Somebody to Love (Gideon's Cove #3)(77)
Tomorrow, he’d be helping Dewey set up for the wedding, basically transporting the bar over to the town green, serving drinks, cleaning up. Parker would be doing the flowers and whatnot.
It occurred to James that the last time he’d been at a wedding with Parker, they’d ended up in bed.
A guy had to wonder if he might get that lucky again.
As he lay there on Dewey’s lumpy couch, James felt the beginning of a smile. Weddings had always been good to him.
Maybe there was reason to hope tomorrow’s would be, too.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
PARKER WOKE UP at five—the curse of a parent. Nicky had always been an early-to-bed, early-to-rise kind of kid. He could sleep through fireworks, thunderstorms and alien invasions, but he was bright eyed and bushy tailed long before the sun came up.
Well, the one small benefit of having him with Lucy and Ethan for three weeks was that at least she didn’t have to answer his endless stream of questions before having two cups of coffee. She stretched, and her little dog did the same.
“Sleep well?” Parker whispered, petting the dog’s silky head. She’d have to make sure Nicky understood how shy Beauty was, as the little guy tended to charge toward whatever caught his fancy. “You’ll be sweet to Nicky, right?” Parker asked the dog, and Beauty’s tail gave a slight wag.
Today was the wedding, and she had a ton to do. She got out of bed, pulled on jeans and a Joe’s Diner sweatshirt—because prior to this month, she hadn’t owned a sweatshirt, for heaven’s sake.
James wasn’t on the couch; Parker figured he must’ve opted for his uncle’s place instead.
Or maybe he’d found some cute woman who didn’t have so many hang-ups and suspicions. That was a definite possibility. Sure, he’d kissed her the other night. And she’d told him not to do it again.
You really need to figure out what you want, Spike advised sagely.
“Shush,” she told him.
When the coffee was finished brewing, Parker filled a travel mug, clipped a leash on Beauty and got into her car. She drove through the silent town, past the lovely brick town hall, the more modern and uglier police station, where she’d been a guest. Across the diner was a paper banner—Congratulations, Maggie and Malone!
The couple was getting married by a justice of the peace right on the town green, in the little gazebo next to the flagpole and war memorial. A potluck reception—Parker had never been to one of those—would be held under the white tent. The tables and chairs were already there, Parker could see, though not yet set up.
They might not have much in the way of a flower budget, and Maggie was definitely a casual bride, but there was something really touching about the two of them—lovely, outgoing Maggie and the quiet, honorable Malone—and Parker wanted to make their day beautiful. Going to all those wildly expensive, over-the-top weddings of her cousins and family friends and college mates…well. She knew something about floral arrangements.
A short way out of town she pulled off the road. A field rich with lupine was just past the scrubby pines that lined the road. Parker had never seen the cone-shaped wildflowers in bloom before, but last week, she’d nearly driven off the road at first glimpse.
She pulled over, got a few buckets out of the back of the Volvo and started cutting.
* * *
BY THREE O’CLOCK that afternoon, Parker was finally satisfied. Everything looked…well, stunning; she really had to give herself credit here.
The gazebo was twined with garlands of ivy and hydrangea blossoms, most of which she’d, er, appropriated from a lush bank at the edge of the Pines property. Collier wasn’t around, but Parker figured that he wouldn’t mind—or even notice. On the wide steps leading into the gazebo were two huge arrangements of pine, lupine, twigs and more ivy and phlox, a riot of color and deep, dark green. Parker had filled eight tin buckets with smaller versions of the arrangements and set them out at intervals along the makeshift aisle.
Inside the tent, she’d strung up fairy lights; Vin had had some in a closet, and last week, Parker had emptied a going-out-of-business craft store of its cache. All the supports and poles were lit up like the old Tavern on the Green in Central Park and twined with more blossoms of hydrangea, wild roses, baby’s breath and lupine. For the centerpieces, Rolly had helped her drill holes into split white birch logs, into which Parker had put tall white candles, then set that into a bed of pine, roses and fern.
It was magical and lush and uniquely Maine, and she couldn’t wait to see the look on Maggie’s face.
Lavinia was delivering the bouquets and boutonnieres to the bride and groom, so Parker was free to go. She took one more smug look around the tent. Time to go home, shower and change. Good thing Lucy had convinced her to bring a really nice dress in case of a fling.
And speaking of flings and weddings, it was hard not to remember Esme’s big day, when Parker had ended up with James. He’d been little more than a stranger back then.
This time, she had reason to like him.
The thought made her knees wobble a bit.
* * *
LIKE MOST MEN, James wasn’t crazy about most weddings. Ceremonies were mostly the same, give or take. Brides looked pretty. Food was mediocre and took too long to be served. The expense always seemed a little grotesque. Single women tended to eye him the way a starving coyote might eye a plump, blind baby bunny, then make their predictable and unsubtle advances. In fact, that’s how he and Leah had met. A New Year’s Eve wedding. She’d been cute, she eyed him, she kept positioning herself closer and closer, till she could accidentally bump into him and apologize, with plenty of hand laying and hair tossing.