Brown-Eyed Girl (Travis Family #4)(33)

Gently, Jack laid his fingers over her mouth. “Not in public,” he cautioned. As he felt the shape of her grin, he promptly removed his hand and kissed her.

“I’ve eaten chicken-fried steak for breakfast,” Joe volunteered. “With two fried eggs on the side.”

Jack gave him an approving glance. “That there’s a real man,” he told Ella.

“That there is a cardiovascular tragedy waiting to happen,” she retorted, making her husband grin.

Later, as Ella and I walked to the restroom together, I remarked, “There is no shortage of testosterone at that table.”

Ella smiled. “It’s the way they were raised. The oldest brother, Gage, is just the same. But don’t worry: Despite all the brawn and bluster, Travis men are pretty enlightened.” With a rueful grin, she added, “By Texas standards.”

“So Jack helps with things like household chores and changing the diapers?”

“Oh, absolutely. But there are certain man-rules, like opening the door, or holding your chair, that are never going to change. And since Joe is obviously interested in you, I’ll tell you right now, don’t bother trying to split the check when he takes you out. He’d sooner commit hari-kari with a steak knife.”

“I don’t know if Joe and I will go out,” I said cautiously. “It’s probably better if we don’t.”

“I hope you do. He’s a terrific guy.”

We exited the tent and walked along the flowered pathway to the house. “Would you say he’s a player?” I asked. “A heartbreaker?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way.” After a pause, Ella said frankly, “Women like Joe, and Joe likes women, so… yes, there have been one or two who wanted more of a commitment than he was willing to give. Let’s face it, a lot of women would snap him up right away just because of the Travis name.”

“I’m not one of them.”

“I’m sure that’s one of the reasons Joe likes you.” We stopped beside an outdoor steel sculpture made of thick plates almost fifteen feet high, its edges curved and shaped in organic lines. Ella’s voice lowered. “The Travises set quite a store by normalcy. They want to be part of the real world, experience it like everyone else, which is practically impossible at their level. Most of all they want to be treated like regular people.”

“Ella… they’re not regular people. I don’t care how much chicken-fried steak they eat, they’re just not. The money, the name, the looks… nothing about them is normal, no matter how they pretend otherwise.”

“They’re not pretending,” Ella said thoughtfully, “it’s more like… a value they want to live by. Trying to erase the distance between themselves and other people. They keep their egos in check, and they try to be honest with themselves.” She shrugged and smiled. “I figure they deserve some credit for making the effort… don’t you?”

Ten

At nine o’clock on Monday morning, Ryan Chase arrived at the Crosslin Event Design studio, determined to do or say whatever was necessary to “solve the problem” and move on. Except that a wedding wasn’t supposed be a problem, it was supposed to be joyful. A union of two people who wanted to spend their lives together.

However, at this point in my career, I had learned that some weddings didn’t match the fairy-tale template. So the goal in this case was to figure out what was possible. What might be appropriate for a bridegroom who viewed his wedding as an obligation.

I welcomed Ryan into the studio and introduced him to Sofia, who would be the only other person present at the meeting. I had told everyone else, including Steven, not to come in until noon. As we showed Ryan around, he seemed pleasantly surprised by the studio, looking closely at our renovations, the rows of factory windows left intact. “I like this place,” he said. “I thought everything was going to be pink.”

Sofia and I laughed.

“We have to live here,” I said, “so it had to be comfortable and not too fussy. And on occasion, we do plan events other than weddings.”

“It’s nice that you kept some of the industrial elements.” Ryan glanced up at a couple of exposed pipes overhead. “I do a lot of restoration projects. Old courthouses, theaters, and museums. I like buildings with character.”

We sat on the blue sofa, while a video monitor played a photo stream from past weddings that the studio had planned and coordinated. “Ryan,” I began carefully, “I’ve given a lot of thought to your circumstances. Every wedding comes with a certain amount of built-in stress. But when you add the stress of Bethany’s pregnancy, and the drama Hollis brings to the table, it’s going to be…”

“A nightmare?” he supplied.

“I was going to say ‘challenging,’” I said wryly. “Have you considered talking Bethany into an elopement? Because we could arrange something simple and romantic, and I think it would be much easier on you.”

Sofia shot me a startled glance. I knew she was wondering why I would risk the loss of a huge opportunity for our business. But I had to bring up the idea of eloping – I couldn’t have lived with myself otherwise.

Ryan shook his head. “There’s no way Bethany would ever go for that. She told me she’s been dreaming her whole life about a big wedding.” He relaxed a little, his blue eyes warming several degrees. “But it was nice of you to mention it. Thanks for taking my feelings into consideration.” This was said without a trace of self-pity, only a matter-of-fact friendliness.