“What do you know about wedding dresses?” she hissed at him.
“More than you think. Ah!” He didn’t look at Hyacinth, but turned back to Daisy and her posse. “This! This! I’ve got it!” he called across the shop. And he presented Daisy with the biggest, blingiest ball gown in the shop—the Simone Donatella with the silver-beaded bodice and hem.
Daisy put her hands on her cheeks. “I could try it on—you know. Just for fun. But is it my size?”
“No.” Hyacinth put her hands on her hips. This dress was a six and Daisy needed an eight.
“It’ll fit,” Robbie said. “Numbers don’t matter. I have an eye for these things.”
Brad took the dress from Robbie. “I’ll take you back. Patty’s waiting to help you.”
The dress was two thousand dollars over Lois’s budget, it wouldn’t fit, and Daisy wouldn’t go for it anyway. Yet this could be productive. Maybe Daisy had begun to think outside the box a little. While a ball gown was too far in the extreme from Daisy’s vision, maybe they could get her in a romantic lacy empire or the ivory A-line.
Meanwhile, Robbie was leaving the minute he saw Daisy in this dress—and she intended to tell him that right now. Having collected herself, she walked back toward the seating area, where Robbie had made himself comfortable in the chair across from Lois.
“You have a real, live castle?” one of the bridesmaids asked as she handed him a glass of champagne—champagne meant for customers. “Does it have a name?”
“Aye. A wee one, as castles go. Thank you, lass.” He accepted the glass and took a sip. “Wyndloch’s the name, though my mum calls it Castle Crumble.”
No way was he telling the truth. He’d happened on her shop, started wreaking havoc, and now his family was in the wedding business. That was all too convenient. Besides, wouldn’t he have mentioned it when he was here for fall fest?
But apparently these people believed him. “And how did your family castle ever end up turning into a wedding venue?” Lois asked.
“Aye.” Robbie nodded. “Came a time when keeping sheep didn’t pay the bills. My great-grandma had the idea to let out the homestead for parties and weddings. Now Wyndloch is right popular.”
Time to call his bluff. “Where might I have seen it advertised?” Hyacinth asked.
He shrugged. “Maybe you wouldn’t have. We don’t have to advertise.”
“Mmmm. I see,” Hyacinth said. “Waiting list?”
“Four years.”
Despite herself, Hyacinth found herself buying into this—and she wasn’t sure why she wanted so badly for him to be lying.
She could find out, here and now. She whipped out her phone and googled Windlock Wedding Venue Scotland. The site came up, despite her incorrect spelling. So he wasn’t lying. She might have still doubted him had there not been a picture of the McTavish clan—including Robbie—standing in front of the “wee” castle—which had to be forty thousand square feet at the smallest. There were at least thirty McTavishes and they were all wearing tartan—the men in kilts, the women in skirts. She squinted. A small redheaded girl stood in front of Robbie, totally obscuring his legs. He had his hand on her head.
“Look at me, Mama!” Daisy swept into the showroom with Patty and Brad carrying her massive skirts.
Everyone—even Robbie—went silent as Brad helped Daisy onto the platform.
It was the perfect fit.
Daisy beamed at Robbie. “It feels...right.” Lois and the bridesmaids gathered around her. “I could still have my Gatsby wedding, couldn’t I? It wouldn’t ruin it if I wore this dress, would it?”
“Of course not,” Lois said, with the bridesmaids backing her up like a relieved Greek chorus.
“I think a princess does what she likes,” Robbie said.
“But how much does it cost?” Daisy asked.
Now for the bad news. Maybe Robbie would buy it for her. It would serve him right to have to pay for this dress and the Rayna Kwan. He’d started this. Hyacinth never showed a bride a dress out of her price range.
“Your grandma Daisy said if you found the one she would pay the extra, up to four thousand dollars.” Lois cast a questioning look at Hyacinth.
Relief settled over Hyacinth. It would probably take that. A veil to go with a dress like this was considerably more than a feathered headband.
“That will cover it,” Hyacinth said. “How about we try some veils?”
“And a tiara?” Daisy asked breathlessly. “Could I have a tiara?”
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t want one,” Hyacinth said.
“And I think a crystal-and-silver-beaded belt to accentuate your small waist,” Brad said.
This was the best part of a bridal appointment—when the dress had been chosen and the bride was truly delighted. The choosing of the veil and accessories and making appointments for fittings was all high-spirited fun—sort of like picking up last-minute stocking stuffers on Christmas Eve after the hard holiday things had already been done. Or at least that was how Hyacinth imagined Christmas was for most people. Since her grandmother had died, she only had her staff, Claire, Evans, and Ava Grace to buy for. That had been done since August.
It was almost closing time when Lois slipped her credit card to Hyacinth. “Tell Robbie thank you,” she whispered. “I don’t think we’d have a dress if he hadn’t charmed her into trying it on. It’s almost as if you planned it.”
Hyacinth barked a little laugh as she ran the card. “I can assure you that I did not plan for Robbie McTavish.”
Where was he anyway? She’d all but forgotten him. Evidently he had no opinions on veils because they hadn’t heard from him in a while. Her eyes cast quickly about the store—he was nowhere to be found. Thank goodness he’d left. She let out her first full breath in a half hour.
But after she’d ushered Daisy and her posse out, Hyacinth caught sight of him sitting on the floor, leaning against the accessories counter, eyes cast down, looking as sad as she’d ever seen a man look. A chord of sympathy chimed inside her, though she had no idea what she was sympathizing with. Maybe Trousseau made him miss home. Maybe Daisy had reminded him of a lost sweetheart.
“You’re still here.” She came up beside him.
He turned. “Hello, lass. All well with Daisy?”
“Yes.” She was considering asking him why he seemed sad when she caught sight of where he’d been looking—the small trash can that contained the remains of his ice cream cone. The little sympathy chime turned into an iron clanging bell. “Please tell me you weren’t considering eating ice cream out of a trash can.”
He rubbed the back of his neck and squinted his eyes mostly shut. “Naw,” he said around a yawn. “It’s melted.”
“It’s melted? And that’s the only reason you didn’t consider eating out of a trash can?”
He shrugged. “How dirty could it be? It’s not like you’re butchering hogs in here. You’re selling wedding dresses.” He looked down at the can one last time and ambled to his feet. “It was excellent.”
“If it was that excellent, why didn’t you just go away and eat it instead of coming in here ruining dresses and causing chaos?”
“That girl needed help. You needed help.” His green eyes bored into hers and he took a step closer.
Every hair on her body stood on end.
“I needed help? How do you figure that?”
“How do you figure that you didn’t? The dress was all wrong for the girl. In the wedding business, your reputation is everything. And there is no repeat business—or at least not enough to count. What would people have thought if you had let Daisy go down the aisle wearing that dress?”
“If I had let her? Let her?” She wanted to scream. “For your information, I knew the dress was all wrong for her. I had done everything I could to steer her in a different direction. There was n
othing else to do but hope she would figure it out for herself.”
“She wasn’t showing any signs of it.”
“How do you know? You’d been in here all of fifteen seconds before you insinuated yourself in the situation.”
“I was right, wasn’t I?”
She would have rolled in mud wearing the most expensive dress in the shop before admitting that she’d been about to lead Daisy away to try on more of the same.
“She knew it wasn’t right.” That was true. “She was coming around.” Debatable.
“Would you have sold it to her?” Robbie lifted his chin. “No matter how bad it looked?”
“Not without telling her point-blank that it wasn’t flattering.”
“Have you ever done that?” He took another step closer to her, all the while looking so smug, like he knew the answer.
“A few times. Most of the time the bride will see it on her own and I can guide her toward something suitable.” He was close enough that she felt his body heat, but she would not step away. No way would she give him the satisfaction of thinking she had noticed.
“But if she hadn’t?” He dropped his face closer to hers. Damn. He smelled like chocolate, probably tasted of it. “Would you have sold it to her?”
“You say that like you wouldn’t have. In the end, it’s not my decision.”
“Reputation.”
In truth, she’d never sold a dress that was truly hideously unflattering. But she wasn’t going to tell Robbie that.
“You showed her a dress that was way out of her price range.”
“Clearly not. They bought it.” He narrowed his eyes and didn’t quite close his mouth when he finished speaking.
“It’s cruel to show someone something they can’t have.”
The moment froze. They locked gazes for what seemed like a long time.
Then the spell broke. “You’re right.” Robbie closed his eyes and stepped back out of her space. “It worked out.”
“This time.”
He came across with that damned cocky crooked grin again. “I have some other ideas for you. Your showcase window could use some livening up. I’m going away with a friend for Thanksgiving, but let me take you to dinner next week and I’ll share my ideas.”
Hyacinth stopped cold. He did not say that to her!
“This was kind of fun. The next time you have a difficult bride, call me. I’ll be glad to come help you out.” He frowned like he was trying to work something out, then brightened. “I know. I’ll get you some game tickets. You can come see me play. Then we’ll have dinner.”
There weren’t enough deep breaths or golden lassos in the universe to bring her back from this.
“I don’t like hockey. I don’t have time for it.” Never mind that Claire had given her a whole set of season tickets.
“You don’t like hockey?” He said that as if she’d said she didn’t like breathing. “Well, just dinner, then. I can still help you out with your window and I might change your mind about hockey.”
“Tell you what, Robbie, let’s not have dinner. I can tend to my own window and my own brides. You tend to your hockey and leave me out of it.”
“I can tend to more than one thing.”
“Here, tend to this.” She reached under the counter and got a bag that contained the kilt and shoes he’d left. “I mended the hem.” She had not been able to help herself. She’d washed it, too.
“That was good of you.” He looked inside the bag. “It looks like it’s been ironed.”
She gave a half nod. “Only sloppy seamstresses don’t press their work.” Memaw had taught her that.
“Then I do owe you dinner.” He held out his hand. “What do you say?”
“I say no, thank you.”
“Have it your own way,” he said.
“Believe me, I try, but that seems nigh on impossible when you’re around.”
He laughed. “Goodbye, lass, I’ll be going now. Need to pack for a little trip I’m taking. You have yourself a fine Turkey Day.” He gave a little salute as he left.
She locked the door after him and sighed with relief. Never had she known a human who wore her out like Robbie McTavish.
Why was she not surprised that he wasn’t packed for wherever it was he was going? She was taking a little trip, too—to the Delta for a quick turnaround Thanksgiving. Her suitcase was not only packed, but sitting by her front door at home, where Jake and Evans were going to pick her up.
Her stomach did a happy little flip-flop, like it did every time she remembered, since the fall fest, that Evans had been hip deep in what seemed like the romance of the century with one of those Yellowhammers. This was her best chance yet for getting on All Dressed in White.
Also, her first chance. Her only chance so far. If only they would get engaged.
Don’t miss Smooth as Silk by USA TODAY bestselling author Alicia Hunter Pace, available wherever Carina Press books are sold.
www.CarinaPress.com
Copyright © 2021 by Jean Hovey and Stephanie Jones
Also available from Alicia Hunter Pace
Sweet Gone South
Copyright © 2012 by Jean Hovey and Stephanie Jones
Welcome to Merritt, Alabama, where summers are lazy, tea is sweet, and guests are always welcome...
Luke Avery needs a wife to help raise his motherless three-year-old. Candy shop owner Lanie Heaven desires a child but can never have her own. When Luke moves into the apartment above Lanie’s shop, she can’t help falling for the sexy single dad and his sweet little girl.
Luke’s not planning to fall in love ever again—but easing the ache of loneliness with pretty Lanie isn’t falling in love. Still, proposing to her could solve all his problems and give his child what she needs.
Lanie believes her dreams of love and family are finally coming true. Until she’s faced with evidence that Luke’s heart is locked away tight. Can Luke learn to slay his demons and put the past to rest? Or will he lose Lanie—and any hope he might’ve had for a sweet life—forever?
We think you have a good book in you!
Are you writing in the below genres? The Carina Press editors want to see your manuscript.
We Are Currently Acquiring
Most subgenres and all heat levels of romance:
• Contemporary
• Erotic
• Paranormal & Urban Fantasy
• Science Fiction & Fantasy
• Romantic Suspense
• Historical
• Your subgenre here. See our submissions guidelines!
We are committed to inclusion and representation in our publishing program. We are interested in working with authors from traditionally marginalized or underrepresented groups, including but not limited to Black authors, authors of color, disabled authors, and LGBTQIA+ authors. We strive to make our list inclusive and work hard to build a catalog that is representative of the romance reading public.
To learn more about our submissions guidelines, please visit: CarinaPress.com/WriteForUs
All submitted manuscripts receive a thorough editorial review and a response in approximately 12 weeks.
ISBN-13: 9780369717481
Sweet as Pie
Copyright © 2021 by Jean Hovey and Stephanie Jones
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
For ques
tions and comments about the quality of this book, please contact us at [email protected].
Carina Press
22 Adelaide St. West, 40th Floor
Toronto, Ontario M5H 4E3, Canada
www.CarinaPress.com
Sweet as Pie Page 33