How to Make a Wedding

by Cindy Kirk

  “No, I bought my mom a house in Franklin last year. She objected until we unpacked the last box, but I’m glad she lives in a better place now. I owed it to her after all she sacrificed to raise me.”

  So much for stepping up her game. The thought of him taking care of his mother lost her a few dozen anger points. “How does she like it?”

  He set the napkin down and looked at her. “She likes it fine, but she won’t willingly spend a dime of my money unless I force her to. Like last month, I offered to take her to get a pedicure and buy her some new clothes. She told me she owned a perfectly good pair of nail clippers and what was wrong with her new Vanderbilt sweatshirt?” He shifted in his seat and pulled the white mug to his lips, but April saw the way he grinned. The mug wasn’t big enough to hide it.

  April laughed. It surprised her, but it felt good. “I suppose you should count your blessings.”

  “Why?” His eyebrow came up.

  “You could have a line of family members only interested in your money. Your mom could be the type who asks for a monthly stipend to fund trips to Rodeo Drive and the plastic surgeon.”

  Jack set his cup down. “Those family members exist. Believe me, they exist.”

  “Uh-oh. Long-lost uncles?”

  “And aunts and cousins and best friends from high school I supposedly hung out with whose names I don’t even remember.”

  April shrugged. “Sucks to be you.”

  The sentence held steady in the space between them, both of them aware of the words left unspoken. April would love to be him, would in fact be him if he’d been more of an honest person a few years back. Thankfully, she smiled.

  “New subject,” she said.

  Jack barely suppressed a sigh of relief. “Back to the seaweed wraps,” he said. “Are you telling me you would regularly subject yourself to that awfulness just because some idiot says it’s good for you?”

  April smiled up at him over the rim of her cup. “Not only would I subject myself to it, I would gladly pay the fee no matter how much it costs. Every single day. Because that’s the difference between you and me, Jack.” She leaned forward and looked him in the eye, well aware it was a flirtatious move but suddenly not in the mood to care. She was having fun. She was having fun with a man. She was twenty-two years old, available, and maybe it was the late hour or the fact that she was tired or the idea that going home alone to an empty apartment right now sounded more depressing than going to her sister’s wedding dateless—which was her current plan. But for now, April was having fun with a man.

  She wished the man wasn’t Jack Vaughn, but that seemed to be just the way her life worked.

  He blinked at her. “What’s the difference?”

  She blinked back. “The difference of what?”

  He gave her a curious look. “You didn’t finish your sentence. You said, that’s the difference between us, Jack. But you never said what those differences are. And unless you want me to start guessing—”

  “No, don’t guess,” she blurted. But for the life of her, she couldn’t remember what they had been talking about. Quickly, she retraced her steps—the idea that she was young, that she didn’t want to head home to an empty apartment, that Jack Vaughn was attractive. Wait, she had not been thinking that, so where did the thought come from? She forced her brain back into compliance. They had been talking about seaweed wraps and massage appointments and—

  “I’m not cheap. That’s what I intended to say.” She wanted to give a little victorious fist pump to commemorate her sudden surge in memory, but refrained. Thank God for good judgment.

  “I might argue that point,” Jack said. “I haven’t gone on a date in years that cost me only eight bucks. You just might be the cheapest woman who ever lived.”

  April gave him a long look and motioned for the waiter. That little dig was going to cost him. In the form of a slice of cheesecake. Maybe two. No one called her cheap and got away with it.

  She was feisty; he liked it. She was incredibly hot; he liked that too. She was also quick to put him in his place, something he hadn’t seen for a couple of years now. He liked that most of all; probably a little more than he should. But something about April Quinn had him feeling instantly connected, and that was something he didn’t need. Not at this point in his career. Maybe not ever.

  But every time he considered taking her home, he came up with two new reasons not to.

  She was funny.

  He wanted more coffee.

  Traffic was bound to be busy at midnight.

  She had just ordered cheesecake. A move he saw right through but somehow liked anyway. Note to self: never call April Quinn cheap. Although if that’s what it took to spend more time with her . . .

  And above everything else, he wanted to see more of April Quinn.

  This was the worst reason of all. He needed to get out of here before the desire to spend time with her took over. Before he found himself asking for another date and another and another.

  Under the table, something kicked at his shin. He looked up into April’s amused face.

  “What was that for?”

  “You disappeared. It’s one thing to call me cheap. It’s another to check out on our date altogether.”

  His mouth tilted, his signature wicked grin that almost always worked on women. “Is that what we’re on? A date?”

  She shrugged, stifled a yawn. “Just repeating what you said earlier. Personally, I would call it more like a peace offering given by you, yet still up for debate on my end. I haven’t decided whether to accept or not. Maybe I’ll have some pie while I think it over.”

  Apparently the signature grin thing didn’t work on April.

  Jack raised an eyebrow. “Cheesecake and pie? Are you trying to put on weight while you do all this thinking?”

  She gave him a look. “Careful Jack, you should never call a woman fat. You never know when she might retaliate. You could be up onstage singing or—”

  “Why didn’t you sing with me tonight?” He hadn’t meant to ask the question, but the opportunity had practically landed in his lap.

  “Because I knew why you asked, and I wasn’t about to make it that easy for you. If you want to smooth things over with me, you’ll need to get a lot more creative than that.”

  More creative than pulling her up onstage for a duet? He was Jack freaking Vaughn. It didn’t get more creative than that. He swallowed all the retorts that floated through his brain and tried to think up a response—one that didn’t make him sound like an arrogant jerk. It wasn’t easy.

  “You got any suggestions? Something in particular you want me to do?” She probably wanted him to sign over all his royalties. Give her a writer’s credit. Make a public statement declaring his guilt. Make a ridiculous apology on camera. He might have done that a couple of years ago, but not now. No way. Not happening.

  Again, she shrugged. She almost looked . . . annoyed. “Well, I can tell you right now I don’t want anything obvious. It’s not like I want back pay or anything. That would be ridiculous.” She laughed a brief, impatient laugh, one that had him baffled.

  She didn’t?

  Jack drained the rest of his mocha latte and set the cup in front of him. “Then what do you want?”

  April looked at him a long moment before giving him a barely perceptible smile. “I don’t know, Jack. But I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

  “If you would use your brain, you might be able to come up with a better idea. One that hasn’t been used by every bride since 1964.”

  For the third time today, April refrained from chucking something heavy at her sister’s head. Her sister, who April considered to be her best friend on occasion. Her confidante. Her go-to-gal when everyone else left her all alone. Now April wanted to do the leaving, but of course she was stuck nine feet in the air, propped on a ladder, hanging white and cream paper lanterns from the reception hall’s black ceilings. She knew the effect would be beautiful, but frankly, she wouldn’t min
d gathering all this paper crap in a pile and lighting it on fire.

  “What is wrong with Christmas lights?” She hooked the lantern onto a nail and descended a few steps to take in the effect. “White lights are beautiful and will only enhance the planet and stars effect you seem to be going for.”

  Kristin sighed again. The sound had been so frequent all morning, April was beginning to suspect carbon dioxide was the only element left to breathe in this room. “Christmas lights are so overdone. They scream I’m not original. Frankly, they also scream cheap. I thought you were better than that, April.”

  It was all she could do to keep her mouth shut. April was so tired of that word being used to describe her. “They aren’t cheap, especially if you get the LED white kind.”

  “I didn’t mean—” Kristin made an impatient noise. “Just . . . I like the lanterns, but not the lights. Think of something else. Something no one has done before. Something people will be talking about for years and years to come.”

  “You could hang live snakes from the rafters. That would get people talking.”

  “That isn’t funny, April.”

  She hadn’t been kidding. At this point, she would do anything to move past decorating for this stupid wedding, even letting a snake bite her over and over and over. Because maybe it would be poisonous and maybe she would be admitted to the hospital and maybe she would have to stay there for days and days and days while someone else served her food and fixed her hair and gave her massages—all the things she’d watched Kristin enjoy all week.

  She didn’t exactly know if they offered free massages in hospitals, but that wasn’t the point.

  April was sick of being in charge; that was the point.

  “Okay, then tell me your bright ideas. Because I’m having trouble coming up with anything else, and furthermore—” April froze, felt that weird sensation when your stomach drops into your toes and then bounces straight back up into your esophagus, and swallowed. “Oh dear God, they’re here.”

  Below her, Kristin reached for her throat and cleared it—as if that one small act could dissipate the tension that had just swooped in and added a grayish pall to their day of wedding decorating. Their parents. Their parents were here. Which meant they were likely exhausted from their two-hour drive from Chattanooga, because who wouldn’t be? Silent disapproval wrapped around them both like an extra-large sweater as the door closed behind them.

  “I see you started without me,” Gloria Quinn said. Her statement carried the same edge it would carry if she’d said I see the Democrats are in control again or I see you ignored my advice and wore the color red anyway or I see you’ve put on a few pounds—all of which April had heard at least once in the last year alone. “And paper lanterns, Kristin? I would have gone with electric ones, the iron kind you can buy at Crate and Barrel or one of those other cheap catalog stores everyone raves about even though I have no idea why.”

  Crate and Barrel was cheap? April bit back a retort. Next to her, Kristin whispered a low criticism.

  “Electric lanterns. Thanks a lot, April. Why didn’t you think of that?”

  April ignored the dig and addressed her mother. “Because electric lanterns would have required a rewiring in the entire lighting system—outlets would need to be added and switches installed and I really didn’t think you would want to pay for it. Besides, paper lanterns are eco-friendly and much easier to store after the ceremony is over.”

  As expected, Gloria’s face relaxed. Her mother, the only ultraconservative April knew who was also zealous about environmental causes. Admirable, sure. Except she was usually more passionate about them than she was her own daughters.

  “Then I guess I can live with them.” She clicked her tongue. “But I draw the line at Christmas lights.” At Kristin’s breathy laugh, her mother’s eyes narrowed. “Kristin, tell me you didn’t decide on something that tacky.”

  Kristin paled. “No, it was—”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m here now, and everything you’ve done up to this point will look so much better when I’m finished with it.” Her mother took in the reception hall with a disapproving frown, then set her sights directly on her sister. “Kristin, who on earth is your wedding coordinator? Because I insist you fire her this minute.”

  Kristin gasped. April glared.

  She’d been here all of five minutes, and her mother had somehow managed to insult both of them.

  “It’s about time you showed up,” Kristin said when he walked through the front door of the reception hall. “We’ve been here two hours already.”

  And now Jack was on the receiving end of Kristin’s wrath. What a perfect start to the day.

  The second he stepped out of his car, Jack wanted to climb back inside like the coward April claimed he was last night. Now he wished he’d followed that instinct. He’d never been more afraid in his life—not when he signed his first contract or recorded his first album or stepped onstage for the very first time. Of all the things that frightened him in life, he could think of four that topped the list.

  April.

  April’s sister.

  April’s mom.

  April’s dad.

  All four stared at him now, and all likely knew what he had done. He’d never met April’s parents, but he knew that her father was a lawyer in Knoxville or Chattanooga or some other Tennessee town that wasn’t Nashville. He knew they had money—not a lot, but enough to be annoyed that their daughters weren’t more dependent on them. Jack admired that about both girls. It took guts to start with nothing and make something of yourself.

  “I’m sorry?” The words sounded more like a question than an admission of wrongdoing. Because he wasn’t sorry. He was late. The world would keep spinning with or without his painstaking rehearsal of whatever cheesy ballads Kristin had chosen for him to sing at this dang wedding. Still, a promise was a promise—even a foolish one made under the pressure of intense guilt. “I didn’t know we were on a time crunch.” He set his guitar case down by the door.

  “Well, we are.”

  “Kristin, stop being so controlling,” April said. “At least Jack actually showed up. Give him a little credit for that.”

  April’s words surprised him. Before he thought better of it, he slid her a wink, one that she accepted with a slight blush. That reaction made him happier than he’d been in a while. But not as happy as her next words made him.

  “Mom, Dad, this is Jack. He’s the wedding singer, newly hired.”

  Jack didn’t expect the introduction. A cold shoulder, maybe. To be ignored, quite possibly. But definitely not an introduction that didn’t sound remotely hostile. This place wasn’t technically a church, but he wondered if maybe a miracle was taking place anyway.

  April’s parents had watched this entire exchange, but now her father stepped forward and extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, Jack. You from around here?”

  Jack offered a firm handshake just like his mother had taught him years ago. “I am, though I’m not here as much as I used to be.”

  “Jack and I used to work together,” April offered.

  And this. This surprised him more than anything, because—

  “You’re Jack Vaughn?” April’s mother gasped. Her father frowned, and now it was only a matter of seconds before—

  “Jack Vaughn? The Jack Vaughn?”

  So many people asked that question, awe and admiration painted all over their features. Neither could be found on the faces of April’s parents. Annoyance. Irritation. Distrust, for sure. And there was the hostility missing from earlier.

  They knew. Oh crap, did they know.

  “Yes, I’m him.” Jack swallowed the mass of nerves suddenly clogging his throat and searched for something to say. Thankfully, he didn’t have to scramble for long.

  “That’s him, and he’s here to sing on a favor to Kristin. So go sing, Jack. It’ll be interesting to hear what lovely songs she has picked out for you.” Sarcasm. April used it well.

&
nbsp; With a half smile, Jack picked up his guitar case and microphone stand and gestured for his bandmates—his pared-down bandmates because only his keyboardist and drummer agreed to join him, the other two losers claiming they were still owed vacation time and shouldn’t have to give the days up just because Jack was an idiot—to pick up equipment and follow him.

  Jack wasn’t too far away to hear Gloria Quinn’s whispered words. “Kristin, you can’t be serious. After what he did? I would like to think you care about your sister’s feelings a little more than that.”

  “I do. It’s just that—”

  “Now, who picked out this awful fabric for the rice bags? And what are they supposed to be? They look like very poorly designed lollipops, and the construction . . . just shabby. A complete disappointment. Amateur.” She clicked her tongue and tossed one in a nearby wastebasket. Jack didn’t miss the way April’s face bloomed red; she was angry, that much was obvious. But there was something else. April almost looked weary. Maybe . . . defeated? She reached up to rub her eyebrows, and that’s when he had an idea.

  April had told him to figure out a way to make it up to her, and Jack had the feeling he’d just discovered a way to do it.

  J ack sighed and set his guitar on the stand. Rehearsal hadn’t gone well. Not because they were out of practice or the band wasn’t in tune, but because Jack had developed a sudden inability to sing in front of people. An odd bout of stage fright. He hadn’t suffered from it in recent memory, not even at the bar two nights ago. Then again, it seemed to only involve those people whose well-known personal dislike of him ran deep.

  And April’s parents hadn’t stopped glaring at him all afternoon.

  Jack shut off the microphone and jumped off the makeshift stage, rubbing his hands together because really, he had no idea what to do. Torn between wanting to see April and wanting to flee this pit of tension and hostility—funny, considering a happy, supposedly joyful wedding would take place in this room tomorrow night—he stood back and waited for a decision to fall from the sky and smack him in the face. But like always, he waited for no reason because nothing happened. April continued filling miniature shot glasses with birdseed and yellow drink umbrellas because her mother had deemed all her previous work worthless and tossed those sucker-looking things into the trash. A small collection of gold balls lay heaped in a mound inside the trash can—like a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, if the pot of gold lay on top of a collection of discarded coffee cups and yesterday’s Chinese takeout.