Always the Designer, Never the Bride (17 page)

"I know. Kat tells me all the time how disgusting they are, and Carly always wants to tell me what's really in them because, apparently if I knew, I would never eat one again. Although that's doubtful. I mean, is there really anything like a couple of dogs with mustard, ketchup, and relish?"

"Mustard
and
ketchup?" He grimaced at the thought.

"You can't have one without the other," she replied. "Are you telling me I'm going to have to educate you on the crafting of the perfect dog?"

"Why don't we grab a couple of plates," he suggested. "You dog it up, and I'll make a play for the burgers."

"No dog?" she asked, seemingly appalled. "Whatever floats your bun, I guess."

J. R. followed Audrey to the buffet tables where they loaded up plates with potato salad, baked beans, and cole slaw. Audrey came more alive at every serving tray.

"Carb heaven," she commented as she dropped a spoonful of macaroni salad to her plate. "Wouldn't this party just drive Carly right up the wall?"

"Would it?" he asked, smearing mayonnaise on both sides of a hamburger bun.

"Haven't you ever noticed how she is about food? Every meal has to have all the right colors."

"Colors." He thought back, trying to remember that quirky detail about Devon's bride.

"Yes. A dinner plate cannot just be green or brown. It has to have other colors too. It's the color chart of nutrition."

"Well, your plate looks very colorful," J. R. observed. "I would think she'd be quite proud." Audrey's laugh was lyrical. "The ketchup is red, the mustard is yellow, and the relish—"

"Green," she finished for him. "I guess you're right. I'm far more Bob Harper than I thought."

"Who's Bob Harper?"

"Oh, he's the hot trainer on
The Biggest Loser
who goes around yelling at people for not eating right."

He didn't mention that the clarification didn't help. J. R. just nodded tentatively and reached for a few rings of Bermuda onions. Then with a second thought about eating onions, he changed course and grabbed a couple of thick, red tomato slices instead.

J. R. snagged two bottles of root beer from a large tub of ice and followed Audrey along a flagstone path toward an unoccupied picnic table on the lawn. Once seated, and just as they started to dig into their feasts, Audrey's attention pushed right over J. R.'s shoulder. The golden flecks in her brown eyes shimmered, and she blinked one time slowly.

"Is that Ben Colson over there, talking to Russell?"

J. R. turned around. "It looks like him."

"I have every CD he's ever recorded. He's amazing."

"Yeah, he's all right," he commented, but just as he lifted his burger to his open mouth, Audrey smacked the table and he paused.

"I can live with the denial of the hot dog, but Ben Colson isn't just all right, young man. That's like . . . like saying your Harley is just a
ride!"

He glared at her playfully. "I'll forgive you for that once. Don't say it again."

Audrey grinned. "Do you think he's going to perform?"

"If I know Russell . . . and I do . . . he'll have company."

She giggled as she took her first bite from the hot dog extravaganza she'd concocted.

"Ohhhhh," she groaned. "This is so good!"

J. R. watched her closely for a minute as she devoured her prey. "You do enjoy your frankfurters," he observed, and Audrey laughed.

"When I was a kid, my granny let me pick any meal I wanted on my birthday. Every year, it was a comfort food carbfest. Hot dogs, baked beans, macaroni and cheese, and fried onion rings."

"Really." He found it hard to believe she looked as good as she did, eating like that.

"Oh, yeah. I should have weighed two hundred pounds by the twelfth grade, right? Me and food," she said, pressing two fingers together, "we're
likethis.
Which probably explains why I'm such a fan of
The Biggest Loser,
right?"

Again, the reference dropped to the ground.

"But Granny was smart, and she trained me well. Everything in moderation and all that. Not that I liked it or anything. I'd rather eat hot dogs and junk food every day for every meal, but that wasn't going to happen in my granny's house. Oh, and she used to watch this TV show where some lady sat in a chair doing exercises for old people, and Granny would make me do them with her." Audrey shook her head at the memory and brushed a wave of ice-blonde hair away from her face. "She was such a trip, my granny. She—" Stopping herself, a blush of embarrassment stained her face. "And why am I telling you all of this?"

"Because I'm interested?" he asked with a smile.

Before he could say another word to encourage her, an elderly woman appeared out of nowhere and sat down next to him. She wore a cherubic smile and a mint green party dress with wrist-length gloves that looked like something straight out of a southern cotillion.

After a moment, Audrey greeted her tentatively. "Hello."

"Hello, dear."

The woman smoothed her gloves before pressing the full skirt of her dress and smiling at J. R. "Is this your beau?" she asked Audrey.

"Um, no. He's just a friend."

"Whatever you say, dear."

"J. R. Hunt," he introduced himself. "And this is Audrey Regan."

"It's an honor to meet you both," she told them sincerely.

J. R. shifted. "Are you one of Jackson's sisters?"

"No, this is Emma's aunt," Audrey pointed out, and the woman tilted her head as she looked at her.

"Have we met?"

"At the hotel."

"Oh." After a moment's thought, she gazed at J. R. "Jackson is my nephew. He married my darling Emma Rae."

Married. They're not married.

"It was a beautiful ceremony," she expounded. "Her father walked her down the aisle, and Jackson looked so handsome in top hat and tails. Emma Rae wore my Parisian lace veil, and the air was thick with the scent of magnolias. There were doves in golden cages, and afterward we all dined on cornish game."

J. R. and Audrey exchanged flickering smiles.

Live birds in cages and dead ones on their plates. It sounds dreadful.

"Waiters in tuxedos served the most delightful sweet tea in crystal glasses," she continued. "I wonder if they have any of that here today."

"Why don't we go and find out?" J. R. suggested.

"Could we?"

"Of course," he said, and he pushed up to his feet and offered her his arm.

When the sound of a harp drew their attention, Audrey shrugged and pulled her cell phone from the outside compartment of her purse.

"I'll be back," J. R. told her as she answered it. Then he smiled at the woman on his arm and asked her, "Ready?"

She nodded sweetly, and he escorted her up the path and toward the veranda.

"I see you've met Aunt Sophie," Emma exclaimed as she crossed before them, and she planted a kiss on the woman's cheek.

"She's quite charming," he told her with a smile.

"Look who you're telling," Emma said with a chuckle. "I'm her biggest fan."

"Do you know J. R., Emma Rae?"

"I do, Aunt Soph. He's become a friend to all of us at The Tanglewood."

"Your aunt has been telling me about your wedding," J. R. disclosed.

"Oh." Emma chuckled. "The one on the beach in Savannah? Or the one where Jackson wore a top hat?"

"The latter."

"Oh, it was such a lovely day, wasn't it, Emma Rae?"

"Indeed," she replied, tossing J. R. a toothy grin.

Jackson's Favorite
Fudge Cashew Brownies

Preheat oven to 350 degrees

2 sticks butter

2 cups granulated sugar

1 cup cocoa powder

4 eggs

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 ¼ cups all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon baking powder

½ cup halved cashews, plus additional for garnish

Melt butter and pour into large bowl.

Add sugar and cocoa, mixing with wooden spoon

or rubber spatula.

Add eggs and vanilla, continuing to stir.

In separate bowl, sift flour, salt, and baking powder together;

then add dry ingredients to butter-sugar-cocoa mixture;

stir in ½ cup cashews.

Mix well, and pour mixture into a greased 9"x 13"

baking pan.

Bake for approximately 30 minutes.

After cooling, cut into small squares.

Layer two squares and fill with cocoa or chocolate icing,

then frost top and garnish with additional cashew halves.

8

H
ow did you get this number?"

"Kim Renfroe gave it to me. I hope you don't mind."

Audrey didn't know how to respond to that. Why on earth would Weston LaMont want her number anyway?

"I was hoping we might take a meeting, if you're interested," he told her, and Audrey squinted at the torn label on her bottle of root beer for a long moment.

"About what, exactly?"

"I felt badly about the way things went with Kim. I think she pitted us against one another, and I—"

"Oh, you know, there's no need, really. I appreciate your call, but it's just business. I get that."

"That's very gracious. I hope you'll harbor no hard feelings."

His words dispelled any residual mystery about whether Kim had made a final decision yet. Audrey clearly heard the dregs of her design career as they tumbled to the ground.

"You are a brilliant designer," she told him, her eyes closed, rubbing her temple. "I'm honored to have been considered alongside you."

"Well, now you're just twisting the knife," he said with a chuckle. "At the very least, I think you should slam the phone down on me right this minute."

Don't tempt me.

"Don't be silly," she said instead. "The business of design is very personal. And for a bride, it's that much more so. She has to weed through us until she finds just the right fit. I just wasn't it for Kim. I wish you both the best, Mr. LaMont."

"Wes."

"Wes," she repeated. "Thank you so much for calling."

As she disconnected the call, Audrey was torn between her excitement that a designer with the reputation of Weston LaMont had just casually requested that she call him Wes . . . and the utter despair of reality. She'd gone into her association with Kim Renfroe knowing full well that her financial life depended on it. She'd been at the end of her rope, and now Audrey felt the whoosh of the air passing by as the frayed rope released her and she plumeted to the ground.

"It's over." She hadn't meant to say it aloud.

I'm sunk.

She felt a little dazed as she pushed to her feet and picked up her purse. With her free hand, she grabbed the soiled plates and bottles from the table. She carried them across the lawn to the veranda, deposited them in a tall trash can, and kept on walking, right into the house.

"The powder room?" she asked a random party guest, and the woman pointed at a hallway. She proceeded toward it without breaking stride. "Thank you."

The locked door told her that the bathroom was occupied, so she leaned against the wall across from it. Staring straight ahead, she controlled her breathing into steady ins and outs.

In with the good air, out with the—

The door across from her opened, and Audrey forced a smile to her face.

The woman gave her a good-natured grin in return and teased, "Next?"

"Thank you. That would be me."

Audrey stepped inside, closed the door behind her, and flicked the lock. Crossing quickly to the toilet, she pushed down the lid and descended into a full-on cry before she even had time to sit down. She placed her hands over her face and sobbed into them, careful to choke back the audio that threatened to let everyone beyond the door know that some lunatic from the party had locked herself in the bathroom so she could get her hysteria on.

A few minutes later, a light knock on the door jolted her. She sat erect, her lips parted and her eyes wide.