“There’s nobody who loves weddings more than you, Sylvie. You love the flowers, dresses, matching napkin colors to cake decorations, the works. Mom said she surprised you the other night with a visit and you tried to hide the fact that you’re sewing on the dress again. When will you admit you want to take that walk down the aisle as much as the next woman?”
“Goodbye, Dory.” Sylvie hung up, knowing the dress form in the corner mocked her words. She hated the way her sister’s last jab had left her trembling. Didn’t anyone understand how much the truth hurt?
Wanting to weep, but refusing to give in to the feeling that always overwhelmed her on the day of a wedding, Sylvie hurried out to feed Oscar. She glanced into Mercer’s backyard. Thank goodness Fluffy was nowhere in sight. Speeding through her remaining chores, Sylvie grabbed the keys to the Mutt Mobile and loaded the gowns she needed to store at the church. Seconds before taking off, she made one last survey to see that she hadn’t forgotten anything, and saw Joel back out of his lane.
He sure was easy on the eyes. Given the slightest encouragement, she could do something stupid like fall for him. For that reason, she was very glad Joel had no interest in attending Kay’s ceremony. She was exceedingly vulnerable at weddings.
The bout of blues Dory had instigated with her phone call soon disappeared. Sylvie did love the pomp and circumstance of weddings. Her fascination with them had begun at age ten. Her aunt Gail, her mom’s sister, married a man she’d met in New Orleans. They’d booked a historic plantation, and Gail’s gown came straight out of Gone with the Wind. Nan Shea had taken her daughters to New Orleans for two whole weeks while she helped her sister prepare. If Sylvie shut her eyes, she could still relive every fabulous hour of those fourteen days.
Dory and Carline had whined constantly and begged to go home. Sylvie sat and drew pictures of Gail’s gown and her bridesmaids’ dresses. She sketched the arch, the candles, the flowers and the cake. And, oh, those glorious hats. Aunt Gail gave Sylvie permission to take home a stack of old bridal magazines. She still had pages from them in her files. Every year thereafter, Sylvie had saved up her allowance to buy the current bridal magazines on the market.
She owed her grandmothers for noticing her interest and encouraging a desire to learn to sew the delicate fabrics. Although most people thought Sylvie’s real talent lay in new designs.
But...she still liked sewing gowns designed by others.
“Sylvie, is something wrong?” Kay asked an hour later, midway through the frenzy of decorating the church.
“Nothing. Why?”
“You seem, I don’t know, distracted.” Kay looked worried. “It’s not because you think I’m making a mistake marrying David, is it?”
“Heavens, no!” Sylvie hugged the jittery bride. “You should know me, Kay. I’m always preoccupied on wedding days. I want every detail to come off exactly as I see it unfolding in my mind.”
“Knowing you, they will. Hey, do you think it’s too late for me to call and invite your neighbor to the wedding? Carline delivered gifts to the apartment this morning and suggested it. She said it’d be a nice gesture, since he and his daughter would have a chance to meet everyone then. I thought about mentioning it the other day, but I was afraid it would be tacky.”
“You were perfectly right, Kay. Carline’s hormonal, remember. I’m sorry she added to your wedding-day anxiety.”
“And yet, she has a point. I just phoned David and dumped the decision in his lap. All he has to do today is pick up the rings and his tux. He knows where Joel Mercer lives, so there’s no reason he can’t run out there.”
Sylvie frowned. “Surely he won’t go.”
“I guess it’s doubtful. Guys don’t do spur-of-the-moment stuff like that. Would it be the faux pas of the decade if he did ask Joel? You act like it’d be terrible. I can borrow your cell and call Dave and nix the idea once and for all.”
“Don’t be silly. Joel and his daughter drove off right before I left the house. My only concern is that Dave would make a wasted trip across town.”
“Oh, well.” Kay relaxed enough to grin. “If you think my nerves are shot, he’s a basket case. A drive from one side of town to the other could only calm him.”
The women shared a laugh at the groom’s expense. And Sylvie proceeded to the next item on her lengthy list, which included lunch with Kay and a trip to the beauty parlor.
Late getting home to exercise Oscar before her shower, Sylvie was driven by the ticking clock and Buddy’s imminent arrival. After she showered, she noticed that Joel’s van was back. Since she had other, more pressing concerns, she dismissed him from her mind.
Her biggest concern at the moment—the car her date arrived in and parked at her door. Not his father’s Caddy. That would’ve been preferable. The car sitting in her drive was bright blue, low-slung and possessed a feral growl. Sylvie had to consciously bite back a word she never uttered. But...surely anyone who drove a high-powered sports car went by Jarvis, rather than Buddy.
Peering out a side window, she saw he wore a tuxedo and carried a plastic corsage box.
Sylvie drew back. What now? Should she lose the corsage that matched all the other bridesmaids’? Wear two flowers? Yikes!
Since Buddy was obviously trying to make a good impression, she opted to wear his flower now and tell him she’d exchange them at the church.
“Hi,” he boomed through her screen, standing too close for Sylvie to open it and let him in. “Sylvie...I don’t know if you remember me.” He fiddled with his skewed bow tie.
“I do. Oh, you brought me flowers. That was sweet. But...did Carline mention I’m in the wedding party?”
“Mother bought the gardenia. You don’t have to wear it if you’d rather not.”
She forced him back by opening the screen. Lunging toward her, he grabbed and pumped Sylvie’s hand up and down until she thought her arm would fall off. His palms were slick with perspiration. Obviously Buddy-Jarvis Deaver’s cool facade was all in his automobile. She finally wrenched her hand free. “Ah...let me grab a wrap for later. I’ll, uh, wear your flower until the ceremony, Buddy. That way, if they run prewedding photos in the paper, your mom won’t feel her effort went to waste.”
“That’s good of you. I see you know how Mother is.”
Sylvie wouldn’t touch that remark. Plus, she did remember Buddy after she managed a close-up. He wore the same buzz cut that had set him apart in school. And his stubborn cowlick remained, parting his hair smack-dab in center front. One thing had changed, though—he used to be painfully shy. On the drive to the church, during which Sylvie would have preferred silence, Buddy talked nonstop, boring her with stock-market statistics for the entire year.
Every so often, Sylvie glanced his way, hoping he’d run down. Unfair of her? Perhaps. Her eyes crossed when he started probing her finances and that of her family. But when he said, “I’m glad you offered to go to the wedding with me, Sylvie. I haven’t seen these characters since high school. I know after you reintroduce me they’ll all ask what I can do for them in the current stock and bond market.”
“Buddy, uh, Jarvis,” she blurted, not caring if she sounded disgusted. “Weddings are social occasions. You can’t use Kay and Dave’s special day to shove your business ventures down the throats of their guests.”
He gunned the high-powered motor petulantly, even though he’d just entered a restricted speed zone that curved into the church parking lot. “I thought you, of all people, would be financially savvy. Mother said you worked in New York City. Practically Wall Street.”
“The Garment District is not on Wall Street.”
Buddy launched another incomprehensible diatribe explaining market growth. Sylvie knew then that it was going to be a long night.
* * *
JOEL HEARD SYLVIE’S date drive in. Actually, he’d been watching at the window. However, he identified the honeyed growl of a Lamborghini seconds before it made the swing into Sylvie’s drive. A sports-car aficionado,
but forced to sell his Porsche—which hadn’t been half the car parked at Sylvie’s—in exchange for a van, Joel all but drooled down the glass. This dude obviously didn’t have a baby and all the kid paraphernalia to transport to and from a sitter. That was when Joel had kissed his Porsche goodbye. Gripping the curtain in one hand, Joel pictured Sylvie’s previous date. That guy’s car hadn’t exactly been the vehicle of a pauper.
Straining for a better glimpse of the car, he saw the couple exit the house. Each could have stepped out of a fashion ad. Armani tux, he guessed, having occasionally traveled in exalted circles. And Sylvie appeared très chic in a long, slinky dress reflecting the iridescent colors of the fading sun.
Joel caught the turn of the man’s head and jerked sideways so as not to be seen with his nose glued to the window. He hurried to another spot to follow the departure of what he considered to be one of the world’s most well-honed automobiles. That tail fin was pure beauty.
“What’cha doin’, Daddy?”
Joel jumped guiltily back a second time. He hadn’t heard Rianne enter the room. “Hey, baby, don’t you look spiffy?” Making a huge show of bowing, Joel extended a hand. “May I have this dance, fair lady?”
She twirled around until her pale blue organza dress stood out like a bell. “I brought down the ribbon that matches my dress. Will you tie it in my hair like the lady at the dress store showed you?”
“I’ll try. I’m afraid my fingers will be all thumbs.”
“You only have two thumbs, and so do I. Two’s all anybody’s got, silly.”
“Feels like more when I have to tie these shiny ribbons.” He made four attempts and worked up a sweat. “It still doesn’t look right,” he said critically.
“If I’m careful not to get my shoes dirty, may I run over to Sylvie’s and ask her to tie it for me, Daddy?”
“Too late, snookums. She just left with her date.”
“What’s a date?”
“It’s a who. In this case, a guy driving a sweetheart of a car.”
“We could’ve given Sylvie a ride.”
“Considering how pretty and dressed up she was tonight, I’m sure she’d rather ride in the hot car, not in our van.”
“Why?”
“You’d know if you saw his car. Hey, if you’re ready, maybe we’ll get to the church in time for me to show you what I mean.”
Considering the number of cars in the parking lot and parked all along both sides of the street, Joel thought they wouldn’t find a place. He’d forgotten the Lamborghini until, lo and behold, the only open spot was right beside it. He squeezed from his seat, taking pains not to let the door of his five-year-old van touch the spit-polished midnight-blue lacquer on the sports car.
Joel pointed out the various features to Rianne.
She peered inside. “It’s got no room, Daddy, and the seats go way back. Sylvie would’ve been more comfortable, I bet, if she’d come with us.”
Deciding his kid just didn’t understand, Joel took Rianne’s hand. After a last longing glance at the car, he allowed her to lead him into the church. He hadn’t realized it was almost six, and they were late. The wedding party was lined up in the hall.
Joel knew the moment Sylvie spotted them. He would’ve seen her shock even if Rianne hadn’t shouted loudly enough to make everyone in line pause. “Sylvie, Sylvie...hi! Oh, you’re even prettier in that dress than Daddy said.”
Sylvie’s face turned five shades of red, and Joel was sure his matched. He didn’t need to witness the cat-that-got-the-cream expression lighting the eyes of the two women he’d met last night. They, plus a third, older woman who resembled Sylvie enough to be none other than her mom, began to whisper. Joel suspected he heard Sylvie groan. Or perhaps it was no more than a gleeful chortle among the three.
But Joel would hate Rianne to feel she’d done anything wrong. Nevertheless, he bent and murmured near her ear, “We’re in church, snooks. Lower your voice, please. You can talk to Sylvie later. I think we need to find our seats.”
Hopping backward on her shiny patent-leather shoes, Rianne continued to wave excitedly at Sylvie. If any poor soul at the gathering remained unaware of a connection between the new man in town and Sylvie Shea, they’d surely gotten the word by the time an usher led Joel and Rianne to the bride’s side of the satin-roped aisle.
Whispers traveled along the rows like a rolling snowball. Joel heard his name several times. He heard speculation as to how he knew Kay and Dave. Heard it noted that he was kin to Iva Whitaker. And he supposed it served him right for having fine-tuned a propensity for eavesdropping in his work.
Too late, he saw that it was a huge error in judgment to be here, just as Sylvie had tried to tell him. Sitting heavily, Joel stifled an urge to flee. In reality, he had no expectation of escaping anytime soon. Rianne was too definitely enamored of this whole wedding business.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE WEDDING WAS grander than Joel had expected. Huge wicker baskets of flowers sat between fan-shaped candelabra. White satin ribbons looped from pew to pew along the center aisle, which was covered with a white satin runner.
With the first chords of the wedding march reverberating through the chapel, the guests’ attention switched from Joel and Rianne to the front of the church. A minister, looking resplendent in a gold-and-purple robe, entered through a side door. A nervous groom, who no doubt had been coached to death the night before, came to stand unsteadily at the altar.
Far from bored now, Joel began taking note of small details. The groom, for one thing. The way the guy kept running a finger around the inside of his collar, as if to loosen a strangling tie, for instance. That had Joel seriously contemplating the possibility of writing a few scripts from a male’s point of view. He’d already decided Poppy and Rose would get caught up in helping Cousin Petunia find a husband. Almost without realizing it, he started assessing the proceedings with an artist’s eye. For a small-town production, the overall effect appeared very professional. Sylvie’s doing?
If you discounted the fact that every time she glanced in his direction, she shot daggers through him, Joel actually enjoyed imagining her in his unfolding strip. In that respect, even Sylvie’s daggers worked to his advantage.
He hadn’t named his country cousin in the pilot he’d sent in for Lester’s approval. Now, surrounded by fragrant blossoms spilling from baskets carried by the bride and her attendants, Joel knew he wanted something in keeping with Poppy and Rose. Petunia had been silly and off the cuff. He tested others—iris, violet, lily, daisy. None suited the character he’d drawn. There had to be a name, other than Jasmine, with a Southern flavor. Dogwood sounded way too hokey.
Leaning over abruptly, Joel asked Rianne if she knew the name of the big white flowers in the bride’s bouquet and in the bridesmaids’ corsages.
The girl shook her head.
A large woman seated on the other side of Rianne murmured, “Magnolias. Aren’t these glorious? I grow some outside my sunroom, but I never would’ve thought to mix them with camellias or baby roses. Only Sylvie would be that clever, even if she had to get them from a California hothouse this time of year.” She nodded sagely. “Before Sylvie came home, our fall brides were relegated to decorating with old standbys like maple leaves and chrysanthemums.”
Not having any interest in those details, Joel offered a polite smile over Rianne’s blond head. He saw that the ribbons he’d tied were slipping. Discreetly he attempted to adjust the one in the worst shape. Apparently pitying him, the matron on the other side of Rianne calmly shoved his hand aside. Deftly, she retied and knotted the ribbons on both sides so they matched perfectly.
How did she do that? Joel’s smile came from his heart. His child sat transfixed throughout the bow-tying, totally focused on the service.
Joel faced forward again, now giving the minister’s words his attention. His gaze kept drifting to Sylvie, however, and his mind returned to the name Magnolia. The more he considered it, the more he thought the na
me would resonate with readers who loved Poppy and Rose. Pleasing them was important. He wanted long-time followers to identify with Magnolia and empathize with her, so they’d be fully involved in any situation Joel landed the poor cousin in. Yes, Magnolia might work.
He emerged from his plotting cocoon after the crowd surged to its feet around him. Rianne attempted to tug him to a standing position. He struggled up and saw that the bride and groom were being presented as husband and wife. Their requisite kiss brought applause, chuckles and whistles throughout the church.
Again Joel’s eyes strayed to Sylvie’s slightly wistful expression. He experienced an odd tingling of his limbs. Why was she wistful if, as she said yesterday, she avoided her family’s attempts to match her with a man like the plague? He wondered about that as the newlyweds broke apart, beamed at family and friends, and the organist pounded out the recessional.
The happy pair’s exit was considerably slowed due to well-wishers and sniffling huggers. Weddings and births ought to be happy occasions. Joel thought people should save tears for tragedies and funerals.
At that moment Sylvie drew abreast of his row. She did her best to telegraph her deep displeasure at seeing him there, all the while responding positively to Rianne’s excited babble.
The woman who’d tied Rianne’s hair bows zeroed in on the exchange. Once the party moved past, she bent toward Joel. “I’m Freda Poulson, the local librarian. You’d be Harvey and Iva Whitaker’s great-nephew, I assume. And this beautiful, charming child is...?”
“My daughter, Rianne. I’m Joel Mercer,” he said, accepting the woman’s soft hand. “Rianne loves to read. You’ll see us at the library as soon as we get completely moved in. By the way, thanks for helping with the bows. They’re beyond me.”
“You poor, dear man. However do you manage to raise a daughter alone?”
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