Into the Storm (Signal Bend #3)(10)
Show wasn’t fit for company. He just wanted to go back to the clubhouse and drink his mind quiet.
“Thanks, but I’m gonna head out.” He started to pull away, but Isaac held on.
“Show. Come on. Come inside and see Gia. Lilli’s had the kid strapped to her chest all day. Come give her a break, at least. That little miss loves her Uncle Show.”
That little miss was a month old and had no idea yet who Show was. But he looked over at Isaac’s house, the windows alight, the house full of what Show no longer had. His mind rebelled as his heart stretched out to reach for it. “Okay.” With Isaac’s arm still across his shoulders, he went in and shared his friend’s family as well as his meal.
oOo
“Show. Show.”
Show opened his eyes to see Lilli leaning over him, smiling. Confused at first, he lifted his head and got his bearings. He was sitting on their couch, Gia sleeping on his chest. They’d had supper—that pasta thing had been really good, whatever it was—and then he’d given Gia a bottle while Lilli and Isaac cleaned up supper. They’d all sat in the living room, talking, mainly about the town, the way things were changing, and the even bigger changes on the horizon, with the movie thing maybe happening soon. Show had not brought up his trip to Arkansas, and they had known not to. Lilli and Isaac had argued lightheartedly about Signal Bend—and specifically Isaac—going Hollywood. Show had found the easy rapport in their banter bittersweet. He didn’t remember much beyond that.
Lilli reached out and put her hands around her daughter. “I’m gonna take her,” she whispered, “see if I can’t get her to nurse again before I try to sleep. You can stay, though. I brought you out a couple of pillows and a blanket. If you pull the chair over close to the couch, you can make a decent bed, I think. Isaac’s done it a couple of times.”
He sat up and let Lilli take Gia. “No. I’ll go. Sorry I feel asleep.”
“Not a problem at all. Isaac’s already asleep in bed. Really, Show. Stay. I’m worried about you.”
He smiled. He loved Lilli. She was some kind of woman. “You’re just an equal opportunity mother now, ain’t ya?”
“What can I say? A switch got flipped. Take your boots off and see if you can get comfortable on that broken-down old couch. I’ll make a big breakfast in the morning.” Gia fussed in her arms, and Lilli leaned down and pressed her lips to Show’s forehead. “Okay?”
The thought of a breakfast as good as that supper eased his aching chest a little. He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” He watched her head down the hall, then took off his boots and his beanie, pulled the chair up to the couch, and settled in for the night. The old couch wasn’t as comfortable as his bed in the clubhouse, but he slept better. Their big black and white cat, whose name he could never remember—something short, though, like Kip or Tim or something—settled in on his chest, where Gia had just been, and Show let him.
A borrowed family felt better than none at all.
CHAPTER FOUR
Shannon had found Katie, the bride, and her mother, Maureen, to be among the most flexible and cooperative clients she’d ever worked with. Brides had very clear and specific ideas about how their wedding should be—and they should; it was their “special day.” But very often those clear and specific ideas went head to head with reality and lost. Working with disappointed brides—or, more challenging, working with brides who demanded not to be disappointed—had always been one of the more…interesting facets of Shannon’s career. She had become adept at turning problems into promises, making brides who insisted that a hundred white doves be released as they exited their limousine, obstinately refusing to acknowledge the budget in which their parents were working (or the reality of the biological tendencies of birds), realize that an archway wrapped in roses and a red carpet coming up from the drive, and giving guests white rose petals to throw, was much more romantic and photogenic, and making them think it was their idea.
But Katie and Maureen, their confidence crippled by the near-disaster of losing their first venue because Katie’s dad, Maureen’s ex-husband, had bounced a check, were amenable to almost any suggestion Shannon made. When Katie expressed a desire, she did it as a request, tendered shyly, as if she were terrified Shannon would be offended and throw them out, leaving Katie and her beloved to get married on the streets.
Alerted to the money trouble—or just a jerk ex-husband—Shannon had also been direct and firm about the need for full payment up front, and Maureen had not balked. It all added up to Shannon being able to plan a wedding in every way she considered to be tasteful and right, taking into consideration the things Katie wanted most in her day. She’d never had so much fun at work. Katie was a fan of pastels, which wasn’t entirely appropriate for a fall wedding, but they’d made it work, with a palette of muted salmon, soft gold, and sage green. Katie’s dress was vintage—authentically vintage, an heirloom from her great-grandmother and naturally, beautifully aged to a pale cream—and the men would be in dark navy suits.
Shannon was bringing a photographer friend in from Tulsa, because she wanted good photos of this wedding for the brochure and website she was designing.
Assuming good weather, they’d be married in the Craftsman-style gazebo in the garden, with seats for just shy of fifty guests arranged in the aisles from all four directions around the gazebo. If the weather worked against them, they’d be married in the dining room, and then the staff would do an efficiently planned and carefully rehearsed flip of the room to set it up for the reception while the guests had cocktails in the parlor.