Say Yes to a Mess (Dreamspun Desires Book 103)

by Elle Brownlee

  “Decades? Whew, you do think of me as old, after all.” Holt’s tone was flat, but his eyes twinkled. He accepted a glass of lemonade and raised it.

  By habit Wiley tapped his glass to Holt’s and pulled out a chair to sit opposite. “Okay, so it hasn’t been decades since you built the bench or were the only person to call me Coy, but that’s also not the only memories stirred up by everything that’s happened. Which—wow, has been a lot. Are we sure it’s only been one day?”

  “Coy suits you. Still does.” Holt’s gaze went from Wiley’s hair, to his eyes, to his lips, held a moment, and then it shifted to the garden. “You’ve kept the house up nice. I noticed you painted the front door and shutters the dark gray you were always trying to convince GB would look good with the cedar.”

  “And?”

  “And, it does. But that isn’t a surprise given your artistic eye. The white and blue repaint looks good in here too.”

  Wiley was unaccountably pleased with Holt’s approval, but then, Holt knew the history of the house and how stuck in her ways Grandma could be. It mattered more for someone like Holt to appreciate the differences.

  “I don’t think I ever saw it this… tidy, either.”

  Wiley’s pleasure crashed.

  He didn’t need the Leydon brothers’ sudden reappearance to dredge up memories.

  Grandma could charitably have been called a collector, a vanguard of the upcycle movement, always finding new uses for boxes and bins and random findings. Not quite a hoarder—Grandma had strict cleanliness rules—but it was a house kept clean under constantly moving and growing piles of stuff. Endless stuff. Wiley hadn’t had friends over often, and when they came over, they didn’t stay long. He could easily recall Kit’s mild but palpable distaste, and Kit’s exaggerated willingness to be here anyway.

  Cleaning it out had taken Wiley a year.

  A year of decisions and frustration and doing his best to recycle or donate whatever he could, until he had whittled it down to what he liked and needed to live, and the rest he finally let himself drive to the dump and forget.

  “I’m sorry again, Wiley. I didn’t mean anything in that—you did your best as a kid, and I didn’t ever care.” Holt’s hand, big and warm, covered Wiley’s wrist. “Hurting your feelings is worse than scaring the devil out of you. Those big brown eyes of yours are dangerous.” His eyes became steely, intense, and then Holt blinked and shifted back on the bench, taking his hand away.

  Wiley shivered and flexed his wrist. For something to do, he got the pitcher of lemonade and a pack of cookies. He dumped them on a plate, neatly tied the emptied bag in a knot, and threw it in the trash.

  “You do that too?” Holt indicated the knotted bag.

  Wiley held a cookie in his mouth as he refilled their drinks and set the plate down. “No,” he said around the cookie. “Starting with that, though, yes. It’s smart.”

  Holt grinned and ate two cookies in one bite.

  They munched in silence for a while as Wiley watched a bird flip leaves in a bug forage in the backyard.

  Wiley didn’t want to interrupt the easy mood—it was nice to have company, even if the company and reason was so strange—but when the cookies ran out, he pulled in a deep breath.

  “So, you’re here because….”

  Holt turned to look at Wiley but kept his legs outstretched under the table parallel to the bench, and the twist in his shoulders emphasized their width.

  Wiley swallowed and had a sip of tepid lemonade.

  “Remember, we start filming tomorrow? Ergo, we should decide on the basics about ‘us’ and how to handle any unknowns that crop up before that starts.”

  “Oh.” Until that very moment, Wiley’s mind had been full of angry question-bees. He stared at Holt and drew a blank.

  When Holt huffed a low laugh, his eyelids lowered. Wiley wanted to reach out and check to make sure the length of Holt’s eyelashes—too pale to be fully seen in the bright sun earlier today—were as long and silky as they seemed.

  Instead he jammed his hands under his thighs. He let his gaze fall to the bench so he didn’t keep staring and was hit with inspiration. “You sent me condolences when Grandma died. Since you knew her and all that makes sense, and I was actually here to get your kind note and thoughtful houseplant. Because houseplants keep you company afterwards and don’t die slowly in a vase.”

  Holt frowned.

  “Not good? Too much of a downer to build a fake romance around?” Wiley flushed with embarrassment at saying romance aloud. The fake part beforehand somehow didn’t make it hit with less awkwardness.

  “No, it is good. I was thinking that I wish I’d sent condolences and a friendly houseplant.”

  Holt feeling bad about that made Wiley feel completely better about everything.

  “Don’t say you’re sorry again, please.” Wiley held up his hands and laughed. “It’s fine—more than fine—I didn’t even run an obit. Grandma didn’t want any of that.”

  Holt seemed on the verge of arguing, so Wiley jabbed a finger in the air.

  “Okay, fine.” Holt ran a thumb along the back of the bench. “So we were friends as kids, lost touch after going our separate ways to college—you went, right? What did you major in?”

  “Art.” Wiley rolled his eyes. “Animation and illustrating, although I got a communications minor as a failsafe. Hilariously I haven’t used either.” There was no humor in Wiley’s voice.

  “I’m glad you followed that dream all the way through a degree, though. That’s cool. I wanted to make cabinets and reclaimed barn-door tables, so of course I got a degree in business.” Holt chuckled, and the warm sound rolled around in Wiley’s belly. “Somehow that made me think I needed a master’s—which I didn’t by the way, so I bailed after one semester—and then I bummed around honing my skills with apprenticeships and trade work. It was a good few years, camping and traveling, making driftwood shelves and custom kitchens, and saving to open my own shop. Never got to that, though.”

  “Kit and the show?”

  Holt nodded. “Kit and the show. They had a shoestring budget, and Kit was desperate to impress the network and knew I’d be useful, and cheap. Not quite what I’d envisioned from life, but I could use my hands and make good stuff and people happy, so I’m not sorry I let Kit rope me into it.”

  Wiley hummed agreement and considered how Holt’s hand engulfed the glass of lemonade and forced himself to think about cabinetry. Which led him to imagining Holt patiently sanding and smoothing a length of wood. He coughed and stretched his neck.

  He’d never been so distracted by anyone. They hadn’t even started filming and the stress was cracking him up.

  “What do you do here?”

  “Hm?” Wiley peeled his eyes from Holt’s hands. He blinked, thought about what Holt had asked, and said, “I freelance design seasonal décor—figurines, ornaments and wall art, craft kits for kids, stuff like that—for an import company. And help at the bakery, obviously.”

  Holt narrowed his eyes. “That could work too.”

  “What could?”

  “Let’s say after reconnecting I mentioned needing a design for something on the show, and you mentioned you could do it, and over that process we started talking and kept talking….”

  “And one thing led to another,” Wiley finished, catching on. “That does work pretty well.”

  “Yeah, and it’s enough. The simpler we keep this the better.”

  Wiley made a sarcastic noise. “That you can say again.”

  “Valid.” Holt pursed his lips. “Who asked whom?”

  “You asked me,” Wiley said without hesitation. “Your proposal was very practical, and I was delighted to accept.”

  “Have you traveled much in the past few years?”

  Wiley’s shoulders hunched unconsciously, and he shook his head.

  “I was trying to think about where I proposed. Right here is good.” Holt dusted his fingers up under Wiley’s on the table and caught
Wiley’s hand in his. “Wiley Grey, thank you for your delighted acceptance, you make me a very relieved and very happy man.”

  When Holt smiled, crinkles appeared around his eyes. Wiley sighed.

  “Well, thank you for asking. It’s good we wanted to keep it secret, so there’s no rings to rush out and get, and since we both do messy work it’s been easier not to wear them yet. I guess all that’s left is to do this get not-married thing.”

  “The easy part.”

  “The totally easy part,” Wiley agreed. He ignored the sinking sensation in his gut.

  “Have you watched much of the show?”

  Wiley shook his head.

  “I suggest you binge the most recent two seasons. We follow the same format each and every wedding, so that will prep you for knowing what to expect. It’ll also help us navigate around potential obstacles—we won’t have to make up reasons to be on camera together or fabricate much more backstory. We can just interact naturally over cake.”

  “That’s my favorite thing, interacting naturally over cake,” Wiley deadpanned. Holt’s flat expression made him laugh. “You’re so matter-of-fact, and this is entirely, completely, patently ridiculous.” He sobered. “And kind of scaring the hell out of me.”

  “It’s probably good to be afraid of this. At least a little bit.” Holt stretched, stood, and carried the empty plate and glasses to the counter. “And it’s dark out, which means I can and should leave.”

  The sun had gone down and dusk was mellow in the comfortable old kitchen and enveloping the yard. Wiley hadn’t even noticed. He had the urge to invite Holt to stay longer and watch some old episodes with him. He stifled that and followed Holt to the side door off the kitchen that led to the garden and a path alongside the house.

  Holt opened the door and reached for the latch on the screen door but paused. He turned and suddenly they were very close, close enough so Wiley’s nose bumped Holt’s chest.

  “What time should I be on set? And where is the set?” Wiley looked up. Beard stubble textured Holt’s neck and jaw, and Wiley liked the effect. He promptly stopped thinking about it.

  Holt went still for a beat and then shook his head. “I’ll pick you up.”

  “At the bakery—Carla expects an early run on danishes and rubbernecking.”

  “I can’t imagine she’s wrong.” Holt took a half step, hesitated, and then he let go of the screen door. He covered Wiley’s shoulders with his hands and kissed Wiley, soft and gentle. “Test run,” he murmured, and then kissed each corner of Wiley’s lips. He pulled back and the door slammed behind him as he said, “Get some rest. You’re gonna need it.”

  Wiley watched Holt stride down the path and disappear between the houses.

  He stood with a hand on his mouth for a long time.

  Chapter Two

  “FIRST stop, get a move on.” Kit slammed the car door closed and began striding away.

  He was in his element, important planner mode, full of vision-this and imagine-that. For once, Holt was just along for the ride.

  Holt got out and tugged Wiley with him to clamber out the same side. He hardly noticed the camera crew following, although he was very aware of Wiley’s unfamiliarity with their presence, so he kept a loose hand circled around Wiley’s wrist as they came around the car to join Kit. That made it easier for Wiley to hide from the cameras without it being obvious.

  He’d decided since he got Wiley into this, he’d do what he could to make it as painless a process as possible. He squeezed again and Wiley looked at his hand, then quirked a smile at him.

  Holt found his gaze lingering on the corner of Wiley’s lips, the last place he kissed last night.

  He let go so Wiley could explore and rolled his shoulders, surveying the sweeping lawns and manmade lake-and-fountain combo in the distance, and tried to stay neutral. He wouldn’t choose a golf course for his wedding, but this wasn’t exactly his wedding.

  “Nope,” Wiley said after returning to stand by him. “The clubhouse is all brass and glass and did I mention nope?”

  Holt should push for more back-and-forth, maybe a more extreme negative take on the property that could be sliced into a sharp quip in edits. But he didn’t want to needle Wiley, and he didn’t want to pretend mild interest in the place. They’d only been here twenty minutes, but he gladly turned his back on the greens.

  He slung an arm over Wiley’s shoulders and started them trudging up the hill toward the parking lot.

  “Good thing Kit is going to show us more options, because. Nope.”

  Wiley smiled. “So much nope.”

  “The next one will be better.”

  “And if it’s not?”

  Holt pulled Wiley tighter to him. “We’ll decorate a garage if we have to, but it won’t come to that. Kit has more to show us yet.”

  They would tour exactly two more possibilities, and most likely choose the final one, because the show worked in threes and from audience expectation. It was a go-to structure in the genre.

  “Why am I getting the sense this one is a no? How can it be a no? Look at all that!” Kit stood at the top of the hill, hands on hips. He raised one to sweep over the manicured landscape. Then he took in their nope-faces and sighed. “Fine—I didn’t think this would be it anyway. Too modern.” He tugged the mini planner from the bag he kept over one arm and crossed the top item out with a flourish. “On to the next one.”

  Holt slowed his and Wiley’s steps so Kit could walk ahead and talk to the camera crew on the way back to the car. He’d had their producer, Elaine, explain the live part of this episode. The whole thing was going to be shot and cut like a regular episode, but as a bonus and since it was one of their own getting married, a livestream would air at various points to have a more behind-the-scenes, intimate vibe. Elaine and Rick, camera guy and director, had worked up a quick guideline on how to minimize his and Wiley’s exposure.

  He’d explained it as wanting privacy and Wiley warming up to it after getting surprised by the proposal and being on the show. Since up until yesterday he’d been a steel trap about his private life, and they definitely caught that Wiley was currently overwhelmed but dealing, they accepted that. Which was convenient, since the foursome who schemed this into existence got together at Carla’s for pregossip rush danishes and agreed they’d keep it a secret from everyone else.

  “Am I right?” Kit’s call trailed back to them.

  Holt stopped beside the SUV and Kit in the driver’s seat, waiting for them.

  “Of course,” Holt answered.

  “You didn’t even hear me.” Kit rolled his eyes. “In your own little world for two again. I get it.” He tutted, tucked his leg inside, and motioned, so Holt closed the door.

  Holt and Wiley climbed into the middle seats and they jostled getting buckled and settled as the camera crew moved around them.

  “I was reminding you of my Laws of Layering, which is the method to my planning madness and why we’re doing this first. Start with the largest building block in your plan, and then add detail by smaller detail, until at the very end, it’s but a sprinkle of glitter and grace to achieve perfection.” Kit eyed them in the rearview mirror. “But if we don’t pick the perfect venue, nothing else can go to plan.”

  “I know you have the perfect one to show us, and I’m excited to see everything, really. It’s just that one was not it.” Wiley glanced at Holt, seeming to seek an okay for saying that.

  Holt casually reached over, laid his hand on Wiley’s arm, and squeezed.

  “We didn’t even have to get out of the car, did we? We already knew.” Holt winked at Wiley and laughed for the camera, but it was true. He’d sensed Wiley’s dislike as much as he’d tried to hide his own.

  Kit peppered them with questions, and Holt fielded most of them. Nothing too deep or personal, and nothing that could get them in trouble, but good quips and interplay for the stream and later edits. Wiley managed a few answers, and Holt found he laughed at most of them and smiled back
easily when Wiley smiled at him.

  If they stayed in sync like this, it would make things a whole lot easier.

  They drove through the hilly countryside, and Kit pulled into a pick-your-own orchard. Holt, intrigued, sent Wiley a questioning look.

  Wiley shrugged gamely and followed Kit’s immediate exit from the car. Holt went with a bit less haste and joined them, edging between Kit and Wiley as Kit gave a brief on the property.

  “There’s the cute old farmhouse, the barn, a corral-thing with critters in it for background character, and acres of trees, some still with blooms.”

  “I bet it’s pretty in the fall,” Wiley said to Holt.

  “I’m thinking so.” Holt turned in a circle, liking the place and thinking Wiley did too. “This wasn’t in business when we lived in Odalia, was it? I think Mom and Dad would have brought us here for wholesome, pretend-you-like-each-other-boys, family outing time.”

  “Ugh, outdoor activities, the worst.” Kit flipped to a page in his planner, held up a finger, and then made a noise of satisfaction. “Established five years ago, Greenbrier Farms has apples, pears, soft fruit, tempting jams and baked goods made with each, and you can meet all their goats and geese and….” He waved a hand with a moue of distaste. “Such.”

  “Well, let’s meet them.” Wiley took hold of Holt’s hand like it was natural and pulled him toward that background-character-making corral.

  Holt grinned and set his sights on the spindly black-and-white goat pressed against the fence rail watching them.

  “Hey, little guy,” he said and tickled the goat’s chin.

  Wiley laughed and Holt couldn’t keep from smiling as Wiley made instant friends with a squat pig.

  “Have you ever been here?”

  “No. I didn’t get out much taking care of Grandma, and then…. Well.” Wiley’s jaw clenched, and he ducked lower to give the pig a sound belly rub. “You know.”

  Holt thought he was getting the idea. He knelt so they were closer and brushed dirt from Wiley’s cheek. “I do.” He glanced at the camera hovering and dropped his hand. “Do pigs purr? I think you’re getting him to, at least.”