“I’ve been working on the music for your wedding?”
“The music?” I widened my eyes in a silent plea for her to stop.
“Yes. I do a mean Adele.” The octogenarian then proceeded to sing a song I had previously liked somewhere between the key of G and awful.
“Thank you,” I said when she finally finished.
Maxine removed her fingers from her ears. “Lovely.”
“I’ll keep working on it.” Mrs. Hightower winked with her good eye. “For your wedding. The one that’s coming up. Because Charlie really asked you to marry him. Because you’re truly engaged and—”
“Thank you, Mrs. Hightower.” This town was going to do me in. Instead of helping me, it was like they were conspiring to see who could make this engagement the biggest farce.
With an assurance that the well-meaning woman could have the wedding solo, Mrs. Hightower happily walked away, and I returned my attention to Ian. “So you’re using my dad’s church for PR?”
“Using is a very harsh verb.” Laughter lurked in Ian’s eyes, and I knew he wasn’t buying the engagement story. “I prefer mutually helping us both. By the by, you have a phone interview with the Dallas Gazette, and the NBC affiliate in Houston is wanting us to do an interview for their morning show.”
“There’s no us here. And where is Felicity?”
“Since my stay here is going to go longer than I’d anticipated, I sent her back to Manhattan.” There was nothing sweet about that smile he still wore. “We do work really well together. Maybe when you get your head straightened out, you can come out to New York, and I’ll see if I can get you a part.”
Maxine shoved herself in front of me like a human shield. “My Katie can get herself a part all on her own.”
“Sure she can,” Ian said. “Maybe with some acting lessons, she’ll be ready in a few years.”
“A big time director’s been calling her nonstop, and Katie happens to have an audition.”
Frances gasped. “You do?”
“She does!” Maxine clapped her hands.
“Is that so?” Ian chuckled. “Do you really think you’re ready?”
I wanted to shove this Bible right down his throat then pull it back out his nose. “I don’t need you to—”
“There you are, Katie”
I startled as Charlie suddenly joined us. As I stood there swallowing my zinger for Ian, Charlie wrapped his arm around me, tucked me in close, and planted a careful kiss on my bandage. “Had to take Sadie to children’s church.” He pulled a napkin-covered package from the pocket of his pin-striped shirt. “They’re serving the good kind today. Oreos. For my girl.”
Cookies. For me.
I would not be charmed by this. Faking it or not, Charlie was not going to lure me in with crunchy, cookie goodness.
Oh. They were double stuffed.
Get thee behind me, Nabisco.
“We were just talking about Katie’s audition in New York,” Maxine said. “The one that director has been begging her to go on.”
“The audition. Right.” Charlie’s fingers massaged my shoulder. “She’s been fielding lots of calls. We can’t even make it through ten minutes of dinner without her cell ringing.”
Ian cocked his head and smiled indulgently. “Is that a fact?”
“Yes, it is. We’re into facts around here,” Maxine said. “And that’s. . .definitely one of them.”
Holy offering plates, she was a terrible liar. How could someone so devious be that awful at lies? “We were just going into the sanctuary,” I said. “We’ll see you later.”
“Is this the church where you’ll be getting married?” Ian asked.
My pause was as obvious as the orange spray tan on the worship pastor’s wife. “Yes. My dad will marry us here.” I looked up at Charlie with an expression I hoped was full of love.
“And when did you say that was?” Ian asked.
“We haven’t set a date,” Charlie said. “It all depends on Katie’s busy schedule.”
“At the diner?”
Charlie smiled. “On Broadway.”
I wanted to disappear into the laminate flooring that was trying so hard to be a nice bamboo. But it wasn’t. And I wasn’t a Broadway caliber actress. I was community theater, and Ian and I both knew it.
“And your honeymoon plans?” Ian asked.
“Probably not London.” Charlie’s hand made a lazy S down my back.
Ian looked like he was actually enjoying this. “I couldn’t help notice you’re not wearing an engagement ring.”
“I only want a simple band.”
“It’s being sized.”
Charlie laughed amiably as he lifted my left hand and gave my fingers a sweet kiss. “Katie has a ring, but so far I can’t talk her into wearing it.”
“It’s a doozie.” Maxine made a giant circle with her arms. “Gigantically, epically, monstrously mega big.”
“Well, we should get going.” I took a step toward the sanctuary. “Maxine gets twitchy if she doesn’t get her pew.”
Frances gave my grandma the side-eye. “I know that’s right.”
“I’ll see you at the committee meeting after church,” Ian said. “At the diner, right?”
How had he known about that? I had specifically left him out of the communication loop.
“I’m sure you forgot to let me know,” Ian said. “Being busy with all your phone calls and impromptu wedding plans. But Loretta gave me a ring on my mobile.”
“Don’t feel like you have to go,” I said. “We’ve got it under control.”
Ian held up his phone, showing a text. “Actually your lawyer just quit ten minutes ago. But I’m sure you knew that.”
I made a move to step out of Charlie’s embrace, but the man tightened his grip and just smiled. “Katie and I don’t discuss the Thrifty Co. buyout together,” Charlie said. “You and Katie can talk business later. When we’re not at church.”
“A sound idea,” Ian said. “She can ride with me.”
“She’s not going anywhere with you.” I felt the muscles beneath Charlie’s shirt flex. “I’ll take her.”
“What is this, Downton Abbey?” Maxine snapped. “This little filly is fully capable of driving herself.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Ian, if you insist on going, I will see you there. And now, I’d like to go sit down before we miss the entire sermon.”
Charlie reached for my hand then led me inside.
“I’m ready to tell Ian we’re not engaged,” I mumbled as we walked down the aisle and slipped into a row.
“Wait ’til he’s gone.” Charlie sat down and rested his arm on the pew behind my back.
I scooted over an inch, but Charlie merely followed. “I’m still very angry at you.” I tried to turn off my girlie-senses that were attuned to his every move—his heavenly scent and those heart-stopping good looks.
“Duly noted.”
“I would prefer it if you didn’t touch me.”
“Too bad.”
I snapped open the church bulletin and read over the prayer requests. “I’d also rather you keep some distance.”
“That would look real authentic.”
“All couples go through rough patches.”
“Not us,” he ground out. “We’re blissfully happy.”
“You must have me confused with Thrifty Co.”
Frances and Joey soon joined us, and I turned down some of my rancor. Ian sat somewhere behind us, and this was not lost on my fake fiancé. Throughout the service, Charlie leisurely played with my hair, clasped my hand in his, or ran the tips of his fingers along my back.
All the while the assistant pastor spoke heartily from the podium.
On the challenges of marriage.
Chapter Seventeen
“And that’s why we want Thrifty Co. to build somewhere else. To save our heritage and to save the livelihoods of many families.”
I sat in a cushy, blue chair across from Kiley LeBeaux, the c
o-anchor of the Channel 5 morning show. The perky bobbed-blonde nodded at my response and directed her final question to Ian.
“And you came all the way from London just to help out this town?”
“I care about theaters, and the Valiant is too much of a historical gem to let it be bulldozed just to provide a parking lot for the new store. Directing is my career, but I have a passion for theater preservation.”
“And you came all the way from London?”
The poor woman couldn’t let that one go. I had to admit, nobody really understood it.
“I’ve traveled further for the cause, believe it or not.”
I was going with not.
“The theater community takes care of our own, Ms. LeBeaux,” Ian said. “Katie and I worked together on a large production on the West End, and when she told me what was going on, I knew I couldn’t stand idly by. I was en route to New York to begin a new show, and it was the perfect time to offer my assistance.”
Kiley consulted the notes in her lap. “And Ian, you’ve had hundreds of your theater friends sign an online petition, gotten an official letter of support from the president of the Actors Equity Association, started a Twitter hashtag campaign that is generating some buzz on Broadway, and even gotten the attention of some famous actors. Do you feel this is making a difference? Is it enough to stand against the fifth largest American retailer?”
“As Katie said, these aren’t just buildings Thrifty Co. would be taking. These are family businesses, only sources of income, and in the case of the Valiant, a beautiful theater with a rich history that would be lost if Thrifty took over that part of town. The Valiant, like many theaters, is a work of art in itself, and it’s been an anchor in In Between for decades. It must be saved.”
“Thank you both.” The woman looked directly into camera two. “Thrifty Co. could not be reached for comment at this time.”
Ten minutes later, Ian and I walked to the parking lot of the Houston news station. After last night’s committee meeting, Ian had worn me down until I’d finally agreed to make the long drive with him this morning. The way there had passed uneventfully, with Ian making polite small talk, and me pretending to be engrossed in a texting conversation with Charlie. When in fact, it was Frances who had obsessively texted me, giving me updates on her wedding dress drama. She had returned the gown to Vivi’s and was now back to being a bride without a dress.
He unlocked his car, then hurried to open and hold the passenger door. Something he’d never done in nearly a year of dating.
“So that went well,” Ian said as he merged the car onto the highway, doing remarkably well for usually driving on the other side of the road. “You did a wonderful job.”
“Thanks.” The next compliment hurt to even say. “You were great as well.”
“Tomorrow I’ll be chatting with three radio stations. It’s a shame you’re working and can’t join me.” He sent me a chummy smile. “We make a pretty great team.”
“When did you say you were going to New York?”
“Ouch.” Ian’s brow furrowed as he fiddled with the radio volume. “Very subtle. So you want me gone?”
“I just want an idea of when I can quit expecting to see your face in my hometown. It’s weird.”
“Like a suddenly getting engaged kind of weird?”
“Why do you care if I’m engaged? It’s not like you wanted me.”
He drove for the better part of a pop song before responding. “That’s not true. That’s just not true.”
“Ian, get real. You were having an affair with Felicity. If that didn’t reveal the status I had in your life, then I don’t know what would.”
He took his eyes off the road and looked at me. “Do you ever think about me?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “It usually involves hot tar and chicken feathers.”
“Kinky.” He laughed. “I can hang with that.”
I couldn’t hold back the smile. Ian would never be my Mr. Right, and losing him had thrown my life into a tailspin, but he still possessed a certain level of charm. He made people feel as if they were his favorite person, like you were the one he wanted to sit and talk with. When you were with Ian, you felt like you were the most fascinating individual, and he was in awe just to be in your presence.
At one time, it had been a heady drug.
And I had fallen under its power.
But I was now clean and sober of Ian Attwood.
“Are you going to tell me the truth about this Charlie guy? You can’t possibly be engaged to a Thrifty Co. employee, especially one assigned to tearing down your theater.”
“It’s an obstacle,” I said. “But our love will see us through.”
Ian chuckled again. “Right.”
“I’ve known Charlie a very long time. He and I have had lots of stops and starts. But we always seem to come back to one another.” And that, I thought, was true.
“If Felicity hadn’t been in the picture,” Ian said, “you still would’ve left me.”
At this I said nothing. I didn’t like where this was headed.
“You were never all in,” Ian said. “Like you knew I wasn’t the one. But I wonder.” His knowing eyes found mine before returning his attention back to the road. “Does Charlie really have it either?”
*
I spent the rest of the day trying not to think about my conversation with Ian. It helped that I had gone to the doctor to get my stitches finally removed. While there was a nasty pucker that would scar me and forever ruin any chances of my becoming a super model, I felt lighter without the lovely bandage and Frankenstein needlework.
As it began to rain outside, I celebrated my separation from the stitches by going home and poring over articles on the internet of businesses and homeowners who had also found themselves the victims of eminent domain. There were few success stories, and it only served to depress me even more. James and Millie had called, updating me on their experiences in Haiti. Their group had roofed a few houses, painted the church, and provided toys to a local orphanage. My parents were difference makers. And I wanted to be one too. Right here at home.
On hour five at my computer, I rubbed my dry eyes and leaned my aching head down to utter a quick prayer.
God, please save the Valiant and the other businesses. Save us from that monster known as Thrifty Co. And help me get my mind off Charlie Benson and back on figuring out my career. Do I go to New York and audition? Or are my acting days truly over?
Oh, and forgive me for my lies.
All 2,980 of them.
Okay, 2,981.
Amen.
I rolled my shoulders and heard my back pop. I had been sitting there way too long. I was starving, it was somehow dark outside, and my bladder told me I was seconds away from a tragic incident.
Minutes later, I hobbled downstairs on stiff, creaky legs, more excited over the leftover pizza in the fridge than Millie would approve. Her organic weirdo meals were still sitting in the freezer, untouched and dying a slow, cryogenic death. But Hawaiian pizza? My beloved ham, bacon, and pineapple trio had never done me wrong.
I stepped off the last stair.
Into a puddle of water.
What was this?
Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no.
Water was everywhere. On bare feet, I padded my way through the shallow pond that had overtaken Millie’s shiny hardwood floors and followed the mess into the kitchen.
Where water poured from the pantry door.
I flung it open and found the water heater gushing and hissing and doing its best imitation of Niagara Falls.
Crap! What did I do?
Didn’t it have a place to shut off the water? A knobby thing? A switch? A magic button that said IN CASE OF MONSOON, PRESS HERE?
I slammed the door, then ran to the kitchen phone. Picking it up, my fingers hovered over the numbers.
I couldn’t recall one phone number.
Cell phone! Where was my phone?
I sloshed across the k
itchen and back up the stairs to my room. At this rate, I was going to need my life jacket and nose plugs to go back down there.
With a punch of a few buttons, I dialed Maxine. Sam could fix this. He knew how to repair anything.
No answer!
I dialed Sam.
Voicemail.
With visions of the dining room table floating down the hall, I called Frances, who answered from a bridal shopping trip in Dallas. Totally useless! Next I tried two of the neighbors, one of the deacons, Loretta, and my gynecologist.
Not one person answered.
Where was everyone?
Phone in hand, I ran back downstairs, knowing there was one number I hadn’t tried.
Charlie.
It was either let the house flood to the rafters or call.
“Hello?”
“I have an emergency,” I said. “I’m at the house, and the water heater seems to be flooding.”
“Did you turn the water off?”
“I don’t know how to do that.”
“I’ll be right there.”
“I’m still mad at you.”
I could hear his smile. “I’m guessing you called ten other people first.”
“Eleven. Please hurry.”
He made it in four minutes and sixteen seconds.
“Where’s the water line?” he asked as he filled my doorway, all handsome, strong, and tool belt carrying.
“I don’t know.”
He nodded and palmed a flashlight big enough to light the football field. “I’ll be back.”
“I’ll get my umbrella.”
“Just stay inside.”
“I’ll hold it over you.”
“Stay in the house.”
“But what do I do?”
His eyes took a slow perusal of my shorts and tank. “Think of some creative way to repay me.”
“It won’t involve anything dirty!” I called as he walked away.
He cast a look over his shoulder and sent me a wink. “A man can try.”
Five minutes later, Charlie came back inside, his hair drenched, smelling like earth, rain, and savior. “Water’s off.”
I had a fluffy towel ready, but he ignored it and marched right into the battle zone, the pool-like kitchen.
He went into the pantry, rattled around in there, then stepped back out. “The PopTarts on the bottom shelf are totally ruined.”
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