When her shoes didn’t show up in any convenient places, she dropped to her knees to search under the sofa. No luck.
It took a mortifying three times to push and grunt her way back onto her feet. Even then, she wasn’t especially steady.
“Whoa.” Wayne grabbed her arm. “Take it easy.”
“Thanks. I get dizzy if I stand too fast—which seems silly since it takes me forever to stand.”
“I’m in no hurry. The CO had to be home early tonight for his daughter’s choir concert. His wife insisted. But hey, his family drama is my gain.” His crooked grin should have been endearing, but Paisley was mortified by his comment.
“How do you consider something as sweet as a mother wanting her daughter’s father to see their child sing to be drama?”
“I was teasing. Logan says the CO’s wife gets bent out of shape if he’s so much as a minute late—kinda like how he goes off on us.”
“It wasn’t funny.” Where were her stupid sandals?
“Why are you so testy?”
“Why shouldn’t I be? You fake proposed to me, the clock’s ticking on us becoming a convincing couple by Easter weekend, yet I haven’t seen you in days.”
“Sorry. Work’s been hell on a stick.” He fished her sandal out from under the kitchen table, then asked, “I am curious, though. What kinds of plans have you dreamed up?”
“After all this bickering, I’m no longer in the mood to tell you. Besides...” she rubbed her burning chest “...now I have wicked indigestion.”
He landed her sandal on the coffee table. “What can I do to help? Need medicine?”
“I wish, but I’m doing an all-natural pregnancy.” She rubbed her throat, too, then winced. “It’s really bad.”
“There has to be something you can do?”
She nodded before dropping to the sofa. “But it would take too much effort.”
“Name it. Whatever it is, I’ll get it done.”
“Thanks—if you’re sure it’s not too much trouble, I need a tablespoon of honey dissolved into a cup of warm milk.”
“Those exact measurements?” As if she’d sent him on a life-or-death mission, he was already halfway to the kitchen.
“Close is fine.”
“Got it.”
While he banged pots, Paisley warred with her conscience. She had to admit, having Wayne around more often wouldn’t be a terrible thing. On the flip side, as a soon-to-be single mom, she needed to learn to be independent. Leaning on Wayne, only to lose him when he no longer needed her, would do her or her baby no good.
Eyes closed, she willed her heart rate to slow.
What was wrong with her?
Being around Wayne had never caused this sort of indescribable, system-wide panic. They were friends. Why was she now concerned if he was judging her for not having done the dishes or wiped down her stove? Did rough-and-tough guys like him even look at stuff like that? Cerebral Dr. Dirtbag had, but his opinion no longer mattered.
“Almost done,” Wayne called out.
“Thanks.”
A few minutes longer than it had taken her to nibble what little remained of her fingernails, he handed her a steaming mug. Their fingers brushed during the exchange, resulting in still more confusion. Butterflies flapped up a storm in her tummy. That was new. “Careful. It’s hot.”
“Bless you.” The soothing liquid proved perfect. After a few sips, she could have purred with relief.
“Well?” Instead of resuming his seat opposite her, he perched beside her on the couch. “What’s on your mind?”
She worried her lower lip. “I’m one hundred percent ready to help, but I do have reservations.”
“Shoot.”
Did he have to sit close enough for his radiant heat to warm her chilly toes? It was distracting her from sharing concerns—of which there were plenty!
“Okay...” She licked her lips. “First, I think we should let your mom in on our secret.”
“Out of the question.”
“Why?”
“Because I love her dearly, but she’s incapable of keeping a secret. For Dad to genuinely believe I’m going to be a father, I’m sorry, but Mom also should believe. We’ll break the news to her after Dad passes.”
“What if I have the baby before then?”
“I’ll consider myself blessed.” He sighed. Scratched his forehead. “There’s no delicate way to say this, so I’ll blurt it out. Dad is dying. He may have a couple months, but according to his doctors, we’re only looking at weeks.”
Paisley caught herself holding her breath. “That’s so sad.”
“Agreed. And look, I know this whole idea is FUBAR, but—”
Nose wrinkled, she asked, “What’s that?”
“Military slang that shouldn’t be used in the presence of ladies. Basically, it just means our pretending to be married is about as screwed up as anything we could ever do, but for the sake of my dad, we’re only talking about maintaining this act for sixty days—ninety tops. When are you due?”
“Eighty-eight days.” She hugged her baby bump. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but if your father should pass before then, I think news of this charade would be easier on your mom. If I have my baby and she grows attached to him, believing he’s her grandson, that could hurt her more.”
“True. It’s a potential minefield all the way around. But I’m looking at risk versus reward. I can’t stomach the thought of Dad passing with regrets.”
“Have you ever thought to consider that this news might be so agreeable to your father that it actually helps him recover? Miracles might be rare with his kind of disease, but I’m sure they do happen. What are we going to do if he’s so thrilled with our sham marriage that he goes into remission?”
Eyebrows furrowed, Wayne asked, “I fail to see how this is a problem? That would be awesome.”
“Not if the whole reason for his recovery is an eight-pound bundle of joy who isn’t his grandson.”
“Oh.” His shoulders sagged. “I see what you mean. But hey—that’s a long shot. I promise, if something like that happens, I’ll take the heat. You won’t even have to be there when I come clean.”
“Promise?”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay...”
“Does that mean you’ll still do it?”
“I already said I would.” Monica would lecture her till the end of time about the recklessness and irresponsibility of this plan, but since when had her fun-loving business partner and best friend become the morality police?
“You’re awesome.” Wayne stood, only to then kneel beside her, squeezing her in an awkward, but not entirely awful, hug. “You won’t regret this. I’ll map out the whole thing. Oh—and we’ll need wedding pics.”
“What?” Her indigestion roared back.
“Relax. You can help me find a suitable thrift shop gown.”
“Do you have any idea how hard it would be to find one my current size?”
“No worries...” Rocking back on his heels, his slow sideways grin disarmed her. “We’ll grab a dress in a style you like, then chop it off midway down. It’ll be perfect for a few head-only selfies.”
Paisley groaned.
Why had Wayne ruined his temporary charm by being an idiot?
* * *
TWO DAYS LATER, Paisley found herself not buying part of a dress, but on her way to a bakery. Being next to him in the cab of his truck was too close for rational thought. Besides looking extra hot in his cowboy hat and Ray-Ban Aviators, he smelled too good—like the beach and a great deli. Had he recently eaten? She wouldn’t mind eating. “Do we really need a wedding cake? Seems like overkill.”
“Yeah. We’ll have that classic wedding shot where we’re shoving cake in each other’s mouths.”
“Mmm... Sounds
romantic.”
“You know what I mean. Lion—one of my teammates—recommended the place where we’re headed, but then his wedding got canceled—long story. They specialize in fake cakes. Super cheap, but totally legit looking.”
Her only comment was to raise her eyebrows, then shake her head. She turned her gaze from him to the scenery outside her window.
“Tell me you don’t love a bargain.”
“Of course, I do, but this—Never mind.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
He made a left. “God, I hate when women pull this crap.”
“I’m not pulling anything.”
“The hell you’re not. You’re pissed about something, but won’t say it. Instead, you’re taking the passive aggressive approach which—”
“Am not.”
“Are, too.”
“Am—” Her cell rang. Rather than continue their argument, she answered. “Hey.”
“Are you alone?” Even though the phone wasn’t on speaker, Monica’s voice rang through loud and clear.
“No.”
“Still stuck with the pretend fiancé?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Okay, well, sorry. But I have a major crisis and need your advice.”
“Is something wrong at the shop? Or with a client?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. Logan called. He wants to meet for coffee. He doesn’t even drink coffee, but knows I love that cute place on the corner that has the great patio and garden.”
“How is this a bad?”
“Because I don’t know what to say. Or wear. The last time we were together, we both said some harsh things, and—”
Paisley sighed. “Monica, talk to him. What’s the worst that can happen?”
“I end up sleeping with him and falling hard all over again? Worse—we break up again.”
“Point of fact—I’m pretty sure you never fully let go of him, and second, how many times have I heard you brag about his superhero bedroom talents?”
Paisley glanced at Wayne and saw him smirking.
“Of course, I’m over him. I hate him. And his stupid dimples. And the way he fills out that pair of designer jeans I bought him, but he claims to—”
“Monica, I have to go. I’m going to be sick.” Paisley ended the call.
* * *
“DO I NEED to pull over?” Wayne asked, worrying equal amounts for his leather upholstery and her.
“Nope. I’m fine. But Monica’s constant whining about Logan pisses me off. How can she not see how great they are together? What even happened to break them up?”
“No clue. Although Logan did mention something about having talked with her dad.” He pulled into the bakery’s crowded lot. The white brick structure featured pink-and-white-striped awnings. The Cake Place was written over the entry in hot pink neon script. “Think this place sells doughnuts?”
“Maybe?” In all the years they’d known each other, he’d never seen her so snippy. Especially with her best friend.
“Please tell me what’s got you in a mood.”
“It’s lame.”
Progress? At least she was admitting there was a problem.
“Worse than Logan and Monica pretending they’re not insanely hot for each other?”
She laughed. “This is stupid, but you hurt my feelings.”
“What did I do?” He killed the engine, removed the keys, then turned to face her.
She worried her lower lip. “More what you didn’t do. But now that I’ve had time to reflect, I’m making a big deal out of nothing and you’re forgiven.” After opening her door, she eased out of the truck and onto her feet.
“Oh no—” He gave chase. “You’re not getting off that easy. Tell me your beef.”
“Leave it alone. Sorry I said anything.” She entered the bakery, zeroing in on a wedding cake display.
“May I help you?” a clerk asked.
“We need a simple wedding cake,” Paisley said.
“How many guests will you be expecting?”
“Just the two of us. I mainly want it for our wedding album—something special to commemorate the occasion.”
“Of course.” The clerk’s name tag read Daisy. “But an option many of our brides choose is our fake cake.”
“Perfect,” Wayne said. “I heard about them.”
Paisley’s furrowed brow read confusion. “I’m not sure about this.”
Daisy laughed, leading them to a corner display. She plucked up a seriously swanky, three-tiered cake, tossing it to Wayne. “Catch.”
He did, bracing for the impact of fifty pounds’ worth of cake and frosting. Instead, the thing must have been made of Styrofoam and couldn’t weigh over five pounds. “Impressive.”
“I know, right? We’re famous for them and ship worldwide. Our fake cakes have been featured on hundreds of feature films and TV programs. We even make simple sheet cakes for your guests to enjoy, but if you choose to buy rather than rent, your wedding cake can be the perfect keepsake of your special day.”
“Sold,” Wayne said. What could be better for a fake marriage than a fake cake? He turned to his betrothed. “Pick which one you want. Maybe it’s my affinity for all things Western, but I’m vibing on the one with all those little cacti and the cowboy hat topper.” To Daisy he asked, “Do you rent by the hour? We just need it for pics. Oh, and we’ll need one piece of real cake to smoosh in each other’s faces.”
“Perfect. We do rent by the hour, and there’s an adorable park just at the end of the street with a rose garden perfect for photos. For an additional fee, we can set the cake on a banquet table and even take professional photos. We call this our Social Media Wedding Package. It has all the panache of a spectacular wedding event for the price of dinner and a movie. We can also handle your floral needs—arrangements, bouquet and boutonnieres—the works. They’re made from the finest silks and trust me, from photos they look real enough to smell. Your friends and family will be impressed.”
“Sign us up.”
“Wayne,” Paisley said, “isn’t this all moving a little fast? Plus, I think your mom will be less disappointed to have missed our wedding if we make it a simple, courthouse ceremony. Frills will only upset her.”
“Relax. Considering we have to be married and on the family ranch with photo proof by Easter, which is in only three weeks, this is the perfect solution. And I think Mom would be more disappointed if I didn’t treat my bride to a good time. She’ll understand that because of the baby, we needed a rush job.”
Paisley’s thunderous expression said she wasn’t so sure.
Back in the truck, before he started the engine, he angled sideways to face her. “So, what’s bugging you? And don’t tell me nothing, because we shouldn’t be lying this soon into our relationship.” He winked, trying to keep things light.
“Honestly? Besides your faulty rationale in regard to your sweet mother’s potentially broken heart?” She gazed out her window rather than at him. “It may sound stupid, but I’d like more regular communication between us. You go days without so much as a text, then pop in unannounced. Even as your pretend fiancée, I’d appreciate more consideration. I don’t expect a full accounting of your every move, but regular updates would be great.”
“Noted.” Interesting. One part of him was annoyed by having to check in. Another part was flattered she cared...
Chapter Four
“What’s got you so damned smiley?” Wayne was hating every second of their 0500 six-mile beach run. A three-mile ocean swim was next on the PT agenda. Most days he didn’t mind, but ever since learning of his father’s condition, he felt as if his time would be better spent on the ranch.
“You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Hell—I still don’t believe it.”
“Kno
ck off the chitchat!” Their CO passed them as if they were standing still. “You losers aren’t a SEAL team, but freakin’ cheerleading squad. Move it, move it, move!”
“Such a charmer,” Logan said once their commanding officer passed them to harass the next guys in line. “But not even his hard ass could bring me down. You’re not the only one around here getting married—only mine’s the real deal.”
“Wait—what?”
“You heard me. I popped the question to Monica last night and she accepted. She wanted me to ask if you’d mind us tagging along to your family ranch. We want to get hitched over Easter. No big deal. I’m sure your dad isn’t up for a major production. But since that’s the only leave we have coming for a while and I want you to be my best man and Monica wants Paisley for her maid of honor, it makes sense.”
“No, man. Nothing about this makes sense. You hate Monica. She hates you. My dad’s dying. Like seriously, what the hell?”
“What can I say? We kissed and made up. And I couldn’t be happier. Not only is Monica obsessed with the photos I’ve shown her of your family ranch, but your dad has always been like a second father to me. Your mom, like my mom.” Tears shone in Logan’s eyes. He swiped them away. “Since my mother passed, they’ve been there for me. It would mean a lot for them to share this special day—especially, since your dad is—well, since he’s not feeling his best.”
“I appreciate all that, but I thought you had that ugly talk with her father?”
“It wasn’t so much ugly as it was a gut check. He basically asked my intentions. When I told him we were having a good time, he told me she was ready for a more serious commitment. He also told me not to even think about seeing his daughter anymore unless I was one thousand percent ready for a lifelong marriage. I got spooked and broke things off. But damned if being without her didn’t scare me more than being with her. I missed her, you know?”
“You’ve lost your ever-loving mind.”
“Is that a yes for the ranch? I showed Monica pics from the last time we were there and she couldn’t get enough of those back-porch views. Oh—and Monica told me your fake wedding is right before we leave. I’m hurt you didn’t ask me to stand up for you.”
Cowboy SEAL Daddy Page 3