One More Night

by Jennifer Mckenzie

  While it was usually unnecessary, those rare occasions where they caught something that had been overlooked made it a worthy practice. Hayley returned and Grace doled out jobs so they’d be ready come showtime.

  The staff Owen had handpicked for this evening were beginning to trickle in. Grace took a moment to speak to each of them personally, making sure they knew that, while technically this party was for Julia and Donovan, in fact it was for all the Fords, so any problems or issues should come directly to her. All part of the full-service experience she provided.

  The staff were cheerful and quick to lend a hand to transform the room into an elegant space. It helped that Elephants had good bones, with its long white bar, dark flooring and sleek furniture.

  Grace had chosen to forgo a traditional tabletop flower arrangement, those blooms that sprang up and demanded to be seen. Instead, she’d gone for something a little smaller, a little less typical and a little more Julia and Donovan. She’d found beautiful white birdcages with a white stone bird perched atop and stuffed them with small blue flowers that poked out from between the bars. The effect was cheerful containment on the tables covered in pristine white cloths. She trucked in some fake trees, leafless and dark, and strung them with small fairy lights. She’d created some temporary chandeliers out of wire, wrapped in a feathery material and strung with the same fairy lights. With the lights in the wine bar turned from their usual pinky hue to soft white, the space turned from a hip see-and-be-seen establishment to one of classic elegance with a modern twist.

  Grace stepped back from fixing a light string that was drooping instead of artfully swooping and surveyed the room. A swell of pride filled her chest. It was beautiful, yes, but more than that it had a sense of the couple the party was being held for.

  While anyone could appreciate that the room was worthy of a photo shoot in a magazine, those who looked closer would spot the attention to detail. The two typical flower arrangements, a bustle of lavender, blue and white by the front door, were set up in trifle bowls. The guestbook on the edge of the gift table was set with a silver Montblanc pen identical to the one Donovan always used. There were other little touches of tradition and style that fit the couple.

  “This looks amazing.”

  Grace recognized Owen’s voice and blinked before turning, a polite smile already in place. But she felt it waver when she looked into his face. His easy grin and the way he seemed to be checking out her instead of the room. Hadn’t she been clear that nothing could happen between them? “Thank you.”

  “How long did this take?” He reached around her to finger the tiny cages on the table, the movement making the small flowers inside rustle.

  Grace felt the heat from his arm sink into hers. She took a small step sideways, away from Owen. “I got here around two.”

  “Amazing,” he said again, but this time he was definitely looking at her.

  Grace felt the heat creep into her cheeks. She knew she didn’t look awful. Even during setup, she was careful to maintain her image. Hair pulled into a tidy ponytail, clean jeans with no rips or loose threads, a simple, black silk T-shirt and ballet flats so she could do any necessary hard labor. But amazing was a bit of a stretch.

  “Can I do anything to help?”

  “It’s all under control.” She was happy to give the party line. “Your only responsibility is to enjoy yourself.”

  “You sure? I am the host. I’ve got the suit and everything.”

  And a fine suit it was, cut slim to show off his physique and made out of poplin. The light gray shade set off his dark coloring and he wore it with a plain white dress shirt, the top two buttons left undone.

  Grace yanked her gaze away from that small patch of exposed tanned skin. She had no business thinking about that skin, wondering if it would feel warmed by the sun or if it would taste like sugar, rum and mint.

  Her eyes fell to his feet and the bright green kicks he wore. The tightness banding her lungs loosened.

  This was who Owen Ford was. The kind of man who not only wore bright green kicks, but also wore them with a designer suit. The kind of man who didn’t get serious. Not the kind of man she was looking for at all.

  “It’s all handled,” she told Owen, drawing in a calming breath. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get ready.”

  * * *

  OWEN WATCHED GRACE glide off, noting the way her jeans clung to her long legs. What he wouldn’t give to feel them wrapped around his waist.

  “Here.” He blinked when a bar napkin was shoved in his face, then saw his sister grinning. “To wipe the drool from your chin.”

  Owen accepted the napkin and dabbed at his chin. “Thanks.”

  Mal’s smile widened. It was good to see her laughing. She hadn’t done enough of that lately. “Of course, it’d be better if Grace would quit giving you the brush-off.”

  “True.” Owen tucked the napkin in his pocket. “She does like me, though.”

  “She has a funny way of showing it.”

  “Grace has some funny ideas. Says she can’t get involved with me because I’m a client.”

  “Does Donovan know you’re planning to steal his bride and marry her in his place? Tacky, Owen, and just when the two of you were starting to get along.”

  Owen snorted because the idea of him marrying anyone was a joke. “Maybe you should tell Grace that and put in a good word for me while you’re at it.”

  “No.” Mal seemed to relish turning him down. “I won’t be your wingman.”

  “So you just came over here to harass me?”

  She nodded. “That and to help you with your drooling issue. You are the host tonight, Owen. Show a little couth.”

  “A little—” He started to laugh, long and hard. He’d missed this snarky side of his sister. Even when it was directed at him. For the past few months, she’d been muted, all her color washed away. He threw an arm around her now, wrestled her into a headlock the way he had when they were kids.

  “Owen, if you mess up my hair, I’m going to kill you.” But she was laughing, too.

  He grabbed a handful of strands and gave a light tug. “How’s that for couth?”

  “A poor showing.” Mal extracted herself—but only because he let her—and smoothed her hair. “Very poor. See, Owen, it’s behavior like that that keeps me from acting as your wingman.”

  He laughed again. “If I promise not to touch your hair anymore, will you do it?”

  “No.” She took a quick step back, hands raised to deflect any further hair-touching.

  “What about if I act as your wingman, too?”

  Her face fell. Damn. He’d thought she was doing better, was moving past whatever had happened between her and Travis.

  “My offer to beat him up still stands,” Owen said. Yes, Travis was one of his best friends, but Mal was his sister.

  Mal’s eyes were sad, her voice soft. “No. I appreciate the support, but it’s not necessary. No fighting required.”

  Which was good because Travis was a good two inches taller than Owen’s own six foot one and his friend outweighed him by fifty pounds, all of it muscle. So really it would have been less of a physical beating and more of an “I don’t know what happened between you and Mal, but fix it because I promised her I’d beat you up and I’d prefer not to lose a tooth.”

  “You sure?” This time when he put his arm around her it was to give her a hug.

  “Positive.” But she held on to him a second longer. “Thanks, Owen.”

  He watched his sister go, wondering if there was something else he could do to help. But Mal was proud and refused to tell anyone what had happened.

  Owen grabbed a bottle of water from behind the bar and cracked it open. Which was why he thought it was better not to get too serious when it came to relationships.

  Sur
e, he could end up like Julia and Donovan or his own parents, but they seemed to be the exceptions to the rule. Most people didn’t last, and wasn’t it better to go into the relationship with that already in mind?

  Owen sipped his water and glanced at his sister, who was talking to Stef and smiling. But the cheerful expression didn’t reach her eyes.

  Yes, it was definitely better to keep things light and casual. And a hell of a lot less painful.

  * * *

  GRACE TWITCHED THE HEM of her silvery-gray dress into place, ran a smoothing hand over her hair and slicked on a coat of pale almost-nude lip gloss as she eyed her reflection in the mirror of her compact. It was her standard event-planner uniform. Finished off with sapphire-blue kitten heels and a discreet pair of silver hoops at her ears, she looked cool and elegantly classic.

  She knew some planners preferred suits. An exhibition of power and control, a statement that they were in charge and could handle any issue, but she found the same aura could be projected without looking as though she’d come straight from the boardroom. And, in her mind, she really shouldn’t be standing out at all. She and her team should move seamlessly among the crowd, looking like every other guest, just with earpieces.

  She fussed with her dress again. Something looked off or maybe it was the twin flags of color on her usually porcelain skin. Grace pressed the back of her hands to the offending warmth on her cheeks, breathing slowly until the rosiness began to fade.

  Better. Now she just looked as though she’d gotten a little sun. Which she might have if she didn’t have weddings every weekend.

  Not that she was complaining. It was all part of her five-year plan, of which she had one year left to complete. She’d successfully started her own business, had three employees reporting to her, planned at least twenty weddings a year and last year had bought her own condo, a gorgeous one-bedroom with soaring loftlike ceilings on the downtown side of False Creek.

  Surrounded by other affluent, educated types, Grace Monroe had come a long way from her roots and was proud of what she’d accomplished, even if her family didn’t understand. They didn’t have to. She was satisfied, which was more important.

  She was actually a little ahead of schedule, since she hadn’t planned to buy the condo until next year. But she’d booked a wedding of one of the local hockey players, which had gotten her front-page coverage in not just the newspapers—both in print and online—but local magazines, too. All of that would have seen an increase in her business on its own, but when coupled with the inclusion of the wedding in a national lifestyle magazine that had dedicated an issue to the country’s most popular athletes, well, she’d hired that third assistant and receptionist pretty quickly.

  “Grace?” Hayley spoke through her earpiece.

  “Coming out.” She’d snagged access to the assistant manager’s office for the night for storage and anything else. Like changing clothes.

  Grace locked the door behind her as she left. All her employees had stored their bags and purses inside, plus whatever financial items might be put in the assistant manager’s filing cabinet.

  She adjusted her earpiece, eyes scanning the room. “What’s going on, Hayley?”

  “The photographer just texted that he’s not coming.”

  Small problem when Grace considered what else could go wrong. “Thank you, Hayley. I’ll handle it.”

  The photographer was a new one whom she’d used once before and been pleased with his work, but she wouldn’t be using him again if he wasn’t reliable. And he clearly wasn’t. She’d be removing him from her list of contacts immediately.

  Luckily, Grace had a solid list of vendors. She called Sherry Sanders, one of her most dependable photographers, and begged her to come for a last-minute gig tonight.

  She’d figured the mention of Julia and Donovan’s names would be enough to pique Sherry’s interest, and she was right. Sherry had promised to grab her equipment and get there as soon as possible. Because there was a good chance a picture from the party would end up in one of the provincial papers, a photo credit line that would create an uptick in business. Not to mention, if Julia and Donovan were happy, they’d probably book Sherry for the actual wedding. And no serious photographer would be foolish enough to turn down the opportunity to work what looked to be one of the most talked-about weddings of the year.

  By the time Sherry arrived and Grace had issued instructions about the number of family members and other important people in the couple’s lives, their style and general preferences, and made sure her team knew that Sherry was going to be handling all the photography, the wine bar had filled up. Grace recognized many of the guests. The who’s who in the city’s social scene, familiar faces in the papers’ society pages and industry professionals who were often as well-known as their restaurants. They glittered in expensive summer dresses and well-tailored suits. Jewelry and wineglasses shimmered under the lights.

  Grace spotted Donovan’s parents and sister across the room. Gus Ford looked a lot like his sons, a blend of Donovan’s stoic seriousness and Owen’s easy smile. He wore a suit as well as they did, too. So clearly, there was no reason for her to get all jittery over the way Owen filled out his suit. It was simply good genetics. Like pheromones. Which Grace chalked up to animal instinct. Something she had overcome, much like her nontraditional childhood.

  Evelyn was petite and energetic. Her eyes were bright as she chattered to her husband. Her elegant lilac dress set off her dark hair and complemented the deep indigo tie Gus wore. Grace smiled. She’d never had the opportunity to dress as a couple, except for Halloween, and she’d stopped participating in the costume and candy-consuming ritual when she was ten.

  Grace headed over to greet them in person and assure them that they could come to her if they had any questions or concerns.

  “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Grace Monroe.” She held out a hand to the brunette standing with Gus and Evelyn. Even if Mallory hadn’t looked like a taller, sleeker version of her mother, Grace would have known they were related by the way her parents looked at her. A mix of pride and love showered over their lone daughter.

  “Mallory Ford.” Her grip was firm, the sign of a woman who lived and succeeded in a man’s world. “This is outstanding. Really. I can’t believe it’s Elephants.”

  Grace decided she liked Mallory, or at least liked her taste. She seemed to look beyond the surface to note the effort and time that had gone into making each choice. Her strapless dress was aqua and gathered at one side with a slit that provided a peek of leg. With the wrong accessories or on a shorter, curvier woman, it might have looked trashy. But Mallory, with her hair left down to cascade down her back, simple gold drop earrings and bangle bracelet and matching shoes, looked upscale and luxe. Which Grace imagined she was. “Thank you.”

  “I agree.” Evelyn looked around, appreciation clear on her face. “I know it’s our place, and I can recognize so much of it, yet it looks different. Like a version created just for Julia and Donovan.” Which was exactly what Grace had been going for. Evelyn clasped a hand around her husband’s arm. “Isn’t it wonderful, Gus?”

  “Better than wonderful.” Gus’s voice was as warm as his eyes. “You’ve done a fantastic job, Ms. Monroe.”

  Grace felt the warmth from the pair of them seep into her, like a flower absorbing the heat of the sun. She clasped each of their hands in turn, wrapping them with both of hers. “Please, call me Grace.”

  She jumped when she sensed someone move up beside her and the scent of clover with a hint of smoke, like honey by the campfire, surrounded her. She knew that scent. She loved that scent, but wished she didn’t.

  “How come you never say that to me?” Grace tried not to stiffen as she turned to look at Owen.

  “Owen.” Evelyn seemed delighted to see her son. Grace wished she felt the same. Instead, she was left with a dis
comfiting heat swirling beneath her skin. Mallory hugged her brother and whispered something in his ear that made him throw back his head and laugh.

  Grace felt a bubble of envy and shifted a step away, out of reach. She wasn’t jealous of Mallory, just of the easy relationship she seemed to have with her brother. Grace hadn’t spoken to her own brother in six months. Not since the last time she’d been over to visit the family farm. But then despite the only sixteen-month age gap, she and Sky had never been close. Different priorities, different lives. Sky had decided to stay on the family farm and take over the business with his pregnant girlfriend. While she had done the opposite.

  Gus moved to stand beside her by one of the tables. “I like these.” He was admiring the birdcage of flowers, running a thick finger along the cage much as his son had earlier. Grace shoved away the thought of Owen’s hands caressing anything, even a stone bird, but her ears were attuned to the conversation he was having with his mother and sister. And she had to lecture herself not to inhale deeply before his scent drifted away, replaced by lemon cleaning products, the spicy shrimp appetizers being passed around and her own grapefruit-and-mint perfume.

  “You’ve done a fine job, Owen. Julia and Donovan are going to love this.” Evelyn laid a hand on her son’s arm. “Really love it.”

  “I hope so.” Owen’s tone was cheerful, as though Grace hadn’t just brushed him off. Again. “Grace certainly worked hard enough.”

  A curl of pride wound through her. Not that she didn’t believe she deserved the accolades, but it was always nice to be recognized. And then she felt guilty for brushing him off, since he hadn’t been trying anything. Not this time.

  She flicked a glance at him. He was looking back. She felt her breath catch, took that deep breath she’d been avoiding and caught a full breath of that smoky sweetness that was all Owen. Her knees wobbled. Or they might have wobbled on a less tightly controlled person. Grace simply locked her knees and turned her full attention to Gus, who was now scarfing down both the spicy shrimp and the slices of warm baguette being served with it, wearing the beatific look of a man on a diet.