Well, that was what she was being paid for, Gina reminded herself.
The big question here was, just who was going to hold her hand when she walked into Shane’s shop, Gina wondered.
“Of course I’ll pick you up, Sylvie. I’ll be at your place by nine fifteen Wednesday morning,” Gina promised. “That’ll give us lots of time in case we run into heavy traffic.”
Or maybe, Gina thought as she drove home shortly thereafter, if she was lucky, there’d be an earthquake just before they left. Nothing fancy, just something that would be large enough to shake everything up and prevent her from going.
* * *
The next evening, because the prospect of having to see Shane again the next day was making her feel exceptionally restless and more than a little nervous, Gina did what she always did when something was bothering her to this extent.
She called Tiffany.
Two minutes into the conversation, or maybe only ninety seconds, it all came out. She told her sister all about running into Shane the day before and how she had arrived at the shop totally unprepared for the shock of seeing Shane because she thought she was going to be talking to someone named Cassidy.
Rather than being on her side and supportive the way her sister usually was, Tiffany sounded almost delighted to hear about Shane’s unexpected materializing in her life. She was extremely eager to hear all the details.
“Shane Callaghan? Really, Gina? After all this time? What’s he look like?” Tiffany asked.
Gina frowned. Her usually sedate sister sounded as if she could barely control herself.
“Older,” Gina said guardedly, determined to dole out her information if she was forced to share it.
“Older? C’mon, Gina, my German shepherd looks older than she did yesterday. Use your words,” Tiffany told her. “The guy used to be drop-dead gorgeous. Is he fatter, skinnier, dilapidated-looking, bald—what?”
“No,” Gina answered slowly, picking out her words as cautiously as if they each had thorns attached. “None of the above.”
“He doesn’t look any different, then?” Tiffany questioned in disbelief.
“Well, his cheekbones are a little more prominent and he might have gotten a little more distinguished-looking,” Gina allowed slowly. And then she stopped. “You’re sighing, Tiffany,” she accused. “I can hear it. Why are you sighing?”
“I’m just picturing him in my mind, Gee. He was pretty damn near perfect-looking when you two were going together,” Tiffany recalled.
“You’re exaggerating,” Gina said, although she secretly agreed with her sister’s assessment.
“No, I’m not. And I’m not the only one who thought he was perfect—inside and out,” Tiffany insisted. “Mom was looking into wedding venues for you two minutes after she’d met him.”
“Why would she have done that?” Gina asked. This was the first she had heard of this. “We weren’t that serious in the beginning.”
“Mom was,” Tiffany told her simply.
Thinking back, maybe her mother was at that, Gina conceded. She knew that her mother had certainly been disappointed when she’d told her that she and Shane had broken up.
“Don’t remind me,” Gina said with a sigh that came from deep down in her toes. “Look, do me a favor. Don’t tell Mom about this, okay? Don’t say anything about my running into Shane. Or that I have to see him again tomorrow to finalize everything.”
“Don’t worry. Mom won’t hear it from me,” Tiffany responded.
Admittedly, Tiffany felt a little guilty about being evasive and about keeping this setup from her sister. But, she silently argued, this was for Gina’s own good.
Tiffany consoled herself with the thought that in the long run, Gina would thank her for this even though it was their mother who had gotten everything rolling.
At least, she thought, she could hope so.
Tiffany crossed her fingers as she hung up.
* * *
This time, as she drove into the older shopping center, Gina knew just where to pull up and park in order to have better access to Shane’s store.
She also knew exactly what was ahead of her.
Which was why her knees felt as if they had been replaced by two vats of whipped butter and her stomach was threatening to separate her from her deliberately light breakfast.
“Is everything all right?” Sylvie asked her when Gina turned off the engine and made no effort to get out.
Still seated in the passenger seat, the excited bride eyed her uncertainly.
Gina slowly took in a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves.
“Everything’s fine,” Gina quickly assured her client. “I’m just working out some details in my head,” she said in order to cover up her preoccupation.
Sylvie didn’t appear convinced. “Should I be worried?”
“No, absolutely not,” Gina told her with feeling. Me, on the other hand, who knows? “It’s right here.” Gina pointed out the little shop as she got out of the driver’s seat.
Sylvie was immediately beside her, surveying the entire area. “It’s perfect,” she cried.
“It is charming,” Gina agreed.
Opening the door and holding it for Sylvie, Gina heard the same quaint bell announce their entrance. But this time, instead of walking into an empty reception area, she found that Shane was waiting for them.
Rather than wearing a spattered apron over his T-shirt and jeans the way he had when she had seen him the other day, Shane was dressed in a suit. No tie, but he didn’t need one. He looked like the picture of a rakish businessman.
Was that for his client’s benefit, or hers?
Dial it back, Gina. This isn’t about you, remember?
Coming to, Gina realized that introductions needed to be made. “Sylvie Stevens, I’d like you to meet—”
“Cassidy,” Shane said, stepping forward. Taking Sylvie’s hand in his, he kissed it lightly, as if he had grown up somewhere in France or Italy rather than Southern California.
Sylvie giggled at the display of bygone continental manners. When he released her hand, she held it to her as if savoring their fleeting contact.
Belatedly, Sylvie found her tongue. “I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am that you’re going to be making my wedding cake.”
“Creating your wedding cake,” Gina interjected, sparing a glance in Shane’s direction.
He looked mildly surprised, then smiled as he inclined his head at her.
“Oh, of course,” Sylvie agreed. “Right. Creating it,” she corrected herself. Partially awestruck and totally thrilled, the bride-to-be was having a hard time not tripping over her own tongue.
Shane turned his magnetic blue eyes on the nervous bride. “It’ll be my pleasure,” he told Sylvie. “Now, why don’t we all sit down and you can tell me about yourself and your lucky groom-to-be,” he suggested, gesturing toward a small table off to the side.
A table Gina could have sworn was not there the day before yesterday.
Like a woman in a trance, Sylvie allowed herself to be led to the table. She was Shane’s totally captive audience.
“Ask me anything you want to know,” Sylvie said, giving him carte blanche to ask her any intimate detail he wanted to.
Shane waited until the young woman and Gina were both seated, then took a seat himself. After politely offering them coffee or tea, he began asking a series of what initially seemed to be totally unrelated questions.
As Gina listened, she realized that this wasn’t just for show. Shane was actually asking Sylvie questions that, once put together, highlighted the personality and preferences of both the bride and, by proxy, her groom.
Was this just to justify what she assumed was going to be a high asking price or did Shane consider all this really a necessary part to fuel his “creative” process?
<
br /> The Shane she recalled was as far from a huckster as day was from night, but people, she freely admitted, did change. If Shane had changed for the worse, she couldn’t help thinking that it might be at least in part her fault. Had she wound up crushing his soul after all or was she just reading much too much into all this?
She listened in silence and found she couldn’t really make a judgment. Shane sounded as if he was being genuine, but that might all be just part of his act. She didn’t know.
The entire session took about thirty minutes and that was only because Shane didn’t rush his client to give him answers. In addition he would interject pleasantries throughout the entire process.
When it was finally over, Gina allowed herself one comment. “I had no idea so much went into making the right sort of wedding cake.”
Shane’s lips curved ever so slightly in a patient smile. “Creating,” he reminded her. “Not making.”
“Right. Sorry.” Her eyes met his. There was that same warm shiver again, working its way up her spine, getting the better of her. “I keep apologizing,” she said.
“I noticed. No need to apologize,” he replied. His voice grew less formal as he turned to address Sylvie. “I think I have everything I need to at least get started.”
“You mean right now?” Sylvie asked, surprised and wide-eyed.
His smile was tolerant. “No, I wasn’t being literal. The creating part won’t take place until a couple of days before your cake has to become a reality. What I meant was that I have enough information to begin contemplating your cake.”
“Why don’t I give you my number so that if you come up with any further questions, you can just call me and ask,” Sylvie said, looking around for a piece of paper and a pen. She was eager to make this as easy as possible for Cassidy.
“No need,” he told Sylvie. “I have Gina’s number. If I need to ask anything, I’ll call her. After all, as your professional bridesmaid, that is her function.” His eyes slowly slid over toward Gina. “Am I right?”
It felt as if he had actually touched her, just the way he had back when they were a couple. It took Gina a second to catch her breath. This was not going to be smooth sailing.
“Yes,” she answered. “You are. Now, if you have nothing else,” she said, rising to her feet, “I believe I have a fitting for a bridesmaid dress.” She glanced at Sylvie for confirmation.
“Oh right. You do,” Sylvie remembered.
She was on her feet as well, shaking Shane’s hand and once again restating her gratitude for his making time for her.
He just smiled warmly at the bride.
So why, Gina thought uneasily, did she feel as if he was actually smiling at her—with a promise of things to come?
Chapter Six
This was the part of her job that Gina usually hated: going into the bridal shop and trying on the bridesmaid dress. As a latecomer, she technically had no right to give any input about the dress that had been selected by the bride for her bridal party.
However, coming in as a bridal “troubleshooter,” she felt that she did.
As she stood in the store, looking at herself in the mirror, none of that really mattered right now. Maybe it was all relative, considering the emotional ordeal she had just been through, but she thought that the floor-length gown that Sylvie had selected for the five women in her party was rather flattering.
Mint green, high waisted and formfitting, with a side-slit that went just high enough to be inviting but was still rather tasteful, it was a dress Gina would have picked out for herself—if she actually went to places where a dress like this could be deemed appropriate. Which, sadly, she didn’t.
“What do you think?” Sylvie asked, watching Gina for a reaction. “It was Jennifer’s dress—my bridesmaid who dropped out of the wedding party. She never came in for her last fitting because she was just too despondent after her breakup.”
I know how that feels, Gina thought. Shane didn’t break up with you, you broke up with him, remember? she reminded herself.
She looked herself over one last time. “It’s as if it was made for me,” she said. Gina turned away from the three-way mirror to look at the woman who was very obviously waiting for her opinion. “It’s lovely. You have very good taste,” she told Sylvie. “Usually, I find myself searching for a polite way to explain to the prospective bride that if her bridesmaids all resembled escaped trolls, that wasn’t going to put her in the kind of spotlight she was hoping for.” She turned back for one more glimpse in the mirrors—and smiled. “But this dress is extremely flattering. Any bridesmaid would be thrilled to be in your wedding party.”
“Really?” Sylvie asked, absorbing the compliment like a water-deprived thirsty puppy.
Gina’s smile widened as she assured the young woman warmly, “Really.”
Sylvie caught her off guard by rushing up and embracing her as if she were a long-lost sister. “Thank you!” she cried. “I just knew you’d be good luck for me.”
Gina felt it was only right if she pointed out one important fact. “You picked these dresses out before you and I even met each other.”
Sylvie waved away Gina’s words. “It doesn’t matter. I just feel that you’re going to bring me luck. Look how you fit into Jennifer’s dress.” She said it as if that was an omen. “And you got Cassidy to agree to—create the wedding cake,” she said, applying the proper amount of emphasis on the process. “And you’re getting me another photographer. Have you found one yet?” she asked, suddenly realizing that problem had yet to be resolved.
“I have, and I’ll be talking to him once I finish this fitting. And,” she added, looking over her shoulder at the way the gown was hugging her curves as it made its way from her hips to her ankles, “in my opinion, this fitting is officially finished.”
Having made the declaration, Gina looked around for the seamstress who had come to this session fully equipped with straight pins and two tape measures. She had used none of the tools of her trade because once the gown was on, it became obvious to everyone that alternations were unnecessary.
Spotting the older woman standing over by another display, Gina looked at her with a silent query evident in her expression.
The seamstress, with her short crop of gray hair, looked as if she had been lifted from central casting and told to play the part of a capable seamstress. The woman, Olga, lifted her thin shoulders in a shrug.
Olga’s solemn expression didn’t change as she said, “I hate to say it, but I cannot improve on perfect.”
Gina took one final look at herself. She couldn’t help wishing that Shane could suddenly materialize and see her like this.
She sincerely doubted that he ever would. Most likely on the day of the wedding, he would have his assistants bringing in and setting up whatever “masterpiece” he was going to ultimately “create” for the happy couple.
In all probability he wouldn’t be anywhere around the vicinity of the reception.
Now that she thought back on it, Gina suddenly remembered that she had heard the name Cassidy mentioned before. But there had never been any photographs of him posing with his creations. All she ever saw were isolated cakes taking center stage and a swirly signature superimposed on them.
His signature, she thought.
How had she missed that?
“The dress is rather perfect,” Gina said, agreeing with the seamstress.
“I was referring to the way it fit you,” the seamstress emphasized. “You have a good body to work with,” the woman added matter-of-factly.
Gina smiled. She didn’t think of herself in those terms. Most days she just thought of herself as a workhorse, a pawn piece to stick in to take someone else’s place and to hopefully help pull off yet another bride’s idea of a perfect wedding.
This compliment, coming unbidden from Olga, was like an unexpected bonus.
For just a split second, Gina allowed herself to bask in it.
But then Gina reminded herself that she had people to see and things to do—and miles to go before she could sleep, she added whimsically.
“Thank you,” she said to the seamstress. “I needed that.”
Olga looked at her as if she didn’t know what she was talking about. With another careless shrug she went on to say, “I just tell you what I see.” She straightened, gathering the tools of her trade to her. “If I am not needed here, I have other work to do for bridesmaids who are not as fortunate as you are,” she announced, her eyes antiseptically sweeping over Gina.
With that, the woman withdrew from the room.
Gina noticed that Sylvie was looking at her as if waiting for instructions. Gina felt amused, recalling other brides that were definitely not this easy to work with.
“Let me just change back into my clothes and I’ll drop you off at your place,” she told Sylvie as she made her way into the changing booth.
“When we get to my place you can stay if you like,” Sylvie said, almost shyly extending an invitation to her wedding “fixer.”
“I’m having the rest of the girls in the bridal party over and it’ll give you a chance to meet them.”
She thought that was a good idea, but right now, the timing was off. She needed to get the photographer on board. Once she did, that resolved all the outstanding issues for Sylvie—at least for the moment. They still had a long way to go before the wedding.
“Sounds good,” Gina answered. “But I’m going to have to take a rain check for now.”
“Are you sure?” Sylvie asked. She moved closer to the changing booth, as if proximity would somehow make Gina change her mind.
Having carefully taken off the bridesmaid gown, Gina now threw on her own clothes. Dressed, she proceeded to meticulously hang up the gown in a garment bag and then zipped the bag up.
“I’m sure. I have a photographer to sweet-talk,” Gina reminded the bride.
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot about that. Good thing you didn’t,” she added.
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