The Marrying Type

by Laura Chapman

  “Your friend can go,” the clerk said. “He,” she gestured to Eric, “already posted the bail, but the girl is asking for you. You can head on back to collect her.”

  “Okay, thank you. Let me tell them where I’m going.”

  Elliot gently shook Eric awake. His heavy eyes slowly opened, and he gave her a sleepy smile. The twist in her stomach returned, and she swallowed to settle it.

  “Heloise is free to go, but she asked to see me, so . . .”

  She trailed off. Eric’s eyes drifted lower a moment. He blinked hard and stared again. Her cheeks flushed. He must have noticed she’d left the house without a bra. It was both mortifying and annoying. She cleared the lump forming in her throat to regain his attention. He blinked again. When his gaze returned to her face, he straightened his back and nodded.

  Her irritation evaporated. The poor guy hadn’t been staring at her boobs. He’d been trying to wake up. She shouldn’t have assumed the worse.

  A guard led Elliot through a locked door to another, smaller lobby. Heloise sat on a chair clutching her purse. Mascara and eye shadow stained her cheeks, and her shoulders shook. For the first time in their lives, Elliot felt sorry for the other woman.

  Heloise jumped out of her chair. Elliot barely had time to open her arms before Heloise flung herself into them. Sobs shook the other woman’s small frame. “I’m a fuck up.”

  What could Elliot say? No, Heloise, you’re a wonderful person. Everything will be fine. Sadie isn’t upset. I’m sure your boyfriend loves coming to bail you out of jail because you got in a drunken fight. Elliot didn’t want to lie.

  “You don’t have to be.”

  Heloise pulled back and stared. Too late to play nice, Elliot went with her gut. For years she’d wanted to slap sense into this girl, and this morning she had a chance to do it, albeit verbally.

  “You screwed up,” Elliot said. “You drank too much, acted carelessly, and landed in jail. I can’t promise you’ll be fine once you get a full night of sleep and fresh makeup. Things got pretty serious. You’re facing charges, warranted or not. You ruined your friend’s party. And your mom will cry when she finds out what happened.”

  Heloise’s face fell.

  “But listen to me,” Elliot continued. “You have to deal with the consequences. And after you do, you have two choices. You can keep going down this path and genuinely be a fuck up. Or you can get help and change.”

  Heloise’s eyes grew wide. Instead of shock or anger, she seemed awed. Maybe Elliot had gotten through.

  “You said ‘fuck.’ I’ve never heard you swear.”

  A sharp pain pulsed behind Elliot’s eye, and the lid twitched again. Maybe she should give the girl an actual, physical smackdown.

  “But you’re right,” Heloise added. Her voice was stronger. “I don’t want to be a fuck up. Will you help me?”

  “I can do what I can, but I’m not an expert.”

  “Yes, you are,” Heloise said. “My mom always said I should be more like you. And she’s right. You didn’t have to come tonight, but you did. Even if you came for Sadie, and not for me, you’re here helping me now. I want to be like you.”

  “Let’s start by cleaning up your face.” Elliot realized too late she didn’t have her purse or the emergency wedding kit she was so used to having on her, but pulled a tissue from the waiting room end table. “Sadie’s been sleeping on those crappy chairs for the past few hours. The least you can do is say you’re sorry without looking like a deranged clown.”

  Heloise’s hair was too matted from tears to comb properly, so Elliot pulled it into a bun to mask the damage. There wasn’t much to do about the torn dress, but she lent Heloise her jacket.

  “Are you ready?”

  Heloise nodded. Elliot thanked the officer who opened the door for them, and the women walked into the lobby. Eric and Sadie were waiting. Heloise immediately apologized and Sadie pulled her in for a hug. Elliot still didn’t understand how these two women had remained good friends even after college, but they obviously cared about each other.

  Eric caught Elliot’s eye. He offered a friendly smile and held up her, or rather Sadie’s, abandoned cup of coffee and purse. He cleared his throat, and she glanced up again to find him watching her. He seemed amused, and she wondered why. He lifted his hands again, and she realized he was still holding the purse and coffee. She mumbled thanks and took both.

  “Have you been to any baseball games lately?”

  Her eyebrow crinkled in confusion. “What?” He repeated the question. She shook her head. Was he crazy? Why would he bring up baseball now?

  He shrugged. “I figured you probably went all the time.”

  “Why?”

  “You always liked baseball,” he said. “And your boyfriend has season tickets for the regional team. I figured . . .”

  “My boyfriend has season tickets?”

  Now Eric looked confused. “That’s what he said.”

  “Who?”

  “Your boyfriend.”

  “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “Oh.” His face went blank. “Wasn’t the guy at the coffee shop your . . .” His question trailed out.

  “You mean Ben?”

  He nodded.

  “Ben isn’t my boyfriend.”

  “He isn’t?”

  She shook her head. “He’s a friend of a friend who recently moved back to the area.”

  “Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Do you still cheer for the Braves?”

  “Of course.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  She frowned. “Why?”

  “Your shirt.”

  “My shirt?” She looked down. The color drained from her face. She had left home wearing his old Cleveland Indians T-shirt. He was staring at her chest again, and she still wasn’t wearing a bra.

  Feeling naked, Elliot crossed her arms but not before she caught his grin. Was he smiling because he’d embarrassed her, or because he remembered their old bet? She opened her mouth to speak, but shut it when Heloise threw herself in Eric’s arms. Unprepared, he groaned from the force, both of his arms trapped firmly at his side. Elliot stepped back to give them room.

  “I’m sorry you had to come bail me out,” Heloise said. “I promise I’ll pay you back.”

  “Don’t worry—”

  “No, I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

  Eric smiled politely, and at last moved to loosen her surprisingly strong grip.

  “I should get both of you home,” he said. He turned to Elliot, who now stood behind Sadie. “Thank you.”

  “No problem.”

  “Thank you,” he repeated, staring squarely into her eyes. Elliot’s stomach tightened. “Make sure to write this down as an ‘act of heroism’ or ‘savior service’ on the bill.” He winked. “Maybe I can claim this as a deduction when I file my taxes.”

  THE BRIDAL SHOWER COULD have gone worse. The champagne punch had turned out fizzier than Mrs. Crawford liked, and the chicken was a bit dry. But given how tired and dehydrated half of the guests were, none of the bridesmaids looked any worse for the wear. And no one would have guessed the bride and wedding planner had spent the previous night sleeping in folding chairs.

  Their misadventure the night before went undiscussed throughout the entirety of the shower. Even when Heloise failed to make an appearance, Mrs. Crawford didn’t ask any questions.

  While they attended to family business, Chase and Marissa sent an AP and second unit crew to film the shower. Mrs. Crawford didn’t seem to notice a substitute cameraman working in Chase’s place, and Elliot didn’t point it out.

  “Are they going to add anything about what happened last night?” Sadie asked worriedly when she and Elliot found a spare moment alone. “I know Heloise is their sister, but Marissa really wants ratings.”

  “Elliot shook her head. “No, in this case, your friends were right.”

  “About what?”

  “What happens at the bachelorette par
ty stays at the bachelorette party.” Elliot wrapped an arm around the bride’s shoulder and squeezed. “Marissa has a healthy enough fear of her mother-in-law to not risk ending up on her bad side by casting Heloise as a lush on national TV.”

  From The Marrying Type Transcript

  Filmed: July

  Airing: November

  Announcer: With one of the year’s biggest weddings just weeks away, Charleston planner Elliot Lynch can use an extra pair of hands. Fortunately, help has arrived to ensure the couple gets hitched without a hitch.

  Smyth: My name is Rhett Smyth, but you can call me Smyth. Everyone but my mama does. (winks)

  Snapshots of Elliot and Smyth throughout the years sweep across the screen.

  Smyth (cont.): I met Elliot our senior years at UVA. We had the same major and worked special events at the same hotel.

  Elliot: Smyth and I hit it off right away. He’s a charmer.

  Smyth: And she’s too wonderful not to adore.

  Announcer: After graduation, Elliot and Smyth went their separate ways. Elliot moved back to Charleston to work for her family’s successful event planning business. And Smyth headed west.

  Smyth: We’ve managed to keep in touch since graduation. She came out to California to visit me a couple of times, and we always met up when I came to South Carolina to visit my grandma. Some friends are worth taking the time to keep in touch.

  Elliot: When I heard Smyth was moving to the area to be with his grandma, I didn’t waste any time begging him to come on board.

  Announcer: But how has the transition from long-time friends to co-workers gone?

  Video montage shows Elliot and Smyth laughing through various situations: Moving centerpieces from one table to another, reviewing color palettes, conducting a pre-wedding garden inspection.

  Elliot: Working with Smyth is a dream. You don’t have any pretenses with him. He’s a loyal friend who will have your back in battle.

  Smyth: Or is at least willing to fight off another shopper trying to buy the Kate Spade bag you had your eye on.

  Elliot: (laughing) Oh stop.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “What greater thing is there for two human souls than to feel that they are joined . . . to strengthen each other . . . to be at one with each other in silent unspeakable memories.”

  ~ George Eliot

  ELLIOT DESPERATELY tried not to stare, but it was too huge to ignore. In all her years in the wedding business, she’d seen plenty of wardrobe malfunctions. The bride who’d torn her skirt on a church pew and the groom who’d spilled red wine down his wife’s gown came to mind.

  But this was the first time in her recollection that a bridesmaid couldn’t zip up her dress because she’d had a last-minute boob job. At first the woman had tried to deny it, but the swelling and scars had given her away.

  Beyond fascinated, Elliot narrowly resisted asking if she could touch them. Smyth was less disciplined. Carefully balancing the globes in his hands, Smyth angled his shoulders to give the camera plenty of room to capture the shot.

  “Honey, I’m no expert—breasts aren’t really my strong suit,” he winked at the camera, “but these are exceptional.”

  “Do you think?” the bridesmaid asked hopefully. Her cheeks pinked from his flattery.

  “Worth every penny,” he said. “I’ve never seen a better pair of titties.”

  Elliot snorted, but quickly masked the unladylike noise as a sneeze. She turned her back so the camera wouldn’t catch her laughing. Based on the crews’ shaking shoulders, Elliot guessed she wasn’t the only one struggling to keep it together through the exchange.

  If Smyth kept up this sassy act, he’d edge Elliot out of the show. She’d already caught the gleam in Marissa’s eyes when he’d told the mother of the bride she was a “hottie with a body.”

  Unfortunately, the bride didn’t share everyone’s amusement. “What are we going to do about the dress?” she asked. “I can’t believe you’d do this to me.”

  “I didn’t do anything to you,” the bridesmaid said, checking her reflection in the mirror to admire the cleavage. “I did this to myself, and I have no regrets. Everything doesn’t have to be about you. Stop being self-centered.”

  “I’m being self-centered?”

  “Now, ladies.” Elliot stepped between the women before either threw punches. The last thing they needed was a bride with a black eye or a bridesmaid with a popped implant. “Don’t worry. We’ll take care of this.”

  “How?” the bride asked, crossing her arms.

  “Yeah, how?” the bridesmaid repeated, pulling her shoulders back.

  “I have an idea,” Smyth said. Lips pursed, he gave the dress another once-over and nodded. “I need ten minutes, a pair of scissors, and that extra floral ribbon.”

  SMYTH HAD BEEN MORE than a lifesaver at the Newton-Rodgers wedding. He ran a wedding a million times better than Claire, and his solution to the bridesmaid’s gown snafu had been beyond inspiring.

  Working with a true professional had definite perks. As an added bonus, he’d wowed Marissa and her camera crew. With his quick quips and one-liners, audiences were sure to love him. Elliot had to remind Marissa he was a person—not a character—at least a dozen times.

  Thanks to his support, Elliot still had energy for a drink after the reception. Settled on her front porch, she and Smyth shared a bottle of wine while she belatedly filled him in on the drama from her previous weekend.

  “You bailed a bridesmaid out of jail?”

  Elliot had to laugh at the shock—and admiration—on Smyth’s face. Not that Elliot blamed him. He’d experienced a lot of surprises in his years of wedding planning. None of those experiences included spending half the night in a police station.

  “It’s another one of our services,” she teased. “I’m thinking about adding it to the website.”

  “You’re taking this whole situation pretty lightly,” he said. “Instead of worrying about the negative attention this might draw to the wedding, you’re cracking jokes.”

  “There’s nothing funny about it.” Elliot’s expression sobered. “A girl I’ve known most of my life had a court date because her partying got out of control. Add in my father and sister’s determination to undermine my decisions, and I have a lot on my mind. I may seem like I’m laughing, but believe me, I’m not. This is my job and my life. I take both seriously.”

  “Of course you do.” Smyth covered Elliot’s hand. “I’d never accuse you of being anything less than perfection.”

  Elliot gave a weak grin and turned her hand over to squeeze his. “I was stunned when I got the call. I’ve had a few days for the shock to wear off.” She pushed her full glass of wine to the side, no longer thirsty. “In another life, I might’ve been in her shoes.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I grew up with Heloise,” she said. “We had the same money, the same education, and the same opportunities. I might’ve become a partier instead of a party planner.”

  “No—”

  “Who would have stopped me after my mom died?” Elliot asked. “I hurt enough to consider self-medicating with booze or drugs. I don’t doubt Daddy or Libby considered it, too. Instead, we took out our anger in different ways. Libby rushed into a loveless marriage. Daddy went on a spending binge. I ran away to college. It’s not hard to imagine going down Heloise’s path.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  No, she did not. Still, after days of contemplating the situation, Elliot understood Heloise better. Life was about the choices a person made. Heloise chose a party girl lifestyle that landed her in jail. Elliot didn’t let people in and was basically alone.

  Despite the late hour, her phone buzzed with a new text message. She pulled it open and grinned.

  “Good news?” Smyth asked.

  Elliot shook her head. “It’s a funny note from a client.”

  “Who?”

  “The night I helped rescue the bridesmaid from jail, the bride’s brother c
ame to post bail. At the time, he told me to send a bill for my trouble. He texted to say he’s received a reimbursement check from Heloise, but no bill from me. He wants to know when he can expect it—for tax purposes.”

  “Is this brother the Eric Warner?”

  “He sure is.”

  “I’ve caught a few of his interviews about the Cav. He sounds delicious.”

  “He’s a decent guy.”

  “Tell me more about this hunky brother of the bride.” Smyth leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “I want details.”

  “He’s . . . something.”

  “Oh, come on, are you blind? He’s gorgeous.” Eyes narrowed, Smyth sipped his wine and examined Elliot closely. She shrank under his stare. “You’re holding back. I can tell. Are you fooling around with him?”

  “Are you kidding?” Elliot’s cheeks burned red, and she turned her attention to the flower arrangement on the table. She plucked a small rose bud and held the bloom to her nose, breathing in the sweetness. “I’d never ‘fool around’ with a client.”

  “No, not while you were working for him. But maybe in the past.” Awareness lit Smyth’s face. “Oh my God. He went to UVA, too.” His voice rose with each proclamation. He practically shouted, “You totally went to bed with him back in college.”

  “Quiet. I can hear you from here.” Elliot glanced around nervously. “You’ll wake my father if you keep that up.”

  “We’re alone,” Smyth said. “It’s after eleven on a Saturday night. I doubt you have anyone lurking in the bluebell patch. Now spill.”

  Elliot breathed deeply through her nose and clenched her eyes shut. The confession came out in a rushed flurry. “I dated Eric freshman year. He asked me to marry him. I said yes. Then I changed my mind. He broke up with me and left for Internet stardom. I went back to school, then I came here to plan weddings. Now we’re working together to give his sister a beautiful wedding. The end.”

  Everything out in the open, she opened an eye and caught Smyth’s wide-eyed, open-mouth stare. For the first time since they’d reunited before the rehearsal dinner yesterday, the man was speechless. He finally found his words. “So you did sleep with him.”