Beach Wedding (7 page)

The past is thick between us. I catch my breath, feeling dizzy. How
many beers have I had?

“I… I should get going.” I back away.

“But what about the game?” Wes protests, just as Luke
sinks the final ball and straightens up. “Best two out of
three?”

“Sorry, buddy. Another time.”

Wes sighs. “I’m just delaying the inevitable. Camille’s
been puking all over the bathroom.”

Luke chuckles. “Send my love to Kate.”

“Will do.” Wes gets his jacket, and I find my purse.

“How are you getting home?” Luke’s voice stops me.

I turn, surprised. “I’m walking. It’s not far.”

“I’m heading that way. I’ll give you a ride.”

I pause. “Umm, OK. Thanks.”

He gives a curt nod. “Ready?”

I follow him out to the parking lot, to a brand-new blue truck. “You
haven’t changed your taste in cars,” I say as he opens
the passenger door.

“No, ma’am.” Luke grins just for a moment as he
helps me up inside. His smile sparks right through me, as youthful as
I remember, but adorning a man’s face now. It warms my whole
body, makes my heart beat louder in my chest. Then he seems to
remember himself. The smile slips. He slams the door shut.

I catch my breath in the dark cab as he crosses around. Feeling this
way is just nostalgia, I try to tell myself. Muscle memory, like
playing pool.

He gets in and starts the engine. I don't have to give him
directions. I can tell he knows the way to my aunts’ house by
heart, even though it’s off the beaten path. We must have made
this drive a thousand times, sneaking back after my curfew with my
hair in a tangle and my buttons done up wrong. We would park in a
spot up the coast a few miles, a secluded hideaway in the woods where
nobody would see the windows steam up. God, the hours we spent
together, learning each other’s bodies by heart.

He was my first. The only one, I believed, back when I was too young
to know any better.

The silence stretches. I sneak a glance as his profile, silhouetted
in the dark. My heart aches to look at him, and I realize that all
the excuses I’ve been making to my aunts about staying away
these years have been lies. The real answer is right here in this
truck.

Luke.

I didn’t come back because I was scared this would happen, that
time would melt away and I would feel all the emotions come rushing
back again. I never could control myself around him. He sparked
something in me, something reckless, passionate, and free. God, it’s
been one evening, and already I want to crawl across the seats and
wrap myself around him. Hold on tight, and never let go.

But I can’t.

My heart may have longed to return, but my head knew we would never
have made it work. Those fights would have gotten louder, and those
resentments would have built to boiling point. I was doing us a
favor, I told myself, and I still believe it’s true. But
regret? That’s another story, and one I need to share.

I open my mouth. “Luke.” My voice is shaky in the dark.
“I want to explain—”

“Home again.” He cuts me off, turning down the drive.

“But Luke…”

“No, Ginny, it’s fine.” He cuts the engine and
looks over, his face set. “It was a long time ago. We were
kids. You don’t need to explain anything to me.”

I exhale, disappointed. Maybe he’s right, and I shouldn’t
go dragging up the past. Even though it weighs on me still.

I go to open my door, but Luke jumps down and comes around to open it
for me. I swing out but misjudge the distance, and stumble to the
ground.

“Whoa there.” Luke catches me easily, gripping my arms
and pulling me against his chest.

I freeze.

The physical contact hits me like a mack truck: the shock of his
touch on my skin, the heat of his torso pressed against me. Luke was
always in shape, but the years have honed his body to a slab of pure
muscle.

I look up. He’s staring down at me, a tender expression in his
eyes. He reaches to brush a strand out of my eyes.

His fingertips are gentle against my face. I have to close my eyes,
take a breath to try and savor the touch, block out everything but
this glimpse of the past: Luke Porter’s hands on me, and
everything right in the world.

Then I feel his lips on mine.

He kisses me softly, like no time has passed at all. His mouth is
cool, grazing mine like an invitation, before he eases my lips open
and slides his tongue into my mouth.

My arms are up around his neck before I can hold them back. I press
against him, feeling the rush take me over. It’s amiliar and
foreign all at once, this heat racing through my body. God, I’ve
missed his kiss, his hands, his mouth. For a moment, I’m
completely caught up in the amazing feeling.

Then, suddenly, he wrenches away.

My eyes fly open, I gasp for air. Luke’s face is set, furious.
Without a word, he storms around and climbs into the truck. The
engine starts, and he takes off, tires grinding on the dirt road as
the headlights disappear into the dark.

I watch him go, my head spinning. What the hell just happened?

“And… action!”

Pixie and Clyde stroll arm-in-arm down Main Street, beaming
together. “Isn’t this cute?” Pixie is saying, her
blond hair curled in perfect messy waves. She’s got Buster
trotting beside them, and a bouquet of fresh daises under one arm. “I
never got to grow up in a small town like this, but I can just
imagine getting married right here.”

“You know what, babes? Me too,” Clyde agrees. “What
the hell, who needs a fancy city wedding when we can do it right
here. Whatever my Pixie wants.”

“You’re so good to me,” Pixie coos. She leans in
for a kiss, and—

Buster suddenly explodes, barking like crazy. He takes off, yanking
on his leash, heading straight for the pelican sitting on a fence
post.

Pixie shrieks, loses her balance, and falls right into the flower
stand. Buckets of roses go crashing to the ground around her. The
flower guy, Mickey, lets out a stream of expletives.

“And cut!”

There are groans all around. The camera crew stops filming. Marcie
throws down her clipboard in disgust. They’ve been at it all
morning, but something’s always getting in the way. First, it
was Delilah from the farm, demanding to know why they were using
Mickey’s flowers and not hers. Then, the Alpine power-walking
group steamed right through the shot, and finally, Clyde broke down
in a sneezing fit from his allergies.

I never knew so much effort went into a few short minutes of TV.

“Reset for take!” The call goes up, and everyone rushes
to help Pixie up and recreate the perfect spontaneous scene.

“That dog,” Marcie scowls, pushing past me. “If I
could wring its little—Pixie! Clyde! That was just fabulous!”
She’s all smiles, steering them back into place. “Just
once more for the cameras, and then we’ll move on.”

Pixie frowns. “Buster’s getting tired,” she says.
“Can we take a break? I need to sit down for a minute.”
She looks around. “Where’s my smoothie?”

Theo rushes in with a fresh bottle. “Right here,” he
smiles. “You had that one nailed. You’re a natural on
screen,” he adds, and Pixie perks right up.

“You think?”

“Definitely.”

“I thought about becoming an actress,” she tells him, as
the crew cleans up the mess and reassembles the flower cart. “But
I can never remember my lines. It’s way easier when it’s
like this, and I just have to be myself.”

“Pixie?” Marcie interrupts. “One more take?”

Theo winks at her. “You’ll knock ‘em dead.”

Pixie is reassured. “OK, one more time.”

“Perfect.” Marcie sighs. “Places, everyone!”

I move a safe distance away, while they try it one more time. So
much for being discreet: since the production arrived in town this
week, all of Pelican Key Cove has come to a standstill. There are
massive trailers parked along the streets, electrical cables running
everywhere, and people clustered watching on every corner, getting
their glimpse of real life celebrities.

“No, act natural!” Marcie tries calling to the group of
townspeople standing woodenly by the square. “Just walk around,
go about your business. Ignore them!”

She’ll be lucky. Everyone’s preening for their big moment
on-screen. This town is usually all about casual beach wear: no
shoes, no shirt, no problem. But ever since the crew rolled in, I’m
seeing full makeup and enough fancy cocktail dresses to fill a
pleasure boat cruise. Right now, there’s a group of teenage
girls giggling by the library, wearing skin-tight skirts and sky-high
heels, like they’re about the hit the Miami club scene. It’s
a novelty right now, but I’m worried how people will take it in
another week, when the excitement’s worn off and they’re
faced with a massive production cluttering up their town.

I duck under a barrier and find a quiet spot to check my messages. If
there’s one good thing about all the chaos, it’s been
helping keep my mind off that kiss with Luke. Almost.

I sigh, remembering the feel of his lips on mine. I haven’t
seen or heard from him since that night, even though I find myself
searching every crowd and passing face. But try as I might to
distract myself, I can’t help replaying it over and over in my
mind.

What was he thinking?

Get your head in the game
, I tell myself sternly. He was
probably just falling victim to the same nostalgia I was feeling too.
Old chemistry dies hard, but I need to focus on this wedding if I’m
going to pull off the job of a lifetime. Otherwise, my failure’s
going to be broadcast to the nation on almost-live TV.

“There you are,” Theo finds me hiding behind a trailer.
“They finally got the scene wrapped. Now Marcie needs us for a
staff meeting at the inn.” He turns to leave.

“Wait, come walk over with me.”

Theo frowns. “I was supposed to go fetch Pixie’s juice.
She’s getting them sent in from the city, but they have to be
drunk fresh.”

“Um, aren’t you supposed to be
my
assistant?”
I ask. “Where’s my cold-pressed vegan agave juice?”

Theo laughs. “Uh, if I brought you one of those, you’d
probably fire me on the spot. Don’t worry, I’ll still
keep you in coffee and cell phone chargers. I just figure, you know,
happy bride, happy life.”

“Uh huh.” I watch him, narrowing my eyes. “Just
remember, I’m going to need you for this job even more than
usual. The rest of the team is up in New York handling my regular
clients. It’s just you and me for this rodeo, partner.”

“Yee haw.” Theo grins.

We stroll over to the inn. Just as I expected, the crew has taken
over every square inch of available space in this town. They have
people bunking two to a room at the old motel by the beach, and Pixie
and Clyde are staying right here at the Pelican’s Nest. It’s
definitely a far cry from Kincaid Kastle: no whirlpool tub in the
middle of the bedroom, just old wicker furniture and tiny pelican
figurines at every turn.

“Marcie’s in a foul mood today,” Theo warns me,
whispering as we step through the front door. “Apparently,
nowhere in town does gluten-free. She nearly had a meltdown at the
bakery trying to get a wheat-free muffin.”

I laugh. “I can just picture Eddie’s face. Good luck with
that one.”

“I’ll try and get the juice people to bring some on their
trips.” He catches my incredulous look. “Hey, as far as
I’m concerned, we’re dealing with two brides here. Pixie
needs to keep calm, but Marcie’s the one you’re really
pleasing.”

I look at him, impressed. “I didn’t think about it like
that.”

Theo’s idea makes perfect sense. I’ve been going about
this all wrong, trying to ignore Marcie and focus on keeping the
couple happy. But if she’s our proxy bride, then I need to make
sure she’s not worried about a single element of this wedding.
“Thanks.”

Theo grins. “I’m not just a pretty face.”

We meet the others in the Tiki-decorated living room. Marcie’s
there with her production assistants, plus Pixie and Clyde, and the
director, Enrique. He’s a serious-looking man with a tiny
goatee. Whenever I’ve tried talking to him about the show, he
just mutters something about ‘cinematic verisimilitude’
and ‘ur-reality as a statement of modernism’. I make sure
to take a seat on the other side of the room from him.

“So,” I greet Marcie brightly. “Looks like
everything’s running smoothly.”

She blinks. “Are you kidding me? This is a disaster!” She
lets out a piercing whistle for silence. “People, I’ve
been reviewing the dailies, and this stuff is useless. Worse than
useless. A total waste of time.”

“I thought today was sweet!” I protest. Rule 1 of dealing
with difficult brides: see the bright side in everything.

Marcie just snorts. “You mean dull as a freaking dishrag.
‘Babes, I love you.’ ‘Pumpkin, I love you too’,”
she mimics. “We need drama! Action! A reason for your fans to
keep tuning in, instead of just changing the channel and looking at
all the wedding photos online.” She looks at me. “Where
are we with the wedding plans? Any juice there?”

I’m not sure what she means by juice, but I’ll go squeeze
a dozen of the oranges on the tree out front if it means keeping this
gig running smoothly.

“I’ve put together a checklist. I usually sit down with
the couple to start making decisions. We need to pick a venue, a
theme, flowers. Bachelorette party, too, so we can send invitations
and get all her friends lined up. Luckily, everything’s local,”
I continue, “So Pixie and Clyde will be able to meet everyone,
and get a real sense of the wedding.”

“Yes!” Marcie exclaims, lighting up. “Of course, we
can film all this stuff. America will love watching them get their
hands dirty. You can fight over the table settings, make up with a
romantic cake tasting. Will they make it to the altar, or will the
wedding planning tear them apart? Front page, guaranteed. Love. It.”