Second Time Around (34 page)

“Nope. You know what you’re doing. In fact, I’d say you’ve accomplished quite a lot for seven a.m. on a Saturday. Don’t you want to come back to bed?” He took a step back. “Or would you prefer I make you some coffee and leave you alone to work?”

She couldn’t detect any trace of resentment in his tone, and was startled to realize she’d expected it. Over the last few years, she’d allowed her boyfriends to prioritize their own goals—both personal and professional—before her own. But Gavin considered her his equal. More importantly, so did Cait.

“No, stay.” She swiveled in the chair to face him. “This isn’t at all what I expected.”

“What isn’t?”

She spread out her hands. “Everything. My book isn’t what I expected it to be. You’re not who I expected you to be. Even
I’m
not who I expected me to be. ‘Real life’ is not as advertised.” She smiled. “It’s much better.”

He smiled back. “I love you.”

The words hung between them for a few seconds while
she stared up at him. He laughed and said, “From the look on your face, I can tell you weren’t expecting that, either.”

Cait didn’t bother trying to be eloquent or original. She simply replied, “I love you, too.”

He tugged her to her feet, then toward the hallway. “Come with me. I have this research project I’m working on.”

“You don’t say.”

“Yeah. I’m investigating what insomniac historical romance novelists wear underneath their pants.”

“You and those plaid boxer shorts. You’re obsessed.”

“That’s not fair; I’m always willing to try new things. Let’s get you some gilt leather sashes and see what happens.” He urged her toward the bedroom.

She gave him a hard, quick kiss on his cheek. “I promised Anna I’d help her transport the wedding cake to the president’s house and she’ll be here to pick me up in five minutes.”

His hands slid down to her hips. “We can cover a lot of ground in five minutes.”

Ten minutes later, there were clothes strewn all over the hallway and a car horn was blaring outside. Cait yanked her bra straps back into place, pulled on the black pants and white shirt Jamie had instructed her to wear “to blend in with my staff,” and combed her fingers through her hair.

She peered out the window, waved to Anna, and turned back to Gavin. “Do I look presentable?”

“You look—how would the Victorians put it? Beauteous. Like an angel in human form. Although I should probably tell you that your shirt’s inside out.”

“Jamie would rather I be on time than well dressed. I’ll be back by—” Cait glanced at the clock, then considered the unpredictable demands of her friends’ jobs. “I’ll be back
eventually. Hopefully tonight, but definitely by tomorrow.” She blew him one more kiss on her way down the stairs. “I promise I’ll make it worth your wait.”

“Have fun. Stay out of trouble.”

“Having fun is a given,” Cait assured him. “But staying out of trouble has never been our forte.”

A
m I hallucinating, or does this bride have a
mustache
?” Cait squinted at the delicate porcelain statue atop the wedding cake. She, Brooke, and Anna were attempting to set up the cake table in the back parlor of the president’s house, and as the morning sunshine intensified, she had started to discern an unmistakable shadow on the upper lip of Mrs. Richmond’s expensive, European, hand-painted masterpiece.

“Damn it.” Anna stopped arranging ivory rose petals on the dark red tablecloth and frowned at the cake. “You can still see that? I spent hours trying to scrub it off.”

“I didn’t notice it at first, but yeah, it looks like her ‘something borrowed’ is facial hair from the groom. Should I even ask what happened?”

“It would probably be better if you didn’t.” Anna turned the base of the cake so that the bride’s face was no longer in direct sunlight. “And for the love of all that is good and holy, don’t let Jamie see this.”

Brooke approached with a fresh cup of coffee poured from the silver carafe in the corner. “Here you go, Anna. You look exhausted.”

“A little bit.” Anna yawned.

“Another all-nighter in the kitchen?” Cait asked.

“No.” Anna’s eyes sparkled. “Jonas came up to visit me last night and we—”

“
Defiled
my bathroom,” Brooke interjected. “And what’s worse, you got water stains on the rug in the downstairs hallway.”

Anna choked on her coffee. “Are you kidding me?”

“I haven’t had time to install glass doors in the upstairs showers, so in the meantime, we have to make do with those flimsy vinyl curtains,” Brooke explained to Cait. “Well, some of us got a little carried away last night.”

“Pulsating shower head.” Anna grinned. “I only have so much self-control.”

Brooke was not amused. “The water sloshed onto the bathroom floor, leaked down through the ceiling, and ended up on the hallway rug. It was like an indoor rain forest.”

Anna busied herself with rose petal placement. “Relax, I’ll buy you a new rug.”

“I don’t want a new rug.” Brooke closed her eyes. “What I want is to remain blissfully ignorant of all the sexual escapades going on under my roof.”

Cait laughed. “What do you expect? When people go away for the weekend, they want a little vacay nookie.”

“Last night was like a Regency house party! Nothing but compromised virtue and midnight assignations!” Brooke shook her head. “I was up till all hours listening to headboards banging and glasses clinking and drunk people stomping up the stairs. And these are well-heeled, middle-aged couples!”

“Those are the people most in need of sexual escapades,” Cait pointed out. “They’re ditching their jobs and their kids and their stress for a few days. They need to cut loose.”

Anna glanced at Cait. “Hey, speaking of vacay nookie, how was Florida?”

“We defiled a few bathtubs ourselves.” Just the memory
triggered a little quiver. “Also beach dunes, a sailboat, and a hammock—that one was a little tricky.”

“Sounds heavenly. Where did you stay?”

Cait hesitated, then decided that her best course of action was to stick to the truth. “A cute little beach bungalow, right on the water.”

“In the middle of the season, on such short notice?” Brooke looked impressed. “Professor Clayburn must have some connections.”

Cait sidestepped the issue by saying, “I think you can call him Gavin at this point.”

“Especially now that we know about his sexual proclivity for hammocks,” Anna added.

Brooke put her hands over her ears. “I’m not listening! La, la, la!”

The next few hours passed in a flurry of activity as the three of them carried trays of food in from the caterer’s van, helped the florist drape the mantel in fresh greenery, and lined up rows of elegantly carved ballroom chairs in the living room for ceremony seating. Their efforts were rewarded by a brief appearance from the groom himself.

“Everything looks wonderful.” Terrence bowed down to kiss Anna’s hand with old-world gallantry. He looked tall and dashing and Spencer Tracy–esque in his charcoal gray morning coat. Cait finally understood what a vibrant younger woman like Sarah saw in him. He exuded power and stability. “The cake is a work of art, truly.”

“Thank you.” Anna beamed. “I just hope it tastes all right. I know orange-cranberry filling is a little unconventional, but Sarah was brave enough to let me take the risk.”

“This is no time for false modesty.” The president chuckled and kept Anna’s fingertips clasped in his own. “Your
reputation precedes you, my dear: You cook as good as you look.”

Anna pulled her hand free with a flustered laugh. “President Tait! Who knew you were such a flirt?”

His reply was drowned out by Jamie’s rallying cry:

“English majors! Please report to the master suite immediately!”

Cait, Brooke, and Anna raced upstairs to find Jamie clutching a clipboard and offering a box of tissues to a tearful Maureen Richmond.

“What happened?” Cait asked.

Jamie pointed wordlessly into the master suite, where a lacy wedding gown hung on the door of the armoire and the makeup artist awaited with her tools of the trade arrayed on the bureau. A quartet of bridesmaids milled around the doorway, whispering and glancing at Maureen.

“Where’s Sarah?” Cait asked. “Shouldn’t she be here by now?”

Jamie nodded. “She should be.”

Maureen blew her nose with a mournful honk and retreated into the bathroom.

“Oh no,” Brooke breathed.

“Oh yes.” Jamie addressed the other three with flinty-eyed determination. “Let’s mobilize, ladies. We’ve got a bride on the lam.”

J
amie dialed Sarah’s cell phone number again and gnawed her thumbnail. “I definitely should’ve waited til next week to quit smoking.”

“You quit?” Cait asked.

Anna patted her on the back. “Jame, that’s great!”

“Don’t congratulate me just yet; I’m going to relapse with a vengeance if we don’t find this chick in the next fifteen minutes.” When Sarah’s voice mail picked up (again), Jamie hung up her phone and turned to Brooke. “Time check.”

“Forty-five minutes until the ceremony is scheduled to begin.”

She moved on to Cait. “Groom check.”

“He’s still downstairs mingling.” Cait leaned over the railing and peered down at the guests starting to file into the front room. “As far as I know, he has no idea Sarah’s gone.”

Jamie pushed up the sleeves of her black blazer. “All right, Brooke, you keep Maureen and the bridesmaids corralled. Everyone stays upstairs with their lips sealed until further notice. There are extra boxes of tissue under the sink in the guest bathroom. Cait, you’re running defense on the groom, and Anna, you’re going to help me go door-to-door looking for our fugitive.”

Anna’s eyebrows shot up. “Door-to-door?”

“Well, bar to bar.”

Brooke blinked. “Why do you think she’s in a bar?”

“Hello, where else is a bride on the verge of a nervous breakdown going to go?”

“Maybe she went to a spa,” Brooke suggested. “Or, I know! In the movies, the jilted bride always goes off on her honeymoon alone.”

“Who’s broken off three engagements here, you or me?” Jamie said. “Trust me, girlfriend’s holed up nearby with a bottle of booze.” She jingled her car keys. “Come on, Anna. We’ll start down on Pine Street and work our way out.”

Five minutes later, Jamie pulled up the car in front of Pranza to drop off Anna—“Call me immediately if you see, hear, or suspect anything!”—and then continued on to the Pine Street Pub. The stools were stacked next to the long, brass-trimmed bar and the dining area was practically deserted at this hour on a Saturday morning, but Jamie strode over to the cash register and introduced herself to the short,
spiky-haired waitress who appeared to be the only employee on the floor.

“Have you by any chance seen a doe-eyed brunette in here? Pretty, petite, probably weeping?”

The waitress tilted her head toward the far wall, indicating the booths beyond the flickering neon beer signs and the deserted pool table.

Jamie found Sarah huddled in the back corner booth, surrounded by a veritable buffet of carbs: French toast, hash browns, blueberry pancakes.

She slid into the bench seat across from Sarah and helped herself to a hot buttered biscuit. “Hey, hon. How you feeling?”

Sarah didn’t look up from her plate. “You found me.” She heaved a weary sigh and shoved another forkful of pancake into her mouth.

Jamie rested her chin in her hand and waited.

Finally, Sarah stopped gorging herself long enough to say, “I’m starving. I can’t stand it anymore. It’s been six weeks since I had a bagel with cream cheese. All I do lately is fantasize about cheesecake and French fries and penne alla vodka. Vodka. I could do with a bottle of that right about now.”

“There’s a whole cake waiting for us back at Terry’s house,” Jamie said quietly. “I could have Anna put together a preceremony pastry sampler, if you want.”

Sarah put down her fork. “Are the guests already there?”

“They’re starting to arrive, yes.”

“Is the harpist set up for the ceremony?”

“She was plinking out a stirring rendition of Bach’s ‘Ode to Joy’ when I left.”

Sarah began shredding the paper napkin draped across her lap. “What about my mom? Is she—”

Jamie leaned in. “Forget your mom for a second. What about
you
?”

“I can’t go back there. I thought I could go through with this, but …” The bride’s lower lip quivered, and then she clamped her mouth into a tight little moue. “She’s going to be devastated. She’s been looking forward to this since the day I was born, basically.”

“Maureen will be fine.” Jamie pushed aside the plates and silverware and patted Sarah’s forearm. “I promise. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying you should hit her up for a loan tomorrow, but she loves you. She wants you to be happy.” She echoed Sarah’s own words from the week before: “You know how mothers are.”

Sarah slumped down even farther. “It’s not a good sign when you’re more upset about the prospect of upsetting your mom than you are about the prospect of losing the groom.” She glanced up, her expression strained. “I don’t know what happened. We were the perfect couple; you saw us. And then I spotted his assistant wearing that necklace. Do you know what he said when I confronted him about that? He said I was making something out of nothing. He said he loves me, but that he can’t be responsible for my insecurities.” Her eyes watered. “I don’t know if it’s him or if it’s me or what, but I physically couldn’t force myself into that wedding dress.”