Turnabout's Fair Play (42 page)

T
ight searing pain blocked Flannery’s throat. Tears stung her eyes. Bright-white dots danced in her peripheral vision. She needed to sit down.

Then she remembered to bend her knees, and the dizziness vanished. Mostly. Even though they’d picked ten o’clock in the morning for the ceremony time, the last Saturday in August was usually one of the hottest days of the year.

As a recorded version of some classical music Flannery’d never heard before played over the borrowed sound system, Caylor walked through the split in the small crowd gathered under the spreading hickory tree surrounded by flower gardens in the yard of Dylan’s grandparents’ home.

Carrying two white roses, Caylor came toward them dressed in a white sundress that fit her to perfection. They’d managed to get a few of the sprigs of baby’s breath to stay stuck in her artfully messy, short red hair. Her bare feet sank into the thick grass, and she grinned at Dylan.

Flannery sniffled and exchanged a smile with Zarah, who was in pretty much the same condition. Unlike the last wedding she’d been in, this time, all of Flannery’s tears were tears of joy—for Caylor and for herself (and for Zarah, since she’d missed out on getting tears of joy from her).

Caylor’s father kissed her on the cheek and placed her hand in Dylan’s and then stepped back.

“If you’ll all gather round.” Mr. Bradley raised his arms slightly, and the semicircle of the nine family members not involved in the wedding—plus one nonfamily member—closed and drew in tighter.

Jamie had chosen to stand on Dylan’s side of the circle, even though he had more family here. But Flannery didn’t really mind all that much. After all, she could look right at him without even having to turn her head. But she didn’t do more than glance at him every so often, because he gave her such outrageously flirtatious winks and smiles that she was afraid she’d bust out laughing. And that wouldn’t do at all. Not with Dylan’s mother and maternal grandmother standing close enough to smack her around if she disrupted the ceremony.

Caylor took each of the single white roses Flannery, Zarah, and Sage held, and she and Dylan gave one to each of their mothers and grandmothers.

Why did only mothers get recognized with flowers during a wedding ceremony? Shouldn’t something be given to the fathers as well? Flannery would have to think about that for her wedding.

She stole a glance at Jamie—and the knowing expression on his face sent a flash-fire of heat over her shoulders and up to her hairline, as if he knew what she was thinking. About her wedding. About
their
wedding.

Within just a few minutes, vows, rings, and kisses had been exchanged. For now, Caylor had told them Sunday at coffee, they were exchanging very simple, inexpensive gold bands. But later—maybe for their first anniversary, once Dylan had been working full time for a year—they would buy a real wedding set.

After hugs and kisses all around, everyone adjourned into the blissfully cool, air-conditioned house for the catered gourmet brunch provided by Dylan’s parents.

“I have to hand it to Dylan.” Flannery stacked mini-waffles on a small plate and then piled strawberries and whipped cream on top of them. “He knows how to throw a wedding.”

Zarah, cutting into a wedge of quiche, nodded. “If I’d known he was this good at it, I’d have hired him to plan my wedding. Of course, he would have been at loggerheads with Beth most of the time.” Zarah widened her eyes, and Flannery laughed. With Zarah’s own mother gone since she was eight and her father and stepmother not interested enough in Zarah to even attend the wedding, Bobby’s mother—with Bobby as her only child—had gone a wee bit mother-of-the-groomzilla on them.

Flannery scanned the open-plan parlors in the remodeled Victorian until she found Jamie—laughing and cutting up with Dylan’s brothers on the sofa in the room across the entry hall. When—if—no,
when
they got married, she’d make sure his mother felt as involved as possible, though given the distance, with her in Utah, that might be hard. Of course, with her own mother a three-hour drive away, it wouldn’t be all that easy to involve her in all the little details.

But that was okay. She had Caylor and Zarah to help her with that. And Cookie. Yes, Cookie would definitely need to be involved.

Caylor came over and hugged both of them again. “I still can’t believe I’m actually married.” She looked down at her left hand, and her smile gave no indication that she missed the presence of a diamond ring or fancy wedding band. She looked up and winked at Flannery. “I guess you’re next, huh?” She turned and positioned herself between Flannery and Zarah and looked toward Jamie.

If she’d meant to tease Flannery, it didn’t work. Flannery sighed and smiled. “I hope so.”

After Dylan and Caylor’s wedding, what had been the best and most eventful summer of Jamie’s life finally settled into a good routine. He went to the Lindsley House offices two days a week to work with the marketing team on his assigned projects and attend the nonfiction book team’s weekly meeting. Even though he was only a contractor working on a project-by-project basis, he started to feel like part of the team, part of the community.

And he got to have lunch with Flannery on those days.

The other three days, he worked a few hours at home and then took his computer to a coffee shop or restaurant where he could work in the noise and chaos that best suited him.

His acceptance to school had been provisional, based on receipt of his test scores, which they did receive, and his status went from provisional to full acceptance the second week of August.

While Cookie and Big Daddy traveled to Alabama, New Orleans, Florida, and then Michigan to visit Kirby’s family, Jamie took care of her garden. And he and Flannery reaped the bounty—especially when Flannery told him she’d enrolled in a healthy-cooking class offered at the community college.

Now when she came home the three nights she didn’t go to class—coming to his place after work, since it was just down the street—she couldn’t wait to get into the kitchen with him and try out new recipes and techniques.

“That’s not how you’re supposed to cut a tomato.” She pushed him out of the way and showed him the very slow, cautious method she’d learned in class.

He let her do it, enjoying the sight of her in a kitchen—in
his
kitchen. “We’re going to have to go over to Cookie’s house tomorrow morning and pick all those tomatoes and take a bunch of them to Caylor and Dylan’s with us.”

“I hate to see those go to waste. We’re supposed to be learning how to make marinara next Tuesday night. Maybe I could do that—make a whole bunch, buy some nice jars, and can it, and then we won’t have to buy the expensive stuff anymore.” She hunkered over the cutting board and started on another tomato.

The bacon would be completely cold by the time she finished slicing it, but they’d have the most beautifully cut tomatoes on their sandwiches anyone could ask for.

“What time do you want me to come over so we can go pick them tomorrow?”

As tempting as it was to offer to let her spend the night—in his guest bedroom, of course—he couldn’t put her in a compromising position like that. So it was a good thing he planned to do something about that…and soon.

“What time are we supposed to be at Caylor and Dylan’s?”

“Around three or four. They said something about starting to grill about six o’clock. Did you ever hear back from Danny and Chae?” She took the slices and fanned them out on a paper plate, just so.

“Yes, and they’re looking forward to coming and to meeting everyone. Let’s go over to Cookie’s to work in the garden early—because it’s supposed to be a scorcher tomorrow. Say nine?” At her nod, he slipped his arms around her waist from behind and kissed the side of her neck. “Thank you for cutting the tomatoes.”

“You’re welcome.”

They took their dinner out onto the back deck and enjoyed the sounds of the neighborhood—people coming home from work, kids playing—and the aroma of grills that intensified as the evening progressed.

After they finished eating, Jamie reached across the table and took Flannery’s hand. “What do you want to do tonight?”

“I thought…since we’ve never done it before …” She blushed and looked away.

Where was she going with this? “What?”

“I thought maybe we could watch some of the King Arthur movies together. Just one tonight, of course. Or maybe two.”

Jamie stood, leaned across the table, and kissed her. “That’s why you’re my princess.”

Watching
meant, naturally, discussing as the movie progressed. At one point, Jamie had to pause the DVD, go upstairs, and get one of his books that contained comprehensive information on all of the legends so that he could try to prove something to her. And he learned a very important lesson.

“Repeat after me: ‘I will not doubt Flannery when it comes to details about the legends of King Arthur and the knights of the round table.’ “

He crossed his arms and sat on the floor in front of the sofa instead of beside her. “I’m not saying that. You were right
this
time. It doesn’t mean you’re going to be right
every
time.”

She mussed his hair and stretched out on the sofa behind him. “Do you really want to find out? I wrote my senior literary criticism piece on these legends. I took both a medieval literature course
and
a seminar focused just on these legends as an undergrad.”

“I’ve
got
to take you to one of Danny’s gaming nights. You’d be able to save them so much time just by being a walking encyclopedia of the legends.”

“Sounds like fun. Once or twice. I don’t intend on becoming a geek about all this.”

“No, because knowing all the stories backward and forward, including all the more recent stuff, doesn’t make you a geek about it.” He shot her a wry look over his shoulder.

She pushed his face away. “Until you came along, I managed to keep it very well hidden and under wraps. This still isn’t going to become some big, public thing for me.”

“If you insist.”

They got caught up in the movie again—and when it was over, Flannery groaned and complained about the long drive back to her condo downtown.

“You know, there is something you could do to change that.” Jamie carried the empty popcorn bowl and glasses back to the kitchen. He rinsed the empty cranberry-grape juice bottle out and tossed it in the recycle bin.

Flannery leaned on the breakfast bar, cheeks pink. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“That townhouse two doors up is still on the market. I hear they just dropped the price.” Oh, he was so bad.

She flung a dish towel at him and then flounced toward the door. “I’m going home.”

He walked her out to her car and gave her a very unsatisfying good-night kiss. He knew all too well that until she became his wife, he wouldn’t be satisfied with a kiss and a wave at the end of an evening together. But tonight, he could live with it. Because tomorrow, he would put his plan into action.

“I am so not ready for classes to start next week.” Caylor fanned herself with her straw hat.

“I am.” Dylan did a cannonball into the pool, splashing them with water.

The cool droplets felt good on Flannery’s legs, but the relief from the oppressive August heat didn’t last long. “Don’t get started with me about the whole ‘Waa, I have to go back to work’ thing. Some of us actually have to work all year long.”

“Hey, I wrote a whole novel this summer. And edited it. And turned it in more than a month early.”

“And I painted all summer.”

“Oh, to have the freedom to spend all summer writing or painting.” Flannery pressed the back of her hand to her forehead in a melodramatic pose. “I shall now be forlorn because I chose the wrong profession.”

“All you have to do is finish your master’s degree, and I know JRU would hire you in a heartbeat to teach composition and grammar.”

“And have to grade all those essays for the composition classes? I don’t think so!”

“You thinking about changing jobs?” Jamie held the bottle of water over Flannery so ice and water dripped on her.

“Hey!” She grabbed the bottle. Jamie put his down beside her lounge chair and then followed Dylan’s lead and jumped into the pool, making as big a splash as he could.