Wish Upon a Wedding (14 page)

Easton picked up her wineglass and handed it to her. “I was hoping you'd say that.” He tapped the rim of his glass to hers. “To our first vacation.”

Carrie Ann nodded and took a sip of the Merlot. “Thank you, Easton,” she said, and felt a warm rush of emotion wash over her. “No one has ever . . .”—she had to stop and gather herself together—“done something this sweet and thoughtful.”

“Well, those days are over.” He leaned over and gave her a tender kiss. “Get used to being pampered because it will never end. So where do you want to go?”

“Well, I don't have any idea. But we can have lots of fun figuring it out.”

“Then it's a yes?”

“Yes.”

Carrie Ann thought that Easton made it easy to say yes. Instead of holding back she should be embracing each and every moment with this wonderful man. “Well, we should get to fixing dinner soon.”
Say it!

“Okay.”

“But there's something else I have to tell you.” She felt a rush of emotion.

“What, sweet pea?” He ran his fingertip over her bottom lip.

“Easton . . . I—I love you,” she said softly. Her heart knocked against her ribs and her breath caught, but she'd said it, and she was suddenly very glad that she had the courage because it was worth seeing the happiness shining in Easton's eyes.

His finger stopped moving and he pulled her into his embrace. “I love you too, Carrie Ann. I've wanted to say it to you for a long time. I mean, I know we both knew it. But saying it just makes the bond so much
stronger. We're older. Set in our ways. And our past has a lot to do with both our strengths and fears. But I'll be honest with you. I can't imagine not having you in my life.”

Carrie Ann felt a hot tear slide down her face.

“Aw, sweetie.” He rubbed the moisture away with the pad of his thumb.

“I'm sorry,” she said in a husky voice. “I've wanted to say it too but I was so afraid. I know this sounds crazy but I felt like if I said it that what we have would somehow change. I was having an ‘if it ain't broke don't fix it' kind of thing rolling around in my head. But I have to say that saying those words has strength and power that we both needed to hear and to say.”

Easton cupped her cheeks with his palms. “Say it again.”

“I love you, Easton Fisher.” She put her hand on his chest and felt the solid beat of his heart. He was a strong, healthy man and would live for a very long time. She needed to put her fear of him dying, of losing him, to rest for good and to simply enjoy being with him every minute they had together. There would always be some complications but this was a solid beginning to what could be a long future together. “Now, let's get dinner going and then on to the other fun activities we have planned for the rest of the evening.”

“No arguments here.”

“I will have to start thinking about where I want to go on vacation.”

Easton reached over and took her hand. “Like I said, wherever your little heart desires. And this is only the beginning.”

Just One Look

S
ophia opened the oven a few inches and peeked at the lasagna. “Oh, it's getting there.” She nodded with satisfaction when she noted that the marinara sauce was bubbling around the edges. “I'll start tossing a salad now,” she said over her shoulder to Avery who sat on a stool at the small kitchen island.

“Dinner smells wonderful.”

“Oh, I love the aroma of Italian food.” She smiled at him thinking he looked too cute for words. “I would pay a cover charge over at River Row Pizza just to walk in the door and sniff.” Avery smiled back and it occurred to Sophia that whenever she was around him, she did a ton of smiling. All she had to do was look at him. That was all it took.

“I could do this all night, you know.”

“Watch me cook? I tend to overcheck things and putter around even after everything is actually ready. You would get bored.”

“No way. I think your puttering around is so cute.”

“You do? Maybe I need a few moves.” She danced her way over to the refrigerator making him laugh.

“I think I'll buy you a sexy little apron. Would you wear it?”

“For you, of course. Make sure it says, kiss the cook.” She swiped her finger across her chest.

“Then you'll definitely only wear it for me.”

Sophia knew he was flirting but she loved the fact that he spoke as if their relationship was real. “I can be very entertaining. I know I should leave well enough alone because at some point I'll knock something over or not be able to reach something and have to climb up onto the countertop to get to the upper cabinets.”

“You do that?”

She nodded. “I've been doing that sort of thing since I was a kid. It used to drive my mother crazy. And you should see how I get things down from the top shelf at the grocery store. I would be good at mountain climbing.”

Avery appeared horrified. “You could fall, Sophia. And the washing-machine thing?” He shook his head. “You need to stop doing that stuff.”

“Or break my neck as my mom used to say?” She laughed, but felt a warm pull of happiness that he was concerned for her safety.

“I need to get you a step stool for here, too. Have you been using the one at the salon?”

“Yes, that step stool has become my best friend.” And she thought of him every time she used it.

“Well then, I'm jealous.”

“Of a step stool?” She opened the refrigerator and handed him a bottle of Black Magic Ale from Broomstick Brewery. “Why is that?”

“I want to be your best friend,” Avery said in a teasing tone, but there was a hint of seriousness in his eyes. He lifted the swing-top from the bottle and poured the ale into the pilsner glass she'd provided.

Not knowing quite how to respond, Sophia put the head of lettuce on the island. Would he ever want her to be more? They'd already established a real
connection that went beyond being friends. The attraction was there and it was mutual. But she thought after sharing the hot kiss that they might take their fake relationship into real territory. She felt her heart do a little tap dance in her chest at the thought. “We're already close friends, Avery.” She washed the head of lettuce beneath the tap and set it on the cutting board to make a wedge salad.

“I was joking,” Avery said with a slight frown. “Surely you know how much I care about you.” He hesitated as if to say more but took another swallow of his drink. “Of course we're friends,” he finally added. “You know that, right?”

“Oh, I do.” Sophia suddenly wanted to ask him what was really on his mind but she didn't want to scare him off by getting too serious and ruining the playful mood. That would put a damper on the rest of the evening. “I'm sorry. You already know I'm an overthinker. Worry is my middle name. Sophia Worry Gordon. That's me. Worry swirls around in my brain and sometimes I come to a conclusion that isn't really there.” She made a twirling motion above her head. “My mother thought my frequent frowns was depression and I suppose in a way it is because worry can turn me into a Debbie Downer.”

“I find you to be upbeat and pleasant, Sophia. I don't think of you as a Debbie Downer at all. In fact, you light up the room when you enter. You have a quiet way about you but you sure do make me smile. You make everyone smile.”

“I've tried hard to overcome the whole worry thing but it rears its ugly head now and again.”

“Worry is another sign that you care, Sophia. One of the many good qualities that I love about you.”

She lifted one shoulder and tried to ignore the words “love” and “you” in the same sentence. “Oh, I know. I sure would rather fret than not give a fig.”

“Well, there you go.”

“But I tend to think about what the worst-case scenario could possibly be. As a hair stylist that can be stressful,” she admitted with a shake of her head. “When doing color I'm still a little bit afraid that the result would be something crazy, like green or orange, even though I check the formula several times. Like I keep checking the lasagna every few minutes.”

“And did unexpected color ever happen?”

“Oh yes, it's bound to happen from time to time. There are too many variables. Clients tended to fudge about doing home hair color or if they colored their hair at all. And then other factors come into play, like if they are taking any medication, things like that.”

“So what did you do if the color came out all wrong?”

“I fixed it.”

Avery smiled. “Well, there you go. I can tell you from personal experience that most broken things can be fixed.”

Sophia chuckled. “I would imagine that you can. There's got to be such satisfaction in what you do.”

“There is.” He nodded, but a bit of a shadow crossed his face and she wondered if he was thinking that there are some things that can't be patched up, like a relationship. But then he brightened. “So tell me a mess-up story.”

“Well . . . I can tell you some of those.” Sophia took a sip of her wine and then licked her bottom lip. “But once in a blue moon the mistake became something the client ends up loving.” She chuckled. “And of course I'd act like it was intentional. It could happen with a cut too. ‘Oops' isn't something you ever want a hair stylist to say.”

“I would imagine not. You know, I never really thought about the fact that your job can be super stressful.”

She nodded. “And physically demanding too. I've had rotator cuff issues from so much blow-drying.” She put her glass down and demonstrated the rolling
motion. “And even though I had an assistant for a few years, I get carpal tunnel syndrome that causes numbness and tingling in my fingers. And I'm still young.”

“And being on your feet all day long doesn't help.”

“Oh, for sure.” Sophia nodded. “A lot of stylists are going with stools now, but I never could get used to one. And of course I worry that we're exposed to a lot of chemicals, which are a part of the business that can't be avoided. I've made extra sure that White Lace and Promises has ample ventilation.”

“I didn't really think about that either. Well, and of course hair is such a big deal to people too. I never really liked having curly hair. When I was a kid I would get it all buzzed off.”

“I love your curly hair!” Sophia walked over and ran her fingers through it. “It's so nice that you take an interest in what I do. Honestly, I think that people take their hair stylists somewhat for granted.”

“You're right. I think we take a lot of people in the service industry for granted. It's a hard job—you have to be precise and creative at the same time.”

“Oh boy, it can be really nerve-racking when someone comes in and asks for a particular cut, you give it to them, and then they hate it. It's usually going from very long to very short. I had a girl with waist-long hair insist that I cut it off into a supershort pixie. I begged her to do a gradual change but she seemed so sure. . . .”

“I'm feeling an unhappy ending.”

“Oh, Avery, she burst into noisy tears. And then
I
started to cry.” She shook her head at the memory and had to take a sip of her wine.

“Did she come back to you?”

“Yes.” Raising her eyebrows, she nodded. “And guess what.”

“She's kept it short ever since.”

“You guessed correctly. I'm probably boring you with my stories.”

“Sophia, I enjoy listening to you as much as I enjoy watching you. In fact, I enjoy being with you, period.”

“Well, the feeling is totally mutual,” Sophia said. “And of course, being a hair stylist requires being a good listener. For many clients getting their hair done is such a pleasure. And it should be a really good experience from start to finish.”

“So go on. Tell me more.”

“Well, some people aren't all that good at communicating what they want.”

“Then a picture is helpful, right?”

Sophia sliced through the head of lettuce. “Not always. The problem is that the photo is usually of some gorgeous celebrity and the client often thinks that getting the same hairstyle will totally transform them into looking like the actress.”

Avery laughed. “So they think you can work miracles.”

“Sometimes, I do. A new haircut or color can make all the difference. And product. At first, I hated trying to sell styling products, because I felt as if the client thought I was trying to push things on them but you can't re-create what I do in the chair if you don't have quality products at home.”

“True. It's called maintenance and it's one of the reasons I do so many repairs on appliances.”

“Oh, I didn't ask—do you like a wedge salad with bleu cheese dressing, bacon, and avocado?” She was enjoying the conversation while she prepared the final stages of dinner. Going out with Avery was fun but this was just so relaxing and intimate.

“Sure do. It's one of my mom's favorites. She makes it now and then.”

“Oh good,” Sophia said, thinking she would love to meet his parents. “I know that healthier salads with dark greens, like kale, are all the rage but I just love this one. I had it at Wine and Diner a few days ago with Grace and had forgotten how much I enjoyed this
classic. Cold iceberg lettuce, the tang of bleu cheese . . . and of course bacon makes everything better. But I should have asked if you liked it. Bleu cheese is one of those love it or hate it kind of dressings. Personally, I like a wide variety of foods but I tend to drift toward older recipes.”

“I've noticed that you like older music as well.”

Sophia nodded and once again felt a rush of pleasure that he paid attention to what she preferred. “Oh, I enjoy pop music but fifties and sixties music is by far my favorite. My mother says that I'm an old soul. Even the updos and makeup I do usually have an older, classic look.” She waved her hand through the air. “This apartment came furnished and I can't wait to have a place where I can put my personal stamp on it. I'm doing that with White Lace and Promises. But I also like trying new things.” She smiled. “Well, maybe I should say new . . . old things. Anything retro captures my attention.”

“I know how you feel. I'm having fun restoring my house. Old wood and worn brick has much more character and warmth than something brand-new. I'd much rather restore or repurpose a piece of furniture than buy something in a furniture store.”

“Oh, I love thrift shopping! I adore anything vintage, including jewelry.”

“Something else we have to do together. Cricket Creek is full of antiques shops up on Main Street but there are also other small towns close by that would be a fun day trip.”

Sophia nodded, feeling excited at the prospect.

“I don't love only old stuff, though. I do like to try new entrées in restaurants.”

“Me too!” she agreed, but then chuckled. “My mother would get miffed at me sometimes when we'd go out to dinner and I'd order something that I ended up hating.” She sliced through the lettuce and put the wedges on small plates. “And I'd nearly always tried
something different, which of course ran the risk of not liking it.”

“But how do you know if you don't try it, right?”

“Exactly! We think alike.”

“So, would she make you eat it if you didn't like it?”

“No, she would nearly always trade with me. People think of my mother as being this glamorous fashion icon but she grew up in working-class London. She's actually very down-to-earth.”

“Your mother sounds like a really cool lady. I'd like to spend some time with her, Sophia. And I think it's really great that she and Jimmy Topmiller run the fishing camp for underprivileged kids.”

“I have to say that I've never seen my mom this happy. Do you want chopped tomato on your salad?”

“I do. Would you like for me to do anything? I'm feeling useless sitting over here watching you work.”

“No, but thank you. And this isn't work, Avery. I've enjoyed putting the dinner together for you.” She drizzled the dressing over the wedges and sprinkled on the diced tomatoes and bacon crumbles. After adding the croutons she said, “Would you like to eat the salads first or with your lasagna?” She started slicing a loaf of French bread and glanced over at the oven.

“First would be fine. Okay, I can't stand it. I've got to do something. I'll take the salads to the table and slice the bread while you get the lasagna out of the oven.”

Sophia laughed. “Okay, I'll take you up on that. And if you don't mind, would you fill the goblets with water?” She nodded to the long-stemmed glasses on the counter.

“I don't mind at all.” He took the salads to the small high-top table in the corner of the kitchen. “Oh, in here or in the dining room?”

“I think the kitchen is cozy, don't you?”

“I do.” Avery nodded. When he passed her to fill the glasses with water he paused to kiss her lightly on the lips. While he performed his tasks Sophia took the
pan out of the oven and put the lasagna on the counter to cool just a bit before serving it. She noticed that Avery hummed while he sliced more of the bread and she thought to herself that they really did get along so well. She'd worried a little bit about having him for dinner, wondering if he would be relaxed in this intimate of a setting. After all, this wasn't part of the warding off Ashley plan. But he seemed right at ease so she decided not to question the situation. Perhaps it was about time that she did more feeling and less analyzing.