Best Laid Wedding Plans (28 page)

Survival instincts kicked in, and he knew exactly what he wanted to do. He wanted to run.

“Order them,” he heard Jenni Beth say. “The fact that they come with all the serving pieces makes them ideal. With the pink roses in the design, we'll be able to pair them with Grandma Elizabeth's set. A service for twenty-four becomes a service for forty-eight. Any more than that, the bridal party will have to make its own arrangements with the caterer or go with disposable.”

Smart, Cole thought again. He had to hand it to her. She had her head on straight and made decisions with that big brain of hers rather than with emotion. But then, she was a businesswoman—or, at least, that was one of the hats she wore.

“Will do, honey.” Sue Ellen rose from the love seat. “Okay, children, go back to what you were doing.”

Cole felt himself turn crimson from head to toe. A sideways glance at Jenni Beth assured him she shared his embarrassment, ounce for ounce.

Sue Ellen, on the other hand, showed no such reaction. She kissed her daughter's cheek and patted the hand Cole rested on the mantel. “Have fun, but be careful.”

He almost swallowed his tongue as the door closed behind her. He and Jenni Beth nearly collapsed with restrained laughter.

“That probably shouldn't have happened,” he said.

“No, it shouldn't have,” Jenni Beth agreed.

“Never again,” he said, just before he drew her into his arms and kissed her again. Once.

Then
he turned tail and ran.

Dazed, Jenni Beth dropped into the cozy arm chair, a finger to her lips. She'd thought she'd loved Cole at sixteen. That was nothing compared to what she felt now. A single taste was enough to send her into a tailspin.

Cole. So totally unpredictable. What should she do about him? If only he'd stayed in Savannah where he belonged.

He hadn't been her first. She'd lost her virginity in college. But Cole Bryson
had
been the first—and last—to whom she'd given her heart.

Tansy had tried to warn her.

She rubbed at her forehead.

She'd be okay. She didn't need him or any other man to make her happy. She could do that herself. Her happiness, or lack of it, was her responsibility, not Cole's.

Mocking herself, she laughed wryly. A wedding planner who didn't believe in love?

No. That wasn't the case. She
did
believe in love and marriage. In dreams of forever. And she really, really wanted to be part of a bride and groom's special day. She wanted to make a couple's commitment to each other a celebration they'd remember for a lifetime because, darn it, Magnolia House brides wouldn't get divorced. They would, indeed, be happy forever after.

But those dreams didn't hold true for her.

Cole had returned to Savannah. Restless, Jenni Beth puttered around helping with some painting and cleaning up for the guys.

“Has anybody seen Beck?”

One of the guys looked up from the tile backsplash he was installing in the kitchen. “Last time I saw him he was working on the gutter system.”

“Thanks.”

She hurried outside and saw him at the top of a ladder. “Beck?”

“Yeah?”

“I'm going to Savannah. Just an overnighter.”

“Excellent. It'll do you good to get away.”

“If you need anything—”

“I'll give you a call or talk to your dad.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“Tell Cole I said hello.”

Her head snapped up. “What makes you think—”

“Don't even go there, honey. I've got eyes and ears. Tell him he'd better treat you right, or he'll have me to answer to.”

She smiled slowly. “Love you, Beck.”

“Love you, too. Now go. Get out of here and have fun.”

Within half an hour she was packed and heading down the drive. Because of the upcoming wedding, she couldn't stay more than a single night, but it would be good to see her friends again. And yes, Cole.

She couldn't wait to see Traditions.

Excitement bubbled in her.

Atlanta might be considered the capital of the South, but Savannah was definitely its brightest jewel. Genteel and full of tradition, it soothed the soul.

Founded by General James Oglethorpe in 1733, the city had come within a hairsbreadth of destruction during the Civil War. But even Sherman, after seeing the beauty of the city, had been unable to destroy it. Instead, he'd sent President Lincoln a telegraph presenting him the city as a Christmas gift.

And thank God for that.

Jenni Beth loved Savannah with its uneven brick sidewalks, the Victorian houses, Forsythe Park and its fountain. The Riverside at the Cotton Factor. Pecan pie and all things Southern. As far as she was concerned, Savannah was the center of the universe.

So much had changed since her great-great-great-great-grandfather had made this trip, delivering his bales to the cotton factors at the riverside warehouses before they made their trip downriver.

Money had been no problem for the Beaumonts. Then. It sure as heck was now. Doubt crept in. Again. The renovation was nearly finished, at least the first stage, but the question still remained: would they get enough business to pay for it?

She prayed Stella and Steve's wedding would go off without a hitch. She still needed a tent, though, just in case the old “rain, rain, go away” chant didn't work. If she had to borrow or steal—she'd already begged—she'd find the money for one.

Running a hand over her Corvette's steering wheel, she wondered if maybe she should take Tommy up on his offer to buy the car. The money would go a long way toward finishing the job. Oh, but she hated to part with her beauty. Still, if she had to… She prayed it wouldn't come to that.

Stella and her Bear were a gift. Their wedding would cover the paint job she'd had done on the outside of the house. And, oh, what a difference the fresh coat made! The old house smiled again and would look beautiful in Stella's wedding photos.

With that covered, she could use the loan money she'd earmarked for paint to buy new ballroom drapes and maybe refinish that floor.

Everything had been stretched that little bit tighter to cover Ms. Hattie's repairs, but she'd make it work. One way or another.

Jenni Beth turned onto one of Savannah's side streets. She'd missed the city's hustle and bustle.

While she was here, she fully intended to visit Leopold's for ice cream along with the bakery on her old street for a slice of hummingbird cake, calories be damned.

But she loved Misty Bottoms, too. Two completely different places, different auras. And each held a piece of her heart. After dropping off her overnight bag at the apartment she'd once shared with her friend Molly, she freshened up and drove down streets canopied by live oaks to the small restaurant on East River Street. It felt good to be dressed in city clothes again and doing lunch.

Walking through the door, she found Molly and Hal already there.

While they ate, they caught up on each other's lives. “How's the reno coming along?” Molly asked.

“Great, thanks to a whole lot of help from Cole and Beck.”

“Cole Bryson?” Hal fanned himself. “That boy is hot, hot, hot.”

“Yes, he is.” Jenni Beth grinned at Hal.

“Is he taken?”

She opened her mouth but stumbled, unsure how to answer that. “Um, you know, Cole plays for the other team, Hal.”

“You're sure?”

“Very sure.”

Hal's eyes narrowed. “You're blushin', sugar.”

“No, I'm not.”

“You most certainly are. Isn't she, Mol?”

Her friend laughed. “You're beet red.”

“Which,” Hal pointed out, “leads me to believe you know of what you speak.”

“I do.” She smiled.

“Is he a good kisser? Those lips…” Hal crossed his hands over his heart.

“He's the absolute best kisser. Ever.”

“Now you're gloatin'.”

After lunch, her friends went back to work, and Jenni Beth decided the time had come for her maiden voyage to Traditions. Hopefully she'd find something to use on the front porch. Cole had promised to haul anything she bought back to Misty Bottoms on his next trip.

As she turned onto his street, she wondered how she'd missed Traditions when she'd lived here. The building took up half the city block.

Stepping through the ten-foot-tall double doors, she blinked in the dim light. Two stories and a mezzanine, completely filled with treasures, spread out in front of her.

Wow.

Cole stood at the counter, paperwork spread in front of him. At the tinkle of the bell over the door, he looked up, his face lighting with a broad grin.

He needed a shave; he'd never looked better.

“Welcome to Traditions, sugar.”

He crossed to her and caught her up in a hug.

“I'm wondering if the appropriate reaction is to bow down to you. I stand in awe.”

He laughed. “I'm not one to say I told you so, but I believe I did tell you you'd like my store.”

“Like? Such a pathetically weak word to describe what I'm feeling right now. I could spend a week in here and still probably not see everything.”

Right inside the front door, Esmeralda, the fortune teller machine, welcomed her. “I love her! She makes me think of
Big
, the Tom Hanks movie.” Running a reverent hand over the carved wood, she asked, “Where did you find her?”

“At an estate sale. I'm kind of hopin' she never sells. We've grown rather fond of each other.”

“I'll bet.”

Everywhere she looked, Jenni Beth saw more treasures. Lights of all shapes and sizes hung from the high ceiling. The second-floor mezzanine begged to be explored. A door leaned against the wall, resplendent with old knockers that had been mounted on it. One in the shape of a yellow rooster called to her, and she knew she'd be taking it home. It might be nice at the bottom of the attic stairs.

Mantels, fireplace inserts, display cases crammed with hinges, keys, and drawer pulls. Doors and windows, tile, newel posts. Brass, copper, and silver. Overwhelming.

“How do you keep track of all this?”

“Computer inventory. We'd be lost without it.”

She glanced at the clutter that spilled over the counter and the shelves behind it and didn't doubt that for a second.

“How can you stand it, Cole? Don't you want to build a house around all this?”

“Hah! I already have. I've incorporated a lot of salvaged material in both my places, the one here in the city and the one at home.”

Home, she thought. He still called Misty Bottoms home. The place had a way of seeping into the blood.

“Where are you stayin'?”

“With Molly. She hasn't found a new roommate yet, so my old bedroom is empty. I think she's still hoping I'll move back.”

“Not much chance of that.”

She shook her head. “No. I intend to make my wedding business a success. A huge success.”

“Then you will.”

His absolute certainty in her humbled her. She covered with, “Can I wander around?”

“You bet. That's what we're all about.”

As she headed for the stairs, he said, “I've practically begged you to come and now that you're here, I have to run across town. If you see anything you want, have Mickey tag it. How about I pick you up at six? We can grab a bite, take in a little bit of the city. It's supposed to be a nice night for a stroll.”

Oh yes. She'd like that.

* * *

Cole rang the doorbell right on the dot of six.

“Molly, can you get that?” Jenni Beth asked.

“You bet.”

Even though she'd only brought a couple outfits, she'd managed to change her mind for the third time about what to wear.

She piled her hair into a messy updo and slipped into a little red silk tank dress, long, black flapper-style beaded necklace and earrings, and snake-print pumps. When she stepped into the living room and saw his face, she knew she'd chosen well.

“Every man we run into tonight will envy me.” He held out a hand, spun her in a circle. “Yes, ma'am, you look great comin' and goin'.”

“You don't look too shabby yourself.” In fact, he practically made her salivate. She rarely saw him dressed up. Tonight he wore gray slacks with a black shirt and tie. It would be a real test of discipline to see whether she could keep her hands off him.

Nodding at her shoes, he asked, “Can you walk in those? Thought we might walk along the river.”

“I could run a marathon in these.”

“Good enough. I don't know how you women do it, but I'm not going to quarrel because the view is spectacular.”

His eyes swept up her legs, and she fought the urge to fan herself.

“Come back to my bedroom with me. I want to show you something.” She slid her fingers beneath his necktie and led him down the hall.

He gulped. “Ah, is Molly leavin'?”

She shook her head.

One step inside her room, he stopped, puzzled. Nose in the air, he breathed deeply.

“Dang, this room smells good. It smells like you.” He walked to her and buried his face in her neck. His hands ran up and down her bare arms and goose bumps popped up.

“Maybe instead of us goin' anywhere, I could give Molly some money. Send
her
out to dinner.”

With a laugh, she shook her head and pulled away. “Huh-uh. You promised me a night on the town, Sir Galahad, and I aim to collect.”

“So why'd you bring me back here?” His voice had grown husky.

“This.” She pointed at an old trunk near the window.

“This is what you wanted to show me?” His gaze drifted from it to the double bed to her face. When their eyes met, his had gone deep and dark. Sleepy and sexy.

She decided her light-headedness could be blamed on a lack of oxygen because she'd totally forgotten to breathe.

“The trunk was my grandma's. It held her trousseau when she moved into Magnolia House as a new bride. I couldn't squeeze it into the miniscule U-Haul I rented, so I left it with Molly. Do you think you could take it to Misty Bottoms on your next trip home?”

The look he sent her was pure male frustration.

“I miss having it with me.”

On a half-laugh, he said, “Sure.”

Taking her hand in his, he held it up. Studied the pinky. “You've got me pretty much wrapped around this little finger, don't you?”

“No,” she said. “But I'm working on it.”

He laughed, full-out this time. “You're positive you don't want to stay in and play?”

She nodded.

“Okay, let's go. I made reservations.”