Toss the Bouquet (17 page)

And with a sad smile, he climbed inside his car, leaving a pile of mutilated groceries on the pavement behind him. April stared after him until his car disappeared, slowly beginning to realize they now shared the same raw emotion.

Just like that flash of a smile Jack had just given her, sadness wrapped its arms around her and squeezed tight.

“You said what?” It was the third time in two minutes
Kristin had asked that same question with that same horrified lilt on the last word, and April was more than sick of it.

“I told him he was just so hilarious. That he wouldn't know the truth if it bit him on the butt.” Maybe she hadn't exactly worded it that way, but that's what she meant. If he was a smart guy, he would figure it out.

Her sister ran the pad of her index finger across her eyebrow to wipe away a phantom drop of nonexistent sweat—there's no reason to sweat when you're not doing anything but giving orders to your personal slave of a sister—and glared at April. “Why would you say something like that? I need him to be in top form for the wedding, not worried that you're going to have some meltdown in front of everyone while he's up there trying to sing. For once in your life, think of someone besides yourself, April.”

A harsh laugh escaped before she could stop it. “Oh
that's rich coming from you.
Think of someone besides myself?
Kind of like you were doing when you asked him to sing in the wedding in the first place? Who were you thinking of then, Kristin? Who were you thinking of then?” April hated the way her voice had risen to such a high pitch, but there was no stopping it. Hysterical and whiny were sometimes her thing.

Like self-righteousness and arrogance were sometimes Kristin's thing. “I was thinking of you. It's way past time to put this whole grudge thing you're holding against Jack behind you. It isn't healthy. It isn't smart. And unforgiveness isn't good for the soul. Plus it causes wrinkles.”

“It does
not
cause wrinkles, and I'm twenty-two. Hardly at a place in life where I need to worry about them.”

“Sure, you say that now. But someday you'll thank me when you're in your forties and still look like you're twenty-eight.”

April rubbed the space between her eyebrows, trying and failing to figure out how a conversation about Jack Vaughn's jerkiness had headed south on a path that practically waved a pink banner endorsing Botox injections.

“Can we get back to the subject at hand, please?” she asked her sister.

“Sure. You need to forgive Jack.”

“This has nothing to do with forgiveness. This has to do with ethics and morals and taking things that don't belong to you.”

Kristin sucked in a breath. “April, it was a song. You don't even know if he took it on purpose, and besides, it's not like he robbed a bank or something.”

And this was the response her family often gave, much
like the
jingles
statement her sister had made yesterday. It was only a song. A song that just happened to be
the
song that skyrocketed Jack's singing career. And sure, maybe she was jealous. Maybe she was angry. Maybe she was even a tad bit vengeful. But deep down, all she really wanted was an apology. Nothing elaborate; nothing grandiose. But it's hard to move on and really make peace when an offense has never been addressed in the first place.

But it was pointless to talk about it with her sister. She didn't understand. In fact, no one really did.

“You're right, at least he didn't rob a bank.” Sometimes it was easier to smooth the waters than to walk through a rising current of lectures. Today, April decided to aim for calm.

Kristin lowered her mascara wand and smiled at her through the bathroom mirror. “I'm glad you're finally coming around.” She'd been practicing her wedding makeup for well over an hour—applying and removing and switching up color pallets only to apply and remove all over again. They were currently on round four, and in April's opinion every single application looked the same. “And I'd like to hear your thoughts on that eventually, but first tell me what you think of this look.”

“I think it's perfect,” April said on a sigh, swallowing any hopes for an understanding conversation.

“You've said the same thing about all of them,” Kristin pointed out. “I need your opinion, April. I'm not just doing this for the fun of it. I have less than seventy-two hours to find the right colors. How am I supposed to do that without your help?”

“Maybe Mom can help you when she comes tomorrow.”

Kristen just looked at her. “Dear Lord, is that tomorrow?”

“Yep.” April picked up a tube of lipstick and pulled off the cap. Gold. Gold looked good on her. “I'm sure she'll be ready to give you all sorts of opinions, especially when she sees the church.”

Both girls grimaced. “She's going to hate it. Every bit of it. She wants a high-society wedding on my very tiny budget. Even what they've chipped in isn't going to give Mom the showpiece she's dreamed of.”

April rubbed her lips together. “Whatever. She's still mad at me for working at a bar and trying to make it as a songwriter instead of marrying a doctor. We're both huge disappointments.”

At that, they laughed. “They'll deal with it eventually,” April continued. “Besides, if you want my opinion, they should be proud to have two daughters who make their own way instead of becoming clones of their parents. At least we're not spoiled rotten. Or, at least one of us isn't.”

Kristin jabbed her in the side. “Very funny. But speaking of opinions . . .”

Now that she was in a slightly better mood, April tried to focus once again. “Okay, what color is this? Purple? Violet? Mauve? I don't remember what you told me.”

“It's a pale wine.” Kristin fluffed her hair and shook it a little, then turned her face from left to right, examining and critiquing her image from every angle. “I think I've narrowed it down to this one or the nude theme. Which one did you like better?”

If she'd had a coin in her hand, April would have flipped
it over and called out the lucky answer. As it was, she had nothing in her possession right then but an old hairbrush and her sister's well-used tube of L'Oréal lipstick. Neither one was all that flippable. She came up with an answer anyway.

“I say go with the nude. It's safe, it's classic, and it goes with everything. Plus I don't have time to see anything else. I have to get to work.”

Jack started sweating when he hit the parking lot. He hadn't been here since he walked out three years ago—his last night on a job that had opened more doors than he ever thought possible. Since then, life had been a whirlwind of opportunity and introductions and press junkets and travel on his rapid rise to stardom. He wouldn't trade a minute of it. Wouldn't change it for the world.

Except now he felt like he was walking into a time warp of delayed disaster—the whirlwind of fun quickly morphing into a hurricane of impending doom.

April still worked here. He'd found out that awesome piece of news earlier when he called in to check on the performance he was set to give an hour from now. And presently, he was begging his Maker that tonight might be her night off. And begging wasn't an exaggeration. The words
please, I'll do anything you say
had gone through his mind at least a million times in the last hour, coupled with the phrase
I'll even start going to church
.

Not that he shouldn't have been doing that already, but still.

It took less than two seconds to realize all that begging was for nothing. The door had barely shut behind him when he saw a familiar apron skimming the thighs of a not-so-familiar set of legs that would have sent any red-blooded American male's pulse racing. He remembered those legs from three years ago,
and
from the five minutes he'd spent alone with them in a parking lot yesterday. April had changed in a lot of ways, all of them favorable. All of them positive. All of them pretty darn good.

His eyes traveled upward until they connected with hers. He swallowed and took an involuntary step backward; the scathing glare she nailed him with wasn't so favorable. He guessed some things hadn't changed after all, despite a hot set of legs.

Jack squared his shoulders and walked forward, thinking he was Jack Vaughn. Jack Vaughn didn't cower. Jack Vaughn didn't worry about what other people thought. Jack Vaughn certainly wasn't intimidated by a waitress in a bar, especially not one who just dropped a tray of beer all over an unsuspecting dude's lap. When the man looked up and sent April a murderous look, Jack forgot his hesitation and moved forward to help.

“I'm so sorry,” April was saying. The horror in her voice tore at him a little. “I don't know what happened, the tray just tipped before I could stop it.” She set the now empty tray on a nearby table and yanked a few napkins out of a metal holder, using them to pat the guy down. Jack didn't think she realized how inappropriate she was being, but he didn't stop her.

“Lady, quit pawing at me.” The customer ripped the
napkins from her hand and used them on himself, swiping at his shirt and pants and leaving a trail of paper napkin dust all over himself. “Look at me! I'm a mess!” He flung his hands in the air and stood, pushing his chair back in the process and creating the beginnings of a small scene. “This is going to cost you.” He pointed a thick finger in April's face, a gesture that made Jack's blood simmer. “I want to see your manager right now.”

April nodded. “Okay, I'll—”

Jack couldn't take watching anymore. “Hey, man, I'm pretty sure that was an accident. Why don't you let the girl get back to work, and I'll buy another round for your table?” Jack fished a hundred dollar bill out of his wallet and handed it to the guy. “And maybe this will replace the pants.”

Just as he hoped would happen, the guy blinked at him, his jaw dropped just enough for Jack to know he'd been recognized. This was the best and worst part of fame—the worst when people wouldn't leave you alone, the best when it could be used to help out a friend.

Although in this situation, he used the term
friend
in the loosest way possible.

“Are you Jack . . .?”

“Sure am. And I need to get ready to sing.” He offered his hand, hoping it would seal an end to the situation. “So are we good here?”

The guy shook his hand and nodded, all traces of anger diminished to the point that Jack doubted he would even remember tomorrow. “We're good. But I will take you up on that round.” And with that, the guy smiled.

Jack laughed and assured him he would place the order,
then turned to face April. If he was being really honest, he was rather proud of himself. It wasn't just anyone who could diffuse a situation like that. It took someone special to swoop in so quickly and rescue a woman. It wasn't just any day that—

“I didn't need your help, Jack, and I darn well don't appreciate it.” If anyone had been standing behind him, they would see his self-congratulatory thought bubble leak, deflate, and float to the ground. “Next time you want to throw your weight around, do it at the expense of someone other than me. Got it?”

And with that, April snatched up her tray and marched away, leaving Jack Vaughn—
the
Jack Vaughn with the really cool career—wondering what the heck just happened.