by Susan Hatler
Degas. Huh. I racked my brain, trying to remember every high school or college art class I’d taken. We reached the gates of the house where The Magnolia Tea was being held.
Miss Ella waved at someone inside and they hurried to open the gate for her. Just as she walked through, she added, “You’re going to prove you have trust and teamwork in your relationship by taking a picture together in front of the Degas at the High. They’re open late tonight for a special exhibit, but you’d better hurry. They close in less than an hour. Good luck!”
“Thanks,” I said, my shoulder muscles tightening. We had less than an hour? What was the High? I watched the gates swing shut. Moose whined softly. “I hear you, Moose. This is a tough one.” I turned to Ben. “Do you have any idea what the High is?”
To my surprise, he nodded. “The High Museum of Art. But we obviously can’t take Moose in there so we’ll have to leave him at Jill’s grandma’s house, and with this traffic . . . it’s going to be cutting it close.”
“Let’s do it!” I took off sprinting, and Ben ran by my side. Moose pumped his little legs as fast as he could. I have to say that running in sweltering heat and humidity—that felt so thick it was like breathing through a wet towel—was no picnic. But a fire lit inside me, giving me energy. I knew I had to get this wedding charm for Jill. I would not let my friend down.
We dropped Moose off at the house, leaving him in the laundry room. Then we hurried to the car. I slipped into the passenger seat. Ben started the engine and set the GPS. I asked, “So, the High is a museum, huh?”
“The biggest in Atlanta, and it’s always packed. Not to mention it’s in a really inconvenient location from here. Plus, traffic. Where’s a helicopter when you need one?”
I lifted a brow. “You could always use the company helicopter, I guess.”
His lips twitched. “Not this time. This one is up to us.”
Ben hit the gas and I clung to the edges of my seat, as we sped off to prove that we had enough trust and teamwork to make a marriage last.
Chapter Seven
We arrived at the High Museum of Art, and the building was a stunning work of art in itself. It was a tall, white structure laden with windows, all modern in angles and soaring edges, yet perfectly at home in Atlanta’s Midtown.
“Here we are,” Ben said, as we got out of the car in the crowded lot and headed for the front of the museum.
I gawked at the building, “Wow.”
Ben grinned. “Pretty impressive, right?”
“It’s amazing.” I hurried beside him toward the entrance, feeling worried about the limited time we had to find the Degas, and also feeling bad that we’d left Moose at home by himself. “I wish we didn’t have to leave Moose behind when he’s already had such a traumatic day. Do you think he’s all right?”
“I’m sure he’s fine.” He held the door and gave me a little bow. The romantic old South must be going to his head. I smiled at the gesture. The old Ben would’ve been way more likely to speed through first and let the door hit me in the nose. This chivalry stuff I could get used to.
The welcome blast of air conditioning hit us as we entered and I sighed with relief. The ceilings soared overhead, and the walls of windows lit up bright murals and the signs that pointed the way to the exhibits. The ticketing gate was to the right and we headed for it.
“I’ll get the tickets,” I said, reaching for the zipper of my purse.
“No, it’s fine.” He’d already pulled out his wallet and was handing over his bank card.
I opened my mouth to protest that I wanted to treat, but my thought was cut short by the lady in the ticketing booth. “We don’t sell general admissions this time of day. It’s museum policy.”
My teeth gnashed at our bad luck.
Ben, however, just smiled. He moved a little closer to the booth, a charming grin on his face. “Um, Lorraine? Your name is Lorraine, isn’t it?”
The name tag pinned neatly to her blouse clearly identified her as Lorraine. So what was he doing?
Lorraine nodded. “It is. But I can’t sell you a general admission ticket.”
“I would never ask you to do something against the rules,” he said, his smile growing wider as he winked at her. Lorraine actually blushed! I really couldn’t blame her. I found him pretty charming myself.
“We’re here for the special exhibit,” Ben said.
What special exhibit? I caught sight of a nearby sign and my hopes crashed to the gleaming floor. The sign said the exhibit was invitation-only, and we didn’t have an invitation.
“Oh.” Lorraine’s tone was high as if she hadn’t considered that. She hoisted a set of papers to her desk, fingering the list of names. “I only have two unclaimed tickets and those belong to Dr. and Mrs. Hillegrand. That couldn’t be you, because Dr. Hillegrand’s assistant called me just a bit ago and said he’d be in the surgical room all evening and wouldn’t be attending after all.” Her gaze met Ben’s and she winked at him. “Um, have your plans for surgery changed?”
He nodded. “Indeed they have, Lorraine. I didn’t have to perform the surgery after all.”
Lorraine gaze shifted from Ben to me. She raised a brow as if asking me to corroborate his obviously-made-up-with-her-help story.
I put on my brightest smile. “It was a miracle. The patient was cured.”
Lorraine fingered a strand of pearls hanging from her neck. “How about that? I never heard of the dead being cured. I guess you see everything there in the coroner’s office.”
My mouth opened and closed like a guppy. Oops.
Ben slipped an arm around me. “Oh, we’ve seen stranger things.”
“I’ll bet you have.” Lorraine held out two tickets with a little twinkle in her eyes. “The exhibit is down that hall, and to the right. Follow the signs.”
“You’re a peach, Lorraine.” Ben accepted the tickets, and we dashed through the gate and down the hall.
“What if the real doctor decides to show up?” I asked.
“Relax, dimples. Don’t you ever stop worrying?”
I supposed not. We passed quite a few rooms and corridors. There was so much on display that we gave up and went to a directory, hoping to spot the Degas listed somewhere. It wasn’t, and so we flagged down a guide to help us.
“Degas?” The guide, a twenty-something woman with blue hair and a heavy scrawl of eyeliner, shook her head. “We used to show two of Degas’s works here, but one is out on loan and the other isn’t available for viewing. There are lots of other beautiful artwork to see.”
“But a friend told us we could find a Degas here.” I bit my lip, tears welling in my eyes. Yeah, lots of good artwork, but none that would help us earn the wedding charm for Jill’s wedding.
Ben stepped forward. “There must be a Degas here somewhere. Maybe someone else would know where it is?”
“I know this museum inside and out.” She shook her head, and crossed her arms. “No Degas. But we have thousands of valuable pieces of art by many major artists,” she said, in a tone that told us he’d insulted her. “It’s a museum, you know. Bless your heart.”
Why was everyone blessing our hearts all the time? Right now it felt more like we were cursed. Frustrated beyond belief, I clasped my hands together in prayer position. “You don’t understand how important this is. We’re getting married and I need my something old, which is my grandmother’s wedding broach, but she’s making us perform all of these challenges to earn the broach.” On an impulse, trying to talk like a Southerner, I added, “Bless her heart.”
The guide’s mouth fell open. “You actually would say that about your grandma?”
What had I said wrong? I shot Ben a look.
He grinned. “She’s from California. She doesn’t know what that means.”
“What what means?” I gave him a hard, death glare.
He just kept grinning at me as though he had a secret that he wasn’t going to share. As mad I was I couldn’t help but notice that he was
even cuter when he smiled. And that the sides of his eyes crinkled in the most adorable way.
The guide looked slightly mollified. “Well, okay. But we still don’t have any Degas here. Like I said. Is there anything else you want to look at? We’re about to close in a few minutes so you might want to find it fast.”
My shoulders slumped. The bitter taste of defeat filled my mouth. “We have to find a Degas. Maybe Miss Ella made a mistake about the location. Is there anywhere else in the city that has a Degas on display?”
The guide shook her head. “Nope. The only place I can think of is Effie May Warrington’s house and she doesn’t let just anyone in to view her art collection. But she does have a Degas.”
I seized on that. “Oh? Um, is there any way we could contact her? We really have to view a Degas today so we can earn that wedding charm. I can’t get married without it.”
The guide sighed. “No. She sometimes lets people in her house to see her artwork but it’s usually just fellow art lovers, curators, and such. Besides, even if she were going to let you in she wouldn’t show it today.”
Ben’s forehead wrinkled. “Why not today?”
The guide smiled. “Well, because today’s The Magnolia Tea that she throws at her house every year. She donates the proceeds to the museum, of course.”
The Magnolia Tea? The place we’d just left? Ugh! How did Miss Ella forget that her friend had a Degas right there in her house?
“Thank you very much for your help.” Ben nodded to the guide and then took my arm and led me away.
I glanced at him. “What are we going to do now? Miss Ella said that the tea is invitation-only. I don’t think you could fake being the coroner again, because he wouldn’t have bought tickets for two events at the same time.”
“I guess there’s only one thing we can do . . .”
I shook my head. “We can’t go back to California without the wedding charm!”
He sent me a mischievous grin. “We have to crash the tea party.”
My eyes bulged. Okay, I hadn’t seen that one coming. Gulp.
****
I hurried to catch up with Ben as he dashed across the parking lot toward the car. “Look, I know you’re feeling drunk on the success of crashing the High but I don’t think crashing The Magnolia Tea party’s going to be as simple. Miss Ella is there. Plus, it’s an intimate party at someone’s house. There’s no way we can pull this off.”
Ben didn’t break a stride. “All we need is a skirt for you and we’re in.”
“Where am I going to get a skirt like that?” I demanded, pulling open the passenger door and slipping in. “Do you want me to pull a Scarlett O’Hara and wrap up in some drapes?”
“That’s not a bad idea.” He gunned the engine and put the gearshift into drive. “But, no. There has to be a costume shop or something around here where we could rent some clothes. Unless you have a better idea?”
Good point.
“I’ll try to find a store while you drive.” I took out my phone and opened a search engine. I frowned, trying to think. What sort of store would sell that stuff? I typed in Magnolia Tea dresses and got back a shop name, but it sold children’s clothes. I typed in all sorts of things, growing more frustrated by the second. Time was ticking away. We needed a better plan!
Just then the name of a shop came up. I opened the website. “Oh, look! This is a store that sells dresses for LARP players, including period pieces from the antebellum South. I guess that would work. This outfit I’m looking at looks a lot like the dress we saw.”
“Would you GPS the store for me?”
I did. The shop was only a mile away and we were headed in the right direction so we pulled into the parking lot a few minutes later. The store appeared to be closed, but when I pushed at the door it opened. A woman stepped out of the back room.
“Hi, there. What can I do for y’all?” she asked.
Ben looked at the racks of dresses, frilly petticoats, and the parasols hanging from the ceiling and a panicked expression grew on his face. “Um . . .”
I bit back a laugh. “I need a dress. I’m also really late for The Magnolia Tea. First, our flight got delayed and then the airline lost our luggage. And that was my grandmother’s hoop skirt too. I’m so crushed. Please tell me you have something.”
The shopkeeper fluttered toward me in a swoop of ruffles and silk. “Oh, my goodness! Why just this morning dear old Jessica Mullins had to come rushing in here to grab a hoop for The Magnolia Tea. Her hoop had broken right in half! Can you imagine? And she prides herself on having the biggest skirts, too. Now, let’s see. What size are you?”
I gave her my size as Ben picked up a folded crinoline.
The shopkeeper turned to him. “Are you looking for something to wear, too?”
Ben dropped the crinoline. It blossomed and stood. He took a hasty step back from the expanding layers of tulle and metal bands. “Uh . . .”
I tucked my hand through his arm. “Yes, my fiancé needs a suit.”
The shopkeeper smiled. “Well, aren’t you two the perfect pair? Let’s get you both dressed. By the time you get there, they’ll be moving on to cocktails so nobody will notice you’re late.”
Twenty minutes later, we hurried across the parking lot, dressed to the nines. I somehow slipped into the passenger seat with my huge skirt. Ben stuffed in wads of fabric after me. The hoops apparently weren’t meant to sit on because the front of the skirt kept trying to flip up over my head and smother me to death. How embarrassing.
“No wonder Miss Ella walked in her outfit,” I joked, as Ben jumped into the driver’s seat. “Also, I’m paying you back for the dress.”
“No way. The plan was mine, so it only seemed fair.”
“Well, you didn’t have to. . . But, thanks.” I gave him a small smile. I’d been independent for so long, I wasn’t used to people doing things for me. Certainly not a guy. The last man I’d dated rarely paid for anything. Um, not that Ben and I were dating for real. But if I ever wanted to get over him, his kind gestures weren’t edging me in that direction.
I managed to hold the skirt down enough to see past it as I turned my head to survey him. The suit he wore was dark and well-fitted to his muscular frame. He looked like he belonged on the cover of a Southern romance novel. Swoon.
“I’m still not sure about crashing this party,” I said, biting my lip. “Crashing the party might be illegal, right? Sneaking into the house has got to be the same thing as breaking and entering. I guess it’s a good thing I know a lawyer.”
Ben chuckled. “I’m not a criminal defense attorney, you know. We might both need a good lawyer after this. I’m of the mind that if you look like you belong, then no one will question you.”
Chills vibrated through me at the same advice my dear grandma had given me. The advice I’d used just last night while walking across the airport to stow away on Ben’s jet. Warmth filled my chest. I had a feeling my grandma would’ve liked Ben had she still been around to meet him.
We headed back toward Buckhead. It was still bright and sunny. The light was different in Atlanta than it was in California, thicker and far more golden-yellow. The whole place, once we got off the jam-packed loops of freeway, had a sleepy and lovely air that I liked a lot.
We parked at Miss Ella’s and walked down to the house that was hosting the party. I turned to Ben and caught him staring at me.
“What?” I asked, worried my outfit had a big hole or something.
“I like that dress on you. You look . . . breathtaking.”
My belly fluttered. “You don’t look bad yourself.”
The heat and the romance of the South were definitely getting to me, or maybe the tight corset had cut off all the oxygen to my brain because not only was I going along with this harebrained scheme, I caught myself staring at Ben, too.
When we arrived at Effie May Warrington’s, I peered through the fanciful wrought-iron gate. “How do we get past the gate?” I asked.
&nbs
p; “Follow my lead.” Ben waved at a couple who were in uniform. “Excuse me? Sorry, we walked out of the gate and got locked out. Can you help us get back in?”
That was his plan? There was no way they were going to buy that.
The two came closer. “Do you have your invitation with you?” the guy asked.
“No,” I chirped, popping the parasol open, hoping to look more like someone who belonged at the tea. “I left mine on the table inside.”
The young woman bit her bottom lip. “Um, we’re not supposed to let anyone in without an invitation.”
The dress I wore was huge and it was very heavy, too. It was like wearing a few heavy blankets, and the shade cast by the frilly parasol wasn’t enough to keep me cool. Why hadn’t I added a fan to my outfit? I looked at Ben, waiting for him to work his magic.
He stared back at me. Nothing.
It was up to me? Okay, then. . . .
I turned to the two workers and gave them my brightest smile. “We were just inside a few moments ago. I mean, why else would be wearing these clothes?” I twirled the parasol for effect. “If you let us in I can grab the invitation off the table and show it to you.”
Or run from you as fast as I can when you find out I was a fraud.
“I did see a guy and a woman out by the back gate kissing earlier.” The guy’s face scrunched up as he fingered his chin. “I can’t remember if it was y’all or not, though.”
Ben held up a finger. “Let me refresh your memory.”
I expected him to whip out his wallet and offer them money, or something. Instead, he slipped his arm around my waist and twirled me in a perfect swirl of taffeta and tulle. And then he pulled me in his arms, dipped me back and kissed me.
The breath left my chest as his lips captured mine, all warm and inviting. I sagged against him, dropping the parasol, which fell to the ground. Butterflies went wild in my belly. Ben Atkins was kissing me.
You know how people say reality doesn’t live up to the fantasy? Totally not true. Every cell in my body buzzed, making me feel like I was floating on a cloud. Then his mouth opened and his tongue brushed against mine sending electric darts through my belly. A small sound escaped my mouth, but I didn’t even care. I just held on tight.