better than I look.”
“Things not go as planned?” she asked, landing next to me at the counter to dive into her purse.
“Not even close,” I said, scrubbing under my left eye, just smearing the greasy makeup further. “Kind of not at all.”
“Oh, wow,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
“No, it was me,” I said, wondering who was remoting my mouth and why I was dumping my guts out to this woman. She did have an adorably kind face and her chunky-funky polka-dot heels endeared her to my heart. “I—well, let’s just say my fiancé’s mother probably wants my head on a platter right now.”
“Here,” she said, handing me a travel pack of wet wipes. “Works great on makeup.”
I sighed as I pulled one out. “Bless you.”
She leaned a hip against the counter. “So I’m guessing tall, dark, and moody who you walked in with isn’t the groom?” I caught her eye and she shrugged. “Okay, so I didn’t just stumble upon you in here. You looked like a hot mess who maybe needed a hand.”
“No,” I said, removing the beetle from my cheek. “I caught a ride here with him from Cherryd—”
What the hell, Micah? Shut up!
“Cherrydale?” the woman asked, her voice lilting up with her curiosity. She pulled in a little gasp. “Not the Blankenship wedding? You know, the Trade Days family?”
I closed my eyes and counted in my head. Of course it was just the Blankenship wedding. It wasn’t the Blankenship-Roman wedding. Or Micah Roman’s wedding. I got to eight and opened my eyes.
“I’m familiar with them,” I said, the acid leaking into my tone.
“I didn’t mean—” she began, touching my shoulder. “Oh, fuck balls. My mouth, I swear. I’m sorry. It’s really none of my business.”
I had to chuckle at her language, which didn’t match the sundress and bouncy hair.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I get it. Probably not every day a runaway bride from a prominent family event shows up in your town with nothing but what’s on her.” I tossed the wet wipe and pulled out another one to take care of anything I missed, while blowing out a steadying breath. “So I assume you know them?”
She shook her head. “No, not personally, but my best friend, Carmen, is Mr. Blankenship’s lawyer, and my friend Bash does business with the bri—” She stopped short. “With your family.”
I rested my hands on the counter, letting my head hang.
“Bash Anderson?” I said, my eyes closing.
“The very same,” she said. “And I just—know they were going to the—to your—” She sighed, sounding as frustrated as I felt. “Damn, I’m sorry.”
Well, that settled the question of business contacts finding out. I felt the crush of a thousand soaking-wet blankets wrapping around me. That’s what I got for letting Deidre Blankenship run the whole damn show and not at least finding out who was invited.
“Don’t be,” I said, handing back her travel pack with as much of a smile as I could muster. “You’ve been so nice.” I put my hand over my eyes for a moment. “God, what was I thinking?” I said under my breath, thankful for her help but wishing she would leave me alone now to self implode all over the bathroom.
She laid a warm hand on my shoulder.
“Hey,” she said. “Just breathe. Everything happens for a reason. I’m a firm believer in that, so take it one step at a time. I’m Lanie, by the way.”
I nodded. “I’m Micah.”
Lanie nodded with me. “Okay, Micah. Don’t worry. People may buzz a little about a mysterious bride in here, but I’m not saying a word and it’ll die down tomorrow.”
As if on cue, a toilet flushed in one of the three stalls.
Fuck me. I never thought to look for feet.
We both looked toward the door, as a tall redhead with boobs the size of basketballs exited the stall.
“Don’t mind me,” she said, flashing a perfectly lined smile, flitting a hand carelessly as she all but shoved Lanie aside to step between us and wash her hands. “But I couldn’t help but overhear. If you do decide to jump back on the wedding train, I can help you out.” She reached into a wristlet wallet and pulled out a card. “Katrina Bowman, event management.”
“Event what?” Lanie said. “Last month you were making jewelry out of your garage.”
“I am a certified event planner,” Katrina said, wheeling on Lanie like a ticked-off dog with a too-tight collar. “So don’t stand there in that dime-store dress getting all high and mighty with me.”
For about two seconds, I forgot about my plight. I froze in my reach toward my hair, zeroing in on Lanie’s face in the mirror.
“Katrina—” she began slowly, drawing out the syllables calmly.
“What, you gonna pull out your boobs again?” Katrina said. “No thanks. I’m a business woman and I’m working here.”
Lanie looked like she was counting in her head. Then she lifted two fingers in mock surrender. “I stand corrected. Plan away.”
“Anyway,” Katrina-the-event-planner said, turning back to me with an emphatic snub to Lanie. “Call me or visit my website. It’s right there on the card in pink.”
It sure was. Neon pink.
“I’m not getting married,” I said.
Sweet Jesus, that was the most liberating sentence I’d uttered in months.
“Oh, I don’t just do weddings,” Katrina said, tossing that red hair of hers. “I’ll do anything. If any of your friends have an event or a party to—”
“I don’t know anyone here,” I interjected. “And I don’t have friends anymore.”
That was both the saddest and most honest statement I’d ever allowed into my headspace. But it was true. The one quick scan I’d had of the wedding invitation list told me that. It was all Jeremy’s friends. Even our common friends we’d hung out with for years originated with Jeremy. In an apocalypse or divorce, I always knew which side they’d land on. The only contacts on that list who weren’t directly touching the Blankenship family in some way were the business clients Thatcher had provided.
All my old friends had fallen off the grid little by little. I met my own gaze in the mirror. I’d let that happen. I had let them disappear.
I let me disappear.
I sucked in a shaky breath as my eyes filled with unexpected tears, blinking them back quickly.
“Thank you, though,” I called after Katrina-the-event-planner as she sashayed out of the bathroom. I pulled the last pins from my hair and shook the stiff, hair-sprayed locks free with my fingers. “God help me,” I muttered under my breath.
“That ‘keeping things on the down-low’ plan?” Lanie said, making a chopping motion with her hand at neck level. “That’s history, now.”
“Yeah, I gathered that,” I said. “There’s a boob story?”
Lanie winked. “Another day. I’ve promised my husband to try to be less reactive and hotheaded over things I can’t control, so I’m not going to let her stir me up.”
I chuckled in spite of things. “I hear you. We have one of those in Cherrydale, too.”
“Prepare yourself,” Lanie said. “People you’ve never met will suddenly know all. Probably even know some things you don’t.”
“I need to do more than that,” I said, speeding up the hasty finger-combing. I stopped, backed up, and took inventory. Good Lord, I looked like a themed Halloween costume. “I need to go find a phone and prepare my brother.”
Lanie held hers out to me. “Knock yourself out.”
This woman was too good. She was the kind of person I wanted to be when I grew up, and I couldn’t let her put herself in the line of fire.
“I can’t use your cell phone,” I said, touching her arm. “Thank you. But my fiancé—or my ex-fiancé—is not one to take this without a showdown. I don’t know where I’ll be when he comes to find me, but I don’t want him showing up at your door when he checks phone records.” Those words bounced around on repeat in my head. I gripped the counter as a fresh wave of despair washed over me. I stared at myself in the mirror again, fresh-faced, no makeup, questionable hair tumbling down in dark waves around my shoulders. I looked more like me again, but what version? There used to only be one, and now there were all these fragments. “How did this get to be my life?”
Lanie sighed. “I was saying the very same thing last year, girl. It’ll pass.” She held out her phone again. “I’m not afraid of any man.”
I shook my head, remembering what Leo said about having to fight a fight that wasn’t his, just because Jeremy would be spoiling for one. “Your husband wouldn’t like it. Can you maybe ask the owner here if I can use the landline?”
“Mmm, Allie—” Lanie pulled a cringing face.
“She’s at my wedding, too, isn’t she?” I said, the words barely a whisper.
“With Bash,” she said. “They’re engaged.”
“Of course.”
“But my husband is the chef and he’s in charge while she’s gone so I’m pulling spouse rank, bringing you back there myself,” she said, grabbing my hand. “Let’s go.”
I let her pull me like a ragdoll, suddenly feeling just about as useless, dragging me into the chattering chaos of the diner, between the tables of curious onlookers, approaching the register touting a sign with a picture of a gorgeous blue-eyed man.
Sweeten the deal!
Vote our fabulous HONEY KING
Sebastian Anderson
for
Mayor of Charmed!
Of course.
Leo loomed at the end of the counter like a dark-haired Thor surveying his underlings. He didn’t see me yet, and I had the wildest urge to keep it that way. To just stand there invisibly and rest my eyes on him all day. I’d spent worse days.
If only I could be invisible.
Our progress halted as a woman with light brown hair strode up to the register, a cell phone to her ear.
“Stop. Calling. Me,” she said through gritted teeth as the girl behind the register looked on patiently. “Leave me alo—oh, believe me, I’d like nothing better than to never see you again, but now you get some of the misery.”
She slammed the phone down on the counter with satisfaction, taking a deep breath with closed eyes before opening them and smiling tightly at the girl.
“Sorry,” she said softly. “Call-in order for Graham’s Florist. Apple pie and cake balls. Throw in a jar of that honey, too,” she added, gesturing to the pyramid stack of honey jars sporting the Anderson’s Apiary logo.
The girl nodded on her way to the back, and my new friend Lanie reached out to the cell phone woman.
“You all right, Gabi?” she asked, making the woman start.
“Peachy,” she said, lifting the hem of an oversized T-shirt to shove the phone into the pocket of jean capris. She did a double-take on me. “Oh—wow, that’s a beautiful dress.” She glanced around as if trying to match me up with some equally decked-out man. “Congratulations.”
It wasn’t worth going through it all again.
“Thanks.”
“So, cake balls from here?” Lanie asked, clearly changing tack. “Not the bakery?”
Gabi lifted her eyebrows. “I’m doing an edible bouquet, and Nick’s balls are the best anywhere.” Her jaw dropped as Lanie laughed. “I mean—”
“Oh, I agree,” Lanie said, still laughing as Gabi’s face went scarlet. “Cake balls included. And the pie?”
“Something to keep me sane,” she said. “If lemon meringue was on the board today, I’d buy that, too.”
Lanie and I both nodded. I didn’t know about her, but it sounded like a fabulous plan to me. If I thought I had a place to eat a pie that wasn’t on the curb, or didn’t have to sell my body to pay for one, I’d totally copy this chick’s plan.
“You’ve probably heard about me and Bart,” Gabi said, blinking away.
Lanie gave a little shrug. “Just a little.”
“Well, in addition to that, my parents have now added landlording to their endeavors,” she said. “Being florists isn’t enough for them. They turned the space above the shop into two rentable rooms, and I swear if I hear one more thing about communal bathrooms or feng shui I’m going to lose my shit.”
The “florists” mention made my radar go up, and I searched my inner database for the local flower shops we worked with. Would she know me if I dropped my name? The last name, maybe. I wasn’t the person on the phone or the e-mails or the invoices. I was the one outside with my hands in the dirt, talking to things that couldn’t talk back. Or to Roarke, my helper, who didn’t talk back much either.
“You might should have gone for two pies,” Lanie said, squeezing her arm as she resumed our journey.
Gabi gave a small smile. “Nothing says I won’t be back.”
We continued on, pausing as we passed Leo, who Katrina-the-event-planner was touching repeatedly while laughing and tossing her red hair. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest like a club bouncer, an almost lazy amusement pulling at that amazing mouth, contrasting with the wary sharpness his eyes had taken on. The fact that he seemed more amused than turned on by her somehow made me happy. That thought did not.
Lanie turned as she passed him, nearly walking backward at one point as she peered at his profile. I’d never fault her for that. Married woman or not, Leo was hard to miss and impossible to ignore. But it was my turn to pause as his gaze locked in on me, completely tuning Katrina out.
His expression, his eyes, they were almost anxious as they took in everything. This place, the people, every conversation in hearing distance, body language.
Me.
God, the way he soaked me in made my skin go flush from my scalp to my toes. For one second, I missed the mask of the heavy makeup and fancy hair. I felt very naked as his gaze slid over my face.
“The real me,” I said on a nervous chuckle.
“Better,” he said just above a whisper.
Sweet Jesus.
“What the hell?”
A man’s voice from behind the bar made me spin around, jerking free of Lanie’s hand in automatic reaction as my heart slammed against my chest. My first thought had been Jeremy. I knew it wasn’t; it wasn’t his voice, but my reaction was the same.
“Babe?” Lanie said. My head swung back to see the befuddlement on her face that then morphed into something else. A knowing, a dawning of something crossed her features as she glanced back at Leo. “Oh, shit, I thought so,” she said under her breath, adding something about “Barrett intuition” as she headed around the bar toward him. “Nick.”
So that was the husband. As I looked back at him I noticed he wasn’t actually talking to Lanie or even looking at her. He was staring hot fiery bullet holes at—Leo. With the same eyes.
Same everything, but more polished. Like a slightly younger, more GQ version of Leo. Something told me this wasn’t about a job.
Leo, on the other hand, hadn’t moved a muscle, a finger, or even an eyelash. He stood there like a mountain of bristling calm, his eyes gone softer as he looked at Nick.
“Hey, little brother.”