by Tawna Fenske
“I’m glad you’re getting a second shot to do things the way you want,” she said, not sure whether she was talking about the wedding or the marriage.
“It’s so nice to leave the wedding details to someone else so I can focus on enjoying the groom.”
There was a muffled giggle on the other end of the line, and a baritone voice mumbling something salacious about enjoying the groom. Sheri laughed again, and a ridiculous pang of jealousy nipped at the corner of Anna’s brain. She pushed it aside, forcing a smile into her voice.
“I’m so happy for the two of you. Grant mentioned Sam asked him to be the best man, so I assume we’re all squared away on the wedding party now?”
“Yep. Totally fitting, don’t you think?”
“What do you mean?”
“Grant as the best man. Aside from my betrothed, he’s the best man I know. He said he volunteered to photograph some weddings for you?”
“We’re still discussing it, but I won’t let him volunteer. Obviously, I’ll insist on paying him.”
“Good luck with that. The man is a consummate volunteer. If you ever need a kidney, put him on your short list of people to ask.”
Anna considered the idea of asking Grant for a body part and decided it wasn’t his kidney she wanted. She cleared her throat.
“He’s a very skilled photographer,” Anna said. “Not much experience shooting weddings, but he clearly has an eye for capturing human interaction. I think he’ll be great at it.”
“I’m surprised he’s so eager to do it. The man’s spent his whole adult life running like hell at the sound of wedding bells, but maybe it’s different when they’re someone else’s.”
Anna twisted the hand towel around her fingers, focused on keeping her voice nonchalant. “Some people just don’t have the urge to get married.”
“I suppose, though Grant would be great at it. He’s dated plenty of amazing women—lots of beautiful, fluffy blondes in sweater sets, which sounds a little boring when I put it that way. Total Stepford wives, but Grant’s out of there at the first sign one of them wants to make the wife thing the real deal.”
Anna stole a glance at the mirror and studied her reflection. She stood braless in a tank top that read “Wedding planning’s not for pussies,” a gift from a former client. The blue streaks in her red-gold hair shone wild and bright under the florescent bathroom lights, and the sunflower tattooed on her left shoulder blade seemed larger than normal.
Stepford wife she was not. She was mostly happy about that, but she knew the real reason for her need to squelch anything traditional in her attitudes and demeanor. She didn’t deserve the traditional happily ever after, so she’d make damn sure she shied as far away from traditional as possible.
“Anyway,” Sheri continued, cheerfully unaware of her wedding planner’s critical self-analysis, “I’m glad he’s going to be taking photos for you. He’s always had such a talent for it, but this will stretch his comfort zone a little.”
Anna thought about those photos on the flash drive. Something told her he hadn’t meant to include them. That they were something private, even sacred. Was there a way to learn more from Sheri without giving away any of Grant’s secrets?
You don’t know any secrets, her subconscious argued. He’s made sure of that.
Anna cleared her throat. “Have you ever heard of Desiderium?”
“Desiderium? I don’t think so. Wait, is that the vibrator that plugs in? Kelli bought me one after my divorce.”
“Right,” Anna said, pushing aside the memory of the brother’s haunted eyes in that last photograph and focusing on the discussion at hand. “Desiderium. It’s the latest rage among all my brides this year.”
…
Grant wasn’t surprised when Anna called the next day and offered him the wedding photography job. He’d known his work was solid, and besides that, she was in a bind.
What surprised him was the aloofness in her voice.
“So I’ll pick you up at noon?” she said, sounding businesslike instead of like a woman who’d spread her thighs and urged him to slide his hand up her dress.
“Noon,” Grant repeated, still distracted by the memory of her thighs and the way she’d felt slippery around his fingers, the soft whimpers forming low in her throat and making him want to bend her over the table and slide hard and deep into her. “Um, yeah. That works for me.”
After a few minutes of squabbling about money—Anna insisting she needed to pay him, Grant insisting he owed her some free work after maiming her original photographer—they hung up and Grant went to take a shower.
Anna arrived at noon on the dot. He looked at her through the peephole, admiring the curve of her small breasts beneath a pale sea-green sundress. She was biting her lip and holding a pie plate in her hands.
When Grant opened the door, she thrust the pie at him.
“What’s this?” he asked, admiring the little flecks of coconut and lime zest on the custardy-looking surface.
“Coconut-lime pie,” she said. “You’re not the only passably skilled cook around here. I made it with the coconut that beaned you in the head. You should stick it in the fridge.”
“My head or the pie?”
“Both.” She laughed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the blue streaks flashing in the sunlight. What the hell was it about her that was so damn intriguing?
“Your condo must have an oven?”
“No, it’s a no-bake pie,” she said. “I’ll give you the recipe sometime.”
“Thanks. That’s really sweet of you.”
God, they were exchanging recipes now? He’d been seriously friend-zoned if that was the case. It was best, he knew, but the thought made him glum.
Grant turned away and moved toward the kitchen to shove the pie in the fridge. He grabbed his camera bag and returned to the door.
“Ready to roll?”
“After you,” he said, and let her lead the way to her rental car.
Grant thought about offering to drive. Hell, he knew this island better than she did, and the macho part of him liked being behind the wheel. But Anna seemed like the sort of woman who liked being in the driver’s seat, too, which was fine by him. He needed a few minutes to get his camera gear organized.
“So this is the wedding with the fairy-tale theme?” Grant asked, settling into the passenger seat with his bag on his lap.
“Yes. Only the bride’s family convinced her to go a little more traditional. Instead of gnome costumes and bridesmaids with wings, we’re doing the ceremony at a private lodge near Hanalei Bay so they can play off the ‘Puff the Magic Dragon’ concept. You know, ‘He frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called—’”
“Hanalei, got it,” he said, feeling oddly charmed by her tuneless singing. And by the jangly bracelet around her ankle, the one without the tattoo. And by pretty much everything else about her, come to think of it.
“So nontraditional weddings are your bread and butter,” he said, unscrewing the filter from his lens.
“Pretty much. I do normal weddings—your sister’s, for instance—but most people seek me out because I’m known for being a bit unusual.”
“You don’t say.”
She glanced at him then, her expression wary, like she was trying to figure out what he meant. “Hey, it wasn’t an insult,” he assured her. “I think it’s cool you march to the beat of your own drum. You’re not like a lot of women.”
“How do you mean?”
He shrugged, knowing he should probably tread carefully here or risk insulting her. He wiped down the filter with a dust-free cloth as he considered his words. “The bluntness, for one. A lot of women play games or beat around the bush with what they mean to say, but not you. You just put it all out there, brutal honesty and all.”
“Honesty,” she repeated, giving a firm nod. “Yep.”
“And your career is sort of your own unique thing. Same with your hair, your jewelry, the tattoos. You’re defini
tely your own person.”
She was smiling a little now, warming up to the idea that he wasn’t insulting her. Grant wiped down the lens and kept going.
“You’re funny. I love your sense of humor, and that cute dimple that shows only when you smile really big.”
She rewarded him with a bigger grin, and Grant started to feel warm all over.
“Observant,” she said. “Most people don’t notice I only have one dimple.”
“On the right. I noticed. It’s very unique.” He set the dust-free cloth aside and pulled out his handheld blower. “Then there’s the marriage thing.”
“Marriage thing?”
“So many women your age are dying to get hitched. To have the big froofy wedding and the traditional family with 2.3 kids and a house in the suburbs. But that’s not what you’re after.”
There was the tiniest falter in her smile. So tiny he might have imagined it, or maybe she was frowning at the wild rooster squashed on the side of the road.
“Right,” she said, flashing him a grin that made him certain he’d misread her a second ago. “Definitely not looking to walk down the aisle at any point in my life.”
“I think that’s cool,” he said. “Same here.”
“Oh?”
“I’m not a fan of marriage. It’s fine for other people, but not for me.”
“What happened to you?”
Grant blinked, a little surprised by the directness of the question. There had to be some point where he’d stop being caught off guard by her blunt nature, but he wasn’t there yet.
“What do you mean?” He was trying to keep his tone light and casual, but knew he wasn’t doing a very good job of it.
“People who don’t want to get married usually have a reason for it,” she said, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. “Their parents’ divorce, screwing up their sister’s marriage—things like that.”
“Hypothetically speaking?”
“Right. So what’s your story? Why don’t you want to get married?”
“Are you proposing?”
He meant it as a joke, a way to keep the conversation lighthearted and whimsical and away from anything serious.
But from the way she cut her eyes to him, he knew he’d missed the mark. He swallowed and went back to dusting his camera lens.
“I don’t have a story.”
Anna went quiet. For a moment, he thought they’d reached the end of the conversation. He started to relax, went back to using a little handheld blower to puff air into the camera body. He was still looking down in his lap when he felt the car jerk to a stop.
He looked up to see Anna staring at him over the rim of her sunglasses. “For a guy who says he admires honesty and bluntness, you sure have a helluva hard time being forthcoming with those qualities on your own.”
“What?”
She shrugged. “I just think there’s more to you than you’re letting on. Something darker. Something that’s not all cheerful Boy Scout.”
Grant swallowed, not sure what to say to that. What was she driving at? Did she know something?
“Come on,” Anna said, shoving her sunglasses back up her nose as she opened the car door. “The wedding party’s waiting.”
“We’re here already?” He glanced around, surprised to realize they’d already reached Hanalei.
“Yep.” She swung her legs out of the car and stood up, then peered back down at him. “Let’s get the ball rolling on the blessed union of holy matrimony. Or as you and I can regard it, ‘I’m glad it’s them and not us.’”
“Us,” Grant repeated under his breath, grateful she’d already walked away.
Chapter Seven
“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Anna beamed the way she always did at the pivotal moment in the ceremony, her eyes prickling with happy tears. Beside her, Janelle began clapping along with the other guests. She leaned close to whisper in Anna’s ear.
“That was awesome.”
Anna nodded, pleased another wedding had gone off without a hitch. “It was, wasn’t it?”
“I thought it might bother me to hear that so soon after the divorce, but that was beautiful.”
“It never gets old,” Anna said. “No matter how many times I hear it.”
“I can see why. It’s the epitome of hope, you know?”
“Hmm,” she murmured, glancing around to make sure Grant was capturing the couple’s lip-lock. She spotted him on the other side of the arch, kneeling a few feet from the bride and groom and framing the shot to make sure Hanalei Bay was visible in the background. “Perfect.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Janelle said, following Anna’s gaze to Grant. “I saw him scratch his balls in the middle of the ceremony.”
“You did not!”
“No, but wouldn’t you like him more if I had? The man needs a few chinks in his armor.”
“Come on,” Anna said, pulling her sister by the arm. “Let’s make sure the baker knows how to set up the cupcake tree.”
“And by that you mean ‘let’s sample a couple?’”
“It’s a professional obligation. I need to make sure everything’s just so for the bride and groom.”
From the corner of the buffet station, Anna watched Grant work the crowd. He seemed to know instinctively to capture an image of the groom stooping to retrieve the bride’s dropped fork, followed by a shot of the bride playfully smacking the groom’s butt as he bent down. The couple’s laughter rang out across the lush grounds, making Anna feel oddly wistful.
She watched Grant’s biceps flex as he slung his camera bag over one massive shoulder and moved to the other side of the reception area. The sun glinted in his hair, and he had the self-aware stride of a guy confident in every step he took.
It would be infuriating if it weren’t so goddamned sexy.
Anna had just polished off her third mini-cupcake when Grant found her an hour later beside the cupcake tree.
“Sampling the goodies?” he said, firing off a shot as Anna wiped frosting from her chin.
Anna grinned and swallowed a mouthful of pineapple cupcake. “They’re going to have a ton left. The baker accidentally made five dozen extras, so we’ve got three more boxes of them in the catering van over there.”
“I see. So you’re devouring a few to help out the happy couple.”
“It’s a hardship, but someone’s gotta do it.” She grinned and dusted crumbs off her hands as she watched Grant take a bite. “Delicious, isn’t it?”
“Oh my God, what is this?”
“Lilikoi—also known as passion fruit—with guava frosting. Isn’t it tasty?”
“Amazing.”
“I helped the bride pick them out last week, so I got to try all the flavors then. My favorite was orange ginger with a lavender-lemon frosting, but the bride didn’t pick that flavor.”
“That sounds delicious. I’ve never been to a wedding that had cupcakes instead of a regular cake.”
“It’s become very popular. Terrific idea, if you think about it. You can have a dozen different flavors if you like, and everyone gets to try everything.”
Grant nodded and swallowed his bite of cupcake. “You’re really good at what you do, aren’t you?”
Anna blinked, surprised. “Yes. I am, as a matter of fact.”
He grinned. “I love your honesty.”
“Well, you asked the question. I’ve worked really hard to build a successful business.”
“And you’re passionate about marriage.”
“About weddings,” she corrected, ignoring the knot in the pit of her stomach. “There’s a difference.”
He nodded, eying her curiously. “That there is. So what happens now?”
For one stupid moment, she thought he meant with us, and the words settled warmly in the center of her chest. Us. But that was ridiculous. There was no us, for crying out loud.
She swallowed. “What happens next with the wedding, you mean?�
�
“Yeah. Is there more to shoot?”
“It’s totally optional for you, but the wedding party and all the guests are heading off into the jungle for a rousing game of Fairies in the Forest.”
“Fairies in the Forest?”
“Don’t ask me. I think it’s a little like hide-and-go-seek, but for weird people.”
“In that case, lead the way.” He grinned. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
“Yes you did, but that’s okay. Come on, I think most of them went this way.”
She grabbed his arm and felt an instant jolt of electricity move from her fingers to the place she’d stroked with her fingers while lying alone in bed last night. She’d been picturing Grant then, imagining him between her legs with her ankles locked behind his back and his perfect ass moving in rhythm as he pumped into her with—
“You want me to get shots of the guests, or just focus on the bride and groom?”
“Um—how about whoever you can find? I’m not really sure where everyone went, so just follow the sound of voices and start snapping.” They’d reached the edge of the jungle now, and Anna could hear shrieks of laughter that sounded like the bride.
Grant turned to her and smiled. “You planning to hide?”
“Me?”
“Your job duties are mostly done now, right?”
“More or less. Janelle’s managing the cleanup crew, and the caterer has everything handled for the reception.”
“So go hide. You might as well enjoy the fun and games, too, right?”
Anna wasn’t sure why she felt the urge to obey, but it probably had to do with the man issuing the command. Grant could ask her to cover her body in maple syrup and pretend to be a waffle, and she’d eagerly lie down on a plate for him. Or anywhere.
“Okay,” she said. “Whatever you say. Except maybe the waffle thing.”
“What?”
“Never mind. If you haven’t found me in fifteen minutes, I’ll assume you got caught up taking pictures.”
“If I haven’t gotten all the Fairy in the Forest pictures in fifteen minutes, you have permission to punch me in the crotch.”
He turned and walked off before Anna could give too much thought to the idea of having her hand between his legs. He shot a grin over his shoulder at her as he headed deeper into the jungle.