“I wonder if this chill will hold until our… final day of not actually doing this.” Holt tightened his hold and basically tucked Wiley into his quilted flannel shirt.
Wiley held in a moan of appreciation, but he did let himself smoosh closer in.
“I like it. I’ve always enjoyed the cool weather of early spring and late fall the most.” Wiley motioned toward the rolling valley beyond the lawns. “There’s fog, a reason to cozy into layers or your house with cocoa, but you’re not held prisoner there by brutal heat death or brutal cold worse than death. Fall is my absolute favorite. There’s just something about a crisp, drizzly day and a fire crackling inside and the world colorful but muted.”
Holt tightened his hold even more. “I always wanted to get married in the fall. If I got married. It’s my favorite season as well.”
“Oh.” Wiley didn’t know what else to say to those many implications. “You were going to give me the gist?”
“Right. I definitely was.” Holt cleared his throat. “I’ll find out particulars on what the livestream changes, but essentially we have brief bursts of filming with a lot of waiting around each day. And we’ll have some days we don’t film at all in the next few weeks, depending on availability, weather, that sort of thing. I’ll bring a daysheet to the bakery every morning we film, and that will fill you in on that day’s shooting plans.”
“Sounds good.” Wiley glanced toward the house as they got farther away across the wide lawn. “What are we filming today?”
Holt fished a piece of paper from his left cargo pocket and unfolded it one-handed. Wiley took it, scanned it, and understood enough to get they were going to be here all day and he’d be expected to do very little during it.
“What do we do on the days we don’t film?”
“You know, that’s a good question.” Holt laughed. “Ordinarily I’m busy making things, or fixing things, or helping the crew make or fix things. I haven’t ever had to think about it.”
“Well. We can figure that out together.” Wiley looked up and smiled. “I’m sure we can find something worthwhile. That isn’t dancing.”
Holt stopped their lazy stroll and turned into Wiley. He smiled back, all eye crinkles and softened gaze, and ran a knuckle up Wiley’s jaw.
“I’m certain of it,” Holt whispered, and tilted his hand to cup Wiley’s head as he lowered for a kiss.
Wiley closed his eyes and breathed out as Holt kissed his cheek, the bridge and then tip of his nose, and he held his breath as Holt’s mouth opened over his, warm and firm. He rolled forward when Holt moved back and Holt rumbled with quiet laughter, braced the other hand on his hip, and nibbled Wiley’s lower lip.
Holt bit harder—just enough to steal the drowsiness from Wiley’s limbs—and curled his tongue into Wiley’s mouth.
Wiley did moan at that, long and low, as his hands crept up under Holt’s jacket to splay on Holt’s chest.
He imagined all the muscle he felt jumping under his touch and went cold-hot. Wiley let one hand explore, fingers trailing down Holt’s side and ribs, until he pressed his palm to Holt’s back.
Holt dug in harder—hands, their stance, lips—and deepened the kiss.
All Wiley could think about was how good it felt, how good they fit. He wanted to tumble them onto the lush grass. He wanted to hear Holt grunt again. He caught Holt’s tongue between his teeth and gently held it as he rubbed circles over Holt’s chest and back.
Their kiss broke and it took a bit to register that Holt had gone rigid and still. Wiley opened his eyes and peered up.
Holt’s mouth was compressed and the hands that moments ago had held him so completely were locked on his shoulders, but after a beat Holt smiled and kissed Wiley’s forehead.
Movement caught Wiley’s attention, and he noticed Rick. Filming them. With Elaine behind, tapping her binder and motioning them over.
Disappointment, confusion, embarrassment all doused Wiley back to cold reality.
He nodded and mumbled, “Ah, good thinking. I see.”
Holt seemed to parse that, and then his smile broadened. “Ready?”
Wiley didn’t withdraw from Holt’s arm as they turned and walked to the house, but the warmth was gone. Of course that was because they were being filmed and it was for the audience. Of course the kiss didn’t mean anything. Of course the kiss shouldn’t mean anything.
“We’re offline,” Rick said as they approached.
“Gorgeous shot. You two are nicely matched.” Elaine ushered them along. “And adorable.”
“Aw, thanks, Elaine.” Holt loosened his hold on Wiley and called as he strode toward the SUV, “Getting my water, only be a minute.”
Wiley climbed onto the porch and determinedly put the kiss and everything else out of his mind.
“There you are. Sit here.” Kit swept across the deck from inside the house and pointed Wiley into a chair pulled out from a huge round wood-plank table.
Holt sat in the one to Wiley’s left, with Kit diagonal from them. To Wiley’s right was a camera that could get all three in the frame. Lights and props were arrayed around the table, and crew members Wiley had yet to meet milled busily in the background.
“Rick’s going to be mobile, working on candid reactions and livestream content. So don’t worry about trying to keep track of him. And pretend like this,” Elaine said while planting both hands on the camera, “isn’t here.”
“I’ll do my best.” The empty table offered no clues, so Wiley added, “With what? What layer are we choosing today?”
“Décor. Things like centerpieces and place settings and little guest gifts that will act as seating cards.” Kit shrugged. “The usual.”
As if Wiley knew the ins and outs of what the usual meant. He turned to Holt. “Which things am I supposed to choose?”
Holt’s eyebrows arched but then he hummed thoughtfully. “I think it’ll be apparent. But don’t worry, we won’t film it in one go, so you won’t be continually on the spot to choose what’s behind door number one or door number three.”
“That’s good, since I always go with two.”
They didn’t share any humor. As Elaine called for quiet on set, Wiley watched Holt’s expression adjust into a pleasant mask and he tried to do the same. He repeated his mantra and tried some deep breathing, and then he focused on the task at hand.
The following hours were a flurry of napkins, how to fold and present the napkins, napkin rings or no napkin rings, matching the napkins to the tablecloths or contrasting, and if napkin rings, whether or not to match them to the dinnerware.
He nodded at wineglasses and champagne flutes and hand-blown water glasses. Beautiful, rustic, elegant shapes, each unique, so every guest will feel special using them, Kit gushed. He flipped through embossed paper or little figurines or tiny slates for name cards on the tables. He hefted the weight of various chargers in various metallic shades. Remember, rose gold will always land somewhere between too much and perfection, Kit praised.
Wiley paid extra attention to the items Kit showed them with extra flair, but found he paid the most attention to Holt’s reactions.
By the end, he and Holt were surrounded by a fort built from sample books and rings of materials and stacked plates.
“I think that should give our couple plenty to think about, don’t you?” Kit made eyes at the camera. There was no fort built to hide any of him. He reached for a vase, the dark pink globe dripping gold from the top, with inserts for flowers, and tossed it into his other hand to contemplate. After a moment he snapped his fingers. “Wiley, Wiley, I have it! Remember those dear and so-awful kitschy little village houses your granny collected?”
Wiley looked away from the vase—actually for-real awful and what he knew Kit wanted him to choose—and nodded. He remembered easily. Grandma owned several when he’d moved in with her full-time at six years old, and he’d given her one every Christmas they shared thereafter. She loved them.
“Oh my gosh—we should find som
e to use as centerpieces! It’s too perfect. The place cards can tell people to go to the inn or the mill or whatever.” Kit grinned. “What do you think?”
“I think that’s….” Wiley glanced at Holt, who sat stone-faced, staring at the so-very-awful pink vase. “Great. It would mean a lot to me.” He genuinely liked the idea and really hated how it came about. He cleared his throat. “And we don’t have to find any. We can use mine.”
Kit’s eyes got comically huge. “What? You still have them? And Granny’s been gone what…. Well, a while at least.”
Wiley shifted uncomfortably and nodded. He kept them because they belonged in the house, displayed on the shelves he remembered Holt had hung over the living room windows for that exact purpose, and he didn’t know what else to do with them. He might love them a bit too.
“That’s so sweet.” Kit leaned close and patted Wiley’s arm. “You’ve just always been the sweetest.”
It wasn’t quite cutting, but it wasn’t quite kind. It was how Kit had always been.
“That’s Wiley—sweet but never saccharine. Sentimental but not syrupy. One among the many things about him I cherish.” Holt covered Wiley’s hand with his where Wiley picked at a loose thread on a fabric sample. “There’s more than enough buildings for the tables. We’ll choose our favorites and the place cards can be made to match.”
“Oh, fantastic.” Kit’s gaze angled briefly but he set the vase down. “They’ll go with everything I’ve shown you, so don’t let that worry you as you decide on all the rest. I bet we can figure out a way to get flowers into those dear little houses and huts and such.”
Filming cut, and Janet called lunch was ready.
Wiley’s stomach gurgled. His predawn danish had deserted him hours ago.
He didn’t wait for Kit to add any rejoinder about the village set or for Holt to join him. It was a small act of independence, but it still felt good to just get up and walk to the back patio where craft services had set up.
“No sushi, but the rolls are amazing. Which is a problem since I’m off carbs.” Elaine eyed the basket of Carla’s amazing yeast rolls and put two on her plate. “At least I will be when we’re done with this shoot.”
“They’re good for you, I promise.” Wiley took a bite of one. “I have to think carbs are the perfect food for long days on set and longer days keeping everything in order. Filling, delicious, all that quick energy.”
“You make a sound argument.” Elaine grabbed two more rolls. “Very sound.” She nibbled one and then said, “This shoot is different from our usual. Harder, but in a good way.”
“Oh?”
“We’re doing a lot of it on the fly, because Kit wouldn’t breathe a word of what the big secret reveal was, even to me or production. And we’re in charge of planning episodes—before we film them.” She laughed. “At first we were very annoyed by all the mystery and then having to scramble and get things together, but it’s actually fun. I haven’t worked like this since film school days when we made terrible artsy shorts on shoestring budgets. Which, to be fair, still isn’t like that—it’s not like we don’t have the formula down and a good budget to meet it. But yeah, fun.”
“Couldn’t you have asked Holt?” Wiley ate another roll.
“He doesn’t breathe a word, period. But then you know that.” Elaine pushed at Wiley’s shoulder. “No, that’s not true. You’re clearly the only person he tells everything to. It’s super cute. Everyone just loves you, and everyone agrees the two of you together are super cute.”
Wiley didn’t contradict or correct her. He couldn’t—and he didn’t want to.
“We had a pool going. Most of us bet on the announcement being about or for Kit. Rick and Jerry—he helps in carpentry, have you met? Anyway, Rick and Jerry bet on Holt, mostly to be contrary, and came up huge.” Elaine pulled a face. “Uh, no disrespect.”
“None taken. I get it.”
Elaine smiled. “We haven’t bet on anything since that, and everyone thinks you’re great. And a much better match for Holt than Kit, as if that was ever in question.”
“Yes, as if.” Wiley laughed lightly. “Well. I’m glad to hear all that. Including Rick and Jerry coming up the big winners.”
“I’ll be sure to tell them.” Elaine hovered over the rolls and then nabbed one more. “Since I can say I’m carbo-loading now, it’s silly not to have another.”
“Take three,” Wiley teased, and kept up a friendly grin until she’d grabbed a bottle of water and walked away.
He filled a plate with an assortment of fruit and veg and wraps and more rolls, and thought about the crew gossiping and deciding he was good people. Good people who made a perfect match with Holt.
Wiley escaped the food table before anyone else could strike up a conversation, retreated to the opposite side of the patio, and tucked into the stone niche at the far end, well away from the tables with people coming and going from them. He sipped coffee and then opened a sparkling water, wondering how he could get so dehydrated simply sitting in place.
Must be the lights.
“You were supposed to say that was a lovely, sentimental idea, but the pink vase was better.” Holt nodded at the bit of room next to Wiley, and when Wiley didn’t protest, he lowered into it.
They made a tight fit, and Holt took up two-thirds of the niche, even sitting diagonally with his legs outstretched. Wiley sat up straighter and pulled his legs in—otherwise they’d cross Holt’s—and noticed without wanting to how warm and hard Holt’s thigh and bicep were pressed into his.
Holt didn’t start eating but also didn’t say anything more. When Wiley checked, he stopped with a grape midbite in his front teeth. Holt seemed placid as ever, but something Wiley thought might be anger sparked in his eyes.
“I know. Sorry.” Wiley dropped the grape and wiped his hand on his pants. “It just took me off guard. It’s not like we can’t say we changed our minds and go with the Snoballs. Uh, vases.”
“We could but we won’t. Kit doesn’t need to get his way with everything. Production hasn’t purchased anything in quantity yet, and it is our wedding.” Holt quirked a smile and then looked away. “I’m who’s sorry.”
“Sorry?” Wiley shook his head. “Why?”
Holt let out an impatient breath. “Kit being so Kit about the village.”
“Oh.” Wiley didn’t think other people really noticed how very Kit that Kit could be at times. At all times. It was nice to learn Holt did and that instance bothered Holt, for whatever reason. “It’s fine. I know how he is.”
“Sure. And same. But that’s not really an excuse.”
Wiley shrugged. Suddenly it didn’t matter that Kit thought the village was kitschy and awful and he’d made the wrong not-pink choice. “Thank you. But it really is fine. I’m fine, and we get to pick houses together. Which I think is something almost-nonmarried married people do.”
“I’m certain it’s in the handbook. And genuinely liking and looking forward to picking the small houses with your not-fiancé has just been added.”
A bubble of happiness rose up through Wiley, and he let it out with a laugh.
Holt grinned, ate a roll in one huge bite, and then swallowed hard. He glanced about and then said thickly, “May I?” Holt pointed at Wiley’s water. “I forgot to grab anything.”
“Yeah, of course.”
Wiley watched Holt drink his sparkling water. The sinuous motion of Holt’s throat. The way Holt’s hand engulfed the can. The drops of moisture left on Holt’s lips and thumb.
Then, like a weirdo, when Holt handed the can back, he had an immediate drink and definitely didn’t dwell on the ghost of warmth in the metal or anything like that.
“You can come over today before our dance lesson. Unless you have something else to do.”
Holt ate another roll and Wiley gave him the water.
“Keep it, I have coffee. Anyway, then it’s decided immediately, and we can move on to other wedding-but-not-getting-married stuff.”
“Good thinking.” Holt drained the water and looked longingly at Wiley’s coffee mug.
Wiley handed it over.
“Thanks.” Holt had a long drink and sighed. “The big production storage shed is being moved to the grounds today, but no need to risk Grandma’s village until the night before the ceremony. I’ll take pictures and make a list, which will be more than enough for Kit and the printers to work from.”
“I’m good with that plan.” Wiley ate more grapes, since he hadn’t planned on needing a third beverage. “Oh, but what about flowers?”
“I’ll measure everything tonight, and the florist can make arrangements in small vases or containers. Not all the houses have openings that I recall, so it makes the most sense to keep those separate.”
“Will the florist offer gold roses?”
Holt laughingly rolled his eyes. “Lord, I hope not.” He lifted the coffee mug to finish it, paused, and tipped it toward Wiley. “Do you want the rest? I should go get you another.”
Wiley smiled and shook his head. “No, I’m fine. Thanks.”
“You’re very nice about letting me steal your drinks, thank you. I will go get more, though, hold on.” Holt shifted and had to get very much into Wiley’s space to maneuver from the bench. He stopped, weight balanced on a palm against the bench, and blinked at Wiley. His gaze dropped to Wiley’s mouth before dragging back up. Holt’s eyes softened and his lips went slack as he inched forward.
Wiley parted his lips in anticipation, certain Holt was thinking about kissing him and wanted to kiss him and was about to kiss him.
Wiley wanted Holt to kiss him.
“Guys? We need you back on set.”
Holt cursed under his breath, and Wiley startled to peer over Holt’s shoulder and see Elaine motioning them along.
Rick wasn’t there. At least he couldn’t immediately find Rick. So, no camera. So… what?
So he couldn’t overthink it.
Wiley let go of Holt’s thigh—he didn’t realize he’d grabbed hold of it—as Holt stood. He carefully stacked his dishes and the empty can and barely wobbled as he got to his feet and straightened into Holt’s waiting frame. Holt walked them past craft services and back to the table no longer arrayed with a fortress of décor options.
Say Yes to a Mess (Dreamspun Desires Book 103) Page 7