“I’m sorry.” I didn’t have to try to look contrite. I damn well was.
“For what?” Even her gentle frown was sexy.
I held up my left hand. “Sometimes I forget I can’t just go charging into the water anymore. I lost my head.”
Her answering smile was dazzling and sympathetic. “It takes time to get used to.” Her eyes lit up. “Remind me not to do any swimming pool shoots with you around. Being tossed in with my arm on would be even worse than being tossed in with my phone in my hand.”
My heart raced. “No pool shoot with me around? Damn. That was my next trick.”
She laughed and nodded toward the tent. “I believe you promised me lunch.”
“You’re still going to eat with me after the stunt I pulled? I went off script.”
She pointed toward Peter, who was looking over the shots with a euphoric expression. “I think I owe you. You may have just made my career.”
“That’s a debt I’ll take.”
“We don’t have much time,” she said. “They’ll no doubt want to put my hair up for the afternoon shoot. I can spare you fifteen, maybe twenty minutes, if you don’t mind me being too distracted. I have some work to do during lunch.”
I’d take anything I could get, but I was curious about the work. “What kind of work? Will there be other photographers showing up?”
“I have some questionnaires to fill out for another job.” She slipped out of her wet shoes and carried them.
I followed her like a puppy dog.
At the tent, one of the assistants took our soaked shoes and handed us each towels and blankets.
Lunch was boxed. The choices were vegan, gluten free, or meat eater. I was a happy carnivore. She chose vegan. I gallantly carried our boxes out into the sunshine, which had a surprising warmth to it, considering the cool air around us, and found a weathered gray log for us to sit on.
I sat as close to her as I could get away with and spread my blanket around our knees. “After that bout in the water, we need to huddle together for warmth.”
“It gives new meaning to the phrase ‘cold feet on your wedding day.’” She opened her box and pulled out a veggie sandwich of some sort.
“Yeah. Not the smartest move for a suave groom.” I opened my lunch.
The lunch was packed by The Blackberry Café. They were one of my favorite places and just uphill from the Flash offices. It wasn’t surprising someone had ordered the catering from them. I was happy to find one of my favorite sandwiches nicely packed inside, along with an extra-large chocolate chip cookie, also my favorite.
I charged into my sandwich. Callie delicately bit into hers. We sat in companionable silence, but silence wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to know everything about her. The bus ride here had frustrated me, but I wasn’t giving up. If she wasn’t prepared to give me more than her name, rank, and serial number, at least I could find out what made her tick.
“When we first arrived, you sighed,” I said. “Are you sad about something? About weddings? Something weighed on you.”
“You’re perceptive,” she said, and sighed again. This time I got the feeling it was a comic sigh to make a point. “Do you know how many weddings I’ve been to in the last year? And how many I have coming up this summer?”
“Always a bridesmaid, never a bride?” I asked.
“Worse than that. I’m always a bride, day and night. That’s my career now—bridal fairs, bridal shoots, bridal you-name-it. I’m very much in danger of being stereotyped. That’s one reason I’m looking forward to my other new job, even though it’s not so far off bridal stuff.
“On my days off, I’m dragged to bridal showers and wedding dress shopping. I’ve become the expert in my friend group about all things bridal. I have the inside scoop on what is upcoming. What will be hot. What’s not.
“I’ve worn so many dresses and seen so many other models in dresses, worked with so many tailors and had so many fittings, that I’ve developed an eye for what looks good on what type of figure. Well, I already had that. I’ve always loved fashion. But now I know what style of wedding dress looks best. Now that I’m an expert, all my friends want my opinion. They want my connections—who are the best hairdressers? The top makeup artists? The best nail people?
“They want my samples. Recommendations to all the best vendors. It’s endless. And it’s exhausting. And I have to smile through it and be supportive. Answer every question. Cheer them on—” She caught herself. “Sorry. You didn’t want a diatribe.”
“It’s okay by me.” I could listen to her rant all day. Even ranting, her voice was melodic—to my ears, at least.
“It’s no more fun being a fake bride all the time than an endless bridesmaid. And I’m that, too. I could be the poster girl for 27 Dresses, Part Two.” She caught her napkin from blowing away in the breeze. “By the end of October, I’ll be the last of my friend group who’s still single. The only upside is they’ll all owe me one fabulous bachelorette party and bridal shower. And to dance attendance on me at my wedding as if I’m a queen.” She pursed her lips. “Assuming I don’t wait too long to find Mr. Right and my friends have all moved on to mommy things.” She lowered her hand with her sandwich into her lap. “Which is a very real possibility.”
“You’d like to get married?” The thought shouldn’t have excited me the way it did.
“To the right guy, yeah.”
“Yesterday, you said you have a plan for that?” I couldn’t resist the opportunity to see what I was up against.
Her face lit up. “I do. That reminds me—that work I have to do, mind if I do it while we eat? It shouldn’t take long to finish. I have just a few more questions to answer and I’ll be done. I have to finish it today.”
I shrugged. As egomaniacal as it sounded, I would have preferred her entire attention be focused on me as she realized I could be the right guy. At least for a night. She made my blood run hot. A single tumble with her just to get her out of my mind couldn’t be a bad thing. The thought of a model…
She pulled her phone out. “Oh, good! We have coverage.”
“Coverage is a mysterious thing,” I said. “There are dead spots in the city and coverage in the deep woods.”
Foiled again. She’d evaded my question again, too. She was distracted by the site she brought up. Her brow puckered as she concentrated. She gave monosyllabic answers to my questions and witty comments. I gave up and ate my sandwich and chips, watching her in silence.
Finally, I couldn’t restrain myself. “You’re taking whatever that is seriously. Are you taking a calculus test? The way you’re concentrating—”
She looked over at me with the last of her sandwich halfway to her mouth. She was good at eating while she worked. “Didn’t I say?” She got an amused look. “This is a questionnaire for my new job, which kills two birds with one stone for me—hopefully a boost to the next level of my career, and finding a soul mate. I’ve just been offered my first spokesmodel job ever. That’s huge.”
“Congratulations.” I was happy for her.
She nodded, beaming.
“I’m still confused. And this helps you find your soul mate, how? You’re going to use your new celebrity to attract men?”
She laughed. “It’s who I’m the new spokesmodel for—Pair Us! They’re a matchmaking agency. The best and most prestigious in the city. They got a lot of press for bringing a bunch of women to Seattle a while back when they first opened. Ninety percent of those women are now happily engaged or married. Have you heard of them?”
My mouth went dry. I swallowed hard.
“Knox?” Callie’s brow furrowed. “Something wrong?”
“Yeah. I’ve heard of them.” It came out a raspy croak.
At that moment, I wished I still had my phone-a-matchmaker card. Ashley would know whether telling Callie I was the first client Pair Us had ever put on pause was the right thing to do if I wanted to impress Callie. In the pinch, I chose not. If I told her, she’d ask w
hy. If she asked why, there was only one word—Ashley. And my refusal to volunteer to model in the first place.
I grabbed my water bottle and took a swig. “Sorry. Frog.”
Callie nodded and went back to her survey and her concentrated expression. I knew exactly the kinds of questions she was answering. I had to ball my fists as I fought the urge to grab her phone and toss it into the river. Damn fate.
“So…these questions?” I asked.
“They’re intriguing and make you think. Some of them are just personality questions. This last set is all about what I think I’d like in a mate. I filled out most of this already. This is just the last part.”
I hammed it up by making a point of trying to look over her shoulder. But I was serious about seeing what she was looking for.
She was too fast for me. She clutched the phone to her breast. “No peeking. This is private stuff.”
“What are you looking for?”
She shrugged, but didn’t play coy. Her expression turned serious. “I don’t know. A good guy. Someone who makes me happy. Someone loyal. Someone who’ll be my best friend as well as a hot lover.” She laughed. “I’m terrible at picking men out for myself. Ask any of my friends or family. I’m hoping this matchmaker will be better at finding me compatibility than I am.”
“You’re serious about finding someone?” I asked, wondering if that ruled me and my fling in or out.
If she hadn’t started match dating, I had a shot. Even if she had, there was nothing in the Pair Us rules that prohibited clients and members from dating outside the match dates. The big rule—no sex until the fifth date or a commitment to be exclusive—also didn’t apply to non-matches.
“Yes, I am.” She stared at her phone with a faraway look. “That’s part of the reason I took this job, besides the obvious prestige.” She wadded her sandwich wrapper up and stuck it in her lunch box. “I’d like someone else to do the looking for me for a change. And the screening.”
Her face clouded. “I’m positively worn out, completely fatigued by all the guys who just want to hook up. It’s like they get extra points for sleeping with a model.” She sighed. “Not to sound too vain, but it’s just a fact—I get hit on all the time. Wherever I am. At the grocery store. Out for a run. Even at the doctor’s office.
“I’m sick of it. I want a guy who will commit, a man who wants to get to know me and be my best friend as well as my sexual partner. If Ashley—she’s the matchmaker—can find me that guy, and I get paid while she does it, I’m all for it. This gig could make my career and my life.”
My delicious, meaty sandwich suddenly sat like a rock in my stomach. Damn the timing. Damn the game. Any suggestion to hook up I made now would just get me shot down. I’d have to up my game.
11
Callie
Should I have told Knox about Pair Us and my spokesmodel job? It would be public knowledge soon enough. Why should I hide it from a guy I just met? And why had he looked so funny when I had? He’d clammed up. Maybe he was one of those run-from-commitment kind of guys. I shouldn’t have been so disappointed by the thought. It was just…he and I were connecting. And maybe I didn’t want that to end. But how would I make that clear? Suggest that he sign up for a matchmaking service just to get a first date with me?
I almost laughed as I sat in the chair getting my hair put up. No, ridiculous. Bad timing—the curse of my life. If Knox was still interested in six months when my contract with Pair Us was up…
I almost shook my head as the thoughts raced through my mind. A stern look from my hairdresser stopped me. He was such a diva. No, I didn’t want to be single in six months. I wanted to be happily paired, a satisfied spokesperson for Pair Us. I wanted to be buying one of these wedding gowns for myself. But Knox…
After I got out of the chair, a long day of gown changes and shooting lay ahead. Back to the romantic poses, the closeness, in proximity at least, with Knox. Back to the tease of a dream of a relationship with him. Of the future with a marriage to him.
It was ridiculous to fantasize about. I had plans. I barely knew him. And yet we connected like we’d known each other always. He seemed so perfect for me. If a matchmaker could do even better…
Knox was distracted through the shoot of the first set of dress and tux. As I changed into the second gown, I made up my mind to get his attention. A little flirting with him and his mood changed. He perked up. He flirted back. That zing returned. Our chemistry was off the charts. I was comfortable in his arms and, at the same time, highly aware of him. We fit together perfectly, sensed each other’s moods. Had the same quirky sense of humor. Even our good sides complemented each other.
There were at least half a dozen times when I could have completed his sentence. And other times when he completely surprised me with something that made me laugh.
Peter was delighted with the day’s work. “One more gown and tux to shoot before we’re out of here. I think by the river.”
The last gown was the most casual of them all. Very simple, as suited an outdoor setting. For the shot, the hairdresser let some of my hair down and attached the veil to the back of my head.
When we met after our wardrobe change, Knox was in a suit, not a tux, with a simple daisy pinned to his lapel.
We took a few shots with me in my heels, but they looked out of place. Peter felt he’d overused the setting. We walked down the river, around a small bend to a spot we hadn’t shot in yet. The background was beautiful. The water flowed smoothly and softly, not furiously like in other places. Three large rocks, like the humps of a giant sea monster, like huge stepping stones across half the river, spanned out into the water, each stone larger than the next.
I saw Peter eying them. “Not in heels,” I said to him. “And not with my robotic arm. It’s too risky. It’s not waterproof. We haven’t used my cosmetic arm this shoot. It’s the only one that will work. It has no electronics in it. It’s the only one I could possibly swim in.”
“There will be no swimming,” Peter said firmly. His brow furrowed. “I prefer the pictures of you with your robotic arm, but I understand your concern. How will the audience react to seeing you in a lifelike arm?”
Peter and I debated it while Knox poked around down shore.
I held my ground. “They’ll have to live with it and see it as part of being me and a differently abled person.”
Peter flew the drone over the rocks to get a better look.
Knox came up beside me and watched the drone. As always, I was too highly aware of his presence.
Peter turned to him. “It’s too risky for your fingers, too? Water will damage them?”
Knox nodded. “Sorry. I didn’t bring my cosmetic fingers.” He didn’t look sorry at all. He looked relieved, as if someone had just let him off the hook.
“Personally, I don’t see that it’s a problem. We can film Knox with his left hand in his pocket. Or out of sight,” I said. “Or just let people see what the scars of a soldier wounded in action look like.”
Knox stiffened. I recognized that look—embarrassment. He didn’t want us, me, the world, someone to see the mangled remains of his hand. I wasn’t going to let him off the hook. Accepting yourself for who you are and being comfortable with it was important for your mental health.
Peter nodded and looked at the footage the drone was sending back. “The rocks are fairly flat on top—plenty of room for a couple to stand. They aren’t spaced far apart. It should be easy enough to step from one to the other, even in a wedding dress.” He didn’t want to give up on what looked like the perfect location. “Only if you two are up for it?” He gave us the most pitiful look of hope.
“I’m game. Count me in,” I said. The best shots were almost always the most challenging. And Peter was right—pictures of us on those rocks would be beautiful, artistic, and possibly career making.
Knox hesitated.
“Is our big, brave warrior afraid of a little water?” I asked. “You weren’t earlier.”
We decided to do the shoot barefoot for safety. One of Peter’s assistants climbed out the rocks and reported back. They weren’t slick. They were easy enough to climb up on. The water ran peacefully around them with no splash. It would be no problem to dust them off and prepare them for a shoot.
While the crew worked to prepare the rocks and set up for the final shoot, and before I took my arm off and Knox his fingers, Peter thought of a shot he should have put on the list. He wanted a photo of Knox slipping a ring on my robotic finger.
“If I ever marry, I’ll wear the ring on my right hand,” I said. “No one wears jewelry on their robotic prosthesis.”
“It’s just for show. To make a point.” Peter wouldn’t budge.
I finally backed down and agreed. We took a few dozen shots, both close up and at a distance, of Knox slipping a ring on my finger. And then me on his. I got that eerie premonition again. Like at some point I would have a feeling of déjà vu, that this had happened before.
“You’re not going to pronounce us man and wife, are you, Peter?” Knox teased.
Peter laughed. “Sadly for you, I have no power vested in me by the state. You’d be lucky to catch a woman as beautiful as Callie.”
“You’re saying she’s out of my league?” Knox said.
“I’m not saying anything except Callie can have her pick of men. She’s a heartbreaker.”
I laughed. “Peter, you flatterer.”
After the exchange of rings, I changed into my cosmetic arm in front of everyone, boldly, as I was used to. Knox reluctantly took off his prosthesis and left it in the care of one of the makeup people.
I wasn’t sure how Knox felt about my cosmetic arm. It was very lifelike, but not very functional. Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought he looked at me differently. It was the reverse reaction of most people. Was I not as beautiful with a real-looking arm? Was my cyborgness that hot? And, yes, we could debate whether I was part cyborg or not. It was a hot topic in the community. Whatever it was, this particular shot started out differently. Knox kept his left hand hidden from me.
Mr. Accidental Groom Page 10