The SEAL's Best Man (Special Ops: Homefront Book 2) (8 page)

Maeve stomach lurched. Less than four
weeks to go. No dress. No caterer. No cake.

This was going to be one hell of a
wedding.

Staring at a closed dressing room door,
Maeve talked into her iPhone. “She’s got three more she’s trying on, Vi. You
want me to Skype you in again so you can see?”

From the other end of the phone, Vi’s
exasperation was palpable. “Do they look any different from the other eight I
saw?”

“Not really.”

“Then forget it. I have a meeting in five
anyway.” As one of CNN’s most recognizable financial reporters, Lacey’s sister had
to be efficient with her time. “Just email me a picture if she actually buys something.”

“I will. Bess and I were thinking about
picking out bridesmaid dresses today. Any objections?” Maeve asked, thinking Vi
really should be part of the decision since she was maid of honor.

“Are you kidding? Go ahead and pick out
whatever you want. In fact, if you pick something out for me, I’ll buy you a
case of your favorite Merlot. I’ll never get around to it. Have you thought
about a bachelorette party?”

“I ran it by Lacey and she doesn’t want
anything much. She wants to be in bed by 10 so she’ll look radiant the next day.”

“Probably smart. She’s such a lightweight
with alcohol. Hold on.” Vi started talking to someone else in her office.

Maeve could somehow picture Vi in her
designer suit, tapping away at her computer, juggling three or four different
conversations at once, all within six inches of a steaming cup of Starbucks.

“Sorry about that,” Vi said into the
phone. “I better go. But plan some manicures or facials or something for all of
us after I arrive. My treat, okay? Least I can do since I’ve been a deadbeat maid
of honor.”

“You’re not a deadbeat,” Maeve lied. “But
I could sure use a manicure. Thanks, Vi.” Maeve turned off her phone, still
staring at Lacey’s door, hoping she’d step out in something she liked. She
glanced at Bess. “Does it really take this long to put on a dress?”

“No kidding,” Bess muttered. “My butt’s
falling asleep in this chair.”

Picking at her fingernails from sheer
boredom, Maeve glanced up when she heard the creak of the dressing room door. Looking
unimpressed, Lacey moved toward the mirror.

“Isn’t that the same dress you had on
before?” Bess’s tone dripped of sarcasm and Maeve gave her a smack on the leg.

“No,” Lacey said defensively. “This one
doesn’t have that little flower thing on the waist.”

Maeve shared a look with Bess, who was
biting her lip, probably to keep herself from making another comment.

“Do you like it?” Maeve asked
apprehensively.
Please say no.

“It’s tasteful.” Lacey’s tone was
noncommittal. “I could dye it after and probably wear it to a military ball,
you know? I kind of like that.”

Maeve clenched her hands together,
resisting the urge to fly out of her seat and slap some sense into her friend.

Bess’s face scrunched up. “Did you really
just say that you’d
dye
your wedding dress?”

Lacey’s eyes widened. “It’s practical. And
those ball gowns I have to buy for these military functions get expensive.”

“But it’s your wedding dress.” Bess drew
the word “wedding” out to last about three seconds, as though Lacey had never
heard the word before.

“And you don’t love it, right?” Maeve
confirmed.

Lacey looked at herself in the mirror
again and shrugged. “No.”

“Well, thank God, ’cause I hate it.” Maeve
stood, giving Lacey a final once-over before heading back to the assortment of
gowns they had pulled from the racks. “A wedding gown is something you should
love—love enough to not be willing to dye it afterward.” She handed the
bridal consultant a strapless mermaid gown with a sweetheart neckline. “I’d
like to see her in this one next, please.”

Lacey gave her head a quick shake. “That
one’s too princessy for me, Maeve. Too poofy. I’d feel like a meringue.”

“Lacey, I love you. But your taste sucks.
You don’t know what looks good on you. And it’s not even a princess style. It’s
a mermaid.”

“And it’s a wedding dress,” Bess piped
in. “There’s nothing wrong with a little poof on a wedding dress.”

Maeve narrowed her eyes. “Put it on or
I’m putting it on you myself. Got it?”

“I’ll hold her down while you pull it
over her head,” Bess volunteered.

Lacey sighed, grumbling something about
overbearing bridesmaids as she headed into the dressing room.

Bess snickered as Maeve moved back to her
seat. “’Bout time you made her try on something you picked out.”

“If I didn’t, we’d be here all night and
I’ve got a date.”

“With who?”

“Joe. You know, the SEAL CO.”

Bess fluttered her hand to her chest. “Be
still my heart. Another SEAL for us to entertain on Scrabble nights? Just
promise me I can still live in your house after you’ve married him.”

“Not bloody likely. Mick told me he’s
been married twice. If two divorce decrees hasn’t soured him to marriage, I
don’t know what would.” A smile hitched up on Maeve’s face. “I’ll just have to
use him for sex.”

“What a chore, huh?” Bess laughed.

Maeve glanced over her shoulder to the
selection of bridesmaid gowns. “Want to check out something for us while she’s
changing?”

Bess followed her to a rack packed with a
rainbow of brightly colored gowns. “Sure. Did Vi give us the go-ahead to pick
something out?” Gazing at the price tag of the first one she found, she bit her
lip.

“Yep. And a bonus for the person who
finds her a maid of honor dress. A case of Merlot.”

“If I win, can I trade it in for baby
food?”

“I’m sure that would be fine with her.” Maeve
reached for the tag on a dress. “The prices are great here.” She had hoped
Lacey would get lucky and find a dress sample at one of the boutiques they had tried.
But Maeve had to admit that this warehouse-like store, though lacking in
ambiance, really did have a good selection of reasonable gowns.

“Yeah,” Bess replied in a quiet voice. “I
just see numbers and calculate how many diapers that buys.”

“I’ll cover whatever you can’t.”

Bess looked annoyed by the offer. “No,
you won’t. You cover too much already. And you don’t even have a job now,
Maeve. I’ve got to start acting like a responsible mother, rather than your
coddled friend.”

“I don’t coddle you.”

“Yes, you do. And I love you for it. But
I’ll be damned if I can’t buy a dress for her wedding on my own.”

“Okay, okay.” Breezing her hand against
the flurry of price tags dangling from the rack, Maeve was drawn to a number so
low she was almost too scared to pull the gown from the rack. She eyed the
dress, pleasantly surprised, picturing how the right accessories might make it
look designer chic rather than knockoff cheap. “What do you think of this one? We
could see if they have it in red, to match some of the roses in our bouquets.”

Bess nervously bit her lip. “I like it.” Hesitantly,
she took the price tag in hand and beamed. “I like it a lot.”

“Let’s see what Lacey says.” Maeve
glanced over at the door to the dressing room and saw her friend emerging, a
smile on her face.

A sweetheart neckline punctuated with
crystals cascaded to a dropped waist accentuating Lacey’s curves. Flowing
layers of organza swirled downward, embellished with delicate lace appliques. Her
cheeks were flushed, and her eyes welled up with a sheen of tears as she looked
at herself in the mirror.

“What do you think?” Maeve asked, and
held her breath.

“I love it,” Lacey said, looking as
though she didn’t believe the words would ever come from her mouth. “It’s not
at all what I was picturing. But I feel like—”

“A bride?” Maeve offered.

“Yeah. A bride.”

Bess grinned. “And you could dye it after
for a ball.”

Lacey held her hands to the front of the
dress protectively. “Over my dead body.”

Triumphant, Maeve looked at the bridal
consultant. “We’ll take it.”

Joe stood as Maeve approached the table. “For
the record, when I offer to buy a woman dinner, I’m willing to spring for more
than burgers,” he offered as he pulled out her chair.

Maeve smiled as she drank in the sight of
him in uniform. His chest was adorned with so many more service ribbons than
Jack, or even Mick. “I’m sure you are. But I was in the mood for burgers and
they’ve got the best.”

Their small table was set against a
window overlooking a side street off Main. Quaint historic row houses with
colorful trim lined the lamp-lit street, and tourists darted off to their
hotels, or out for a night in one of Annapolis’s ample selection of pubs.

Following Maeve’s gaze, his eyes were
drawn to the view. “I know. I used to go here during my Academy days.” He
glanced downward. “I don’t think they’ve cleaned the floors since then.”

Laughing, Maeve took the menu from the
waitress. “I hope I’m not late.”

“You’re right on time. I’m early. I had a
late meeting at Fort Meade, but didn’t have enough time to change, so thought
I’d come straight here.” He cocked his head apologetically, and his smile was
nothing less than intoxicating. “Sorry about the uniform. Of course, Mick would
probably bet I sleep in the damn thing.”

Maeve’s lips curved a touch upward. Mick
had said something to that effect. “He only had good things to say about you. But
from his description, I think I might tell you that you work too hard.”

“Goes with this,” he said, pointing to
his command pin. “But when I retire at thirty years, I plan on never answering
another email. And I’m never shaving again.”

She tried to picture it. Even at seven
o’clock the man didn’t have a speck of stubble on his strong, angular jawline. He
probably shaved in between meetings, just so he could be as much the perfect officer
at night as he was first thing in the morning. “And the high and tight? Getting
rid of that, too?”

He ran his fingers through his short,
cropped hair. “You think this is a high and tight? You don’t see enough
Marines. I’d need to cut it a quarter inch shorter for that. But your idea’s
not that bad, actually. Maybe I’ll grow it long. Start a garage band.”

“Do you play an instrument?”

“Not a damn one. No time for it. But I’ve
been told the way my fingers play the M240 machine gun, I might have some
promise with a guitar.”

Maeve laughed, surprised by how easily conversation
flowed in Joe’s presence as they chatted about everything from the best way to
grill a burger to where to find the friendliest people in Europe.

Some men knew a little bit about
everything, just to keep a conversation going. Joe seemed to know a lot about
everything. And she didn’t hesitate to tell him so. “Is that from traveling so
much with the Navy?” she asked.

“A little. But mostly it’s from reading. When
I’m deployed, there’s lot of prep time, training for a mission. But then there
are these long lulls while you wait for the green light. I like to read
then—open my mind to history and the ideas of other cultures.” He
scoffed. “I try to make my men do the same, but they’d rather pick up an iPad
and play a game.”

They ordered their meals and Maeve
relished in hearing about his travels. She had been to France twice, but that
was the limit of her European explorations. Italy, she made a mental note. She
would see Italy next, she decided as she listened intently to him describe a
NATO training operation he led along the Cinque Terre coast.

Comfortable, she leaned back in her
chair, letting the oaky Merlot that Joe had selected for her send a warm sensation
through her body.

For a woman who was described by her
friends as a serial dater, Maeve actually hated dating. Men would just stare at
her, so fixated on the superficial, and Maeve would always be the one carrying
the conversation. How refreshing it was to spend time with a man who had
opinions about something other than football, and ambitions broader than just
wanting a bigger TV than his buddies.

“So why were you in Paris? Work or play?”
he asked.

“It’s impossible to go to Paris for work and
not at least play a little.”

“True.”

Maeve toyed with the stem of the
wineglass, remembering. “But it was mostly work last time I went. The firm had
a client who demanded everything be completely unique and direct from France. They
were the most obsessive, spoiled, and impossible couple to work with. But
seeing as I got a free trip to France out of the deal, they still go down as my
favorite clients.”

“Impressive.”

“How so?”

“You must be good at what you do to
travel at someone else’s expense.”

Maeve shrugged. “I used to think so.
Maybe I got a bit too cocky, though, because I quit my job and now I’m flailing
around, trying to figure out my next move. My friends have been pushing me to
open my own company rather than work for someone else. It’s riskier than I
usually like things. Takes luck, too, and I may have already used up my share
of that.”

“If luck were something you could run out
of, I’d be dead by now, Maeve.” His cell rang, and he reached into his pocket
to silence it. “I’d love to see some of your work.”

“I actually just put up a website. Well,
my friend Bess did, actually. And Jack convinced me to do a few Navy families’
houses pro bono, just to get some publicity.”

“Jack.” He leaned back. “You mean
Falcone?”

Maeve nodded. “He tells me you Navy
people have a hard time decorating houses since you move so much.”

“He’s damn right about that. A 3,500
square foot house came with my command and I have furniture in just two rooms. It’s
ridiculous. Guess they assume that anyone at my rank should have a wife and three
kids by now.” He laughed, taking a sip of his beer. “Two ex-wives was the best
I could do.”

“If you take some pictures of your rooms,
I can give you some advice.”

“I’d love that. As CO, I’m expected to
host a lot of socials, and I can’t do that on a futon.” His finger toyed with
the condensation on the bottle of Arrogant Bastard. “And he’s right. Word
spreads in Annapolis. The locals love a good Navy story.”

“I hope so. But in the meantime, it just
makes me feel good to be doing something for these families. I mean, I know
it’s just throw pillows and some paint, but to make a house feel like home…”

“Don’t undersell how much it means to
come home to a welcoming place when you’ve been at sea for six months,” he
interrupted. “So you and Jack. What’s the deal there?”

“Jack? Oh, I’ve known him since forever. Feels
like that anyway. He’s—like my brother.”

Joe laughed. “Christ, don’t tell him
that.”

“What?”

“I saw the way he looked at you that day
in front of Rickover Hall. And it’s not like a brother. You didn’t just drop
out of a stork’s basket. You should know that.”

Maeve sighed. “Well, there might be
remnants of something. We—dated briefly a long time ago.”
Dated?
Maeve
nearly laughed. She and Jack had shared a weekend of unbridled sex. There had
been no dates involved. She cleared her throat awkwardly. “But we’re just
friends now. We want different things.”

“You and all men. Men want a good steak,
sex, and a remote with fresh batteries. Of course you want something different.
You’re a woman.”

“I meant the bigger picture. Future.
Kids.”

“Do me a favor and don’t tell him that
right now.”

“Why?”

“Because where he’s headed, he should
keep his optimism up.” He paused only long enough for a chill to shoot up her
spine. “So you do or don’t want kids?”

“They’re not in my plans,” she answered
vaguely.

“I’m with you there. After three
commands, I feel like I already raised enough children.”

“How about getting married again?” she
asked.

“Thanks for the offer, but it’s just our
first date.”

Maeve laughed. “Seriously, do you think
you’ll try again one day?”

“They say three’s a charm. But I’m
definitely waiting till I get out of the Navy. We have a saying, ‘If the
military wanted you to have a wife, they would have issued you one.’”

Maeve tilted her head. “Some marriages
survive it. So what’s their secret? With Mick marrying my best friend, I better
have some advice to give him.”

“You’re asking the wrong man. Two
divorces, remember?”

“That should make you the expert. You
know what not to do.”

Joe looked thoughtful for a moment. “I
guess the key is not to make too many withdrawals.”

“Excuse me?”

“A marriage is like a bank. You make
deposits. You make withdrawals. If you come up too much in the red and can’t
pull yourself out of debt, you’ll be seeing a lawyer.”

“I never thought about it that way.”

“Being in the service, Mick automatically
will be taking plenty of withdrawals out. Missed birthdays and anniversaries. All
the stress that comes with being married to a man in the service. So I’d tell
Mick that when he is home—when he’s actually around—make plenty of
deposits. I didn’t do that. When I was stateside, I was still working the long
hours and away too much. I focused on my career 365 days a year.”

“But it got you a command.”

“Yep. And promoted early three times in a
row.” He took a sip of beer. “And divorced twice, which isn’t something I’d
recommend to Mick.”

“Me neither,” she agreed, tucking away
his advice for the next time she saw Mick.

***

As Maeve shut the front door gently
behind her, she could still feel the warmth of his kiss on her lips, even
though at least fifteen minutes had passed since he had walked her to her car.

The man oozed sex appeal, and it was a
wonder Maeve hadn’t invited him home with her. God knows it had been ages since
she’d had sex and she couldn’t help the curiosity of what might lie beneath
that perfectly starched uniform.

With her body still humming from the
energy of good conversation and healthy flirtation, she ventured to the back
porch to relax.

Joe Shey.
The man was an enigma. A bod molded from
steel. Sense of humor, and eyes that generated an electric charge. Smart. Funny.

How the hell could he be twice divorced? Were
the women on crack?

Swinging the back door open just as her
nose noticed the curious smell of something burning, she saw Bess and Lacey
sitting on the deck, armed with hot glue guns. “Hey. I hope you guys weren’t
waiting up for me.”

Lacey’s face scrunched as she squeezed the
gun, making a line of glue along the rim of a candle votive. “Don’t flatter
yourself. We’re still trying to finish this brilliant idea you had for adorning
these stupid candle holders.”

Bess handed Lacey a piece of red ribbon.
“Temper, temper. They’ll look pretty when they’re done.”

“Sure, but my carpal tunnel is killing
me.”

Maeve slipped off her heels—God,
they made her feet hurt now that she had become so accustomed to Lacey’s
borrowed flats. Sitting at the table, she outstretched her hand. “Here. I’ll
take over.”

Relief breezed over Lacey’s face.
“Thanks. I need some aspirin. I’ll be right back.”

“How’d the date go?” Bess handed Maeve a
fresh glue stick to load the gun.

Maeve looked at the cream-colored stick,
baffled. She had never been the crafty type. “Fine. Perfect, really.” It had
been the perfect date. Lively conversation, never waning, with a man she could
easily let herself get wrapped up in like a spicy enchilada.

 “Fine? Or perfect? Because there’s
a world of difference between the two.”

“I don’t know. He’s—an incredible
man. There’s nothing lacking. But he’s just not—”

“—Jack,” Bess finished for her.

Lacey popped back through the door.
“Jack? What about Jack? Did I miss something?”

Bess grinned. “Maeve was just telling us
how she would have rather been out with Jack this evening.”

Maeve cocked her head to the side.
“Rewind. I did not just say that. If I recall, my exact words were something
like Joe Shey is an incredible man. The only person who mentioned Jack is
Bess.”

Lacey nodded sagely at Bess. “Jack is
pretty amazing. He’s like one of those superheroes. Nerdy brain-boy by day. Saves
the country by night. Mmm.”

Bess raised her eyebrows. “Don’t forget
you’re engaged.”

Lacey snorted. “Just ’cause a girl is
engaged doesn’t mean she can’t point out the good thing her friend is
completely
ignoring.”

Furrowing her brow as she squeezed her
gun against a votive, Bess glanced up. “True.”

Maeve crossed her arms. “So I take it you
don’t want to hear about my date with Joe.”

Bess shrugged. “You’re home by eleven. We’re
guessing there’s not much to report.”