“The dog knocked us in,” Abby wrapped her arms around herself, her dress plastered to her shivering body. Though the day was warm for spring, the breeze was chilly now that they were both soaked to the skin.
“Are you both alright?” Dylan asked.
Guests ranged along the bank, several snapping pictures with their phones, chattering animatedly. Erin’s voice could be heard above the crowd, soothing the anxious bride. “It’s the things that go wrong that are the most memorable.”
“I didn’t really want my guests remembering the help falling in the lake,” Liz Hamilton, her pretty face in a scrunched-up scowl, snapped.
A muscle jumped in Dylan's jaw, but he plastered on a charming smile as he turned to the bride, "Let's start on the dessert, Liz. Once people taste Shortie's sweets, they'll forget all about him toppling off the pier."
“Good idea, Dylan,” Erin agreed instantly, “Have you tried the peach donuts yet?”
Smoothly, Dylan and Erin escorted the bride toward the back patio, and the guests trailed along, bored now that Shortie and Abby were out of danger. Shortie and Abby squished their way across the back lawn to his catering truck.
“I think I’ve got a change of clothes in the truck. Just sweatpants and a t-shirt but it’ll be dry at least.”
"But then what will you wear?" Abby asked through her chattering teeth. He draped his arm around her shoulders to pull her against his side, but she stiffened and pulled away. They reached the truck. Shortie tossed a spare tablecloth around Abby while he rummaged through the back looking for his duffel containing his workout clothes.
“You all okay?” Erin’s voice came from outside the truck. “You weren’t hurt?”
“Just my pride,” Shortie answered. “Did you get the bride calmed down?”
“Dylan’s working on it.”
“She’s a charmer.”
“She writes good checks,” Erin answered. “Why don’t you all head on home? I think we’ve got this from here.”
“I can change clothes,” Shortie held up his bag. “But I don’t think I’ve got enough for Abby to change too.”
“That’s fine. Go on home, Abby,” Erin said. “I’ve gotta get back to the party.”
”I’m a disaster as a bridesmaid,” Abby moaned, as they walked over to her compact car.
“You’re not,” Shortie shook his head. “They’ve all just been unfortunate accidents.”
“I should quit.” After carefully covering her seats with the tablecloth, Abby slid behind the wheel, wringing her sodden skirt out before she gathered it on her lap.
"If I quit after all the disasters I’ve had as a caterer, I'd be doing something else for sure," Shortie said. "Did I tell you about the wedding where a storm blew out the power? They got married by candlelight—which set fire to the bride's veil—and we drove twenty miles to get fried chicken in a bucket to serve. Can't cook without power."
“Wow,” Abby laughed. “Okay, I haven’t been that bad yet.”
He waved as she drove off, before changing into his ratty sweatpants and a paint-spattered t-shirt. He served the rest of wedding, chuckling under his breath with every squishy step.
Chapter 10
“Alright, I’m here. What’s the emergency?” Shortie called as he flung open the front door at Always a Bridesmaid, just after two on Friday afternoon.
Abby sat behind the desk in the reception area, her hair up in a tidy twist. She wore a sapphire blue form-fitting sweater accessorized with a pearl necklace and earrings. She looked sleek and elegant, not at all like the girl Jasper dragged through the mud just a few weeks ago. He hadn’t seen her since their unexpected dunking. She looked up and smiled as he walked in. Shortie swallowed hard, feeling tongue-tied and awkward.
“Abby, what’s up?”
“Erin said she needed to see you,” Abby said,“but she didn’t say why.”
“Okay.” Shortie put his hands on his hips, his chest heaving as he caught his breath, from racing across town when he got Abby’s urgent text. He bent at the waist, placing his hands on his thighs, as he caught his breath. Abby stepped past him and grabbed a bottle of water from the hidden mini-fridge, her skirt swishing as she stepped past. Since she couldn’t see him, he ogled her shapely legs while he had a moment. She’d really hid quite a nice figure under her old baggy clothes. She uncapped the water and handed it to him. Their fingers brushed causing awareness to spiral through him. Leo might be right. Maybe he did have a bit of a crush.
"Shortie, one of the Hamilton groomsmen, is stranded. He might not make it in time,” Erin strode out from the back, a phone headset on and a clipboard in hand, looking like she was planning a military invasion rather than a wedding. "Can you suit up?"
“The wedding is tomorrow morning,” Shortie answered, standing back up to chug water.
“I’m more than aware of that,” Erin said, her voice tight. She practically vibrated with stress, with dark circles under her eyes. She’d been working dawn to midnight for several weeks, determined to pull off the Hamilton wedding without a hitch. “Pull out your tux. The black one will have to do, even if it doesn’t exactly match the other groomsmen. Abby, will you have the dress shop send over the matching tie—“
“Already done,” Abby interrupted. She and Erin exchanged high-fives.
“She’s the best, isn’t she?” Erin said. Shortie could only nod, panic blossoming in his stomach. He couldn’t possibly be a groomsman.
“I thought Dylan was the world’s first and only professional groomsman.”
“Well, you’re the second then,” Erin said. “Can you do it?”
"I'm bakin' the cake, but I guess Leo could deliver it,” Shortie rubbed the back of his neck, considering. "So I just gotta wear the monkey suit and walk down the aisle."
“Plus pose for pictures,” Abby put in.
“And the first dance,” Erin added.
“Dance?” Shortie echoed. “What dance?”
“After the couple dances together, then their parents join them, and then the bridesmaids and groomsmen,” Erin said. “You just take a few turns around the floor. Just a quick waltz.”
“I don’t know how to waltz,” Shortie put his hands up and backed toward the door. He was accustomed to being behind the scenes at weddings, not participating. He had no desire to change that.
“Of course you do!” Erin said. “You danced at my wedding.”
“I didn’t waltz,” Shortie shook his head. “I slow danced.”
“What’s the difference?” Abby asked, her brow furrowing.
“Slow dancing is just hugging standing up.”
Abby laughed, but Erin argued, ”Matthew said that you all went to cotillion together."
"We attended," Shortie said. "I mostly skipped out the back door so that I wouldn't trip over my own two feet."
“Well, time to learn,” Erin said flatly, consulting her clipboard so she could move on to the next problem. Shortie grabbed it from her to get her attention.
“By tomorrow? You want me to learn to waltz by tomorrow?”
“Maybe you could YouTube it,” Erin suggested, calmly reclaiming the clipboard.
“Can’t Matthew do it?”
“Matthew’s in Chicago until Sunday.”
“I can help,” Abby offered. “I know how to waltz.”
"Perfect!" Erin cried, patting Abby's shoulder and dashing back toward her office before Shortie could argue further. Now that they were alone, Shortie stared at Abby, panic making his heart pound and his knees week. What had he done?
What had she done? She didn't like being too close to people, and she hated being touched. Now she was going to be touched by Shortie a lot as they practiced dancing together. Abby swallowed hard, twisting her hands in front of her. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to be touched by Shortie, though. She fixed a smile on her face.
“I haven’t waltzed in years,” Shortie protested again.
"It's fairly simple. Just a box step,” Abby patted his arm
, “and no one will be looking at us with the bride and the groom, their parents, and a dozen bridesmaids and groomsmen all dancing. We'll claim a little corner of the floor and hug standing up."
Shortie smiled weakly at her, his face pale under his freckles, “I’m just the caterer.”
“You’re not just anything,” Abby shook her head. “Help me move the table so we can create a dance floor.”
Shortie shifted the glass coffee table to one side while Abby queued up some music on the laptop. She stepped around the desk and stood in front of Shortie. This close, the scent of soap, cinnamon, and sugar wafted from him, the comforting scents settling her. He held out his hand, and she slowly placed her hand in his. He stepped closer, his warmth washing over her front as he slid his arm around her waist.
Her heart hammered in her chest as a brief stab of panic hit her. This was Shortie. Her friend. He’d never hurt her or scare her. He stepped forward, his toes pressing gently on her toes before moving back. Slowly, they shuffled around the reception area in a loose version of the box step.
“Relax,” he said, his voice a low, soothing caress. “You’re so tense.”
“I’m not used to—“
Abby rolled her shoulders and smiled up at Shortie. They danced a few steps, her stiff and resistant. Abby tried to relax into the dance, to follow Shortie’s far more fluid steps. She tripped on the rug and then stepped back too far into the coffee table.
“What is it, Abby-cakes? You can tell me.”
“I don’t really like to be touched much,” Abby bit her lip as his hand dropped from her waist. She tightened her fingers around their clasped hands to hold him still. She’d never told anyone why she didn’t like to be touched. But, as she looked into Shortie’s kind blue eyes, she knew she could confide in him. “Remember when I told you that I quit performing?”
Shortie nodded, his thumb making slow circles on the back of her hand as he waited patiently for her to get it out.
"Well, as I told you, puberty hit,” Abby shrugged. "So, people noticed and…"
“By people do you mean men?”
Abby nodded slowly, tears burning in the corners of her eyes as she remembered the humiliation and the shame made worse by her mother’s total denial. Her stomach twisted. She hunched over, wrapping her free arm around her waist and missing her old comfortable cardigan to hide her from the world. Shortie reached out for her and then let his hand fall back, as though afraid to scare her.
"Nothing happened," Abby clarified. "Well, this one time the stage manager grabbed me from behind, but he didn't do any more than scare me."
“Bastard,” Shortie’s eyes flashed like lightning through a summer sky.
"I shrieked, and he let go,” Abby shrugged. "But men still looked, and I knew it wouldn't be long before I got grabbed—or far worse—again. Eventually, I couldn't perform anymore because it scared me so much. My mother just said I was overreacting and a scaredy cat."
“We don’t have to do this. I can tell Erin.”
“I trust you, Shortie,” Abby whispered. She did trust Shortie, instinctively, from the moment she met him.
She placed her palm on his chest, feeling his heartbeat thrumming against her hand. She looked up into his eyes as she stepped closer. She slid her hand across his t-shirt covered chest, the contours of his chest strong beneath her hand. She placed her hand on his shoulder as his arm wrapped around her waist, a loose, gentle hold. She’d never before wanted to kiss someone, never understood what desire meant, how people could act so silly in the pursuit of it. But now, here, with Shortie, Abby began to understand what all the songs and romantic love stories were really about. Her fingers brushed the nape of his neck, as she raised herself onto her tip-toes, intent on capturing his mouth, to enjoy the taste of him, just once.
His lashes hid his eyes from her as he stood, still and patient, letting her take the lead, even as the pulse fluttered in his neck and his breathing became rapid. Their breath mingled, warm and sweet, her mouth inches from his when the front door swung open, bringing a gust of rain, wind, and a harried-looking Dylan.
Abby jumped back, whacking her ankle on the coffee table, as Shortie groaned, his cheeks cherry red, as he raked his hands through his hair. Dylan didn’t seem to notice their evident embarrassment.
"Bug! I got the stranded groomsman a ticket on the train,” Dylan yelled as Erin dashed out from the offices in the back. "It gets in at 2:30 am. He'll miss the rehearsal but make it in time for the wedding."
“Great job!” Erin hugged Dylan. “Shortie, you’re off the hook.”
“I don’t have to wear the monkey suit. Awesome,” Shortie said as he backed toward the door. Abby couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t look at her as he fled.
Chapter 11
On Saturday morning, Shortie reached into his battered white delivery van and eased the tiered wedding cake toward him. Even as his muscles protested from carrying the heavy cake, he held it steady as he made his way to the cake table in the old red barn. It wouldn’t do to mess up the wedding cake at this late point. The Hamiltons would enjoy an outdoor ceremony in the orchard before hosting a huge party in the rustic red barn.
Crab-walking to the side, he slid the cake slowly onto the already decorated cake table and centered it. Heeled footsteps echoed on the wooden floorboards of the as-yet deserted barn. Shortie glanced up to see Abby, dressed in a blush pink bridesmaids gown, the hem skimming her toes in peek-a-boo pumps, as she made her way to the head table, carrying an acrylic clipboard. She carefully counted the silverware at each place and checked something on her clipboard. She straightened a few pieces of gleaming silver before glancing around at the hall. Her hair flowed in loose curls which teased her shoulders each time she moved her head, the dim light of the barn catching on the auburn and copper highlights in her hair
As Shortie watched her, he accidentally stuck his thumb in the perfect fondant on the bottom tier of the cake. “Rats.”
"Did you mess up that frosting?" Leo cussed under his breath when he saw the two-inch smear created by Shortie's distraction over Abby. After nudging Shortie out of the way, Leo arranged a selection of pies around the cake with artful precision.
“My hand slipped.”
“You’ve got the steadiest hands in Savannah.”
“Not today.”
“And I think I know why,” Leo muttered, nodding at Abby as she straightened arrangements of hydrangeas at the nearest guest table. “Hi, Abby. Doesn’t she look lovely, Shortie?”
“Yes. Yeah,” Shortie babbled as he did his impression of a bobble head doll. “You do.”
“Thanks,” Abby’s cheeks turned a shade darker than her gown. “You all set with the cake?”
“No,” Leo answered sorrowfully. “He dented the cake.”
“I just smeared the frosting,” Shortie protested, his mouth dry. He should be panicking over the cake but instead, his focus stayed on Abby. Had she always been this gorgeous?
“Just turn the bottom tier,” Abby suggested. “Liz will never notice.”
“Maybe,” Shortie carefully shifted the cake and positioned a pie to mask the smear. “Hopefully.”
“Good luck with that,” Leo snorted as he headed back to the van, leaving Abby and Shortie alone in the echoing quiet of the barn.
“I’m sorry we didn’t get to have our dance,” Abby finally broke the silence.
“Me too,” Shortie had been looking forward to dancing with Abby, all dressed up and twirling around the floor. “Maybe next time.”
“You could dance now,” Leo gestured to the empty dance floor as he rested a large plastic bin of perfectly iced cookies wrapped in cellophane. “I gotta get these favors put out.”
“I’ve got a million things to do,” Abby shook her head and took a step back. “Maybe later?”
Shortie pasted on a smile, “See you later.”
Abby headed back out of the barn. Leo shook his head at Shortie,“What? We’re busy.”
“A man should never be too busy to dance with a pretty lady,” Leo said. “Especially one that he’s crazy about.”
“I’m not crazy about Abby.”
“You buzz around her like a bee with a flower,” Leo rolled his eyes. “Who are you trying to fool? You’re always watching her, smiling at her, chatting with her.”
“Because we’re friends.”
“We are friends too. You don’t look at me like that.”
"That's because Abby doesn't give me a hard time like you always do," Shortie headed back out to the truck to grab more pies, ignoring Leo’s low laughter.
By ten, the party was winding down, with just a few couples still swaying together on the empty dance floor, though Erin and Dylan still ran around making sure everything was under control. Once the food service was done, Shortie and Leo packed up the truck. They’d just finished when Abby strolled over to the empty buffet tables holding her icepick heels by the straps. “Are you packing up already? I’m starving.”
“Didn’t you eat dinner?” Shortie asked.
"Didn't have time,” Abby shrugged, rolling her head to loosen her tight shoulders. "By the time I got through the buffet line, I'd go to take a bite, and it was time for pictures or dancing or cake. I think Erin's running on coffee and adrenaline. This bridesmaid gig is exhausting."
“Come on out to the truck,” Shortie offered. “I think I might have a sandwich or two leftover.”
Abby followed him out to the gravel parking area behind the barn, the moonlight spearing through the trees, turning the Spanish moss into silver and shadowy lace. Back here, it was quiet, away from the muted bustle of the party, though the music still spilled out of the barn into the moonlight.
Shortie opened the back of the truck and carefully put down a tablecloth to make her a seat. Abby leaned against the bumper, bracing herself on the gravel. Shortie presented her with a small plate piled with finger sandwiches and popped the top on the soda. Ravenous, Abby ate the sandwiches until only crumbs remained.
“They were delicious, Shortie,” Abby handed him back the plate. He gave her a cookie, their fingers brushing. She took a bite of it, the sweet mixture of vanilla and coconut bursting over her tongue as she chewed. Right from the start, Shortie always took care of her but not in the occasionally overwhelming, overbearing way of her grandmother. Shortie was just naturally kind, thoughtful, and caring. Was it any wonder that she’d fallen so in love with him?
Kiss a Bridesmaid (Always a Bridesmaid Book 3) Page 6