“Oh, I don’t know.” Hattie’s hand flew to her head. “I don’t look good in hats.”
“Nonsense,” Agnes protested. “Everyone looks good in hats if you find the right one.” Agnes handed her a plum-colored feathery fascinator from a nearby rack.
Wrinkling her nose, Hattie plunked it on her head, and at first, she did indeed look terrible in it until Agnes stepped forward and adjusted the tilt. It wasn’t what Hattie had originally admired, but it was so much better. Feminine and flattering, the size complimented Hattie’s full cheeks, slimming them in its asymmetrical shadows.
A silent “oh” formed on Hattie’s lips, and she lifted a hand to the hat in the mirror without touching it.
“She knows what she’s doing,” Emily said to Hattie. “You look fantastic.” She placed a hand on her friend’s forearm for a second. “But I’m not sure this kind of hat is right to complement our gowns.”
“But of course.” Agnes turned her attention to Emily. “You’re here about the Regency ball. After your call the other day, Wesley and I pulled together a display so that your guests would know exactly what to look for to complete their costumes. That son of mine definitely has an eye for fashion.”
She led them to a table laid with a white linen tablecloth and decorated with small bouquets of simple flowers wrapped with ribbon and strings of pearls. Stacks of vintage cloth- and leather-bound books in various heights supported headbands with feathers, hair gels, and ornamental ribbons. Above the table rose two wooden shelves with men’s top hats. At first, the hats appeared identical to each other, until Emily took the time to notice the slight variations in shade, height, or fabric around the brim. To the side of the table was a display of gloves—for both men and women—and walking sticks and canes for the gentlemen.
In its perfectness, Emily lifted a hand to her heart, imagining it clad in one of the long, white gloves. “How lovely!” Agnes would take good care of the ball’s participants, and Annalise had already arranged for the tab to be picked up as a gift to each guest.
“I don’t suppose you have photos of your gowns?”
“Of course.” Emily pulled out her phone to show her the dress she’d fallen madly in love with.
Agnes guided the women through choosing their adornments—Hattie with feathers floating high above her head that would move with every dance step, and Emily with a more simple but elegant headband of braided gold and silk flowers.
“Thank you for taking care of things, Agnes.” Emily watched her fold each of the accessories into white tissue paper and place them in black-and-white shopping bags.
“My pleasure, dear.” Agnes worked on Hattie’s next. “I look forward to seeing you in your finery.”
Back out on the street and into reality once again, Emily and Hattie had begun the downhill stroll toward the chamber of commerce when Hattie’s head jerked up with a start. With panic in her eyes, she looked like she might disappear through the next shop door. Gasping, she turned to Emily and grabbed her forearm. “It’s Martin,” she hissed. “What do I do?”
Emily squinted her eyes, looking around until she found him. Out of uniform, she hadn’t recognized him in his long-sleeved button-up shirt and nice jeans. He was indeed walking toward them. “Act natural. If he stops you, be kind.”
Hattie nodded almost imperceptibly and dropped her hand from Emily, her head still forward and her motions stiff and robotic. The poor girl wouldn’t ease up until he was gone, and Emily couldn’t help hoping he would pass by quickly to put her out of her misery.
In minutes, their paths intersected. “Hattie!” Martin acted as if he hadn’t noticed coming, but Emily didn’t buy it, not for one second. “What a surprise to run into you. How have you been?”
Allowing Hattie to take the lead, Emily stopped and watched their interaction, waiting to see if her friend would make some excuse to keep going—Emily would play along if she said they were in a hurry—or stop and talk. Either way, Emily hoped Hattie would play it cool.
“I’m . . .” Hattie paused in her step, indecisive.
No other words escaped her open mouth, and Emily’s heart went out to her. She had to rescue Hattie. “She’s tired,” Emily explained, taking Martin’s focus off of Hattie’s flushed cheeks and deer-in-the-headlights look. She lifted the bag in her hand. “We’ve been shopping.”
His eyes scanned the bag and logo. “For the ball?” He directed his question to Hattie. “Are you going, then? I hoped you were.” He reached around to his back pocket.
“I kind of need to,” she answered with a half smile and a one-shouldered shrug.
“I figured.” He pulled a folded slip of paper from his pocket and handed it to her. “Read it. Please. It says everything I can’t.”
As soon as Hattie’s fingers clasped the note, Martin took off past the women and up the hill. So he hadn’t been coming to meet them? Or he had, but he didn’t want them to think that delivering the note had been his mission?
Although Emily was acutely curious about the note, she waited, dying to ask questions but holding herself back. Hattie unfolded the paper and read, her lips silently forming each word. The time it took Hattie to read over the letter, Emily could have run up and down Main Street, but she willed herself to remain calm and wait.
At last, Hattie sighed. “It’s a good letter.” Her fingers fiddled with it. “It wouldn’t be so hard to know what to do if it weren’t. Don’t you think so?”
Emily took the note when Hattie extended it, surprised by the weight of it. The one sheet was thick linen, luxurious to the touch. The handwriting was nothing like the teenaged-boy scrawl Emily seemed to recall; it looked as if it had been printed by a computer, only it wasn’t. The words were simple, satisfactory but not effusive, and nothing was spelled incorrectly. He’d received an invitation to the ball—though that had to be a mistake—and was inviting Hattie to be his date.
As Emily read, Hattie’s eyes filled with worry.
“It is nicely written,” Emily conceded, but she worked hard to conceal her feelings. She didn’t want to influence Hattie.
“It’s sweet, isn’t it, for him to want to invite me.” She looked as if gauging Emily’s reaction. “It’s because he knows I like this kind of thing. Nothing more.”
“In that case, you will . . .” Emily let it trail off. She waited for Hattie to fill in the blank and hoped she would come to the right conclusion on her own.
“. . . accept him because that was a thoughtful thing to do?” Hattie was far from confident in her answer.
The question was brittle and could easily be snapped in two. Emily bit her lip, trying not to correct her friend.
“Refuse him?” Hattie amended her answer, still seeking Emily’s approval.
“Because . . .” Emily prompted.
“Because . . . I have my own invitation?” Her words were slow, but with each one, Emily felt her own worry lessen. “That’s it,” Hattie said more confidently. “I will turn him down.”
“Are you sure?” Emily prompted, wanting a solid decision before offering her own opinion.
Hattie nodded once. “I can see him there.”
Relief washed over Emily at Hattie’s decision. “If he even shows up.” Emily wasn’t trying to be mean, just honest. “You know he hasn’t always been someone you can count on.”
A hardness settled in Hattie’s eyes.
“Also, you won’t be tied down to him,” Emily continued. “You’ll be free to dance with Elton.”
“True.” Hattie’s eyes brightened. “I hadn’t thought of that.” Hattie refolded the note and placed it in the pocket of her purse. “I’ll call him when we get back to the office.” She started walking again, and Emily matched her pace.
“That’s probably a good idea.” Now that it was past noon, foot traffic had increased significantly. At least they’d checked on the guests’ costume options before the shops got crowded.
“Or maybe I’ll text him. I don’t know if I could turn him
down in an actual conversation.”
“Mm-hmm.” A door opened off to Emily’s left, and she swerved to allow whoever it was to step out. Instead, the door remained wide. “Grant?” The surprise of the move made her heart skip. A good day was about to get even better.
11
“Good afternoon, ladies.” Grant held the door but stepped aside, a silent invitation for Emily and Hattie to follow him inside. “Can I buy you lunch?”
The invitation had been impulsive, but he didn’t regret it. He’d snagged a table by the window—quite a score, considering how busy the diner was—but had gotten distracted before he’d had the chance to order. Seeing the logo on the menu had brought back memories from this very shop that hit him like a slap to the back of his head. It had been years since he’d thought about sharing a booth with Emily. Then, as if conjured from memory, there she was—strolling toward him, talking with her friend. Not even thinking, he’d jumped out of his seat with the compulsion to stop them and say hello.
“Thank you,” Emily said as if he’d given her the moon. And he would have, if he could. “I’d love to.” Her enthusiastic response pushed away the slight chill he was letting into the restaurant.
“Rain check? I—” Hattie tugged at the strap of her purse. Her significant look to Emily was apparently enough of an explanation. “You two have fun. I’ll see you back at work later.”
Emily stepped past Grant and into the diner.
“Over there.” He pointed. “At our table by the window.”
Emily’s eyes swept over the room and chuckled. The location must not have registered before this. “Of course.”
He led her to the table and quickly pushed some paper and a book to the side. When the table was clear, she dropped into the booth with a barely held-back smile.
“Of course what?” He took the seat across from her, déjà vu settling around him, for once comfortable instead of disconcerting.
“Freddy’s Diner.” She giggled.
His heart climbed into his throat as his mind flashed back to the first time they’d sat face-to-face across this very booth. She’d had that same giggle then, the kind that chased away whatever cloud of disappointment had descended upon him that day. So far, today had been good, but with that laugh, the world had just gotten brighter, the sun warmer, and the concerns on his mind smaller.
He couldn’t help but smile. “You didn’t forget.”
“How could I?” she asked like it was a milestone life event rather than a random, unplanned afternoon where they’d happened to run into each other.
“We counted out how much money we had between us so we knew what we could order. I remember we pooled enough for a shake.” Emily rubbed her hands together. “Do you think we have enough to split a Neapolitan shake today?”
It sounded great. “We might could manage it, but Callum will make me pay for it later—kickboxing, sit-ups, running.” Grant placed a hand on his abdomen.
She grinned, showing her teeth, and wiggled her eyebrows like some sort of goofy GIF.
“You’re right,” he conceded. “It might be worth it.”
“Who needs Callum? I could teach you a thing or two.” She folded her arms. “Whenever you’re ready for a rematch.”
“Rematch.” He scoffed.
“Which came first, the spy novel or the sparring?” Sunlight caught the highlights of her golden hair with a depth he hadn’t noticed before.
“The age-old question.”
Emily flipped his clasped hands with the backs of her fingers. “You’re not going to tell me?”
Grant gave her a you’re crazy look. “You know when people say they can’t tell you or they’ll have to kill you? Never say that to the author of political thrillers. It really might happen.”
She rolled her eyes, yet he’d never seen something so charming. Internally, he shook his head. What was wrong with him? Still reliving freshman year, apparently.
The waitress came and took their order. When she left, Grant was the first to pick up the conversation. “Have you and Annalise decided on a venue?” He couldn’t bring himself to say ball. The ridiculousness of the word would make him laugh.
“You’d think with my job, I would have more than enough ideas, but to be honest, I’d love someplace new.” She shook her head. “I’m so tired of all the usual places.” She trailed her finger through the condensation on her plastic tumbler—an arc one way and then a mirroring one on the other side. A heart, he noticed. Without stopping, she drew a circle around it, and then obliterated everything inside. “It would help if I had a final headcount. I know how many were in the list I sent Annalise, but I don’t know if anyone else was added.”
After the two of them set the guest list, he’d only included a couple more. Surely, that wouldn’t be an issue. In his mind, he pulled up a map of the area, trying to come up with a solution. “What about Crystal Bridges in Bentonville?” He’d been to events in museums many times, and this would be a good one—not too big, not too small, and not too far away.
Emily scrunched her nose, broadcasting her distaste for the idea. “I was hoping for someplace more private, exclusive. Not somewhere everyone’s been before.” Her face quickly softened. “It is beautiful, no question.” The way she rushed to defend his choice, she must have noticed his disappointment. “The art. The water that flows under the building. Sort of like—” Her sudden stop and silent stare made him squirm.
“Like what?” He blinked, the obvious answer coming in that fragment of time. “Oh. Sort of like Dawnwell.”
How had he not seen the obvious comparison between Dawnwell and Crystal Bridges before? There were major differences, to be sure, but there were similarities. Grant had had his house built over a spring that fed into Beaver Lake; Crystal Spring spanned a running river. His home had a decidedly modern style, just as the museum did, and even had a rebuilt Frank Lloyd Wright home buried in the woods a short walk away.
That was where the parallels stopped. Nobody would want to have a ball at his house. He wouldn’t want to host a ball at his house.
“You have the space.” Emily urged him to consider it.
Perhaps. Assuming their guests wouldn’t be disappointed it was in someone’s home instead of a hotel or resort. What if he were an invited guest? If one of his Mountain Cove neighbors hosted a party, he wouldn’t think twice about it being in their home. In fact, he would have been pleased, even relieved. “Fine.” Honestly, Grant’s concern hadn’t been about the space. It had been the invasion of his space that terrified him. But he wouldn’t admit that out loud. “No one goes downstairs. It’s not Regency approved.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” She laughed, paused as if she were going to say something, and then started laughing again.
“What?” Her infectious giggle tempted him to join in. “What is it?”
She let out a long breath, trying to get in control of herself. “I was just . . .” More laughter. She was so adorable. “Couples in costume . . . sparring and rock climbing.”
This time when she laughed, he joined in wholeheartedly.
“Yeah, I meant the technology rooms.” His stomach hurt from laughing so hard, but the contagious joy felt great.
“Okay, no one downstairs.” She swiped at her watery eyes. “You could hire security.” Emily sobered. “And there’s more than enough room upstairs. With the gorgeous wood floors between the foyer and the balcony, you can fit forty, fifty couples on the dance floor.”
True. It wasn’t like he was inviting the whole town. “If you don’t mind the modern construction?” He left it like a question for her to answer.
“It’ll be great.”
He couldn’t tell if she was desperate or actually liked the idea of it. “There are plenty of old churches in the area—or haunted hotels. There’s always the Highbury Independent Living Center’s community room.”
“Now you’re just being silly.” She picked up the little plastic cup of spicy ranch the waitress had brou
ght with her Southwest salad and poured it, obviously done taking him seriously.
Time to give in. “I’ll run it past Annalise.” Her salad looked better than his burger. He should have taken the time to read the menu rather than ordering what he remembered wanting as a fourteen-year-old. At least they had the Neapolitan shake they’d agreed to share.
Sometime during lunch, he mused on the benefits of hiring her as his bodyguard because of what he’d seen at their sparring session, which then led to him inviting her to his shooting range in a couple of days. Conversation never once sagged, unlike Grant’s other dates in the past five years, and all too soon Emily said she needed to get back to work.
“I should head out too. I’ve got a game of dominoes I don’t want to be late for.” He picked up the loose linen papers and double-tapped them into a neat stack. Then he tucked them into his bag and reached for the book. Emily stared at him with wide eyes. “What?” He squinted at her, but her expression didn’t change. “Is it okay if I play dominoes with your dad? He’s a great brainstorming partner, and I got stuck writing this morning.”
“It’s—it’s not that. Dad told me all about that. No, it’s the paper, it looks—”
This wasn’t the way he wanted the information to come out. Instead of allowing her to ask, he interrupted. “That reminds me. When you were with Hattie earlier, was she okay?” He gestured to Emily’s shopping bags. “You guys were out shopping for the ball, right? Isn’t she excited about it?”
“She is.” Emily wrapped her fingers around the handles in preparation for leaving. “She had something else on her mind.”
“Something that clearly wasn’t appealing to her.”
Martin had worn the same look when they’d run into each other that morning. Seeing that he was upset, Grant had invited him into the diner for a Coke and chat. Within minutes, Martin had opened up about the situation bringing him down. A little encouragement, a letter, and by the end of their discussion, Martin had been in a much more hopeful state. As soon as Martin delivered his letter, Hattie would be as well.
The Matchmaker's Billionaire (Billionaire Bachelor Mountain Cove Book 2) Page 10