A Bride To Honor

He didn’t want. He wanted every moment with her, but maybe she was too smart to let him have it. He shrugged, surprised by how much it cost him. “Whatever you think best.”

She looked away, pretending to be busy with the clipboard and pencil. “Oh, well, I usually prefer for the client to pick out the fabrics.”

“Is that what you want,” he asked carefully, “for me to pick out the fabrics?”

She turned her head one way and then another, looking at the figure on the paper, and then she dropped the clipboard and lifted her gaze to his. “Yes.”

A giddy smile split his face. “Monday, then?”

She smiled, too. “Monday.”

“What time?”

She bit her lip. “I close about six.”

“Six,” he repeated. They should have dinner. He wanted to have dinner with her, but he knew it would be stupid, beyond stupid, even risky, potentially devastating. He took a deep breath. “Would you like to have dinner with me afterward?” So much for being sensible. “I’ll behave myself, I promise. Well, I’ll try.”

She gave him a slow, shy smile. “It would have to be someplace public, and maybe you wouldn’t want to be seen—”

“I know just the place,” he interrupted quickly. “It’s nothing fancy, but the barbecue is great. You like barbecue?”

“I love it.”

“Great! Okay, it’s settled then. Monday at six; fabric first, then barbecue. I’ll look forward to it.”

“Me, too.” They stood a moment, sharing the anticipation, before she said, “I’ll walk you out.”

He was careful not to touch her as they wound their way through the darkened shop again. At the front door she took his coat down and handed it to him. He slung it on and waited, telling himself that he simply could not give in to the impulse to kiss her goodbye. She slid open the dead bolt and turned the lock, depressed the thumb tab at the top of the curved handle and pulled open the door. The rain had ceased, but a chilly breeze gusted, blowing discarded paper and crisp leaves along the curb. He stepped out into dreary afternoon and turned back to face her.

“Thank you,” he said simply.

She merely smiled and slowly closed the door. He turned and poked his hands into his pockets, inhaling deeply, breathing in and holding these last moments of freedom. He knew what he had to do and what it would cost him, but he also had Monday and perhaps a time or two after that. It would be difficult, even dangerous, and no doubt in the end he’d wind up with a broken heart, but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t take every moment she’d give him. She deserved better, he knew, but he was cad enough to let her settle, in this case, for just what he could give back: some smiles, laughter, a little careful flirtation, the bittersweet knowledge that someone wanted her even if he couldn’t have her. He wouldn’t let it go beyond that. He would protect her from more, knowing that one day a man more deserving than he would gratefully receive all the treasure she had to give. He hated that unknown man already, but at the same time he wanted him for her.

God, who’d have thought straitlaced, uptight old Will could have a kid sister like Cassidy? He shook his head and strolled away in the direction of his car, content for that moment just to be amazed at the small ironies of life.

Chapter Three

They didn’t waste any time with the fabric selection. Cassidy had put together several color-coordinated options, detailing how each fabric in each set would be used. She had them laid out on a table in the sewing room, alongside pencil-colored pictures showing how the costume would look. Paul glanced over them all and asked, “What’s your favorite?”

She pointed to a particular combination of earth tones, blues and reds. He studied it about five seconds.

“Oh, yeah. That’s definitely it. Let’s go eat. I’m starved.”

She laughed. “You’re always starved.”

“Lately,” he said, realizing that his appetite had shown significant improvement during the past week. “Where’s your coat?”

She went to a small door in one corner, opened it, and took out a man’s navy blue wool, military-style, double-breasted coat. He hurried across the room to take it and hold it open for her to slip her arms into the sleeves. A name had been written on the inside label in red ink.

“C. Marmat,” he read. “Who on earth is that?”

She shrugged. “Don’t know. Some sailor who owned this coat before it went to the Army-Navy Store.”

She buys her clothes secondhand at the Army-Navy Store, he marveled. Betina wouldn’t touch even designer clothes on consignment. When he realized that he had actually compared the two of them, he shut down ruthlessly on the impulse. He had determined early that morning after a night of restless tossing to keep the two separate in his mind. Betina was his future, however dreaded. Cassidy was... his friend. He caught her by the hand and dragged her toward the showroom. Laughing, she tugged away, ran back to the closet and retrieved a minuscule purse on a long, thin strap. She slung the strap over her shoulder and ran back to him, placing her hand in his once more. Together they hurried through the store and out the front, which Cassidy locked with two separate keys.

Paul’s car was waiting at the curb. He unlocked the passenger door and ushered her inside, then hurried around to slide beneath the wheel. The night was clear and pleasantly cool. As he drove them toward the barbecue place, Cassidy settled back into her corner and looked at him, one jeaned knee drawn up slightly so that the ankle of her burgundy boot lay against the edge of her seat.

“So, how was your day?”

He chuckled because it was the kind of thing long-term couples said to one another. “Okay. How was yours?”

“Oh, mine was fine,” she said with a smug little smile. “I was Goldilocks today, and I made Tony be the baby bear. He was a very pouty baby bear.”

Laughter spurted out of Paul’s mouth. “Just how does a baby bear dress?” he wanted to know.

Cassidy’s smile was sublime. “Well, he wears a bear suit, of course, and a pacifier on a ribbon around his neck and a diaper and a great big baby bonnet.”

She painted a lovely picture, lovely enough to keep Paul laughing all the way to the restaurant, if restaurant was the correct word. The place where Paul took her on lower Green-ville Avenue was more of a supper club. The building was slightly dilapidated with a neon sign out front that flashed and buzzed, “Hoot Man’s BBQ & Music Club.” Even at six-fifteen in the evening, a scratchy recording of jazz blared over the loudspeaker by the door and a line of people snaked around the side of the building. Paul parked at the side of the building and pulled Cassidy by the hand around to the back by the hand, where he pounded on a door labeled, Deliveries.

After several seconds the door opened, and a black man wearing a spotless white apron greeted them. “Spence!” He grabbed Paul’s hand and pumped it energetically. “Hey, man, why didn’t you let me know you were coming?”

Paul grinned broadly. “Well, I thought I’d take my chances for a change, but I see that the place is as popular as ever.”

“We’re hanging in there, man. We’re hanging in.” He switched his gaze abruptly to Cassidy. “Who’s this?”

Paul placed an arm around Cassidy’s shoulders. “This is my good friend, Cassidy Penno. Cass, this old scoundrel is Hoot.”

“Good friend, eh?” Hoot commented, nodding thoughtfully. “Like the coat.”

Cassidy smiled. “Thanks.”

Hoot spread out his arms. “Well, come on in!” He turned and led the way down a long, narrow hall past a bustling kitchen and a variety of other rooms to a small, dusty office, where he put them in chairs and offered them drinks from a small refrigerator in one corner.

“No, thanks, I’m driving,” Paul said.

Cassidy smiled and shook her head, saying, “I don’t drink much.”

Hoot sent Paul a significant look and sat down behind his desk. Paul knew exactly what he was thinking. Paul didn’t drink much, either. Betina believed the “skill” of social drinking was a very important one and that he looked rude when he repeatedly turned down offers of alcohol. He stopped short of pointing out to himself that Cassidy’s feelings on the matter were much closer to his own.

Hoot templed his fingers over the top of his desk and asked, “How did you two meet?”

They both spoke at once. Cassidy said, “My brother works for Paul.” Paul said, “Cassidy’s my costumer.”

Hoot latched onto that last. “Costumer! Costumer? As in Betina’s infamous costume party?”

Paul made a face. “What else?”

Hoot clapped his hands together and boomed laughter. “You poor sucker!”