How to Catch a Groom

by Jacobs, Holly

  She glanced at her watch and knew there was nothing to do but tie his tie. So she took it from him and quivered as her fingers brushed his.

  The church must be drafty. That was the reason for the chills that ran up her spine, she assured herself as she took a step closer and wrapped the tie around his neck.

  She ignored the fact that Seth smelled good. Not in a I-used-half-a-bottle-of-cologne sort of way but in a I-smell-like-a-man sort of way.

  She held her breath and tried not to notice, as she made short work of tying the tie. She took a step back, exhaled and inhaled deeply, and admired her handiwork.

  “You’ll do,” she said. “Let’s go. We’re running late.”

  She led him back up the stairs and they snuck quietly into the sanctuary of the Church. “We’ll sit back here until just before the end of the service.”

  “Then what?” he whispered.

  “Don’t you worry, all you have to do is follow directions.”

  Seth had been right when he’d known he was wrong. On the drive over to the church he figured whatever Desi needed him for had to do with a wedding.

  She was a wedding coordinator and needed him at a church.

  Yes, it didn’t take a keen intellect to reach the conclusion that she needed him for something wedding-ish, but that didn’t stop the idea of her needing something more from crossing his mind.

  That he wished Desi wanted him in a carnal-way instead of a business-way left him feeling confused. After all, his entire relationship with Mary Kathryn had been built on common work interests, as well as mutual admiration and respect. It wasn’t this chemical sort of attraction he felt for Desi.

  The idea of Desi merely wanting him was an appealing thing on some basic level, but basic was all it was. It wasn’t as if he really knew her. This attraction was a hormonal thing. Women weren’t the only ones who were sometimes at the mercy of them. It was perfectly natural to be attracted to a gorgeous woman.

  Gorgeous. Oh, yeah, that was the right word to describe Desi.

  He glanced at her, sitting next to him but not touching him. She was wearing a navy blue dress. Not too businessy, but not overly dressy. It hung to her knees and was—demure, that was a good word for it. It was sort of shimmery and soft looking. He didn’t know much about fabrics, but he’d bet it was silk.

  Her hair fascinated him. As soft and silky looking as the dress. He had an urge to reach out and just run his fingers through it. He wanted to do something more wild and out of character than buying a sports car—and specifically, he wanted to do it with this woman. But he kept his hands firmly in his lap.

  Yes, Desi was gorgeous, but that being said, he didn’t really know her. Oh, he knew she was generous. All those years ago she’d proven that by helping him win the science fair. She’d proved it again by helping him home. But beautiful and generous weren’t enough to form an attraction, at least not for him.

  He wanted a partner, someone who shared his interests, not just someone to share his bed.

  And yet …

  As he studied her, Desi sniffed, pulling his attention from shimmery dresses to the tissue she dabbed her eyes.

  “You’re crying,” he whispered.

  “I cry at everything from commercials to sad country songs,” she whispered back and punctuated the sentence with another sniff. “I cried when you won that science award. And as much as other things make me cry, weddings are the worst. I always end up bawling.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they’re so romantic. They’re two people standing in front of their friends and family and declaring that they’re going to spend the rest of their lives loving each other.”

  “If you believe that, then why are you crying? That shouldn’t make you sad.”

  “I’m not sad, I’m happy. Happy they’re going to have happily-ever-after. And happy that I had a hand in making this a special day.”

  “That’s a lot of happys for something that probably won’t last. Marriages needed to be based on more than emotional nonsense.”

  He thought of his mother and father’s relationship, full of emotions run amuck. Volatile, that was the word for it. They fought with as much passion as they loved. And they wore those feelings on their sleeves—bubbling, fuming, fighting, loving.

  Something a little less capricious would certainly be preferable.

  “Look at the statistics” he continued. “If love did indeed mean a fairytale endings, then there wouldn’t be so many divorces. Logic. Compatibility. Common goals. Those are things that a marriage should be based on. Those are things that will make a relationship work long after the initial emotional, chemical response has faded into a distant memory.”

  He’d based his relationship with Mary Kathryn on that premise. It was a sound theory.

  Then why hadn’t it work out?

  He hadn’t made it beyond the engagement. But why?

  That was the question no amount of scientific research could answer.

  Desi just shot him a dirty look and then turned her attention to the ceremony.

  “I’d like to introduce Mr. and Mrs. Mark Mentz,” the priest said as the ceremony ended. The guests stood and applauded.

  “Come on,” Desi said. She led him into the church’s foyer.

  “What now?” he asked, wondering why he’d said yes in the first place.

  “Remind me to debate what marriages should be based on later. Right now, we’re on. I’m going to stay here and take care of the reception line, and then get the pictures started.”

  She dug through her briefcase and handed a couple sheets of crumpled paper to Seth. “Here. Do you know where the Siebenbuerger Club is?”

  Seth took the mangled looking papers. “What are these?”

  “That one’s the seating chart, this one’s,” she indicated an even rattier looking sheet of paper, “is the checklist. I need you to head over to the club. Make sure they have everything set up, that the candles are lit and … well, its all there. Then, as people come in, help them find their table. I know you can follow the chart. I’ll join you as soon as possible.”

  “I need a clipboard,” he muttered. He needed to put her messy notes into some order. He smoothed them, but it didn’t help.

  How could she work like this? He thought of his own orderly system. Desi could use some pointers on neat, orderly charts.

  “Pardon?” she asked.

  “I need a clipboard, something to organize all this. I need to get it all straight so I can think.”

  “Think about what?”

  “About … just get me a clipboard. I can’t work like this,” he said, turning over the crumbled mass of paper in his hands.

  “Seth, I don’t have time to get you a clipboard. I just need you to take care of this. It’s all written down. No problem.”

  “But—”

  “It’s all on the lists,” she said, her voice tinged with exasperation. It didn’t take a scientist to analyze her frustration level. “You don’t need a clipboard. How hard can it be?”

  How hard could it be?

  Seth looked at the mangled papers Desi had thrust at him. How hard could it be to fold a paper in half, neatly and evenly? Obviously too hard for Desi.

  “Fine,” he said. He could meet this challenge. He’d not only meet it, he’d surpass it. He’d show her how to be organized. “I’ll take care of everything. You won’t be long?”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  The Siebenbuerger Club was only a few blocks from St. Johns, so Seth arrived within minutes. He parked his car in the lot across the street and walked toward the brick building wondering just how he’d become an assistant—a wedding coordinator’s assistant.

  Another wedding reception.

  How had it happened? The only good thing was that this time he wasn’t the jilted-groom, but the go-fer.

  He plodded into the club, wishing he was anywhere but here. A doorman was checking in guests.

  “I’m with the Ment
z wedding,” Seth said. “I’m Desi Smith’s assistant. If you could show me—”

  “Oh, thank goodness,” the grey-haired man said. “The staff is going crazy. It seems the cake didn’t arrive and they’re not sure what to do.”

  Seth didn’t know what to do about a non-existent cake either, but before he could tell the man so, he found himself hustled down a hall to a small office.

  “Are you from the Mentz wedding?” a rather frazzled looking dark-haired woman asked.

  “Yes,” Seth said, tentatively.

  “Here.” She handed him the phone. “It’s the bakery. Dealing with cakes isn’t my job. I’m just the caterer.”

  It wasn’t his job either. What did he know about wedding cakes, other than his almost-mother-in-law had thought his was too small last week?

  Seth longed for his quiet office. Books and mussels. Heck, though the science was more his thing than the classes, he’d even prefer a lecture hall full of college kids right now.

  At eight am.

  On a Monday morning.

  But since he knew nothing was going to save him at this point, he put the phone to his ear. “Now, what’s the problem?”

  “There is no problem I can’t handle.”

  Desi murmured the phrase over and over. It was her own private mantra.

  She was going to kill Seth Rutherford, PH.D.

  Pretty Hideously Dead. That’s what the initials should stand for. A slow, agonizing death, that’s what he was in for when she found him.

  He taught science, for pity’s sake. Surely he could follow simple instructions? She’s written everything down for him. And yet, as she walked into the reception hall, the candles weren’t lit, there were no hors d’oeuvres set out, and there was no Seth pointing guests to their tables.

  There was no Seth period.

  She watched people mill around, reading nameplates, looking for their seats.

  As she rushed into action making sure the caterer started serving, that the bartender was ready, that somebody lit the candles, and that people found their tables, she thought of new, horrible ways to torture the fink.

  She would—

  “You’re here!” Seth, the man doomed to die a painful death as soon as this reception was over, said as he rushed into the room. His tux rumpled and smeared with dirt. There was something in his hair.

  Not only was he late, he was a mess. She was going to have to pay extra to get that tux cleaned.

  “I’m here, but where were you?” Desi said sharply and then continued without allowing him time to answer. “Nothing’s ready. The bridal party will be here in a few minutes and nothing’s done. I called you today because I was desperate, I needed you and—”

  He interrupted her. “You also needed a cake.”

  “Pardon?”

  “The cake wasn’t here. The bakery’s van broke down on I-90 and the tow truck was coming, so I shot out of here to get it. If I hadn’t, it would have been too late by the time the bakery driver arranged other transportation. You’d have had a reception and no cake.”

  “Oh, Seth, I take back every wicked thing I thought about you. I’m so sorry. I—”

  “Uh, don’t be too thankful just yet. It’s a big cake. There were five boxes, and then there was all the little fountain and column stuff, and, well you saw my new car, it’s only got two seats and not much of a trunk.”

  “So you don’t have it?”

  “Oh, the cake is fine. It’s the bride and groom. I was driving uncharacteristically fast and I’m afraid they’re gone.”

  “The bride and groom?” He’d hit her newly married couple? Desi turned ready to rush to the parking lot and save her clients, but Seth caught her.

  “Not the real bride and groom. The cake bride and groom. They’re somewhere on Old French Road. I filled up the trunk with the columns and the fountain. Then I took down the top of the car, and stacked everything. I sort of belted all the boxes in place in the passenger seat, and they were pretty secure.

  “Generally I drive slow, but I knew that you needed me here, so I was going a little faster than I should have. So when this truck in front of me slammed on his brakes, so did I. The bride and groom were riding on the top of the boxes and they flew out of the car. I spent fifteen minutes looking for them, but it was on the part of Old French with the steep incline, and I think they’re in the creek and half way to Lake Erie by now. I’m sorry.”

  “I—”

  Whatever she was going to say was cut short by the videographer interrupting them. “Desi, where’s Phil? I need his help with this,” he held his camcorder out. “It’s—”

  “Listen, Desi, you’ve got your hands full. I’ll figure out putting the cake together. Trust me,” Seth said.

  Certain that she was going to regret it later, Desi gave a small nod. “Okay, but don’t ruin it.”

  Chapter Four

  Ruined.

  Well and truly wrecked.

  Her career was over.

  Desi Smith knew the truth when it stared her in the face. In one short evening Seth Rutherford had completely obliterated her business reputation. She’d never get another job. She’d be forced to work for someone else.

  Another thought occurred to her.

  It was horrible.

  If her parents found out that Engaging Styles had failed, they’d renew their efforts to get her into a real job. A professional job. A nine-to-five job.

  She hiccupped again.

  She’d been hiccupping ever since Seth had destroyed her business. Not just ordinary hiccups.

  No.

  Hers were body-wracking hiccups. Everyone dealt with stress in their own way. Though given her druthers, she’d never have chosen this particular way. She dealt with stress by hiccupping.

  Last time she’d got them this bad she’d just stood up to her parents—finally refusing to go to grad school. She’d told them about her dream job and they hadn’t taken it well. The resulting confrontation had led to hiccups that were so bad she’d had to go to the doctor’s for a shot.

  When she got them like this they could last for days. The shots cleared them up, but she hated shots. Thinking about getting one made her even more nervous and she let out a long string of hiccups.

  “I’m so sorry about everything,” Seth said for at least the hundredth time.

  He’d insisted on driving her to her apartment and Desi hadn’t been able to put together enough words between the hiccupping to argue.

  Hiccup, was her only response. Her diaphragm was already aching.

  “At least the cake turned out nice,” he said. “Well, until I sat in it.”

  Nice? Seth had obviously not seen many elaborate tiered wedding cakes. His finished product resembled The Leaning Tower of Pisa.

  Or closer to the point, a Salvador Dali painting. Surreal and leaning every which way.

  Hiccup.

  “And the bride and groom. They were pure inspiration,” he said, trying to cheer her up.

  “They were—hiccup—Barbie dolls, Seth.”

  “But getting the bride’s niece to lend them to me, well, it cost me five bucks. And then she said I ruined them at the end so that was another thirty dollars to replace them. Though I don’t think frosting ruins dolls. And I’m going to check and see if Barbie’s really cost that much. I think I got suckered.”

  “I know you—hiccup—were trying to—hiccup—help and the cake—hiccup—problems weren’t really your fault—hiccup—and the dolls were sort of cute. But …” she let the sentence trail off and had a loud series of hiccups.

  “I know, I know, I shouldn’t have lectured that lady about sexual harassment, but come on, Desi, she pinched my butt.”

  “That’s not what I—hiccup—was talking about either—hiccup—and you know it.” She hiccupped and said, “I’m ruined. Done in—hiccup—by a mad-scientist and a wedding cake.”

  Seth glanced her way and the wind caught his blond hair, messing it slightly. He gave her an apologetic look. �
��You’re right. I know what you’re talking about. It’s just that there it was, that garter, flying right at me, and the last thing in the world I want is another wedding, so I backed away, hoping that kid with the glasses would catch it and I forgot about the cake.”

  “No one else—hiccup—ever will. I’m ruined.”

  She’d worked so hard for the last few years. She’d defied her parents and followed her dream. Engaging Styles was that dream and because of Seth it had now turned into a nightmare.

  “Desi, I don’t think it’s the end of your career. After all, you didn’t sit in the wedding cake. I did.”

  “You were working for me.” She hiccupped again. “I should have driven myself home. I’m perfectly—

  hiccup—capable—hiccup—of—hiccup—driving.”

  “Desi, you’d end up in an accident. You’re upset and it’s my fault,” he said and then added, “Plus I owed you a ride. Friends don’t let friends drive drunk or while under the influence of near-terminal-hiccups.”

  He pulled up to the address she’d given him and parked in the lot. “Come on, let me take you in.”

  “I can—hiccup—get in myself.”

  He opened his door, walked around the car and opened hers. “Still, I’m going to see you to your door. It’s dark and I’m not letting you go up yourself.”

  He offered her his hand, but Desi ignored it. “Fine.”

  They took the elevator to the second floor and Desi morosely led Seth to her apartment.

  “Desi,” came a cry. And Desi didn’t have to be a scientist to know that Murphy’s Law was being applied in full force tonight.

  Her parents were here. Standing in the hall. Waiting.

  Oh, no, they found out about the date with Stanley … or rather the date she’d broken with him.

  Stanley, an up-and-coming banker who her parents thought would be perfect for her.

  And he would be … if she was looking for a man who couldn’t pass a mirror without preening. A man who left a fifteen percent-to-the-penny tip for the waiter at their one-and-only dinner. She just couldn’t face going out with him again and after breaking a second date, she’d dodged his calls, but obviously couldn’t dodge her parents, since they were standing right outside her apartment door.