The Fiction of Forever (A Stand By Me Novel Book 2)

by Brinda Berry

  “Hm…” I don’t bother to say he’s already seen it. Mason didn’t even say if he liked the dress. Dammit. He was too busy making sure I knew what he expected from me. The prick of tears behind my eyelids increases as they threaten to spill, so I study her card. There’s a business address with a little needle and thread running through Zoey’s name.

  “Nice to meet you. I’ve got to run.” Zoey steps back and glances at the dress hanging on the dressing room wall. “Happy wedding.”

  “You too.”

  She lifts the headpiece from her hair, untangling a strand of her red hair. Then she’s gone.

  I shouldn’t be jealous of her, of the way she said her finance’s name and the way her eyes twinkled when she talked about her wedding. I have a fiancé willing to give me the world. That is, a world without my own career or my own voice.

  I leave the dressing room and browse through a shelf of wedding jewelry. I toss a glance over my shoulder as the clerk comes to stand beside me.

  The clerk sniffs. “I hate the riff raff. Girls like that one come in with no intention of buying—”

  “The veil she was trying on? Can you box that up for me?”

  The woman stares at me. “But you already have a custom piece.”

  “I know. Please box that up and send it to this address overnight.” I hand her one of Zoey’s business cards. “I’d like it there by tomorrow.”

  “But do you know her?” Shock ripples in a wave over her face.

  “I do now. Put it on my account.”

  “Hmph. She’s definitely lucky that you were here today.” She appears perplexed. “I’ll put a gift card from you in the box.”

  “No,” I say. “Please insert a card that says courtesy of the bridal shop. I don’t want her to know it came from me. Put something sweet and romantic on the card.”

  “Like what?”

  For someone who works in weddings, she has no imagination. I think about it for a minute. “How about, ‘May your marriage be filled with romance and passion, held together by the threads of your love.’”

  She looks at me like I’m a loon. “All of that? The gift cards are small.”

  “Yes,” I answer, getting slightly irritated. “All of it.”

  My cell phone tings and I pull it out of my bag to read the text message. The clerk takes the opportunity to escape.

  Mason: Guests arrive at six. I’ll send over something for you to wear. I know you won’t let me down.

  I place my phone back in my purse; a dull thumping in my head warns that I’ll have a migraine soon. Romance and passion. It’s out there. Zoey is proof.

  Ever since I was eight years old and my mother walked out on my dad and me, I vowed to find true love.

  I’ve had this image of what true love is supposed to be—the kind of love that you feel in your bones as you drift off to sleep. The kind that follows you safe and sound into your dreams. The kind where people care more about each other than themselves. Sacrifice.

  A season of my dad’s reality show Forever only takes four weeks to film. Six weeks tops. Surely Mason can sacrifice his ideas for less than two months, when we’ll be married a lifetime.

  The woozy feeling in my belly settles down when I think about Dad’s reality show. The magic of finding soulmates proves that true love and passion aren’t dead.

  I’m more determined than before. I can’t cancel my spot as Matchmaker on the show. This season is mine to match a bachelor with his forever love.

  Chapter Three

  Mad For Her

  Current Day

  Gunner

  I wonder if Kiley Vanderbilt wears a princess tiara to bed. It wouldn’t surprise me.

  Pretentious is her middle name.

  She sits in her black Cadillac SUV honking her horn while she waits for me to move my backhoe off her driveway. The bleating sound grates over every ounce of patience I possess. I wipe my sweaty forehead against the sleeve of my T-shirt, and my baseball cap tumbles to the ground.

  Dang-it. Now I'll have to get down and retrieve my hat.

  “Hold up,” I mutter to myself and flash a stiff smile in her direction. I hold up my pointer finger—not the finger I'd like to give her. I drive the backhoe out of her way and wait for her to pull forward.

  She accelerates a couple of yards and rolls down her window and says something at me. Her chestnut hair is pulled back with a scarf thing in a stick-up-her-ass hairstyle. Between the hair and the sunglasses two sizes too big for her head, she looks like some movie star straight off the cover of one of those trashy tabloids.

  A rich, snooty star. Rumor has it she’s landed a spot on her daddy’s TV show this season.

  “What?” I yell and then shake my head in resignation. The engine’s too loud for either of us to have a conversation, yet she keeps talking. Those ruby lips could hypnotize a weaker man. I shut the engine off.

  She tilts her head halfway out her open window. “What are you doing?” Her voice screeches as if she doesn’t realize she doesn’t have to scream.

  The girl always had a motor mouth on her. In school, I’d have sold my soul to have her talk to me. We were from different worlds then and nothing has changed.

  Nothing at all. She’s still a living doll, but annoying with her demands.

  I step down and saunter to the vehicle. Sometimes a guy needs a closer look at a snake. Her head pops back into the SUV. Maybe she’s coiling back so she can strike. I grin at the notion.

  “I have guests coming tomorrow night. This is a mess.” Her eyebrow lifts above the dark frame of her sunglasses.

  “I told your dad that the driveway will be out of commission for a couple of days. He said no one would be home this week.”

  “My dad said what?” She flips her sunglasses up to sit on top of her head as if it will help her hearing. The flash of diamonds on one hand catches my eye for an instant before I notice her red-rimmed eyes.

  She must’ve pulled an all-nighter. Everything about her is polished except for her eyes. Puffy, pink eyelids. For a second I wonder if she’s been crying. Girl sits in a fine ride, living with her rich daddy. She can’t have a care in the world.

  Nah. Not crying. Girl needs to stop her partying and get some rest.

  “Ed said he wanted this done. Talk to your dad,” I say.

  Her mouth purses as if she’s sucking on a lemon. “I don’t have time for this.”

  Me either, woman. I stare into her hypnotic gaze for an eternity. I shake my head to break her spell. “I should get back to work.”

  I turn and walk to the backhoe, feeling her gaze on my back. There’s a barking sound behind me and in the next instant, a tiny tug at my jeans. I glance down to find a furry, rat-sized dog attacking my leg.

  “Westley!” Kiley steps out of the SUV. “Westley! Come. Here.”

  Kiley has sure grown up. Her bright green dress ends at her upper thighs. The snake has legs. Shapely legs I remember from our school days. I reach down to grab the dog who has mounted my boot, humping with passion. The moment I lift my foot, the dog falls off, slightly disoriented that I’ve cut short his hook-up session.

  Darting around my feet, he tries to woo my boot once more. He escapes my attempts to grab him and yips in a frenzy until he suddenly stops, his attention on my fallen baseball cap. Her dog runs twice around it, then lifts a leg and with perfect aim, saturates my cap. My favorite St. Louis Cardinals hat.

  “Dog, I’m going to—”

  “Don’t you dare!” Kiley steps over a section of busted driveway, wobbling precariously in her high heels. “I’m coming.”

  I make another grab at the dog and pick him up. The last thing I need is for the dog to fall into the hole I’ve dug for the tree being delivered tomorrow.

  “I’ve got him.” The words are out of my mouth when a gush of hot liquid trickles down my chest. “Holy hell,” I mutter and close my eyes, my nostrils flaring as I attempt to stay calm. I open my eyes and Kiley stands inches in front of me.


  “You scared him.” She takes the wiggling dog out of my hold. The sunglasses are gone and her eyes flash fury.

  I widen my eyes in disbelief. “Your dog pissed on me.”

  “Yes, because he was afraid.” She clutches the evil thing to her chest like she’s caught me in an unforgivable act. “You’re big, and he’s little. Shame on you.”

  “You should teach your dog some manners. He was getting it on with my boot, if you didn’t notice.”

  I pull my T-shirt away from my skin. It’s one hundred degrees in the Nashville August heat, and I smell like a porta potty. I step back and tug my shirt over my head with one hand.

  Kiley’s jaw drops, her red lips parting. “Put your shirt back on.” Her gaze travels down my chest and back up.

  I blow out a weary breath. “I’m not wearing dog piss. Don’t look if you don’t like it.”

  Her little monster has settled down, his pink tongue licking at her neck. She snuggles him closer and the open V neckline of her dress scoops lower underneath the strain of his feet. I wish I could trade places with the varmint.

  “I wasn’t,” she says, taking one awkward step back in her high heels. She averts her gaze and then returns to meet my eyes.

  I can’t help but chuckle. Her dog had amorous thoughts earlier. Maybe she has similar ones.

  “Don’t I know you?” Kiley stands straighter and asks in a citizen’s arrest tone of voice.

  I could be persuaded to hook-up with her. If she didn’t have to talk, that is. Listening to her would be a mood killer. I shrug and wad the T-shirt into a ball. My cap lays wet on the ground and I retrieve it before walking away. Now destined for the trashcan—courtesy of the incontinent terror.

  So, she doesn’t remember me. I’m not surprised, but I am stupidly disappointed. We were in the same classes. Her locker was twenty yards down on the same hallway. I played football on the same field where she twirled her baton.

  It all started in first grade, when she wore those cute red cowboy boots every day and ended after one memorable backseat tango. Apparently, that’s all she wanted from me. One hot and heavy make out session was enough for her.

  I didn’t even get to second base, which to this day sort of irritates me. Hell, I barely got to step off home plate.

  “Hey. You!” she yells to my back.

  Her use of the pronoun instead of my name forces me to grind my teeth. I pause and look over my shoulder. She stands in the same spot with a bewildered look on her face.

  “You have to get that thing,” she says, pointing at the backhoe, “out of here. I need all these holes filled and everything back the way it was.”

  Since she’s not paying the bill, I’m not sure if I should laugh or tell her to get lost. I turn completely and glare at her. “I take my orders from Ed.”

  Ed Vanderbilt ordered landscaping and lights down his entire driveway. He said no one would be at home all week—five more days. Kiley was somewhere like New York or Dallas. Some city far away where she should be carrying that dog around while someone carries her shopping bags.

  “Dad’s not here, so you’ll have to take orders from me,” she says.

  I place my hands on my hips and a corner of my mouth quirks. “Is that right?”

  She nods, looking a little less sure of herself. “Well, yes. Absolutely.”

  Her voice is softer. She strokes the top of her dog’s head and the diamond on her left hand flashes in the sunlight. Sweat trickles down the back of my neck. We can’t stand here all day, arguing. “Please?” she adds in an oddly vulnerable voice.

  “Call Ed,” I say on a sigh. Damn. This is the way girls like her get what they want. “If he says I need to do anything different, I will.”

  “Dad isn’t available. He’s on a cruise ship with a…friend,” she says, again with the softer tone and pleading gaze.

  For the briefest moment, I rack my brain for a way around this problem. There’s not one. This job needs to be finished before Ed returns home. I scold myself for wanting to give in to her. “I can’t help you then. I’m really sorry.”

  “What am I supposed to do? I have guests coming.” The panic in her voice certainly doesn’t equal the problem. Drama queen. Yes, a tiara is in order.

  “So, let them come.” I turn and walk to my equipment.

  “You move that one inch, and I’m calling the police and saying you’re trespassing. And you are, since I’ve asked you to get off the driveway.”

  Now she has my attention. Although I have a work order, a call to the police will cause me problems while I try to sort out the accusation, especially since Ed is gone. There’s nothing like having to prove you’re innocent.

  “Give me a break. I’m only trying to do my job. I can leave, and then you’ll have these huge holes, unfinished landscaping, and Ed will be pissed off.”

  She clutches the dog into the crook of her arm as if she’s holding a baby and walks to meet me. “Can’t you do some other job? And fill up these holes first?”

  I tilt my head back and look skyward. It’s better if I don’t look into her warm eyes. Eyes like rich soil with glints of amber tree sap. “I could, um…do the back koi pond.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  I look down to see she’s holding out one hand to shake on it. “My hands are filthy.”

  She drops her hand and shifts awkwardly, studying me again—my hands, my bare chest, and then my face.

  If I had a dollar for all the dirty thoughts I can read on her face, I could pay off my expensive new backhoe. “I’ll fill this one since the tree hasn’t been delivered yet. The others have to go in. The koi pond is on the other side of the pool in back. And this thing of yours is tomorrow night? Then I can get back to this?”

  She nods. “Yes. You can do whatever you like after tomorrow night.”

  “Good.” I slap my hands together. “Better get to work then.”

  “I’ll be on my way.” She returns to her vehicle and drives toward the house, a sprawling two-story Tudor in the distance. I make fast work of scooping the pile of dirt back into the hole. This delay will cost me a couple of hours, and I’ll be working later tonight than I expected.

  No matter. It’s not as though I have anything waiting for me at home.

  * * *

  Dusk creeps in, the hour when the sun finally drops without notice and hidden night creatures stir. I inhale deeply and take in the beauty of the land that stretches forever past the Vanderbilts’ fences, past the creek that runs on the other side, past the mountain in the distance.

  The Vanderbilts don’t know how lucky they are to possess a back lawn like this—not a neighbor’s house in sight.

  I finish digging the koi pond and placing the liners inside. I’ll have to change the delivery of the stones and medium-sized shrubs, but that’s easy enough to do, since I’m the boss. I study the size of the prepared holes I’ve dug for the camellia shrubs.

  “Westley.” Kiley’s voice travels across the back lawn.

  A sudden yipping at my heels startles me. Kiley’s dog is in full guard mode while he darts to and fro within inches of my ankles. I know I’m bigger than he is, but he looks like he’s a biter with razor sharp teeth. It’s a good thing I wore boots.

  I place the end of a shovel on the ground. “Hey. Calm your tiny ass.”

  “Excuse me?” Kiley says to my back.

  “I wasn’t talking to you.” I glance around to look at her. She’s no longer wearing the green dress from earlier. She’s changed clothes. I only thought she was tempting all dressed up earlier. Now, she’s in shorts and a snug-collared shirt. The top button hits deep into her cleavage, and I make an effort to pull my gaze up. All the blood I possess rushes south. I imagine threading my fingers through the dark hair tumbling down her back.

  “You’re sunburned. You should’ve said something. I could’ve given you one of Dad’s T-shirts.” She’s staring at my bare chest again.

  “I’m fine. Unless my lack of clothing bothers you.” I
can’t help myself. I smile at her pink cheeks.

  Westley the tiny terror gives a low growl, so she picks him up. The dog has her figured out. “Sorry. He’s protective of me.”

  “That’s clear. Maybe you should train him better. He thinks I’m a threat to his alpha dog status.”

  “They teach canine behavior in gardening school?”

  “I’m a landscape technician. Not a gardener.” I don’t know why I’m so defensive. Usually, I’d joke about being called a gardener.

  She narrows her eyes. “You and Westley might have more in common than you think.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “You both have a chip on your shoulder.”

  “Honey, you’re wrong. No chip here.” Now she thinks she knows me. She doesn’t remember my name, but now she’s going to psychoanalyze me. I glance at my shoulder and return to my task of shoveling gravel around the edges of the pond liner. “Why does Terror the Terrier have a chip?”

  The nickname fits the tiny maniac perfectly.

  “Quit calling him that. His name is Westley.”

  “What kind of dog name is that?”

  “He’s named after the guy in The Princess Bride. Westley came from a breeder. I discovered things about the place after I bought him.”

  “Puppy mill?”

  She nods. I give her a look, then squat down and straighten a piece of landscape material. I’ve seen enough in the news to imagine the puppy living in tight quarters with a mama only used for making babies. Poor dog.

  “What? It’s not my fault. I love Yorkies.”

  “You could’ve rescued a shelter dog. Instead, you helped support the puppy mill by paying for a dog. Besides, a pedigree doesn’t matter when it comes to love.” I stand and lean on the shovel. Westley pants, his tiny pink tongue waving at me, and never takes his eyes from my hands.

  Of course, it does matter to her. If it didn’t, she’d probably remember me from school.

  I shake myself out of the trance, hoping only a second has passed instead of the eternity it feels like. “I think I’ll head home for dinner. At least I got this done.” I nod at the nearly finished koi pond.