Bridesmaid for Hire

by Nancy Warren

  She had no idea what might have happened next if they hadn't heard the unmistakable sound of more hikers approaching the summit. He didn't scramble off her, he simply moved slowly away from her and settled back against his rock. By the time the hikers had arrived, he was packing up the last of their lunch.

  She tried to act equally cool, sitting up slowly and reaching for her water bottle as though a few sips of water could cool the burning in her system.

  It was a family who arrived with them on top of the mountain. "Hi," the dad said. He was followed by his wife, presumably, and two young teenagers both looking as though they'd rather still be in bed.

  "Hi," Eric said. "Nice day."

  "Sure is."

  He rose and hoisted the pack onto his back, and she stood up and put on her own much smaller pack. They said goodbye to the family and started back down the path. Where they'd chatted so easily on the way up, well, except for the parts where she couldn’t talk because she was breathing so hard from exertion, on the way down she felt shy. Once more, she had no idea what that kiss had meant. He didn't seem in any hurry to enlighten her. He wasn't very chatty either, though, and she wondered whether he was regretting taking advantage of that moment.

  She decided the best thing to do was to put it out of her mind, and not obsess in some neurotic fashion all the way down the hill. So, she put on the voice she used with her customers when she needed to coax them into a decision. "You will never believe what color Stacey Cron chose for our bridesmaid dresses."

  "Red?"

  "Worse. So much worse. The color is called lemon chiffon. I swear, it’s exactly the same color as dog pee in snow. And with my hair color? I can't even tell you how bad I look in my bridesmaid dress."

  "You'll look great," he assured her.

  And what on earth had possessed her to tell him the color looked like dog pee on snow? She did not want him looking at her and thinking about canine urine. She only blurted out stupid things like this when she was nervous. And it annoyed her that he made her nervous. What was he thinking, kissing her and leaving no clue as to what he meant by it? The first time, his kiss had been about as passionate as a hug. Her reaction had been far from casual. Now, today, he'd really heated things up, and then acted like nothing happened. No, worse, he’d grown quiet, like he might be regretting the impulse.

  She really needed to stop making herself crazy over this guy. Except, she saw him in a way no one else did. The fact that he'd not made a joke or pushed her away when she'd challenged him on his obvious intelligence had her feeling like she had a kind of intimacy with him that he didn't share with everybody. But what did she really know about Eric Van Hoffendam? Well, most of what she knew about him wasn’t actually that great. So why did she continue in this stubborn belief that she was the only one who could see the amazing person he could become if he’d only apply himself?

  They continued to chat on impersonal subjects on the way down. The strange thing was, it was a lot easier to talk going down, when they were breathing normally, and yet, they seemed to have less to talk about. She felt the kiss between them like a huge stop sign waving in front of her face. She didn't want to act in a way that would suggest to him how much that kiss had meant to her. It was easier to act as though it hadn't happened at all.

  When they got to the bottom of the path and returned to the car, he said, "Thanks for coming today. I really needed to get out and away from the city. It was great to have the company."

  "It was fun, thanks for inviting me. And thank Millie for the sandwiches.”

  He drove them back to her place. She’d kept the evening free in case he wanted to do dinner or stop for a beer on the way home, but he didn’t suggest anything. She felt fluttery when he pulled up in front of her place. Did she invite him up? It was a Saturday afternoon, and they both needed to shower, but if she asked him up to her place he was going to think she wanted sex. If he invited her for dinner, or to the beach, or back to his place for a dip in the pool, of course she'd say yes. If he even suggested he wanted to see more of her, then she could invite him up to her place without seeming like she was sex-starved and desperate. But, after looking at her for a moment, almost as though waiting for something, he said, "Hey, thanks again for today. " He got out and retrieved her pack for her.

  She forced a smile. "I really had a great time."

  He leaned in and gave her a swift kiss. "See you on Monday."

  "Yeah, see you."

  Chapter 9

  Eric pulled away, cursing himself for a fool. What was the matter with him? Why did he keep hitting on Tasmine?

  She'd been acting strange ever since that kiss. He knew he shouldn't have done it, but when she snuggled up against him, with her head on his chest, he had the feeling that she saw him, saw through his usual bluster and his class clown persona, to the brain he usually either tried to hide, or used to think up increasingly stupid pranks. He had felt a moment of intimate connection. He could not have prevented himself kissing her any more than he could've prevented those hikers from showing up right when things were getting interesting.

  He’d hoped against hope that she would invite him up for a cold drink of water, suggest a beer, anything that would give him hope that she liked him. But she hadn’t. Instead, he’d felt her growing more distant. He’d made it obvious from that kiss that he had a crush on the woman they jokingly referred to as his parole officer. In return, she had made it pretty clear that she wasn’t interested.

  And yet, the way she’d responded had blown his mind. He felt as though he were losing his edge, losing the cheerful confidence he’d always had around women. Between Ashley dumping his ass and Tasmine saving it from jail, he’d really started to question a lot of his assumptions about himself and women. If he drove Tasmine away, he didn’t think he could handle it. He needed her in his life, even if only as a friend.

  He made a vow to himself to stop pushing himself at her, at least until she gave some definite sign that she was interested. Sure, she hadn’t exactly pushed them away today, and the way her body had responded against his had him feeling like he needed to hike up another mountain just to get rid of this excess energy.

  Maybe he'd offer to drive her to the Cron wedding they were both attending. Of course, she probably had to be there hours before he did, but at least he’d get to spend time with her and he'd be able to drive her home at the end of the party. It was the kind of move that if she wanted only friendship, she could accept his friendship, a guy doing her a favor. And if she wanted to give him any sign at all that she was interested in him he'd be all over it.

  He had wondered if the Baileys might go easier on him now that he’d saved the judge from death by choking. But, apart from the judge thanking him right after it happened, no one had said anything.

  However, things did start to change. Once he’d finished painting the pool, José took over and checked all the hoses and filters before having it filled with fresh water.

  He got put on regular gardening detail. He found himself hauling paving stones, mowing grass and weeding. His podcasts and audiobooks were more and more related to gardening, landscaping, and drought-resistant gardening in particular.

  He could see how much water was getting sucked up by the traditional plants and, even worse, by the lawns, and thought it was not only unsustainable, but that more native and drought resistant plants would look better.

  He broached the idea with José, who, after his usual stream of Spanish abuse that made the other gardeners laugh, said, “You want to make more work for yourself? Go ahead, my friend. Talk to the judge.”

  So, he did. And to Mrs. Bailey. He’d picked one area, where there was little shade and no shelter from the elements and where the flowers were losing a battle against the climate. He drew up a plan at night, sketched in plants he’d read about and presented the idea to the Baileys when they were finishing their day out on the patio. He was happy to see the snacks did not include olives.

  “Can I talk to yo
u a minute?” he asked them.

  “Certainly,” the judge said.

  “Sit down,” Mrs. Bailey said. “Would you like a drink?”

  He couldn’t believe he was being treated like a guest instead of a slave. “Some water would be great.”

  She got up herself and fetched sparkling water, which she served in a crystal glass with ice and a slice of lemon.

  He felt a little nervous coming to them with ideas on changing landscaping they’d probably lived with forever, but he could see in his head how much better the property could look. He pulled from his back pocket the diagram he’d made, explained why he was suggesting various plants. “The Calandrinia, that’s the pink flowering one, will work really well with the succulents. I’d like to see yarrow and lavender, myrtle and drought-tolerant grasses. You’ll not only save water and fertilizer but a lot of these attract birds and butterflies.”

  “Even bees,” Mrs. Bailey said, studying his sketch. “I like the color spectrum, and you’ve got an interesting array of shapes.”

  She was an art lover, of course she understood that a garden was a kind of canvas. “Exactly. And I’m trying to work out a plan with plants that bloom at different times of year so there’s always color.”

  “You should talk to José,” the judge said.

  “I did. He said to talk to you.”

  The judge tapped his fingers on the glass tabletop. “He’ll make you do all the work, you know that, right?”

  “That’s what I’m here for.”

  “Martha?”

  “I think it’s a wonderful idea,” she said. “I’ve been thinking for a while now that we should be more eco friendly.”

  “Draw up your list of supplies and give it to José. I’ll talk to him and let him know you’ve got my permission.”

  He was excited to try out his ideas. Grateful the Baileys hadn’t laughed at him and tossed his ideas back. There was so much potential to be more environmentally sustainable on the Baileys’ property. Where the head gardener had started out thinking he was a lazy good-for-nothing, he thought his animosity now had more to do with seeing him as competition. Which was an improvement of sorts.

  Even one small change was a beginning.

  Tasmine had told him that her dress looked the color of dog pee on snow. But when he picked her up the morning of the Cron wedding, to drop her off at the downtown hotel where the wedding would take place later that day, he thought she looked as cool and crisp as a newly sliced lemon. There was something so fresh about her, her hair was in some kind of an updo, and she already had her makeup done for the wedding. He loved her long, slender legs and the way those legs looked in a pair of lemon-colored high heels. She wheeled a weekend-sized traveling case behind her, and he already knew that it contained all sorts of emergency supplies, extra makeup, and probably a few extra blowup bridesmaids in case somebody got sick and didn't turn up. She was the most organized woman he’d ever known.

  "This is so nice of you," she said.

  "I had to go downtown anyway," he lied. In fact, he planned to spend a few hours at his club working out, maybe enjoy a steam room and a massage, and spend the day more like the Eric Van Hoffendam he used to be than the Eric who was a mistrusted garden slave. José still treated him like he was lower than the dirt they tilled.

  He didn’t see Tasmine again until the wedding. When she walked up the aisle he watched her all the way. At one point, as though she felt his gaze on her, she turned her head and their gazes connected. She might look cool and crisp on the outside but after their kiss, he knew how hot she burned. As though she could read his thoughts, her eyes widened slightly and then she was past him, heading for the front of the church.

  At the reception, Tasmine was seated at the head table, of course, while he was at a table with friends he hadn’t seen for months given his long hours in the Gulag.

  Slade and Toad were there, Melissa and Douglass, who were going to have about six kids before they even got married if they didn’t leave each other alone, and Kylie and Donovan who were gearing up for their own wedding in a few weeks. A couple of unattached women were also at their table.

  One of them, whose name was Kelly something, leaned close to him and said, “You are so tanned. I bet you’re a surfer.”

  “Would be if I had time.”

  “Because you’re too busy sailing? I love sailing. If you ever want to go sometime–”

  Kelly was dark-haired, vivacious and in a different time he’d have been very interested in what she was offering. But right now he wished it was Tasmine sitting beside him. He interrupted her to say, “I’m a working stiff.”

  “A working stiff?”

  “Yep. I work outside, gardening mostly.”

  “Oh,” she sounded very disappointed.

  Toad piped up. “Nobody’s seen you, Hoff. It’s like you fell off the planet.”

  Toad knew exactly where he was working, and why, but he supposed his old gang were having trouble accepting that he couldn’t work crazy long hours breaking his back under the hot sun and also hang out and party all night.

  He’d looked forward to seeing them all tonight but strangely he felt like they were still talking about the same things, still doing the same things, and he’d somehow moved on.

  Kelly transferred her interest to Slade, Douglas and Melissa—who’d spent all their time touching and stroking each other—left early, Kylie and Donovan argued about their wedding cake choice, and he excused himself to mingle.

  He managed to get a dance with Tasmine, a chance to hold her against him and imagine they were an item. “Having a good time?” she asked.

  “I am now.”

  “Your table looks like fun.”

  “It was until Kylie and Donovan started arguing about wedding cakes. Fruitcake or chocolate. They wanted everyone’s opinion.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Doesn’t matter. No one ever eats wedding cake anyway.”

  She laughed and he felt happier just being near her.

  “When can you get away?”

  “Right after the bride throws the bouquet.”

  “You aiming to catch it?”

  She made a pfft sound. “If I catch the bouquet I might have to organize another wedding.”

  An hour later, it was Kelly who had caught the bouquet, and Tasmine was free to go.

  He drove her home with care, knowing how many crazies were out on a summer Saturday. He’d made sure to drink nothing more serious than soda water knowing he’d be driving. Besides, there was something he really needed to talk to her about.

  Chapter 10

  It was so nice having Eric drive her home. She could imagine that they were more than friends. That, like Melissa and Douglas, they left the second they could so they could rush home and get naked.

  "I had an interesting conversation with the judge yesterday," Eric said, immediately derailing her train of thought.

  "Really?”

  "Yes. He's taken to hanging out with me for a little bit now and then. He’s interested in the plants I’m choosing and why. Did you know that man has a sense of humor?"

  She was jolted by surprise. "Are we talking about the same judge?"

  "I know, right? Anyway, we were joking about olives."

  "You were joking about olives with the man who nearly choked to death on one?"

  "You kind of had to be there."

  “Okay.”

  “We started by talking about varieties of olive trees that grow best in this climate and then one thing led to another and we were talking about death by olive.” She couldn’t imagine the judge and Eric yukking it up over a near death experience and was still trying to process the strange notion when he shocked her to her core.

  "Anyway, since he was in such a good mood, I said, ‘Maybe, since I saved your life, you might let me out of the Gulag.’”

  "You did not seriously use the word Gulag?" She felt like her upper ribs were squeezing in so her breath wasn't coming into h
er lungs as easily as it normally did.

  "I absolutely did."

  She shifted, trying to loosen the corset thing that went under the dress to stop it from pinching her. She refused to ask what the judge might have replied, but Eric answered her unspoken question anyway. He turned to her, his eyes were dark and mysterious in the dim light. "When I asked the judge about springing me early, he said I should talk to you."

  The vise around her ribs squeezed tighter. "He did?" Why had she got involved in something that was none of her business? This was what happened when you tried to be a good person. She scrambled to think of something to say that wouldn't constitute a lie. Because she was pretty sure that Eric would be furious if he knew that she had kept him in prison after the judge was willing to free him.

  "Yes, he did." There was another awkward pause. "So, I'm asking you."

  She huffed out a breath. “Wouldn't you think that a man who was smart enough to be a judge could manage to keep his mouth shut about something that was meant to be confidential?”

  He didn’t answer.

  She glanced out the window and knew she was not going to lie. Screw it, if he was furious with her for her actions, then he’d be furious.

  She drew in a breath. "After you saved his life, Judge and Mrs. Bailey were willing to call your debt repaid. But they decided to discuss the issue with me first.” She refused to look at him because she did not want to know how he was taking this news. "We talked it over, and, I'm sorry, Eric, but my advice was that you should continue working."

  "Why?" The word was delivered in a flat tone, not aggressive exactly but not brimming with excitement, either.

  "The truth is, I think it's good for you. I think, for the first time in your life, you are doing work that is hard, and you're accepting the consequences of your actions and you're taking pride in what you do. I think you spent so much of your life being the family clown and the screw-up that you don't even know how amazing you can be. There’s this incredible man inside you waiting for you to grow up and I think, maybe, it’s time.”