"Pwees hurry, Shar-wot," Rose said over her shoulder as she and Brandon headed for the door, her small hand in his large one, skipping her steps on the way. "The ducks are waiting for their food and they're hungry!"
I just grinned and shook my head as I rushed to prop up the boxes into shape and line them with parchment paper. Thank God the icing stiffened into shape in no time. I didn't want to give smudged up cookies to Mrs. Schubert's friends.
I got to the last box when I noticed a cookie frosted differently from all the rest.
In blue-green icing, B.B.B + C.C.C. was written on the surface. Pink dots bordered the edge of it.
A warm, heavy weight settled in my chest as I picked it up and set it aside on a plate, stretching a plastic wrap over it for protection.
What do you know? Brandon Maxfield is too damned romantic for a non-romantic.
After putting six treat boxes into a large, paper shopping bag, I grabbed my keys, cellphone and sunglasses before heading out the door.
Brandon was on his hunches by the front yard, tucking a pink begonia behind Rose's ear.
The sight of him in his dress pants, shirt and shoes, his hair disheveled from our afternoon activities, a big, broad smile on his handsome face as he fixed the little girl's curls around the flower on her ear, made me want to throw myself all over him on the grassy yard and kiss him until we were both mindless from it.
He'll probably think you're crazy. Oh, wait. He already does.
He rose to his feet when he saw me and led Rose back on the foot path. Before I could stop him, he slipped a pink begonia behind my ear as well.
"Ready?" I asked with a grin. "We'll have to walk down the block so we can drop off the cookies with some of Mrs. Schubert's friends on our way to the park."
I took Rose's other hand as we started down the sidewalk.
"Who's Mrs. Schubert?" Brandon asked.
"A friend of mine," I explained. "She and her husband sing in the St. Francis's choir. I met them three years ago when I was volunteering there during some of their bake sales. Mrs. Schubert isn't very mobile anymore so she asks me to make her cookies for her friends. She gives me the budget for it and everything. I liked the opportunity to practice baking without having to spend my own money for ingredients and it kept Mr. and Mrs. Schubert and their friends happy. Everybody wins."
"Will you keep doing it after the wedding?"
I glanced at Brandon, trying to gauge his reaction.
"If I can," I said with a shrug. "I can practice-bake some other way but it's nice to be able to do it for the old couple. All their children are grown and live all over the country. Sometimes I would bake at their place and they would sit down with tea and hang out with me. Mr. Schubert would tell me about the good old days and how he and his wife fell in love."
Brandon groaned softly although he was smiling. "Don't tell me. Star-crossed lovers?"
I grinned. "Something like that. Mr. Schubert was a notorious playboy and Mrs. Schubert was a nun. Suffice to say, it was an outrageous and completely scandalous affair but neither of them cared. They were crazy in love. Escaped the convent and eloped and all that."
Brandon was looking at me like I was crazy.
I shrugged. "True story. No B.S."
"What's B. S., Shar-wot?" Rose asked, looking up at me.
Brandon smirked and raised a brow at me, waiting for an answer.
I bit my lip with an awkward laugh. "B.S.? You don't know what that means? It means, uh, Bad Stuff."
Brandon threw his head back laughing as Rose blinked up at me, digesting what I said.
My cheeks grew warm and I sent Brandon a warning glare as I attempted to distract Rose with something else.
In the fifteen minute-walk to the park, we managed to drop off all of the treat boxes at the doorstep of some of the Schuberts' friends—seniors as well from the choir who knew me well and gave me approving glances after meeting Brandon who conducted himself like a total gentleman, charming and sweet to every one I introduced him to.
Our time at the park was prettty awesome. Brandon and I helped Rose tear the stale bread into pieces to throw to the ducks. Afterwards, we walked back home with Rose clamped on Brandon's back as she sang I'm A Little Teapot in a slightly off-key note.
Gilles and Felicity were already at the house, talking and waiting for us by the town car outside when we got back.
We drove out to meet with Shelly, our wedding planner at a cafe downtown. The woman had seemed a little surprised to see Brandon slide into the private booth next to me but as professional as she was, she didn't slow down one second. We went over the options for music and entertainment at the reception, the choice coming down between a local band and a jazz quartet.
"I really love that band," I said quietly, knowing that people in Brandon's circle would probably find the jazz quartet more sophisticated than a bunch of college guys who made a name for themselves locally after doing a series of pop-up concerts at random street corners and parking lots.
Brandon just nodded at Shelly. "Band it is. A more upbeat feel to the whole thing might be better. We'd prefer that people enjoyed it like a party and not a formal recital."
I smiled and put a hand on his knee under the table as I leaned in and murmured, "Thank you so much."
He caught my hand in his under the table and gave it a squeze as he murmured back, "You're welcome."
An hour later, Rose was sound asleep in Brandon's arms.
"We have to drop her off now, I guess," I said as we assembled back at the car. "Aimee isn't back for another hour and I have a spa appointment like right now."
"I can hold her while she sleeps," Brandon said. "We can wait for you at the spa."
I bit my lip in thought before turning ot Felicity. "Fel, what do I have for this spa appointment?"
"Mostly just a mani and pedi and a paraffin wax treatment."
"Can you get them to put us in a room that could accommodate Brandon and Rose?" I asked. "Like a big armchair or something comfortable while they wait for me. Please?"
"I'm on it," Felicity said as she dialed on her phone.
Upon arriving at the spa, we were directed to a private room (there seemed to be plenty of these when charged to a Maxfield account) where they settled me in one of the recliners and Brandon on a large, leather armchair where he sat down with a napping Rose on his lap.
After making sure that everything else was taken care of, Felicity wished us a good rest of our day before taking herself off-duty. Gilles was going to drive her home and come back for us in an hour.
It felt weird—to be sitting back comfortably as Therese, my 'nail specialist' worked on soaking my hands and feet while Brandon sat across from me with a sleeping child in his arms as he worked on his tablet with one hand, occasionally answering his on-vibrate cellphone and talking about work.
It seemed like an altered reality because I knew that Brandon could be in a hundred other different places right now than here at the spa with me, quietly working while holding Rose in his arms and occasionally glancing up at me with a smile. It felt... domestic. Like we were waiting in a doctor's office with our child or something like that.
You're in way over your head, Charlotte. Don't play this game.
When Therese left us alone for a moment, Brandon reared his head up and studied me. "You okay?"
I nodded, struggling to mask my thoughts. "Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"
He shrugged. "It's been a long day for you—fighting with Celeste, dealing with the paps, baking for your friends, looking after Rose, planning our wedding."
"It's all in a day's work of becoming Mrs. Maxfield," I said with a shrug. "It's a full-time job."
His eyes were unreadable as he paused to take that in. "You're not having cold feet, are you?"
No, I'm getting too cozy with you and I shouldn't.
"I never back down on my word," I said with a proud tilt of my chin. "I can handle this, Brand. Don't worry."
He didn't look like h
e believed me but he just sighed and said, "I worry about you. It's not easy becoming my wife yet you're jumping in with little preparation."
"I'm a quick learner. I learn to adapt," I assured him just as Therese came back. "Don't fret about it."
And he didn't. He left our conversation at that and returned to his work.
A little while later, Brandon and I arrived at Aimee's apartment with Rose draped over Brandon's shoulder, still sleeping. We must've wiped the poor girl out.
Aimee was waiting by the door for us but she took a step back when she saw Brandon holding her sleeping daughter in his arms.
"Hi, you must be Aimee," Brandon said as he extended a hand out to her for a brief handshake. "I'm Brandon Maxfield, Charlotte's fiance. You're her maid-of-honor, aren't you?"
Aimee appeared to be starstruck for a moment before I cleared my throat meaningfully.
"Uh, yes! Yes! That's right," Aimee said as she beckoned us inside. "Come on in, please. You can put Rose down on the couch."
For a second, I worried that Brandon was going to take stock of Aimee's small, modest apartment and make a critique but he barely noticed as he carefully laid Rose down on the couch, pulling a flannel wrap up to the girl's chin.
He's hot, Aimee mouthed at me while Brandon was still turned away, tending to Rose.
I just smiled and nodded before leading my friend down to take a seat by the dining table. "Listen, I wanted to tell you about what happened with Rose this morning while we were at a fitting. I hope you're not going to be mad at me but I kind of forgot about her for a moment and that dragon lady sent her outside..."
Aimee listened with rapt attention as I relayed to her the unfortunate events with Celeste. Brandon had come up behind me and rested his hands on my shoulders in a gesture of support. I was scared that Aimee would never trust me with Rose's care ever again.
But my friend just shook her head, annoyed at Celeste, and gave me a quick hug with a thank you for protecting Rose.
Dazed but relieved, I let Brandon lead me back down to the elevator, his hand pressed gently at the small of my back.
"Stop looking like you can't believe it," he said to me in a dry, amused tone as the elevator descended. "No one will ever doubt how much you dote on the girl. You can't protect her every second but when you needed to, you didn't hold back one bit and any parent would appreciate that."
Embarrassed slightly at being so obvious, I narrowed my eyes at him. "You sound like you should know. Any Maxfield brats of yours I should know about?"
He laughed. "None. I'm not careless like that at all."
Of course not. You conduct your relationships like business. No grand passion or desperate love to cloud your extremely sound judgement.
"I'll wait for you to shower and get dressed when we get you back to your house," he said as we walked to the car. "My driver will drop off a clean set of clothes for me as well."
A little puzzled at why he would sacrifice a bit of his own comfort to stay with me unnecessarily, I didn't offer any protest as we drove back.
He practically escorted me to the bathroom with a quick peck on my cheek and an urging to hurry before he returned to the living room where he was going to work while waiting.
It had a been a long day and the warm shower helped me relax more than my trip to the spa did.
I was feeling out of sorts about my odd relationship with Brandon and the amount of attention he'd been devoting to a fiancee he first claimed to find extremely inconvenient.
I wanted to ask but I wasn't sure I wanted to know the answers.
After fixing my hair up into a quick side braid, I slipped on the body-hugging, one-shouldered red dress and matching red shoes with an intricate cut-out pattern on the leather.
I actually looked hot in the outfit and decided that Brandon was smart about these things if he'd practically coerced me into wearing a red dress.
I glided out to the living room, eager to surprise him. Instead, I found him sleeping soundly, sitting on the couch with his tablet on his lap, a clean change of clothes on a hanger draped over the empty seat next to him.
"Poor baby," I whispered with a smile as I walked over to Brandon and moved the tablet off its precarious balance without waking him.
I knew he was tired, probably a little jet-lagged.
I kicked off my expensive red shoes and walked to the pantry and the fridge, checking my stock as I dialed Felicity.
"Hey, Fel. Can you please do me a huge favor and cancel Chianti?" I asked her as I took out a box thin spaghetti pasta noodles. "I'm just making Brandon dinner at home. Okay? Thanks."
It took me about twenty minutes to finish the pesto-based pasta I tossed with some sliced ham and grated parmesan cheese. I had slices of french bread brushed with garlic butter toasting away in the oven.
I arranged two dinner settings on the dining table and went to open one of the ice wine bottles Brandon gave me. It was quite sweet but I decided it would do nicely since I had no time to make any elaborate dessert. I lit up a couple of tall white candlesticks glued inside a tall drinking glass with a bit of melted wax and turned on some music, plugging in a Mat Kearney CD.
"Hey, dinner's ready," I said gently as I perched next to Brandon on the couch and touched his cheek. "Brandon, wake up. Time to eat."
He slowly stirred, his searing hazel eyes a little unfocused first before they zeroed in on me.
"We're still here," he said after a moment, his brows furrowing. "What... Did we—"
"You fell asleep so I decided to cancel our reservation and just make dinner here," I said with a smile as I stood up and extended a hand to him. "It's nothing special but I hope you don't mind it."
His gaze swept over me from my face to the toes I slipped back into those fancy red heels, and his eyes darkened with appreciation.
"I don't mind it at all," he said with a half-smile as he rose to his feet. I wasn't sure if he meant the food or my red outfit.
Fifteen minutes into our dinner, it seemed that he meant both.
He was heartily enjoying the pasta and the garlic toast while his eyes kept straying to my face and my low neckline.
"You're lovely," he finally said.
I gave him a dubious look. "Why do you always seem to take a while before finally giving me a compliment? Is it that hard to come up with something?"
"No," he said quickly, his cheeks pinkening a little bit. "It's just... It always takes me by surprise, okay?"
I wasn't sure why but it stung a bit.
I forced a light laugh. "Why? Because it's not until I dress up that you realize I'm not a complete slob?"
Brandon didn't look happy with my sarcasm. "No. It's because it's not until you dress up that I realize I hadn't minded all this time when you were unkempt or striding around and about in sneakers with no make up on. That's when I realize you've always been beautiful."
My heart stopped for the longest second until it started pounding hard in my chest.
"Oh," was all I managed to say. I glanced down at my food and ignored the heated look he was casting my way and the warm blush that was surely coating my cheeks. "Thank you."
Brandon chuckled. "You seem more uncomfortable with my compliments than my criticism. Has anyone ever told you you're beautiful?"
"Of course—usually preceding a blatant invitation to sleep with them or let them touch just a little bit more than necessary," I answered, unable to keep the curtness out of my voice. "I get it all the time."
"I see," Brandon said in a low voice, his expression hardening. "It's fortunate then that you're not stepping back into that diner. I'd hate to spend my days pummeling any man who comes after my wife."
His possessive tone only did more damage to my already fraying control.
The early morning phone calls, the inexpensive but thoughtful goodies he brought for me from his trip, decorating cookies with Rose, strolls in the park, an intimate dinner for two—there was nothing to any of these except to give a convincing portrayal
of being passionately in love to justify getting married right away and also appease Martin's demands.
I would do well to remember that.
"Don't worry. No one's crazy to want me bad enough they'll risk your wrath," I told him with a soft chuckle. "If anything, they'll feel sorry for you for being silly enough to marry me."
A smile quirked on one corner of Brandon's mouth. "Oh, I know."
The rest of the dinner went on without any more tense moments. Brandon told me about his trip and the business deal he was trying to wrap up and I told him about the endless wedding planning I was dealing with despite having a wedding planner who worked magic. We lingered at the table, drinking the rest of the wine and just talking.
It was almost ten by the time we were done cleaning up.
"I should probably go," he said as he punched in a quick text on his cellphone to his driver. "I have work tomorrow and you have more wedding errands to run with Felicity."
I couldn't fight a yawn. "I know. Can't wait for the wedding to be over. It sounds fun but it's an absolute gongshow to plan."
He smiled and walked to the door, snatching up his jacket and tie from the couch. "Don't worry, it's only one more week and we'll be married."
I gave him a teasing smile. "As if that's sounds better."
"It does because it means every time you open your mouth and say something mean to me, I get to spank your naughty ass," he murmured with a mischievous glint in his eyes as he caught me by the waist and hauled me up against his hard body. "Or tickle you for hours."
My eyes widened in horror. "No! Brandon, no! No, no, no, no!"
He threw me back down on the couch, straddling my hips to pin me down as his fingers found my sides and startled tickling me.
Tears slipped down my cheeks as I thrashed and pleaded, laughing and gasping for breath at the same time.
"Looks like you learned that lesson," he said with a satisfied smirk as he got off me and pulled me up to my feet. "Just remember it for next time."
I wiped my cheeks and swatted him on the shoulder. "Oh, I'll remember to retaliate next time. You just wait. Now, go home!"
"I will," he said as he grabbed his jacket and tie again after he dropped them on the floor earlier. "Goodnight, Charlotte."
The Mischievous Mrs. Maxfield Page 12