Say Yes to a Mess (Dreamspun Desires Book 103)

by Elle Brownlee

  Wiley’s blush returned. Holt looked away to refill their champagne but couldn’t stop sensing the heat from Wiley’s nearness and how Wiley had leaned closer and closer with each exchange. As had he. When he looked back, Wiley’s phone was gone.

  “That’s it? I thought Carla had pages of notes.”

  “She did, but….” Wiley paused and toyed with the gold rim of his champagne flute. “I don’t think we need it.”

  “I think you’re right again.” Pleasure filled Holt at how easy and well that went.

  “That and Kit seems to be going pretty easy on us. Which, appreciated.” Wiley’s eyes widened. “I mean, he darn well should. Also—it’s all pointless anyway. Same as the mansion and the cutlery and whatever. It’s Kit’s vision. We’re just faking our way through it.”

  “True enough.” Holt drained the bottle into their glasses. “Have you been back to the ocean since?”

  “No. It wasn’t on purpose—I always wanted to—but somehow making it happen never quite worked out.”

  “Then that’s where you should go.”

  “Where?”

  “The ocean.”

  “Okay?” Wiley sounded exasperated.

  “I mean on the trip you get out of this.” As soon as Holt said it, he regretted it.

  Wiley didn’t quite retreat, but he straightened and set his champagne down. “That’s a good idea. I wanted to talk about that, actually.”

  “Sure. I’m good for bouncing ideas off of. And you should because the sky’s more or less the limit, and I can keep you from cheaping out.”

  “It’s not like that. The trip, it’s….” Wiley shrugged.

  “Do you want to bring someone?” A thought hit Holt hard. “Are you dating someone? Wait, why didn’t I ever think to ask if you’re dating someone?”

  “Of course I’m not,” Wiley said, overlapping Holt. He crossed his arms. “As if I’d do all this nonsense to someone I was dating.”

  “No, that was an insensitive, useless question—you never, ever could do such a thing. I panicked.” Holt blinked as Wiley’s expression changed to speculative. “Got panicky? Anyway. What about this trip? How can I help? Let me.”

  Wiley placed a tentative hand on Holt’s arm. “I think I want….”

  Holt wasn’t usually one to have or show any temper, but he could have heaved the empty bottle at Janet when she appeared to woo-hoo at them.

  WILEY stared at a place above and to the left of Holt’s shoulder and danced the dance of a man rescued before he could make a complete fool of himself.

  He would have to bring Janet some cookies tomorrow. For no particular reason.

  Sarah corrected something, and Wiley barely reacted to Holt stepping on his foot.

  Holt muttered an apology and Wiley nodded, but his usual satisfaction at being way better at this than Holt didn’t materialize. He tried to concentrate on posture and helping Holt guide him effortlessly across the floor. Mostly thought about going over the list with Holt and falling into enjoying their easy rapport and almost asking if Holt wanted to join him on the not-honeymoon destination he hadn’t even chosen yet.

  Thankfully, after Janet interrupted him in the nick of time, the rest of the day accelerated into having to do too many things and be too many places at once for Holt to press him for more. He’d neatly avoided conversation about anything not show-related ever since.

  He wouldn’t be fortunate enough for Holt to forget, necessarily, but he’d needed the day and its busyness to regain his composure and work out an alternative, reasonable-sounding thing to want instead of a nice trip to the coast somewhere.

  It was just…. Pete had been so genuinely happy for them. Kit was so good at acting like it was real and meaningful. Holt was….

  Wiley glanced up at Holt’s strong jawline with its late-hour stubble darker than his thick light blond hair, his ridiculous silky long eyelashes and unusual eye color, his full lips pursed in earnest concentration.

  Holt, he had to admit, was gorgeous. Gorgeous and kind and conscientious and funny and sentimental and huge and sorta kinda maybe perfect.

  Which, at the heart of things, was a problem. A big problem. The whole entire problem.

  Wiley had gone from palpitations at getting a glimpse of a once-crush to forgetting he’d ever crushed on Kit to realizing he was crushing on Holt despite it being pure folly.

  “Sorry,” Holt said under his breath.

  Wiley shook his head.

  “You groaned that time. You usually only make a low hiss.” Holt grunted. “One day I won’t trod all over you. God, if I do it at the recep—” He stopped and let out a slow breath. “Sorry.”

  “No biggie. I’m used to it.” Wiley didn’t try to decide what Holt apologized for any more than he’d give a nebulous answer. “When all this is over, I might just run off and join a ballroom troupe.”

  Wiley decided it was quite the accomplishment when Holt’s grim expression tugged into a smile.

  “Yes, much better—stay looser like that, Holt. It will all work much easier if you do.” Sarah floated over to them. “You’re managing the turns and maintaining a decent frame. I am willing to say you’re ready to perform as is. I’d rather you didn’t, of course, but there’s marked improvement and very much a lovely partner dance in what you’re doing.”

  “I accept that as high praise. Thank you, Miss Sarah.” Holt laughed wryly and squeezed Wiley’s hand. “And thank you for continuing to so gracefully put up with being battered around the dance floor.”

  “I hope to get even a smidge more of that out of you before the wedding, but either way, it’s almost over. Reprieve is within reach.” Sarah clasped her hands together and made the abbreviated bow Wiley had come to recognize signaled the end of a lesson. “Now, it’s late, neither of you look rested, and tomorrow is another busy day. Thank you for your efforts, gentlemen, and good night.”

  “Good night, thank you.” Wiley found himself bowing back.

  He moved from Holt to grab his things and ignored the coolness that invaded his whole front. His whole self, really. Holt stood waiting at the door and motioned for him to go ahead down the stairs.

  “It is almost over, isn’t it?” he asked as they walked to the corner where they’d part.

  “Yup. Three more ‘layers’ for us to film and then pulling the emergency exit bar.” Holt slowed their pace and studied his hands. “Any thoughts on that? Carla was right—I looked. This episode is going over well, and the livestream apparently has fans and nonfans quite invested in the process and outcome. I don’t want to botch it.”

  “Is that even possible anymore?” Wiley wasn’t sure what he was getting at, but yup, he’d asked. “We’ll need an actual emergency, or we’ll just have to accept it can’t end happily for everyone.” He hated how close to the bone that cut. “This is why I’m not impulsive or spontaneous. Super easy to start in, super not easy to extricate from.”

  “We’ll stay as loose as we can. I have it on expert authority that helps.”

  They stopped at the corner and Holt massaged Wiley’s shoulders, which got them from up around his ears to not quite pinched in a vee.

  “I never expected any of this either, so I’m a novice myself. Although I’m not sure how you could.” Holt grinned. “At least that’s true for the two of us. I have the feeling our two biggest enablers could bring a wealth of experience and options to the discussion.”

  “I’ll talk to Carla.”

  “And I will definitely talk to Kit.”

  Wiley nodded. “Okay. That’s a start. Somehow I don’t think this part will go as well as realizing we already know each other’s favorite color.”

  “What?”

  “What what?”

  Holt feathered his fingertip under Wiley’s eyes. “They’re cloudy with trouble.”

  “Oh.” Wiley had harbored this niggling worry but hadn’t thought to bring it up and press the point until now. They were so far in it was real, and he stared the real conse
quences in the face. “Pete and the mansion owners and everyone else—they’ll all get paid, won’t they? And positive press? This is our lie, not theirs.”

  “Sweet Wiley,” Holt said so quietly it almost got lost in the rising breeze. “Every vendor, every local we hire temp, every one of our crew. Every cent they’re owed. I went over it with Kit and legal to be sure as soon as we hatched this scheme.” His stern expression more than his words told Wiley it was true.

  “Oh, oh good.” Wiley sighed with relief and sagged into Holt. “Not that I didn’t think you would, but what if there was some contract fine print I was messing up? I couldn’t stand that.”

  “Me either. So don’t worry about it again.” Holt dragged his thumb along Wiley’s neck, and his eyes got hooded. “We will figure something out. Something that might not be happy for everyone but won’t be a total disaster. I promise.”

  “Me too,” Wiley whispered.

  Holt nodded jerkily and then kissed Wiley, short and hard. “Good night, Coy,” he rumbled and then pulled back sharply to charge across the street and stride away.

  Wiley walked a much more subdued pace home, and as he unlocked the door he thought how, if Holt had asked if he wanted company, he’d have invited Holt in.

  Chapter Six

  HOLT ducked into the vestibule of their location for the day and shook rain from his hair and shoulders.

  “Get in here so we can fix that,” Keelie said while opening the door.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Holt followed her to a line of chairs, and she had the hair dryer on before his butt was in the seat.

  “One day I’ll convince you to carry an umbrella.” She fluffed and combed and included his damp shirt.

  “Probably not. Maybe I just like you fussing over me too much.” He grinned and she turned the hair dryer to blast his face and then kept working.

  He kept his eyes closed and mentally reviewed the notes for today’s shoot. Flowers. Boutonnieres, swags for the aisle chairs and adorning the porches at the mansion, centerpiece accents, and a large arrangement for the guest book and find-your-seat table.

  Late last night Holt made sure to read Kit’s email. It included plenty of direction without telling them exactly what to pick.

  “Wiley? Right next to your man, if you please,” Keelie called over the hum of the hair dryer and general noise in the room.

  “Morning.” Wiley sounded breathless.

  Holt had to get a look.

  He turned despite Keelie’s hold on his head and smiled.

  Wiley’s eyelashes were spiky with moisture, and his thick hair was plastered down. Rivulets ran down his cheeks and neck, and Holt couldn’t resist touching, following their course on Wiley’s skin.

  “Morning. Great timing on that downpour, eh?” Stay loose, he thought, and leaned in to kiss Wiley, natural as anything.

  Wiley returned the kiss. Enough to appear mutual, not so much to go overboard, plenty to get Holt’s blood heated.

  He shifted in the chair, and Keelie turned the hair dryer away.

  “Need a moment?” she asked tartly.

  “No,” he choked. He cleared his throat and said more clearly, “No.”

  She um-hummed knowingly and finished fluffing and combing and then moved on to Wiley.

  Lars appeared in her place and made quick work of doing Holt’s camera makeup “no-makeup look.”

  Kit joined them next, and as soon as Lars was gone, scooted a chair crowded to theirs, sat poised on the edge, and said, “Questions, comments, did you read what I sent?”

  “No, why are we here instead of a florist, and yes.” Holt removed the tissue Lars had stuck in his collar and wadded it in his hand. Without thinking he held his palm out for Wiley’s and added it to the wad.

  “You two are bonding so nicely and it shows so well on camera.” Kit smiled in an according-to-plan expression Holt knew well, and got out his notebook. “If you do have any, here’s my notes. We’re here because I wanted to have the fun of making a pop-up store—after we’re through, we’re opening this up to the masses and they can come in and buy all the samples and examples, terribly fun and an amazing idea, right? And amazing, thank you, I’m bowled over.”

  Kit opened his notebook to a tabbed section and gave it to Wiley. “I know you read the email, dearest, but give a look-see and poke me if you need.”

  “That actually is a good idea. I always hated the waste from some segments.” Holt drummed his fingers on his thigh. “That also explains why so many people were milling around on Main Street in the rain hours before anything opens.”

  “It came to me like a bolt of genius! Which, it is. It’s something I should do again, somehow,” Kit said leadingly but then waved a dismissive hand. “Anyway, I told Todd and Regina not to bring anything they want to have a chance of taking back to the shop with them.” He surveyed the cavernous, bricked space. “We’ll have to tell people the structural pillars aren’t for sale, so please don’t hacksaw and drag them away.”

  The structural pillars formed a dignified regiment that defined the main room, standing in a staggered grid of twelve rising to what was probably a twenty-foot ceiling. The once pristine white paint had cracked and peeled, but their lines remained plumb and true.

  “Wasn’t this Sinclair Hardware once upon a time?” Holt remembered counting the pillars and marveling at tiny bins filled with nuts and bolts and nails and screws as his father hunted up a replacement pull for a kitchen drawer or a latch for the garage door. The dark-patina wood floor had creaked even when he was a kid.

  “It was. You used to beg Dad to come here so you could count washers or whatever. It was well past its prime then but still impressive.” Kit tsked. “Sad what’s happened, even if we are brightening it for the day.”

  A bubble of righteous indignation rose in Holt’s chest. “Is it just going to be allowed to rot away?”

  “Old man Sinclair—who was really the original old man Sinclair’s grandson—passed away before any decisions about selling or someone else taking over were made.” Wiley frowned. “I think the city has ownership at this point. Tax default. It’s the biggest storefront on Main Street, so rent or purchase would be steep, but the Restore Downtown Commission won’t let it be subdivided, so no one knows what to do with it.”

  “I’m sure someone will think of something.” Kit stood and brushed nonexistent dust from his slim pale puce suit. “Someone very optimistic and with a lot of money and can-do elbow grease to burn.” He pulled a face. “Awful. Wiley—come with me, darling. Let’s peruse the bevy of floral beauts awaiting you so you’re primed and ready. Holt, humor me and read my notes, and then do come join us.”

  He didn’t have much choice in taking the notebook Kit thrust at him, but he duly went over Kit’s bullet lists and arrows pointing to next thoughts and ideas and circled callouts and asides. Pictures clipped from magazines were washi taped here and there alongside Kit’s sketches and paint chips arrayed to show a color story.

  Kit could be a diva and flighty and even terrible, but Kit also meant business about getting the weddings he planned right. Even if the wedding was fake.

  Holt sought Wiley out and relaxed just from finding him among the hubbub and watching him bury his face in a bouquet of flowers.

  There was a lot—too much—that didn’t seem fake anymore. Last night, on the verge of asking if he could walk Wiley home and into the house and then to bed, had been entirely too real.

  Blame it on a combination of stress and being thrown together and how Wiley’s concern no one else suffer fallout had made his heart turn over.

  Holt snapped the notebook shut and walked it to the pile of Kit’s things at the command center area set up at the front of the room. He gazed out the dirty front window, and Kit’s dismissive comments about the store rattled in his mind.

  Aside from the pillars, the only original architecture still intact was the massive oak counter and floor-to-ceiling bins behind it, seemingly pulled directly from an Old West movi
e’s mercantile store. Production and the florists had stuffed the bins to overflowing, with flower bundles in some and vases representing Kit’s color story in others. The countertop had a hinge-top access. Holt had longed to try it the moment he’d discovered it, trailing his dad around the store, but of course it had been off-limits.

  No more.

  He went directly to it, lifted it up, and stepped through.

  Letting it drop again required twisting to change his hold. The hinges protested and the gate didn’t quite fit in its ogee anymore. Definitely not as cool as he’d once imagined. If this were his, he’d consider removing it or devising a smoother transition with lighter weight wood and hidden hydraulics.

  “Ben?” Holt didn’t have to yell—he had a certain tone he’d learned cut through the noise and got the attention he needed.

  Ben trotted over and tugged his jangling tool belt tighter to his slim waist. “Hey, man, what’s up?” He high-five-hugged Holt over the counter. Ben was fair and his cheeks were always pink, but exertion made them red. “It’s hard work being in charge with you taking it easy, all too busy getting married to do your job.”

  Holt grinned. “Aww, we both know this episode is in great hands with you.” He lifted the gate and raised an eyebrow meaningfully.

  “A tragedy.” Ben scowled, his thinking face. “I’m on it. Don’t think we have time for good as new, but it won’t do that on film at least.”

  “More than enough. Thanks, Ben.”

  Ben clicked his tongue and went in search of whatever that thinking face decided was needed.

  Kit and Wiley were absorbed in conversation, and rather than acknowledge a twinge of dislike he couldn’t quite pin down, Holt wandered around the old store. The line-leaded windows over the office at the back were fine, but their caulk and sashes looked a puff of wind away from collapsing. The office interior was worse. He could tell the team had abated evident mildew so they could film in here and then have the public in to shop, but if anyone was going to take this place on, digging down to and removing the source would be the first job.