The stylish if offbeat office manager came out on the porch, resplendent in another matronly high-end sheath dress, this one brown silk shot with gold thread. She had a demure matching feather fascinator perched on her curls. “We don’t treat people that way at Two Love Lane,” Miss Thing drawled. “Especially a potential soul mate for one of my girls.”
He put his phone back in his pocket. “You think I might be Greer’s soul mate?”
“I think there’s a strong possibility.” She shot him an affectionate smile. “The fact that you came back to win her speaks volumes. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
“Yes, actually,” he said, “it is.”
“Are you in a huge rush?” Miss Thing indicated the porch swing. “I wanted to tell you something that might help you.”
“I’d love to hear it,” he said.
They sat on the swing.
“Greer called her parents a couple days ago,” his elegant companion said. “She told Macy, Ella, and me that she’d had a very eye-opening conversation with them. She asked them if they loved each other. She mentioned that she never got the feeling that they did when she was growing up.”
“And?”
“Her mother said that she was right. Theirs was an arranged marriage. They had tremendous affection for each other that some would call love. But it had never been the romantic kind.” Miss Thing made a sad face.
“Poor Greer, hearing this after all these years,” he said.
His companion sighed. “Greer told us it was freeing, in a way. Her parents both assured her they were happy and would always stay together because they couldn’t imagine life without each other.”
“Ah.” He wasn’t sure what to say. If they were happy, who was he to judge?
“They also said that having Greer was the best thing in their lives they’d ever done, and they didn’t want her to marry anyone she didn’t love. They apologized for always pushing Wesley on her, and her mother in particular said she never should have chastised Greer for not marrying him, which she did not long ago, the morning of the auction.”
They were swinging fairly high now. The longer she spoke, the more Miss Thing pushed her feet hard against the porch floor.
“I hope her mother’s apology helped,” he said.
“It did. But the kicker was that”—Miss Thing paused—“the kicker was that they’d both heard of her wedding gown contest. They hadn’t called her because she hadn’t called them about it, and they assumed—rightly—that she was worried they’d be worried.”
The swing slowed down.
“How did they hear about it?” he asked.
“Through Wesley’s parents. Anyway, they thought it ironic that she was technically engaged for a while to a man she didn’t know. And they prayed it would end. They didn’t want her falling into the same trap they did.”
Ford sighed. “So they were happy when she told them it was over?”
Miss Thing looked at him for a few seconds. “She didn’t say that. She told them she loved you desperately and wanted to be with you. And she asked them to come to Charleston to help her get through the heartache of your breakup that wasn’t even really a breakup. Because, you know, your engagement wasn’t really an engagement. It was a convenience. She said she only wished they were coming down for her wedding. With you as her honest-to-goodness groom. She didn’t care about the gown anymore. All she wanted, she told them, was you.”
“Good Lord.” He sighed. “I really messed things up, didn’t I?”
Miss Thing allowed him that small interjection but then continued her smooth narration of events. The swing stayed stationary. “So Mr. and Mrs. Jones are arranging for someone to take care of the dairy herd and will soon be on their way. They’ll get here about the same time Greer does tomorrow night, and they’ll ride home from the airport together.”
Ford looked at the plank porch floor, then back up at his seatmate. “Thank you for telling me that.”
Miss Thing’s eyes shone with tears. “You’re welcome.” She held out her hand.
He lifted it and kissed it. “You’re a true lady,” he said.
She inclined her head and said, “And I believe you’re a true gentleman.”
“I’m going now,” he said, and stood. “Back to New York. I only landed there five hours ago from Gatwick. Would you mind giving me Greer’s hotel information?”
Miss Thing paused. “You know, I think it best you stay here. At the moment, she’s fully engrossed in working with her client, and who knows how available she’ll be? You may stay at my apartment—”
“That’s all right, thanks. I can bunk with my old mates if I have to. They already know I’m here. But I really want to go to New York.”
“All righty.” Miss Thing smiled. “Not to say you’d be an unwelcome distraction there, Lord Wickshire”—she paused, knowing full well he’d be taken aback at her calling him by his title—“but I really do think so much could be done here. In Charleston.” She lofted a brow. “Do you get my drift?”
He paused. “No. Sorry. All I can think to do here, while she’s gone, is sock Pierre Simons in the jaw.”
Miss Thing looked both ways, as if someone were listening. “I really should have been a matchmaker myself,” she whispered. “Let me say it again: There is much you could do to prep for Greer’s homecoming. Apart from socking Pierre in the jaw. In fact, you might enlist his help. He owns a women’s clothing store. It might come in handy. It’s where a certain gown—” And then she waggled her penciled-in brows.
He finally figured it out. “You’re saying—” The more he thought about it, the more he loved the idea. “You’re brilliant.”
She nodded vigorously. “Yes, Lord Wickshire. I admit that sometimes I am. But time is of the essence. I’ll do anything, and so will Macy and Ella, to help you.”
He stood stunned for a second, and then he took off down the steps. “Thank you, Miss Thing,” he called over his shoulder.
She blew a kiss at him. “You’re welcome, darlin’!”
He got on the phone and called Anne right away.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Henny put down her pen, turned her inventory sheet over, and followed Pierre into the back room at La Di Da. “I have something to say,” she told him, refusing to be cowed. She was older than he was, she’d known him since he was a boy, and their mothers had been best friends.
“And that is?” He was looking over her shoulder at the TV set in the corner. He could never get enough of MacGyver reruns.
“I’ve got one more year here,” she said, “before I retire.”
His face fell, and for a moment, he looked like the sweet little boy she’d known, the one whose parents had ignored him. He was always over at her house, eating supper with her family, while his parents went from party to party. His face used to light up whenever her mother made mashed potatoes. “I hate that you’re retiring soon,” he said.
“Why?” she asked him point-blank.
He blinked his eyes. “Because … because you’re very efficient.”
She pushed harder. “Is that all?”
“You’re excellent with the customers.”
She inhaled a breath. “I’ll ask one more time … why will you hate for me to retire?”
He rolled his eyes. “Well, we’ve known each other a long time.”
“And do you have many friends you’ve known that long?”
He hesitated. “No. You know that. Why are you rubbing it in that no one likes me? Only the moneygrubbin’ gold diggers like Kiki give me the time of day.”
She let him stew for a minute.
“I have an idea how to change that,” she said. “And instead of watching you connive and be nasty with Kiki in the next year, I’d like to work on this project instead. If I do, however, it will require you to stop being such a greedy little bastard.”
“Henny.” His eyes narrowed. “You can’t call me that.”
“Just watch me,” she said dr
yly. “You lose me as a friend and you really don’t have anyone to deliver a eulogy at your funeral one day. Let’s be real about this.”
He sniffed. “Fine.”
“So anyway,” she said, “you know damned well you hijacked that contest and that Greer was the winner all along. You got Serena’s hopes up and dashed them to get to Greer, which was vile of you. And then you made Greer look like the villain. You also knew Greer would be so miserable as a result, she’d never want Royal Bliss. But you had to see her have it actually in her possession first, didn’t you? To make her feel even worse when she let it go. Meanwhile, you have her unique partnerless bride story and her dramatic onstage engagement to lure customers into La Di Ba Bridal. You got lucky that she had the courage to enter the contest, but I have to say the way you turned it around on her was brilliant.”
“Thank you.”
“But wicked. So wicked that you’re going to lose me as a friend and employee unless you lighten up and listen to my idea.”
“Fine,” he snapped.
But she could tell he was genuinely rattled. His eye started twitching, just a little.
“All right.” She exhaled. “I propose we sell the women’s clothing store, including the bridal department. Plenty of people would snatch it up.”
“What? That’s stupid.” He curled his upper lip and looked at his watch. “I’m getting bored, Henny.”
“Too bad,” she said. “You have to keep listening. You owe me that. How many pork chops did you eat at my house growing up? How many bowls of my mother’s mashed potatoes did you devour?”
“Hmmph.” He looked at the ceiling.
“The Simons family,” she said patiently, “has never gone into men’s wear, and I know why. You have extremely low self-worth. You and your father both pandered to your mother. She ruled the roost. Your mother’s passed now. Forget trying to please her. Do something for the Simons men. It’s been a hundred fifty years since y’all opened your apparel store. Isn’t it time?”
“But I’m the last Simons man,” he said, “and I will be unless”—he turned red and ugly—“unless I can get married and have children. But those gals at Two Love Lane—”
“It wasn’t their fault they couldn’t find you a soul mate,” she said. “It was yours. You’re selfish and shallow. Like your mother. And beneath your bluster, you’re a wimp like your daddy. But it’s not too late for you to become nicer. And braver.”
“Huh,” he said.
“Here’s how. You need to step away from your parents’ influence and do something for you. You’ll be a happier person if you open a men’s clothing shop. I know you, Pierre. I guarantee you’ll love lingering over the bow tie table. You’ll want to teach every man how to tie one properly.”
“There’s a trick to it!” he said. For a split second, his face lost its cynical lines. His eyes were no longer hard.
“And how about shoes? How many men have you longed to tell how to decide between brown tasseled loafers and white bucks with their seersucker suits?”
“Too many,” he said. “It drives me up the wall when—” His phone rang.
“Ignore it,” she said.
“It’s Kiki.” He took it and put the phone to his ear.
“Why do you keep her around?” Henny whispered. “She’s as phony as you are. It’s time to start associating yourself with people of character. Like me.” She poked his chest with her finger. She hadn’t done that since he was ten and he’d made fun of a little boy on their block for being poor. “Tell you what,” she said. “You come to dinner tonight at my house. Charlie and I will be pleased to have you. I’ll even make mashed potatoes.”
But then he walked around her. “Return to the floor,” he said dismissively, the phone still to his ear. “You always were too nosy for your own good, Henny.”
* * *
Ford walked into La Di Da without a woman to accompany him. Yes, it felt strange. But he was glad to do it. It brought home even more to him the fact that he needed Greer by his side to be happy.
Henny was at the front desk, her face pinker than usual. When she looked up and saw him, she put her hand to her chest. “Mr. Smith. Hello. I assumed you were still in England.”
“Last time I talked to you, I was,” he said, and looked around. “I’m here to see Pierre.”
She leaned toward him. “I’m sorry to say our plan didn’t work. It was clever. It made sense. But he would have none of it. In fact, I only pitched the idea a half hour ago. He completely dismissed it.”
“I’m sorry it didn’t work,” he said. “I wish it had. It would have made Greer happy to see him take his focus off using women to compensate for his extremely low self-esteem.”
“Nicely put.”
“I talked to my sister about him. She’s the one who phrased it that way.” He grinned. “And he is a damned good dresser.”
“I agree on all points,” said Henny. “It would be good for him.”
“I’m actually here for another reason,” he said. “I might need your help, please. Imminently. But I won’t know until I talk to Pierre. Is he here?”
“He’s down the street at the macaron shop, his favorite snack place.”
“Great.” He strode to the door. “Hang in there, Henny. We might succeed with him yet.”
She gave him a thumbs-up. “I’m here to assist you in any way, Mr. Smith.”
“Thanks.” He hoped he’d be back in a few minutes. And then he could really get to work.
* * *
Greer was glued to her screen in a lobby at the Jacob Javits Convention Center in Manhattan.
“Um.” Jill stood up. “Uhhhh.…”
Uh, oh, thought Greer. She sounded a little nervous. And she was wobbling, too. Maybe her heels were too high. When your knees turned to jelly, that could happen.
The panelists turned to face her. Jill’s beloved did a doubletake. And then he half-rose from his chair.
“I’m Jill Mancini,” she said, “and I’m here to speak to my favorite man in the world. Apart from my dear, departed father, that is. I hope you don’t mind giving me the floor a moment.”
The room was quiet.
Her techie billionaire sat back down, but Greer could tell he was on tenterhooks.
“You’ve all seen Notting Hill.” Jill looked around the room and smiled.
Greer was happy she seemed to find her center.
“I’m kind of like Hugh Grant when he went to that press conference to declare his love for Julia Roberts,” Jill said. “Except … I’m a woman. And the person I love is not a movie star. He likes computers, and airplanes, and movies. He even likes rockets, and he wants to use them to make the world a better place. Plus, whatever I’m saying isn’t scripted. It’s real.”
The room stirred. Her man didn’t take his eyes off her.
Greer was dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.
Jill said she loved her favorite guy and wanted to spend the rest of her life with him, and Greer broke into a little sob.
“I don’t care how many scaredy-cat fliers I have to recruit to sit with me on a plane,” Jill said with fervor. “I’ll do it to be with you,” she concluded, “because you mean that much to me.”
No one understood the flying reference, but it didn’t matter. Jill’s guy left the stage. He went down to the audience, walked past a row of people, and picked her up in his arms.
When he kissed her, she held onto the brim of her hat.
It was better than any movie. And about six hundred thousand people live-streaming the event saw the whole thing, including Macy, Ella, and Miss Thing.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Greer arrived at the Charleston airport without Jill. Jill had stayed behind in New York with her business mogul lover for a whirlwind weekend of crazy monkey sex (Jill’s own words). Greer was so happy for her friend, and Ella, of course, was ecstatic—and in shock still, as was the entire Mancini family, except for one of the nonnas.
“I saw it in a
dream,” that nonna said.
And of course, all the superstitious Mancinis were on board with that. They believed in intuition, in curses, in spells, in special blessings, and in visions.
Anyway, Greer and the girls would have plenty to talk about when they reunited a couple days from now. She was taking two days off to spend with her parents. Two days was all the senior Joneses could afford to leave their dairy cows. But she was so excited they’d finally agreed to come visit Charleston. Her mother had seen it long ago, for one day, when she’d dropped Greer off at the College of Charleston her freshman year. Her father hadn’t been able to leave the farm, so this would be a first time for him.
Greer really appreciated how hard it was for them to break away from home, and even though very few people understood—some thought her parents heartless, in fact—farmers understood their family dilemma. She was proud to be from farming stock.
So it was a fantastic reunion when fifteen minutes after her flight, her parents arrived on theirs.
“I’m so excited you’re here,” she said as they all rolled their luggage out to the airport parking garage.
Her father chuckled. “For a young woman with a broken heart, you’re awfully cheery.”
“I’m glad she is,” her mother defended her. “Maybe she’s getting over this man, and we can enjoy our two days off together even more.”
Greer pressed the button on the garage elevator. “His name is Ford,” she said, “and I’m as broken-hearted as ever, but I’m so happy for my friend and client, Jill Mancini. Remember that name. You’ll see it in the papers and online soon enough.” And she explained why.
They were suitably impressed by both Greer’s professional success in New York and Jill’s bravery. “You have a good life,” her father said from the backseat.
Her mother beamed at her from the passenger front seat.
“I do,” said Greer. It felt so good for her parents to know that, to acknowledge that.
“And we’re a good family,” said her father, his hand on the back of her seat, and sounding as if he needed reassurance.
Greer’s eyes burned at that. She and her mother exchanged glances. She could see her mother was moved, too.
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