Perfectly Charming (A Morning Glory Novel Book 2) (19 page)

Ryan nodded.

A mailman spotted Sal across the square and made a beeline for both men.

“Uh-oh, here comes Fred,” Sal said, sounding a bit weary.

“Fred?”

“I thought you were from here? Fred Odom. Can’t get away from the son of a gun once he gets to going. Better hurry. Once I’m inside the restaurant, he won’t bother us. Step it up,” Sal said, lengthening his stride and digging keys out of his pocket.

They’d just reached the locked door of Sal’s New York Pizza when the chatty mailman Ryan didn’t remember appeared, calling out, “Sal. Wait a minute. I have something to tell you.”

“Shit,” Sal whispered under his breath. Turning, he donned a big smile. “Yo, Mr. Odom, how’s things?”

“Good, good.” The mailman wiped his sweaty, bald head, noticing Ryan. “Oh, hey, I’m Fred Odom. You must be a friend of Sal’s here for the wedding.”

“No. I’m Ryan Reyes, and actually I used to—”

“Oh, of course, Martha’s boy. The one who discovered stem cells! Well, I’ll be.”

“No, I didn’t discover stem cells, merely a bio—”

“Same thing,” Fred interrupted, giving a wave before wiping his bald head again. Then he smoothed down his bristly mustache. “I hear you came home with the Culpepper girl. Her mama told Stewart Wilson over at the Piggly Wiggly that you two have been seeing each other. Poor girl, after what Benton Mason did to her.”

Ryan looked at Sal, who now stood behind Fred. Sal made talking hands . . . and a face that said,
Sorry we weren’t fast enough, bud
.

“It’s good running into you, Fred, but I have to help Sal hang something,” Ryan said, lying like a dog. He’d forgotten how bad gossip could be in a small town, especially when there was a mailman who delivered juicy tidbits along with his mail. He pulled at the neck of his T-shirt again. Stifling.

“Sal, I came to tell you that while I was delivering mail over at the B and B—that’s bed-and-breakfast, you know,” Fred said, pausing so Sal could acknowledge the explanation. Sal nodded. “Well, anyway, while I was there, your mama and the rest of your family arrived. Thought you’d want to know. Your mama’s a right nice woman, and she looks a lot like you. Go on and get back to work. Everyone in Morning Glory is looking forward to sampling some real, legitimate New York pizza pie.”

“Great. Thanks,” Sal said, slapping the man on the back and darting into the now open restaurant door like squirrel escaping traffic. “Later.”

With a nod to Fred, Ryan followed, and for the sixteenth time that day wondered why in the hell he’d agreed to come back to Morning Glory.

Chapter Fourteen

The hot-pink dress was too loose on Jess, but Rosemary whipped it off her and had the material under the foot of her sewing machine before Jess could refasten her bra.

Jess had spent Friday morning with her parents, touring the renovation they were doing on their 1920s Queen Anne house with its whimsical gingerbread trim and two turrets. Jess’s bedroom had been in one of the turrets, and she’d curl up in the window seat reading
Sweet Valley High
books along with all Anne Rice’s vampire novels. A fanciful house for a not-so-fanciful girl . . . on the surface. But Lacy had been right. Beneath Jess’s no-nonsense demeanor beat the heart of a romantic. Her parents had been thrilled to see her. Her mother in particular had been ecstatic to see Ryan. She’d insisted on taking him to lunch at the Feedhouse, a barbecue place that had opened up near Lake Powhatan. Ryan had received more than a number of double takes. Jess would be willing to bet the town was already humming about the hunky former nerd . . . and how he’d shown up with poor Jess Culpepper. The thought of everyone gossiping about them made her uncomfortable, especially after last night’s dinner with Ryan’s parents. Ryan had relayed that Fred Odom, nosiest mailman in the whole state, had said something about her and the way Benton had dumped her. Yeah, they’d stolen some of Rosemary and Sal’s spotlight. At least until the Elvis impersonator showed up.

“I can’t believe how much weight you lost last year,” Rosemary mumbled, pins clamped between her lips. “It’s so not fair.”

“Well, marry Sal and then in six years have him come in and tell you all this was a big mistake and see how your appetite is then,” Jess said, wrapping up in the robe Rosemary kept in the dressing room of Parsley and Sage, her fabric and sewing shop. Often Rosemary did alterations or sewed costumes for the local high school productions, so she had a small tri-mirrored platform for fittings in the back of the shop. Several quilted pillows for her new venture with a New York City designer sat in piles along the mirrors.

“Point made,” she said, narrowing her eyes as she took in the waist of the satin dress.

“But I’ve put on a few pounds since I hooked up with Ryan.”

“Need plenty of nourishment, do you?” Rosemary asked, looking up and shooting her a half grin. The other side of her mouth still held the pins.

“Not just that, though that is really good, but he makes me happy,” Jess said, sinking into the lone stuffed chair in the corner. Up front Lorraine worked the store as she hummed a Beatles tune. Eden had slipped off to give her mama the medicine she needed before the girls got dressed for the rehearsal that evening. They’d spent the afternoon helping Rosemary prepare small gifts for the wedding guests and oohing and ahhing over the vintage wedding dress Mimi had given to Rosemary. Her friend’s older next-door neighbor had once lived in Chicago as the mistress to a railroad baron. When she’d married Ed Griggs and moved to Morning Glory, she’d stored all her fabulous clothing in her rambling antebellum house. The woman had no children, so she treated Rosemary as a granddaughter. Which meant Rosemary had played in Chanel and Dior as a teen.

The day had been nice, but still Jess felt so unsettled. She’d thought she’d be happy being back in Morning Glory, but instead she longed to hear the ocean crash on the beach and sip wine with Ryan while he gave her a foot rub. So odd to feel discomfort in the place she’d always thought she belonged. But everything felt so different.

“So I see,” Rosemary said, turning the dress in order to take in the other side of the bodice. “And what about Benton?”

“What about him?”

“Are you prepared to see him again?”

“I don’t want to, because I still want to kick him in the balls. But I suppose I must, so . . .”

“Are you still in love with him?”

“No.”

Rosemary took her foot off the sewing machine pedal and looked up. Taking the pins from her mouth, she popped them into the giant tomato pincushion that had once been her nana’s. “You said that very quickly.”

“Because it’s true.”

“I’m not sure I could ever stop loving Sal.” Rosemary pressed her hands against her worktable. Jess didn’t like the way her friend looked at her. Like she knew so much about love. Sure, Rosemary couldn’t imagine anything going sour with Sal. She stood on the cusp of the best two days of her life, deeply and profoundly in love with her New Yorker. But Jess had once been there. The day she’d walked down the aisle to Benton, she could never imagine a life different from waking up to him every morning, having his children, sitting out in their rockers as the grandkids hid Easter eggs. At that moment on her daddy’s arm, not loving Benton was inconceivable.

But now, she knew, as her granny often said, “there’s many a slip between the cup and the lip.”

“Part of me will always love Benton. He was my first love, and we had a lot of good times. But sometimes life doesn’t give us what we think we should have. Coming to terms with the anger over not getting what I thought I deserved has been half the battle. A relationship gives not just love but a sense of well-being. I missed that as much as I missed Benton.”

Rosemary sighed. “I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through. I mean, I know. I was there, but when I think about this past year, I can’t grasp being you, Jess.”

“I’m stronger now. I am. And I feel like I’m truly over it. I’ll admit, I sorta begged Ryan to come with me. Somehow having him here with me when I face all that I was makes me feel more solid. Does that make sense?”

Rosemary nodded, flipping the dress right side out again. “It does. And I can see a change in you. Your eyes are clearer, and you smile a lot. That’s a good thing.”

“I can’t help it. Ryan makes me smile. He’s so funny and charming. He gets me and still gives me plenty of breathing room.”

“Do you think you could fall in love with him?” Rosemary asked, holding the dress out to Jess.

Love.
It was the word floating around above her. The last time she’d been in love it had been easy. Benton had always been there, filling up the spaces. He was a given in her life. But she’d chosen Ryan. And he’d chosen her. He had a lot of women to pick from—they swarmed him like honeybees—but he’d picked her. Something about having free choice in choosing to be with someone and not falling into something because it was comfortable seemed more legitimate. As for love, she wasn’t sure. Maybe her definition of love had changed. Maybe love wasn’t so much about the future as it was the now. Perhaps love wasn’t as hard as everyone made it out to be.

Did she love Ryan?

That was the question.

“I think I could,” she said finally.

Rosemary lifted an eyebrow. “You think?”

“I don’t know. Love isn’t like the chicken pox. You don’t get symptoms that tell you what it is,” Jess said, unwinding the robe and shimmying into the dress. The pink looked good against her tan, and thanks to the Florida sun, her brown hair had nice natural honey highlights.

“Yeah, you do,” Rosemary said, eyeing her critically as she zipped the dress. “You can’t think about anyone else. All you do is obsess about the way he smiles. The way he touches you. His kiss. The tight ass. The—”

“TMI,” Jess said, holding up a hand and laughing.

“Okay, okay. But, hey, the dress looks perfect, and you look like one hot mama,” Rosemary said, twisting one of Jess’s curls. “Maybe it’s not love if you have to think about it too much.”

“It’s
not
love. I don’t want it to be love. Yeah, I do all those things you think about, hard ass included—but this is infatuation. It’s a rebound. You don’t fall in love with your rebound, no matter how awesome he is,” Jess said, turning to admire the cut of the dress in the mirror. Cap sleeves, scooped neck, pleated cummerbund that nipped her waist before flaring out in a bell. Rosemary had bought fluffy slips to hold the dress form. It fell to tea length, as Rosemary deemed appropriate for her late-afternoon wedding.

“There aren’t any rules, Jess,” Rosemary said, adjusting the hem. “I know that disappoints a cut-and-dried girl like you. Love doesn’t find you when you want it to. Nope, it slams into you and holds you hostage. Stop trying to put rules into place.”

“You sound like Lacy,” Jess snorted, unzipping the bridesmaid’s dress.

Rosemary’s eyes met her in the mirror. “Good.”

Friday night at the Iron Bull meant a gal had to leave her sandals at home. Tons of cowboys and good ol’ southern boys crowded into the local watering hole looking for cold beer and hot women. Which meant a lot of boots. Jess elected to wear a pair of pumps with a short dress that worked equally well for rehearsal dinner and navigating the nightlife at the honky-tonk.

“Looks hopping,” Jess remarked, offering Big Jerry her hand for the stamp that would glow under the black light. “Let’s get our crunk on.”

“Does anybody say that anymore?” Eden laughed.

“Probably not. I’m not up on hip jargon. Don’t be throwing shade on me,” Jess said, wagging her head in a snappy way. Her hoop earrings hit her neck because she’d worn her hair up, letting tendrils fall sexily from the topknot.

“You’re so weird,” Rosemary said, her gaze searching the room, no doubt for Sal. The guys, Ryan included, had left earlier while the girls went back to change. Or rather, Rosemary went back to change. The bride-to-be wore a maxi dress she’d bought in SoHo and looked suitably glowing.

If things felt weird being back in Morning Glory, being with her girls felt right as rain. Jess had enjoyed being with Eden and Rosemary. Even the weird food Ryan’s parents cooked hadn’t dampened her spirits. She and Ryan had squeezed into the double bed in the guest bedroom, snuggled under the quilt his grandmother had made and had gratifying, quiet sex. Ryan had said he felt very naughty doing it under his parents’ roof, but something about the subterfuge made it exciting. She’d had to cover her own mouth more than once as he whispered all his high school fantasies about what he wanted to do to her in her ear. They’d woken late, Ryan spooning her, and promptly had more whispery morning sex. She’d emerged from her morning shower feeling pretty damn good.

Even now, as her gaze snagged on him, leaning against the rough bar, talking to Sal, her heart got warm and gooey. He looked particularly yummy, too. He’d bought some plain-front khakis and wore a turquoise gingham shirt that made his eyes brighter against his tan. Next to Sal’s rough-around-the-edges sexiness, Ryan looked together and polished. He made Jess long to mess him up a little.

“Jess.”

She stiffened at the familiar voice. But there was no avoiding him. She turned to find Benton standing behind her, holding a beer. He’d grown a goatee, something she’d always hated on him, and smiled at her as if she were a long-lost friend and not the woman he’d divorced. “Benton.”

“I figured I’d see you here,” he said, his gaze dropping to take in her dress. She’d worn the dress she’d bought the first week in Pensacola, the one that was a bit short and showed off her legs. She could see the appreciation in Benton’s eyes, which made her angry. He didn’t have the right to appreciate her assets any more. “You look good.”

“Thank you.” She didn’t say anything more. Wasn’t making it easy for him. That was the problem—she’d always made life easier for Benton. She filled in awkward conversations, gave him way too many passes, and buttered his toast each morning. Jess had let Benton get away with being a lazy-assed husband who glommed everything she had and gave little in return.

“How is Florida?”

“Very nice. I’m really enjoying the work again,” she said, catching Eden’s eye. Both Rosemary and Eden had stopped in their progress toward the rest of the wedding party. “I have to go.”

Benton nodded, and she noted he needed a haircut. His hair curled at the neckline, and his cowlick stuck up. His shirt wasn’t ironed, either, something she’d always done for him. He’d lost weight but still looked like the man she’d once loved. “It was good seeing you, Jess. Did you get my flowers?”

She nodded. “Mrs. Giambi in Room 323 really enjoyed them.”

Jess walked away, even after seeing the flash of pain in Benton’s eyes.
That’s right, buddy. I didn’t keep your fucking flowers celebrating the tender innocence of our budding love in the ninth grade. Not when you brought me more fucking flowers put together by the woman you were screwing to tell me you didn’t love me anymore. You don’t get to bring me flowers anymore, asshole.