Stacking the Deck (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 2)(47)
“It’s happening again!” Lydia squealed. “Quick! Look! Who’s in the pot?” Her silver bangles tinkled madly as she sifted through the pile of photos on the table. “Oh! The mystery photos! I’ll bet the happy couple is hiding in the mystery photos! This is so exciting!”
Claire sniffed. “I can’t believe you still believe that hoo-ha about a royal flush in hearts meaning somebody in the pot will get married.”
“It has happened twice!” Lydia nearly shouted. “That’s more than a trend! What are the odds of a royal flush to begin with? Now three times—?”
“And you think the ‘happy couple’ is in the mystery photos?”
Lydia’s palms hovered over the face-down pictures like a seer at her crystal ball. “I can feel it. They’re in there!”
Claire popped another cheese ball in her mouth. “Let’s see them then.”
Lydia flipped over a photo of a man smiling into the camera, a bottle of wine tipping toward his glass. “I saw it in a travel brochure for a vineyard in California. Doesn’t it look romantic? I’ve always wanted to visit wine country. I wonder if he’s single.”
Claire rolled her eyes. “You and your male models. If they weren’t so easy on the eyes, I’d call you on it. June?”
June flipped over a picture of newborn Lily in a bouncy seat. “Isn’t she gorgeous? I just can’t get over how precious she is! Although, she’s unlikely to be married anytime soon.”
Ruth leaned forward at their shared granddaughter. “I hadn’t seen that one. I gave her that nightgown, you know…” She flipped a picture of her grandson, laughing—and soaked—in a black tux after he and the rest of the wedding party had jumped into the lake. “Carter made such a handsome groomsman, don’t you think? It’s one of my favorites from the wedding. I don’t know why. He has his mother’s smile, I suppose.”
“And he’s single!” Lydia nearly swooned.
Claire looked at each of her friends, then with great fanfare flipped over her picture of…
“A cat?” Lydia cried, clearly crestfallen. “Why would you make your mystery photo a cat? This won’t do at all!”
“I thought he was cute in a rough and tumble sort of way. He has character. Liz found him eating out of her garbage can—”
“What’s wrong with its eye?” Ruth cut in, peering at the photo.
“Battle scar,” Claire said. She looked down at the tuxedoed groomsman and her grandniece’s cat, both appearing to smile mischievously at the camera. “You know, I think you’re right, Ruth. She’d probably be good for Carter, now that I think about it.”
“The pirate cat?” June asked, aghast.
“No, Elizabeth. The cat’s owner. If we believe the cards…” She snorted again—a most unladylike habit—and grabbed another cheese ball. “Although I do have it on good authority from Ellen who’s friends with Sandi who works at Meg’s Super Styles that Liz and Carter are attending a school dance tonight, so you never know. Maybe the cards know something after all.”
Ruth was still puzzling out the trail of gossip when Lydia squealed again. “Ooh! It is happening again! I don’t care now that you won the pot, Claire. I’m so excited! Another wedding! I could kiss these cards! Or do you think it’s us? Do you think we have the power to predict? My great-great-great grandmother on my father’s side was said to have been a matchmaker…” She stared at her coral-tipped fingers in wonder.
Claire washed down her cheese ball with a healthy swallow of gin and tonic. “All right, Ruth. I know I won, but I don’t have anything to talk about, and Lydia here will have a conniption if we put it off any longer, so let’s see those photos. If this grandkid of yours is going to marry my grandniece I want a good look at him…”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
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SKIMMING HER FINGERS over her skirt, Liz glanced at her watch. 7:02. Carter should be here any minute. She bit her lip and tried to decide if she needed more lip tint or mascara.
Truthfully, she hardly recognized herself. Meg was as good as Trish had said, adding soft highlights and lowlights that brightened and added depth to her hair without making it look fake. And, the new, long layers and soft, side-swept bangs made the most of her natural waves.
Liz resisted the urge to tug the hem of her skirt down and practiced smiling casually at herself in the mirror. After feeding Eddie and refilling his water for the second time, then reorganizing the items in the small black clutch Trish had lent her, Liz checked her watch. 7:26. She put her palm over her belly. It fluttered and flipped like the night of Jenny Whitmeyer’s party all over again.
Except this time, it wasn’t raining.
Liz pursed her lips and checked her watch a third time. 7:26. Still. That was okay, right? If they weren’t there right at the dot of seven, wasn’t that considered fashionable? It wasn’t a tax deadline or anything.
She wouldn’t call him. Calling him would seem desperate, and really, Carter wasn’t even thirty minutes late yet. There was bound to be some explanation.
As if on cue, a deep rumble sounded from the driveway. Liz peered through the front window. And froze.
Dear God in heaven.