Kaye Dacus - Stand-In Groom

She didn’t speak for a moment, her gaze never wavering. “It was never in so many words.” She put her spoon down. “But the intent was the same.”

“Well, I’m here now—and I’m right, so you’d best believe me.”

The smile he’d become addicted to returned. He tweaked her chin between his thumb and forefinger, then lifted his dessert spoon.

The symphony of crickets, frogs, and other indigenous fauna filled the silence between them. The sky turned red and purple as the sun set on the other side of the house.

Anne sighed and cradled her coffee cup between her hands.

“What is it?” Although his father would have been appalled, he propped his elbows on the edge of the table and leaned toward her.

She swallowed and blinked a few times. “It’s just been a really long time since…” Her voice caught and her bottom lip quivered.

“Since?” Now that he had her to himself, he wasn’t about to let her clam up.

She shrugged, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “Since I stopped to let myself enjoy a quiet eve—” She flinched and reached for the phone clipped to the waistband of her pants. Her shoulders fell when she looked at the caller ID. “I’m so sorry. It’s my client who’s getting married next week.”

He stood and kissed her on the forehead. “I need to go speak with Mr. O’Hara anyway.”

The chef turned as George entered the kitchen. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes. It was a wonderful dinner. My compliments—”

“George, I have to run.” Anne breezed into the kitchen. “There’s a problem with the wedding dress, and I have to go find out if it’s something I can fix or really a problem.”

“I’ll walk you out.” He helped Anne into her suit coat and rested his hand on the small of her back as he escorted her to the front door. “What seems to be amiss?”

“I’m not sure. She was so hysterical she wasn’t coherent. So I’m driving out to her house to see what’s wrong. Hopefully it’ll be an easy fix. If not…well, I have a few days to figure out what to do.” She stopped at the door and turned toward him. “Thank you for a lovely evening. I’m sorry work interfered.”

“Thank you for making it a lovely evening.” He brushed back a lock of hair that had escaped to fall across her forehead. How was it possible that no man had claimed this wonderful woman? “I’ll ring you tomorrow about the final arrangements for the engagement party.” He flinched as the vibrator on his phone startled him. He reached for it as he kissed her on the cheek.

 “Good night.”

She graced him with another full smile. “Good night.”

Cliff’s number scrolled across the phone’s screen. He waved goodbye to Anne and lifted the phone to his ear. “Yes, Mr. Ballantine?”

“Courtney may have blown our cover. If any reporters show up there in the next few days, you have to let me know immediately. We’ll have to change all the plans.”

By Wednesday, George started to relax. No news of the engagement or wedding had appeared in the celebrity press. Cliff had announced he’d be giving a press conference in Bonneterre on Friday, and a private service had been contracted to provide security that night since Cliff didn’t want the local police brought in. Courtney would arrive tomorrow, ostensibly to attend a friend’s wedding.

“George, dude, what is up with you tonight?” Rafe’s voice brought him back to the present—the Fishin’ Shack, where Anne’s cousins had gathered for dinner a night earlier than usual so both Anne and George could attend this week.

“Sorry. I’ve lots on my mind tonight. What did I miss?”

“We were wondering where Anne is. We thought she was coming with you.”

“She had a last-minute meeting with a client. Something about a dress fitting. She assured me she would arrive by seven.” George glanced at his watch. She was nearly twenty minutes late. “Obviously the meeting ran longer than she expected.”

The restaurant’s back room partially muffled the sound of the large dinner crowd in the main dining room. Jenn fluttered in with a couple of baskets of the fried balls of seasoned cornmeal they called hush puppies. When he’d asked about the name last week, Jenn had spun a tale about Southern soldiers in the American Civil War feeding bits of fried meal to their dogs to “hush” them from giving their position away to the enemy.

He’d researched it that night on the Internet and hadn’t found a more definitive answer—just a few other tall tales. Whatever their origin, he enjoyed Jenn’s version of the savory pastry, even though cornmeal didn’t rank high on his list of favorite flavors or textures.

“You gonna try something different tonight, sugar?” Jenn asked, resting her hand on his shoulder. “I’m proud that a real Englishman likes my fish ’n’ chips so much, but…”

He closed the menu and handed it to her. “I’ll make you a deal, ducky. Bring me your favorite dish—on or off the menu.”

The delighted gleam in Jenn’s eyes amused him. “Oh, George, we’re going to have so much fun teaching you to suck crawfish heads!” She left the room without taking anyone else’s order.

“George, you’re going to get a trial by fire tonight of what it means to be in Louisiana.” Jason watched Jenn as she flitted from table to table.

“My dear fellow, you forget that I am British. I’ve eaten haggis in Edinburgh and jellied eels in London. I’ve also traveled extensively and eaten so-called delicacies ranging from insects to parts of animals that were never meant to be eaten. Crawfish presents no challenge I cannot overcome.”

The expression on Jason’s face said he believed otherwise, but the young man held his tongue.

“Hey, y’all. Sorry I’m late.” Anne slid into the vacant chair beside George before he could stand and offer his assistance. Although smiling, the tight lines around her eyes betrayed her heightened stress level.

“Did everything work out all right?” Forbes, on her other side, put his arm around her.

Anne blew out a long breath and rolled her neck from side to side. “No. I’m taking the bride dress-shopping next week. She decided she didn’t want to pay the dress shop to alter her gown and instead asked a coworker to do it. Unfortunately, the coworker didn’t measure correctly, and rather than leave extra fabric to make corrections with, she trimmed all of her seams down to less than a quarter of an inch. Now the dress is too tight and too short and can’t be let back out. I know. I tried.” She rubbed her forehead, then reached into her purse and withdrew a small bottle of aspirin. “George, may I?” She pointed at his water.

He handed his glass to her. “How will she afford to purchase a new dress if she couldn’t afford to pay for alterations to the first one?”

Anne swallowed two pills with a big gulp of the water with no ice. “I can’t tell you. It’ll make Forbes mad.”

Why would Forbes care how one of Anne’s clients paid for a dress?

“Please tell me you’re not letting her take it out of your final fee.” Forbes’s voice had a growl to it that didn’t sit well with George. How Anne conducted her business was just that—her own business. Yet who was he to step between her and her cousin?

“If I don’t tell you, will you let the matter drop?” She sounded tired—defeated.

“Anne, the contract you sign with your clients is as much for your protection as it is for theirs. I drew it up specifically to make sure that if something went awry, you would still be paid. The more you do this, the more people are going to hear and take advantage of you.”

She rested her fists against the edge of the table. George wished there was some way he could help. Without knowing her any better than he did, he wasn’t sure if she would see any action or words on his part as support or as butting in.

“Forbes, I know for you, as a lawyer, this is going to be hard to understand. My client’s happiness matters more to me than if I get paid next Saturday or if I get paid in miniscule installments for the next six months. It’s not as if I’m hurting for income now like I was a few years ago. This girl is a nursing student who works part-time as a waitress.” As she talked, her voice got softer, her words faster. “She’s already spent more money on the wedding than I advised because she’s trying to make both mothers happy, even though they’ve refused to pay for anything. What should I tell her, Forbes? What?” She shrugged and held her hands up toward him. “Should I tell her she should just wear her next-best dress? Maybe see if she can borrow a friend’s old wedding gown? Tell me. You apparently know better than I do how to run my business.”

Stunned silence filled the room. Jason and Rafe stared at Anne, mouths agape. Jenn dabbed at the corners of her eyes with her napkin, moved to emotion either by Anne’s story or by the conflict between her cousin and older brother. Meredith glared daggers at Forbes. George suppressed a smile, proud of Anne for taking a stand.

Forbes cleared his throat. “Anne, I apologize. It’s not my place to lecture you on how you run your business. I know if you wanted legal advice, you’d come to me. I just don’t want to see you lose that business because you let clients overspend their budgets and then not pay you.”

“I have never had a client not pay me everything due, including my fee. Sometimes it just takes longer.” She rested her hand on her cousin’s arm. “How do you think I got as successful as I am? Not because I was a hardnose about people paying me every penny the moment I thought it should be paid. My brides recommend me to their friends because I’m willing to work with them and do what it takes to make their weddings the most joyous events of their lives. I’m so sad for this young woman because the happiness that she should be feeling this week has been overwhelmed by the fact that she made an error in judgment and her dress was ruined. Forbes, what if it were Mere or Jenn or Marci or Tiffani? I can be a blessing to this girl, show her the true generosity of Christ’s love, and maintain my integrity and my conscience. We’ve already worked out a payment plan that she can afford.”