Wish Upon a Wedding (24 page)

I
nstant regret washed over Susan when she realized she'd underestimated the weight of the box of mason jars clutched in her arms. The thick glass clanked together as she stepped over the curb and onto the sidewalk. She eyed the front door of her shop, praying she'd make it before dropping her precious cargo to the ground. Setting the box down wasn't an option because she feared she'd tip forward too fast, break the jars, and face-plant onto the concrete.

“Oh, boy . . .” Panting, she continued what was supposed to be forward motion, but when she took another careful step, her hefty purse slipped down her puffy coat sleeve, sending her off-balance, causing a staggering dance sideways. A brisk breeze whipped her long dark hair across her face, making her progress even more difficult. Slightly disoriented, she tried to right herself, but the box started to slip down her arms. Panic welled up in her throat, halting just behind her gritted teeth. Blinded by her curtain of hair, she backpedaled and came up against a big wall of something solid.

“Whoa there!” said a deep voice next to her ear. Long
arms wrapped around her from behind, keeping her from falling and the box from sliding to the sidewalk.

“Oh my goodness! Sorry!”

“It's okay. I've got you,” he assured her.

“No . . . really . . . I'm okay now.” Well she hoped so, anyway. Blowing at her hair, she tried to look over her shoulder, but she was trapped between him and the box. “You can let go.”

“Can you hold the box? Sounds like something breakable.”

“Yes,” she said, although she had serious doubts. “Maybe . . .” She squirmed a little bit and the mason jars clanged together. “The weight of my purse threw me off-balance.”

“Susan, please stand still and let me help. I'm guessing you're heading into the shop?” he asked, and his voice seemed to vibrate through her body.

She nodded. “That's the plan.”

“Let's get you in there.” The smooth Southern drawl sounded familiar but, then again, most of the men in Cricket Creek had a bit of an accent, so he could be anyone, most likely someone she knew. Oh wait—he knew her name. So many people knew her from her shop, and she hated when she couldn't place a name to a face.

She tried to look over her shoulder again. “Who . . .” she began but the box dipped sideways and she decided right that moment she really needed to make it to the front door without breaking the mason jars needed for her Christmas cookie mix. Casual conversation could wait. “I need to scoot my purse back up on my shoulder.”

“Do you think you can hold the box long enough for me to scoot around in front of you to grab the bottom?”

“Oh . . . I don't know.” She winced. “My arms are already protesting.” Note to self: Join a gym.

“Well then, just move forward, and I'll keep holding on from behind.”

“It's kind of hard because the wind blew my hair in
my face and I can't exactly see where I'm going,” she explained.

“You have a lot of hair,” her hero said with a low chuckle. “I'd brush it from your face, but I'm afraid to let go of the box.”

Susan nodded, thinking she should get the unruly curls cut short. “I should head next door to the salon and get my problem fixed,” she grumbled.

“Your boyfriend might not like that,” he said, carefully moving her forward.

“I don't have one,” she muttered, wondering why she'd just divulged that embarrassing information, but she wasn't exactly thinking straight at the moment. Just then, the wind kicked up again and she could smell his spicy aftershave with a hint of outdoorsy pine.

“We're almost there,” he said near her ear. “Okay, Susan, I'm going to take a lightning-quick step to the right and grab the box.”

“I'm afraid it will fall!”

“Don't you trust me, Susan Quinn?” he asked, but before she could react he suddenly had the big box in his arms. “See?” he asked.

“Not yet,” she said, getting another chuckle from him. It took another moment to realize that her arms were suddenly free.

“You can brush your hair back now, Suzy Q.”

Oh no. . . . With a thumping heart, Susan suddenly had a pretty good idea whom the sexy voice belonged to, and she wanted the sidewalk to open up and suck her beneath the concrete like quicksand. Inhaling a deep breath, she brushed the curls from her face and looked into the startling sky blue eyes of Danny Mayfield, the last person in Cricket Creek whom she would want to come to her rescue. “Hello, D-Danny.”
Oh great, now I'm going to going to stutter,
she thought and nearly groaned.
Ain't life grand?

“Hi, Susan,” Danny said cheerfully and bestowed
upon her his killer smile. He nodded down at the box that he easily held in his strong arms. “What's in here?”

“M-mason. J-jars.” Feeling heat in her cheeks, she lowered her gaze and dug inside her purse for her keys. She rarely stuttered anymore.
This is so embarrassing,
she thought with another inner groan.
Where in the hell are my keys?

“If you open the door, I'll take them inside for you and anything else you have in your SUV that you want brought in the shop.”

“Oh . . . you don't have to do . . . that.” So happy to have kept the stutter at bay this time, she looked up from her key search and actually smiled.

“My mother would have my hide for not doing the gentlemanly thing,” Danny said with an easy grin and lowered the box to the tiled floor of the alcove, between two big display windows. “And I value my hide.”

Right. Just like back in high school,
she thought and nearly cringed. “It's okay. I'm used to lugging th-things inside.”

“Well, I'd love to see Rhyme and Reason, if you don't mind. My mom's birthday is coming up and she raves about the interesting stuff you have in your shop. You could help me pick something out for her.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, D-Danny. I'm not really open right now. I stay closed on Mondays to restock after the weekend.” Lowering her gaze to her purse, she frantically pushed past a pack of tissues, a tin of mints, a mini flashlight, and hand sanitizer. “My keys are playing hide-and-seek,” she said. “I don't want to keep you. I can get it from here. Oh, but thank you so m-much.” She glanced at him, not realizing how close they were. At just under six feet tall, Susan was used to towering over women and being eye to eye with men, but she had to look up at Danny. She'd forgotten how tall he was, and it made her feel feminine instead of gangly. “Okay, keys, this isn't funny anymore. Oh hey, there's my phone that I couldn't find.”

Danny chuckled. “You're funny.”

“I get that a lot. Problem is that I'm not trying to be funny,” Susan said, and he laughed again. She lifted a corkscrew from her purse. “You know, just in case I need to uncork a bottle of wine on a moment's notice. S-sorry—you can get going. This could take a while.”

Danny shrugged his wide shoulders. “I'm in no hurry. I was just going to grab lunch at the deli next door. I'm obsessed with Damn Good Sandwich,” he said calmly while her heart raced.

“Ham Good Sandwich. City council made him change the
damn
part.”

“I know, but I'm a rebel and John Clark does make a damn good sandwich, so I still call it that.”

“Oh yes, the food there is amazing. Hard to resist the aroma of bread baking. I'll l-let you get back to your lunch,” she said in a rush.

“Have you had lunch? I'll be happy to get something for you.” Danny smiled. “Or you can join me. He has a few tables inside. My treat.”

Lunch with Danny Mayfield? “Oh . . . n-no,” Susan said, forgetting for a moment what she was looking for in her mess of a purse.

“You sure?”

Susan nodded firmly. “But thank you for the offer.” She picked up another hint of his aftershave and had an insane urge to reach over and touch the dark stubble shadowing the bottom half of his handsome face. This was the closest she'd been to Danny since their prom date back in high school and her reaction to him had been just as instantaneous. He'd been a cute teenager, but he'd matured into a very sexy man, whom she'd done a very good job of avoiding for the past ten years, not an easy task in a small town.

“Did you find your keys?”

“Keys? Oh . . .” Susan scooped her hand around in her purse. “Here they are!” She lifted her Tinker Bell key chain and jangled it in triumph.

“How could you miss that big thing?” Danny chuckled and then gave her a high five, which she promptly missed. He laughed, thinking she'd missed on purpose, and she decided she'd let him think so.

“Gotcha,” Susan said, hoping she didn't sound as nervous as she felt.

“You did,” he said as he picked up the box.

Susan opened the heavy door and flicked the lights on, illuminating the main showroom. The calming scent of cinnamon and vanilla filled her lungs, and she glanced at Danny to see his reaction to her eclectic array of handmade gifts and repurposed items. She simply loved her store, and if she won the lottery tomorrow, she'd keep Rhyme and Reason open just for fun.

“Wow, Susan, this is really cool,” Danny said, eyeing a display of old silverware made into wind chimes. He put the box down. “No wonder my mother loves to shop here.” He walked over and touched one of the chimes, making the silverware tinkle. “Do you mind if I have a look around? I'm really impressed.”

“Thanks.” Susan felt a warm rush of pride. “Go ahead.”

Danny picked up a colorful rug from a stack and looked at it. “Sweet. Mom would love something like this.”

“Made from old T-shirts.”

“Resourceful.” He picked up another one. “Did you make them?”

“Most of them. My mom made a few too. They're easy to do.”

Danny nodded and put the rug back in the stack. “I have plenty of old T-shirts I could donate to the cause. How about socks? I have a million of just one.”

Susan grinned. “Socks are repurposing gold. Puppets, holiday snowmen, pincushions, pet toys . . . I have a display over against the wall called Sock It to Me.”

Danny shook his head. “This is really amazing.”

Susan felt another rush of pride. “I get such satisfaction out of finding new ways to use old things—especially
if they are going to be thrown away.” She pointed to a colorful display of candles in various shapes and sizes. “Those were all molded from pieces of broken crayons,” she explained with a smile.

“Smart and useful.” He seemed duly impressed.

“And see those bowls over there?”

Danny nodded. “Oh wow, I can see that they're made from vinyl record albums.”

“Yes, but I only use ones that are too scratched to play. I collect vinyl. There's just something soothing about listening to music on a turntable,” she said with a sigh.

“Yeah, I agree. My sister Mattie's husband got me interested in records. You should see Garret's collection. It will blow your mind, especially on his state-of-the-art sound system.”

“I'd like that,” she said without thinking, but her heart thumped when he nodded.

“Great, I'll be glad to take you, Susan. Oh hey, if you'd like to sit in on a recording session at My Way Records, I can arrange that too. Jeff Greenfield is working on a new country album, and Garret is one of the studio musicians. He said that Jeff's wife, Cat, is going to do a couple of duets with him and she wrote several of the songs.”

“Oh, everyone in Cricket Creek is so proud of Jeff's success. I just love his old-school country voice. I was at the concert at Sully's when Jeff proposed to Cat.”

“I was too. I think the entire town was there. Well then, that settles it. You have to come.” Danny gave her another bone-melting smile and then pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “Give me your number, and I'll let you know when we can sit in on a recording session.”

“Oh . . . um . . .” At the mention of giving Danny Mayfield her number, reality smacked Susan in the face and she swallowed hard. “My schedule is rather full.”

“There will be a lot of sessions to choose from.” He looked at her and waited.

“Well . . .” What in the world was she doing getting cozy with the one person in Cricket Creek she'd wanted to avoid? How could she forget the embarrassing circumstances behind their one and only date? Feeling warm, she took off her puffy jacket, which had made her look like the Michelin Man. She seriously needed to shop for a cute winter jacket. And then she remembered she was wearing a green sweater embellished with Santa's sleigh and all nine reindeer, led by Rudolph with an actual blinking red nose. Susan's mother didn't get the whole ugly Christmas sweater concept and bought Susan a new addition to her growing collection at the beginning of each holiday season. Susan always accepted the new sweater with an “ooh” and “ah,” along with an inward groan, but she wouldn't hurt her mother's feelings for the world. “I wouldn't want to be an imposition.” She put her hand over Rudolph's nose.

“It wouldn't be an imposition,” Danny insisted, and looked at her expectantly.

Susan would bet there weren't many girls in Cricket Creek who wouldn't readily give their number to Danny Mayfield. But just like in high school, he was way out of her league and she knew he was just being kind and she had sort of initiated the invitation even though it hadn't been her intention. “Well, I appreciate the nice offer, but I'm really b-busy with the Christmas season upon us,” she said. “I have a lot of decorating to do before the parade and Christmas Walk.”

“Okay. I understand.” Danny slipped the slim phone back inside his jeans pocket, and his smile faltered. He pointed at the box of mason jars. “Where do you want the box?”