Kaye Dacus - Stand-In Groom

Before he could prepare an explanation for his presence, she moved into a pew in the middle of the room and sat down. With her back turned to him, he could barely hear her, but from what he could make out, she called the bride, the groom, the maid of honor, and the best man to ensure everyone was on schedule. She then called the caterer, the bakery, and someone at the venue where the reception was to be held to check that everything would be ready at the right time.

Her voice was pleasant, and her laugh melodious. He could tell just by the number of calls she made that her workload today was stressful, although she didn’t let stress manifest itself in her interactions with clients and vendors. He was impressed.

She was on the phone with what sounded like the limousine company when George heard her say, “Manuel, I hate to interrupt you, but I have another call coming in. Do you mind holding? Thank you.” She took the phone away from her ear for a moment, pressed a button, and then put it to her ear again. “Happy Endings, Inc., this is Anne Hawthorne.”

A moment’s pause grew into a long silence. Anne’s posture changed from relaxed to so stiff he could almost hear the bones in her spine protest. He wondered who could be on the other end of the connection and what that person was telling Anne to cause such a reaction.

After several long moments, he heard her say, “Yes, Miss Graves, I understand. However—”

He leaned forward and rested his forearms on the pew in front of him. Although her body language bespoke strain, her voice didn’t betray it. He listened, fascinated.

“Yes, I have written it down…two hundred for the ceremony, four hundred for the reception…formal evening wear, black tie required… Yes, of course…. I will look into that for you…. Right now? Your wedding isn’t for nearly a year. I haven’t booked anything yet, but—” Anne paused. “I will let you know as soon as I do. Yes… I will call you first thing Monday morning.”

Her shoulders raised and lowered as she took a few deep breaths. She listened to her client a little longer, then raised her left arm up to catch a beam of light on the face of her watch. “I will be finished here today around midnight. I won’t be able to get back to my office until then, but I have the information you requested. I can e-mail it to you tonight so that you have it first thing in the morning.”

She was willing to do that for a client? Go back to her office at midnight after working all day on someone else’s wedding? He remembered his own complaints to God about his employer sending him here and felt lower than the belly of a duck.

Anne pulled out her well-worn tan leather planner. “Yes, Miss Graves. I can meet you tomorrow after church—”

Would she be willing to give up church for a client? How many Sundays had George had to leave services early or give them up entirely to attend to his employers’ wishes?

“I’m sorry, Miss Graves, but I cannot meet you before twelve thirty…. Yes, that’s fine. I will meet you at Beignets S’il Vous Plait on Spring Street at twelve thirty tomorrow.” Anne closed her phone and remained still and quiet for a long time.

What could be going through her mind right now? George longed to join her and ask her more about her job, about why she was willing to give up so much time for other people, about how she found the strength to keep giving of herself and receiving nothing in return.

She jumped when her phone beeped and quickly looked at the display screen, and a noise escaped from her throat before she put the phone back to her ear. “I’m sorry to keep you on hold for so long, Manuel….”

As quietly as he could, George exited the church and climbed back into the car. He’d left his PDA in the car to charge and the screen flashed, indicating he had voice mail. The display showed that Courtney had tried to ring him up three times while he’d been inside.

He gripped the steering wheel hard. He was supposed to be back at the house filling out the paperwork for Anne, not spying on her as she set up someone else’s wedding. Over the past week, he’d indulged himself with his daily jaunts into town, putting off work he needed to do for his employer—hiring a few more house staff, creating the engagement party invitation for when Courtney sent the revised mailing list back to him….

He could take lessons on professional demeanor from Anne Hawthorne. She worked harder to ensure her clients’ happiness than any butler, valet, or majordomo he’d seen in the entirety of Britain, including his father.

Needing someone to talk with about the security concerns for when the party guests arrived, he called Forbes Guidry. He couldn’t remember when he’d had time to build a friendship with another man. The lawyer had come to mind each time George prayed God would bring new friendships into his life. He liked the Southern gentleman, who was his best resource in town. Aside from professional considerations, though, he had to find out all he could about Anne. Because once he no longer had to carry on this charade, George planned to get to know her better, too.

Multicolored folders littered the top of Anne’s desk Monday morning, each containing pieces of someone’s dream. Dreams she shared but knew would never come true for her.

With a sigh, she rummaged for the red folder containing the list of vendors for her friend Amanda’s wedding. She found it, stacked the rest, and pulled out a green ballpoint pen. Her gaze darted to the clock as she lifted the phone receiver and dialed. Fifteen more minutes and he would be here. Her heart beat a little faster as George Laurence’s image formed in her mind. She shook her head and turned her attention to the phone as someone answered.

“Bonneterre Rentals.”

“Hi, Joe, it’s Anne.”

“Hey, gal. How’s it going?”

She chatted with Joe Delacroix for a few minutes. “I’m just calling to confirm delivery time of the tent, tables, and chairs for the Boutte wedding on Saturday.”

“Amanda Boutte who went to high school with us?”

“Yep. She’s finally giving up on the single life.”

“Good for her.”

Papers rustled on the other end as he looked up the information for her. She glanced at the clock again. Thirteen more minutes until George Laurence arrived. His milk chocolate eyes burned in her memory, as did his baritone voice and the accent that sent shivers up her spine every time he spoke.

What had he been doing at the church Saturday morning? She hadn’t noticed him until after the phone call from Brittney Graves. She’d stood and turned to run down to the fellowship hall to get a bottle of water out of the vending machine. The retreating figure exiting through the wide-open doors had startled her at first…until she recognized the sharp yet enticing profile of her newest client.

Had he been checking up on her? Did he not trust her ability to handle a wedding as large as his? Dared she ask him? Her heart fluttered. Why did he have to be so handsome, so charming?

“Saturday at 10:00 a.m.”

What was happening Saturday at 10:00 a.m.? “What’s that?”

“Delivery of your rentals, goose. Isn’t that why you called?”

Anne banged her forehead with the heel of her right hand. “Of course. Sorry, hon’. I just got distracted.” She wrote the time on her list. “I’ll see you then.”

“All right. Look, don’t work too hard, okay?”

She let out a rueful laugh. “I’ll try, but that’s the best I can promise. Talk to you later.”

“Bye, Anne-girl.”

She grinned at the nickname Amanda had started everyone using for her when they were teenagers. “Bye, Joey.”

Hanging up the phone, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Pull yourself together, woman!”

She shook her head and returned her attention to the file in front of her. Four vendors left to call and only ten—no, nine minutes in which to do it.

Aunt Maggie, catering Amanda’s reception at cost, was filling Anne in on the latest family news when the bell above the front door chimed and George Laurence entered.

“I’ll have to call you back later about Amanda’s cake. B’bye.” Anne hung up, stood, and extended her right hand across the desk, proud it didn’t tremble. “Mr. Laurence, thank you for coming in today.”

“My pleasure, Miss Hawthorne.” He nodded, returned her firm grip, and then sat in the chair she indicated. “At this juncture of our work relationship, I see no need for us to be so formal as to use titles and surnames. I’d be pleased if you’d consider calling me George.”

Tingles climbed up the back of her neck to her scalp at the sound of his voice. “Thank you, George. I agree.” She closed the red folder and swapped it for a blue one. “Why don’t we begin with the registration form?”

Why now, Lord? Did You bring him into my life just to taunt me? Why do I feel so attracted to someone I can never have? She swallowed hard as the prayer she’d repeated fifty times in the last two days ran through her mind.

She took the six-page questionnaire from him, surprised by how little he’d filled in.

“I know you were hoping for more information,” George said, “but my…there are reasons I cannot discuss for withholding some data. I have included a preliminary head count for the ceremony and the reception. I have detailed Courtney’s desires.”

Anne flipped to the third page. “A formal, late-afternoon wedding with one hundred fifty guests, and a black-tie, invitation-only reception for seven hundred.” She removed her reading glasses as she looked at him. “Are these solid numbers that I can use in my budget?”