Brit with the Pink Hair (The Rockin' Austen Series, #1)
Page 23
A traditional Dutch wish tree was set up next to the head table. It was adorned with handwritten wishes on paper leaves, which fluttered with the breeze each time someone walked by it.
The guests were seated at long, renaissance-like tables fit for a feast. The food was amazing, including herring, beef, a mashed potatoes and carrots dish called hutspot, and plates and plates of sweets. However, Brit was too jazzed to eat. Her excitement heightened to dizzying levels when J.J. walked in as planned.
When Saffron spotted him, her big eyes somehow got wider in confusion. Brit watched as he knelt next to her, and for a horrified moment, she thought he might propose. To her relief he didn’t pull out a ring, and instead whispered something in her ear. She leaned into him and embraced him. He winked at Brit from around Saffron. Their plan had worked.
Brit rubbed her sister’s shoulder. “He’s a keeper, Saff. Seriously.”
Lander greeted him loudly and held his hand out for a handshake, pulling J.J. into a hug while still twisted in his chair. Cord stood himself and shook J.J.’s hand, also shooting Brit a bit of a confused look.
Then he approached Brit and rubbed her shoulder. “When do we get to go public?”
She patted his hand. “I don’t want to steal anyone’s thunder.”
Barbara’s loose curls swished, nearly hitting her new husband in the face. “About what? Are you pregnant?”
“Yes, Barbie, with the next Messiah.”
Barbara guffawed. “Are you trying to imply that you’re a virgin?”
“Hey, it’s your day. Believe whatever you want, Princess Barbie.”
“Ahem, it’s Queen Barbie now. And if you have news, spill. I love news. Consider it your wedding present to me.” She eyed Cord suspiciously.
“Perfect, I can keep the toaster I got you then.”
“Talk. Now.” The grin on her face told Brit that she probably knew already.
Cord leaned over her chair and hugged Brit from behind. She melted into the intoxicating smell of his shampoo and deodorant. He was so perfect. So, so perfect. Brit knew it, and it showed on Barbara’s face and Lander’s knowing face behind her.
“Cord and I...we’re...”
“It was him all along, wasn’t it?”
“Crazy, right?”
EPILOGUE
THEY WEREN’T KIDDING about the rain and fog in London. Brit splashed through a puddle in her new Wellies with a pair of sky-high stilettos and a cocktail dress rolled up in her handbag to change into when she got to her destination.
Ducking into her new favorite takeout place, she had a temporary shelter from the rain. The door jingled, and her footsteps squished over the welcome mat.
“What’ll it be, love?” asked the man with the gray stubble behind the counter. He rubbed his knobby hands on a nearby towel.
Brit tightened the sash of her trench coat and pushed the hood back from her head. “I’ll have fish and chips and an order of scotch eggs. Thanks.”
“You’re new in town, eh?”
“Yeah. Oh here, let me give you this.” Brit dug into her bag, shifting around her clothing and shoes in search of a stack of postcards. “My boyfriend and I just moved here. We’re overseeing the opening of a nightclub in my dad’s franchise.” She handed him a dozen or so of the cards. “Our soft opening is tonight, and our grand opening is next month. You should definitely hand these out to your customers, if you want. We’re trying to get the word out.”
He took the postcards and inspected them. “Opening a nightclub, eh? That’s a lofty undertaking.”
Brit smiled and shrugged. “We can handle it. We’re a good team.”
“Well, OK then.” He dropped her paper to-go bag on the counter. “Enjoy, love.”
She plucked the bag from the counter and flashed one more smile at the man before splashing back into the rain. She breathed in the aromas of her temporary hometown—damp, salty, and floral mixed with the inevitable city smell of car exhaust.
As she tugged her trench coat around herself, Brit unlocked the building that she could call hers, at least for the next six months—Club Stanza London. She locked the door again behind her, wrapped her arms around the tall, blond man pouring over a laptop propped on one of their high tables, and drank in his scent.
“Honey, I’m home,” she whispered in his ear.
“Mmm.” He hooked one arm around her backside and turned around to face her. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you smell like fried fish.”
Triumphantly, she presented the brown bag to him. “Considering how much you love these fish and chips, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
He practically salivated as he snatched the bag. “You’re the best, Baby.” He chomped into a fry...or chip. “Are you ready for the soft opening tonight?”
It had been almost a month since Brit and Cord had arrived in London. Since then, and after their initial deal on the Soho spot fell through, they found an even more perfect club venue and apartment in Camden. Mike had been itching to join them to help smooth the transition, but they had evaded his attempts at booking a ticket so far.
“Not quite ready. I have one last bit of business to wrap up before the press gets here in a few hours.”
He played with a lock of her hair, wet on the ends, having been outside the protection of her hood. “What’s that? More ice? Someone we left off the guest list? You forgot sauce for the fish?”
“Nope.” She stepped backward so that she was out of his arm’s reach and unbuttoned her trench coat slowly and deliberately.
“Wait, do you have anything on under that?”
“Nope.”
Cord waited until the last button had been freed, but just barely. Forgetting about his lunch, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. “Cheerio.”
Brit doubled over in laughter and tried to push him away, but he held fast. “You’re crazy.”
“No, that, I am not.”
She kissed him on his soft, perfectly kissable lips. “Nah, you’re not Crazy, and thank God for that. You’re my darling Cord. Now let’s have some fun and open this club.”
“You got it, boss.”
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
THANK YOU to my lovely beta readers Malinda, Margaret, and Lis for your invaluable feedback. This story wouldn’t be anywhere near as strong without each of you. And to the rest of my writing group, thank you for your constant support and for supplying the wine and snacks. To my proofreader extraordinaire, Marmee, thanks for making the end product look polished and not sound too crazy. Real-life Barbara, my ideas lady, thank you for telling me about your dream wedding for me to use in the book! And to my loving family, thank you for giving Mommy time to write. Smooches.
About the Author
Rebekah lives in Wisconsin with her husband, two daughters, and a dog. She enjoys going to concerts even though she’s only getting older and more tired, shopping with a latte in hand, and indulging in junk food and wine. She’s a city girl at heart but also finds joy in remote waterfalls and bridges.Rebekah keeps her skills sharp at her day job as a technical writer. No grammar or style error is getting past her. At least not twice.
Read more at Rebekah N. Bryan’s site.
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