by Lori Wilde
“Job, career, work?”
“I’m in retail. I own my own boutique.”
“Let me guess. Flower shop?”
“No.”
“Pet supplies—doggie sweaters and gourmet treats for pampered cats?”
“No, I’m into pampering babies. My store is called Tikes.”
The song ended, and the band members stood up for their break. Did they have to take one now too?
“Interesting,” he said.
“As a matter of fact, Bailey Baby Products is my main supplier. Your company’s high chairs outsell all competitors five to one,” she said enthusiastically, groping for common ground to keep him with her a little longer.
“My grandfather’s company,” he said dryly. “Zack and I have a construction business.”
“Oh, that’s nice.”
This conversation was going nowhere, and he obviously wasn’t focused on her anymore. Well, he wasn’t her date, however pleasant it was to have a gorgeous man in tow.
“Thanks for the dance,” she said lightly. “I need to speak to a friend over there.”
The friend was imaginary, but the technique was all hers. When a guy started looking through her, beyond her, or over her head, she liked to be the one who walked away. She headed toward the universal haven of unescorted women, wishing she’d had room for a hairbrush in her tiny clutch purse, but it would take more than that to get Cole Bailey to go home with her.
Dang, where did that thought come from? She was swearing off champagne forever.
After touching up her lipstick, she went back to the reception, killed an hour visiting with Lucinda’s younger sister, then filled a plate at the buffet and sat at a table with the bride’s great-aunt, who was allergic to every food from grapefruit to garlic and liked to talk about it. Tess murmured sympathetically and picked at the smoked salmon, but she couldn’t help tracking Cole.
It wasn’t hard. For an uninvited guest, he certainly wasn’t trying to be inconspicuous. In fact, he zeroed in on the most eye-catching women and was never without a dance partner.
Lucinda had assigned little jobs to all her attendants, and Tess had the task of organizing the bouquet toss. The clubhouse had once been a millionaire’s mansion, and the front hallway had a curving staircase wide enough for a 1930s musical comedy number. Naturally, Lucinda wanted to stand above the rabble when she tossed her artfully arranged bunch of orchids.
“Use the mike,” Lucinda commanded when she swished by to give Tess her marching orders.
“Can’t I just...”
“It’s the only way everyone will hear you in this huge room.”
Lucinda’s way was always the only way. Tess had an urge to mutiny, but after the honeymoon, Lucinda would be back at the shopping center, her lunch buddy and walking partner. A real person again after her big day.
Tess went to the head table and located the dreaded microphone which the groom’s father was kind enough to test by blowing into it. The result was a whining whistle that had everyone clasping their hands over their ears.
“Here you are, little lady,” the groom’s father said and patted her on the head.
“Eh, girls...ladies…women...er…people who identify as female.” The mike made her too nervous to remember the preferred way to address her audience. “Can I have your attention? Please.”
“Speak up a bit,” the groom’s father coached.
“The bride is about to toss her bouquet.”
That got them. Tess wiggled her tongue trying to get enough saliva to finish the announcement.
“Eligible women go to the grand stairway,” she directed, surprised when the groom’s dad took the microphone away from her.
“Come on, gals. Who’ll be the lucky one to snag the bouquet?”
Judging by the stampede, Lucinda had invited an army of unwed women, although some of the throng gathering at the foot of the stairs had to be women looking for love the second or third time around. More power to them.
The foyer was large with striking black-and-white checkerboard tiles on the floor. The walls were loaded with cloudy, old oil paintings in heavy gold frames. Lucinda had gone to the top of the stairs so she could descend dramatically, her train hooked up to avoid a tumble.
Her dress was ivory silk with an overskirt of antique Belgian lace from her grandmother’s wedding gown. Tess had never seen a bride who didn’t look beautiful, and Lucinda was no exception. It was the inner glow, not the trappings.
Her job was to announce, “Here she comes,” and whip the crowd into a frenzy. She intended to stand to one side and avoid the crash, but women jockeying for position outflanked her.
Tess found herself squeezed in on all sides, threatened by a tall girl’s bony elbow to her right and a pair of spike heels backing into her. She caught a glimpse of Lucinda nodding at her from the top of the stairs, her signal to make the big announcement.
“Here comes the bride,” she called, not that everyone couldn’t see.
A woman with jet-black hair gave her a hard hip thrust on the left, but Tess couldn’t escape the press. They’d boxed her in on all sides.
Lucinda was descending with much-practiced stateliness. She threw from the halfway point, putting enough oomph into the toss to give the bouquet some spin.
Tess put out her hands defensively with no thought of catching it, but the flowers were coming directly at her. Hands were everywhere, reaching, grabbing, and snatching. She heard an ominous rip and was nearly knocked off her spike heels as two contenders got their hands on the delicate arrangement of exotic blooms.
Neither woman would let go. They pulled until they split the prize, tearing the orchids away from the wiring. Tess heard another tearing noise and knew she was in trouble.
The crowd thinned with a mix of disappointed grumbles and good-humored laughter. Tess found herself standing alone with the skirt of her dress hanging limply on the tiles behind her. She knew her shapewear wasn’t enough to conceal a view of her thong panties, and a couple of the groomsmen were strolling her way.
Reaching behind and grabbing a handful of material, she tried to bunch the two sides together enough for modesty’s sake while she edged her way out the door. This reception was over for her.
She felt the jacket descend on her shoulders before she saw her rescuer.
“Let’s go,” Cole said, putting his arm around her shoulders to hold his jacket in place.
“Gladly.”
“Crazy ritual. I’d rather take on a wolf pack than get in the middle of a scramble for the bride’s bouquet.”
“I wasn’t trying for it,” she said. “I was in charge of getting the women together.”
“You certainly did an admirable job.” He pushed open the door with his free hand.
Spotlights lit up the front entrance and illuminated the whole of the parking area. A few people puffing on e-cigarettes lounged on the steps, enjoying the wonderful June evening, and a tipsy couple were doing something that resembled dancing on the asphalt drive.
He guided her toward the car, keeping his jacket firmly in place with his arm. She was happy to see her little compact, which was as out of place between a Mercedes and a Lincoln as she was at this reception.
“I owe you,” she said. “This makes twice you’ve rescued me in one evening.”
“No thanks necessary. Do you have your key?”
“Yes.” She dug into the little purse and extracted her key fob, rather pleased when Cole took it and punched the “unlock” button for her.
“About owing me,” he said as she slid out of his jacket and into the car. “There is one little thing you could do for me.”
“What?” She was genuinely surprised that Cole Bailey could need anything from her. If truth be told, she was hopeful that the favor involved spending more time with him.
“You’ve always had a lot of girlfriends, if I remember right. Do you still?”
“I guess. I’ve never given it much thought.”
“A
re some of them...I mean, do you still have some sweet, unattached friends who’ve never been married?”
“I don’t exactly run a club for old maids.” She wrinkled her nose, liking this less and less.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound...”
“Weird?”
“My intentions are honorable.” He smiled ruefully. “I’d really like to meet some nice women.”
“Is that why you crashed the reception?”
Surely this man could get a date in a convent if he put his charm to work. She was far more puzzled than pleased by the prospect of playing matchmaker for him.
“Weddings are usually a good place to meet…people.”
“You seemed to be doing well enough.” She bit her tongue, miffed at herself for letting him know she’d noticed.
He shrugged his broad, muscular shoulders, and her fingers itched to touch them. “I’d like to meet someone our age. Do you have any nice friends?”
“All my friends are nice—at least most of the time.” She was thinking of Lucinda. “But I’m not good at setting up blind dates. It’s the best way I know to lose friends.” She suspected he was too much man for most of the single women she knew.
But oddly enough, he didn’t intimidate her anymore. She knew he’d never be interested in her—she was just a pal—but at least he didn’t make her stammer, stutter, and shake anymore.
“How about this.” He took a coin from his pocket. “Heads, you introduce me to some of your friends. Tails, I give you a tour of the baby plant and a sneak preview of some new products that will be available soon.”
She was tempted but didn’t entirely trust him.
“I’m not much on games of chance,” she said. “I prefer games that test your skills.”
“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow. “What is your game?”
“Tennis, but I wouldn’t stand a chance against an athlete like you. I do play pool occasionally.” She didn’t mention that she’d grown up practicing on her dad’s table in the basement or that she played in a weekly league in the winter.
“Pool it is. Same stakes. Do you like one game, sudden death, or two out of three?”
“Two out of three.” Her second game was usually better than her first. She needed warm-up time.
“I’ll follow you. Where do you want to play?”
“You forget I did the Cinderella bit—ball gown to rags. Maybe a rain check?”
Which would give her time to wiggle out of the bet, she thought, realizing how little she wanted to fix him up with someone else.
“If you’re afraid you can’t beat me...”
“No way.”
“I’ll follow you home. You can change, and we’ll go to the closest bar with a pool table.”
“It’s late, Cole.”
“Not even eleven.”
“I’ve had a long day.”
“No disadvantage. I was on the worksite at six a.m.”
“Do you always get your way?”
His grin was all the answer she needed. She gave in, but darned if she would let him win.
2
Cole told Tess he’d wait in the truck while she changed her torn dress, but he was too restless to sit. He got out of the driver’s seat and paced a broad circle in the parking area.
She lived in one of a hundred or so small units in the brick complex, all with individual entrances either on the ground level or off a second-floor balcony that ran the length of each building with stairs at both ends.
He approved. He liked a floor plan that allowed tenants their own private entrances and didn’t waste space on a lobby.
The apartments were forty or fifty years old, built when buildings were still laid out in rectangular patterns with straight service roads.
Today’s builders, including Zack and him, favored curving roads and cul-de-sacs for an illusion of spaciousness and privacy, but the place was well-maintained and still looked good.
Much of the vast sprawl in Wayne County was a conglomerate of enclaves linked by expressways and major roads. He knew it like the back of his hand but never tired of the architectural diversity.
He’d rate Tess’ place as average, a haven for singles and young couples with a smattering of seniors who’d given up their homes in favor of easy maintenance and social-security living.
The wedding reception had been about what he’d expected—a bunch of casual acquaintances and a few strangers pretending they lived the highlife all the time. At least no one had challenged him.
He even got propositioned. Cole smiled.
Mrs. Donaldson wanted to give him a tour of the clubhouse, promising she knew some hidden niches where no one ever went. She’d conveniently forgotten he’d once played soccer with her son in middle school.
He politely declined.
Except for seeing Tess again, the evening had been a bust, but it forced him to be realistic. He wasn’t going to find the girl of his grandfather’s dreams at a party or a bar, which pretty much eliminated his usual stomping grounds.
Maybe Tess would open some doors for him, not that he deserved her help after the rough time he gave her in high school. But they were both adults now, right?
Fortunately, she didn’t seem to hold a grudge. She was a good friend, and she was the only person he knew who could help him meet some nice girls.
But first, he had to beat her at pool. He’d be sporting, though, and not win by too much. No point in humiliating her.
“Bailey, where are you?” she called.
“Here.” He stepped out from the cars parked south of his truck. “Are you ready for a...” He nearly said lesson, then saw that she was carrying a cue case. “You have your own pool stick?”
“I play in a league in the winter.” She grinned. “If you want to call off the bet—”
“No way.”
He had a hard time seeing Tess as a pool hustler, but she’d suckered him into a challenge he really needed to win. At least it would be more fun—and easier on his conscience—if she could give him a good game.
“Get in.” He opened the door of his truck for her.
“I thought I’d drive my car, and you can follow. That way you won’t have to bring me home.”
“I don’t mind bringing you back.”
In the light from the cab she looked more like her old self. Jeans and a white tank top. She’d pulled all that hair into a ponytail that bounced as she scampered into the pickup and gave him a glorious view of her fanny.
Sweet!
“I know a place not too far from here where we can get a table without a long wait,” she said.
“Great. Let’s go.”
“It’s not a tie-and-jacket kind of place,” she warned, eying his clothes.
“All the better. Where did you learn to play pool?”
“My dad has a table in his basement.”
“Now I’m getting worried.” He pantomimed wiping sweat off his brow.
“Yeah, sure.” She crinkled her nose at him. “How many times have you lost at anything?”
“Well, I’m still single. There’s that. I certainly haven’t won the girl of my dreams…yet.” He sent her a sidelong glance that sparked that blush on her cheeks.
“About what you want me to do—not that I plan to lose,” Tess said. “You actually expect me to fix you up with a blind date?”
“Maybe several.”
“You’re serious?”
“As a heart attack. I’m ready to get married.”
She turned in her seat, and he could feel the heat of her stare on his face. “Why now?”
“You have a mother. You know how they get when grandkid fever hits,” he said, giving her the first plausible reason that came to mind. The truth was too bizarre to lay on someone he hadn’t seen for ten years.
“I guess, but my sister has two kids. I’m more or less off the hook for now. So, you want to meet a nice girl to make your mother happy?” She sounded puzzled but not disapproving.
“I promis
ed to give it a try. But working in construction, I don’t meet many women.” He didn’t like this conversation. Where was that pool hall?
“Well, I’d hate to disappoint your mom.” She patted the case resting on her thigh. “But when I win, I’m looking forward to a sneak preview of Bailey’s new line.”
“Tell me more about your business,” he said, surprised to find he was truly interested.
They got to the pool hall. Buck’s wasn’t the kind of place he would’ve expected Tess to haunt. It was a working man’s tavern with thick black glass windows and a neon beer sign over the door. He left his jacket and tie in the truck, rolled up his shirt sleeves, and followed Tess inside.
“Hi, Tess. How’s my sweetie?” a bearded little man who’d never see seventy again called as she walked in.
“How’s it hanging, Barney?”
“Low and to the left,” the old man cackled, and Cole had a feeling this was a regular exchange between them.
“Gotcha self a live one, huh?” called another grizzled old man from the brass-railed bar.
Tess’ grin went from ear to ear. “Ripe and ready for plucking.”
Bar regulars were territorial, and the stools belonged to old-timers, mostly men and a few women. What Cole saw at the tables helped explain why Tess felt comfortable here.
They’d largely been taken over by twenty-somethings, young professionals trying to dress down and still look cool in designer jeans. The two groups co-mingled in an odd little community.
Tess waved at a few younger people but headed directly toward the rear of the building. The pool tables were behind swinging Dutch doors in a back room with an old-fashioned metal ceiling. She’d chosen well. She scrawled her name on a chalkboard, but they were the only ones on the waiting list for a table.
“What do you want to drink?” he asked.
“A light beer, please.”
He fetched a couple of brews and stood with her, watching the action. Finally, a couple of giggling girls abandoned their table and left with some guys in motorcycle boots and belts.
“You’re the challenger,” she said.
He racked the balls and tested the weight of the stick he’d chosen. The shaft had been sanded and the tip replaced recently. This place took their billiards seriously.