Wedding Vows: Just Married: The Ex Factor / What Happens in Vegas... / Another Wild Wedding Night

Chelsea strolled in just then with a menu in her hands. “Won’t want what on TV?”

“Ron doesn’t want his wedding televised.”

Chelsea blinked at him and then at Karen. “You’re getting married?”

Ron looked understandably harried by this turn in the conversation and Karen had to laugh at his hunted expression. “No, we were talking about some of the outrageous requests I get from brides and grooms.”

Chelsea stepped forward and placed the menu on Karen’s desk. “This is the menu for the underwater crowd. Let me know what you think. I may have gone overboard on the fish courses.” She stepped back and added, “I’ve always said if you call your business If You Can Dream It, you have to expect strange requests.”

“There’s a perfect wedding for everyone. I simply help make it happen.” She looked up at Chelsea, so busy with her catering company that she wasn’t getting her own wedding planned and decided this was the perfect moment to find out a few details subtly, so she asked Ron, “What would your perfect wedding be?”

He removed his glasses and polished them, which she was beginning to recognize as a stalling gesture. “Well, I can’t say I’ve given it too much thought,” he said to the lenses. “But now that my parents are both gone I suppose something very simple would suit me. A nice lunch, perhaps, for a very few friends and colleagues. And then my new wife and I would fly to Ireland.”

“Ireland?” both women said at once.

He replaced his glasses and blinked at them. “Why not? I’ve always wanted to go there.”

“Well, it’s not exactly the top honeymoon destination.” Chelsea smiled her lovely smile. “But maybe you’ll find an Irish woman to marry.”

“I only meant—”

“What about you, Chels?” Karen interrupted, knowing Ron was uncomfortable discussing something so theoretical. “What’s your ideal wedding?”

“Honestly? I cater so many weddings and there’s still so much post-divorce bitterness between my parents that my dream wedding is to hop on a plane, go to a first-class resort and be waited on.” A dreamy expression floated across her face. “No sourcing fresh ingredients or worrying about food allergies. We’d laze around all day and order room service when we got hungry. Or just stay in bed all day. Perfect bliss.”

“Why don’t you do it, then?”

She fiddled with her engagement ring. “It’s sort of complicated. First there was the whole fake engagement thing last year, and now that we’re really getting married, David’s entire firm is getting involved. Somebody’s brother-in-law will play the fiddle, another has a friend who’s a photographer, you know how it is.”

“You wouldn’t want to have your friends witness the event?” Ron asked.

“Not really. Weddings are starting to feel too much like work. We could always take pictures.”

“Go to Las Vegas,” Ron suggested. “You can have your own live TV wedding there.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Then she turned the question to Karen. “Well? What’s your perfect wedding?”

An image filled her mind. Her and Dex in a garden in June. The weather was perfect, the scent of roses hung in the air and she’d known in that moment that she was meant to be with the man beside her.

Apart from her mother refusing to sit anywhere near her father, and crying through the entire service, her wedding had been perfect.

“A garden wedding. But I already had my perfect wedding once. I doubt I’ll get a second chance.”

15 (#ucb064ee0-dac0-5837-aba9-6a9e4082d1b3)

LAUREL WAS FEELING flustered when she arrived at work. With two wedding cakes to bake and decorate and a birthday cake for an obnoxious-sounding twelve-year-old boy who wanted a Lord of the Rings theme, she knew she couldn’t waste any time. For a perfectionist, that was always difficult.

She changed her black boots for her plastic clogs, tied her hair back and slipped on a clean apron.

She was the first one in and the quiet kitchen, gleaming with stainless steel and hulking appliances still and quiet like sleeping giants, made her happy.

Her own small area wasn’t completely uncluttered, however. A paperback novel sat in the middle of her counter. Puzzled, she picked it up. The book was well-thumbed, an old paperback that was clearly loved by its owner. She knew because she had a shelf of books like it at home.

The Thirty-Nine Steps, by John Buchan. The novel had a lurid red cover and when she opened it inside was a yellow Post-it note which said, “From a fellow spy novel enthusiast. This is one of my favorites. Ron.”

If the man had sent her two dozen red roses she couldn’t have been more thrilled. There was something so personal, intimate almost, about the sharing of one’s own copy of an oft-read book. A tiny thrill went through her as she turned to the first page, imagining the times when Ron must have had his hands exactly here, turning the page for himself, perhaps in a coffee shop on a Saturday morning, or maybe sitting up in bed at night before settling to sleep.

Then the fatuous smile on her face snapped off like a light that’s been switched off. What was she doing getting all romantic about this man? He was dating Karen. Chelsea had said so herself and Chelsea wasn’t a person to make things up.

She closed the book carefully and slipped it into her bag to take home after work. She’d misread the situation. He was simply being nice. He wasn’t showing interest in her.

He didn’t want to date her, he wanted to be her book buddy.

With a sigh, Laurel hauled out a tub of cake flour and got to work creating yet another artistic fantasy that would be gobbled up in no time by greedy twelve-year-old mouths.

Hours later, she was well into the decorating when a soft male voice said, “That looks amazing.”

She turned to find Ron looking over her shoulder. “Thanks. Do you know what it is?”

“The Eye of Sauron. From Lord of the Rings. I don’t know how you did it, but the colors look like fire.”

Like any artist, she was happy to have her work recognized. “Oh, good. I’ve got some really cool sparklers that will shoot red and orange sparks into the air. I figured a twelve-year-old boy is going to want something spectacular.” She glanced up to find him still admiring the cake, and for a second she could imagine what Ron must have looked like as a twelve-year-old. “Thank you for the book.”

“You’re welcome. Have you read it?”

“No. I saw the movie once. During a Hitchcock phase I was going through.”

He seemed pleased that she hadn’t already read it. “It’s a classic early spy thriller. You’ll have to let me know what you think.”

“I will.” She continued piping red gel onto the rim of the eye.

“Maybe we could have coffee sometime?”

Her hand spasmed and splat: a great squirt of red spat out of her bag so the eye now had a huge red jujube of a tear hanging from it. “Oh, crap,” she cried, grabbing a spatula and easing off the mess she’d made.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. Of course we don’t have to have coffee. I thought you might like to discuss the book.” He seemed as nervous and flustered as she felt.

She had no idea how to respond. She didn’t even know what he was asking her. Was it for a date? Which is what she’d first assumed, but now she wondered if perhaps he hadn’t meant anything more than a friendly coffee.

But what if she said yes, and it was a date, and then Karen might be upset and she loved her job here and didn’t want to cause any trouble to a woman she liked enormously.

On the other hand, maybe it wasn’t a date at all and she’d sound all stuck up and full of herself if she refused.

Which was why she pretty much stayed away from the whole male/female personal interaction thing. It was all simply too confusing, like a game whose rules she’d never grasp.

She’d attempted to play chess a few times and felt absolutely bewildered. When was a playing piece allowed to go sideways and which ones could only go forward, she’d never quite understood. And as for that horse thing that went over and up, it was enough to drive a creative brain crazy.

Silence seemed to echo around the kitchen. It had never seemed so huge, or so empty. “Of course I’d like to discuss the book sometime,” she finally managed to say, keeping her attention on the icing, but not daring to continue her task in case he said something that made her completely ruin her cake.