Chapter Five

I hovered a thumb over speed dial button one. Phoning Allan brought uncertainties in the end. We would get together, and oops, his cell would invariably intrude. Or he would say, “Gotta go,” and leave. Or both.

After hearing his “gotta go” phrase way too many times, I decided I didn’t like it. In fact, I loathed it. His words caused me to wonder where I stood with him. I certainly didn’t feel important—although he told me differently.

Knifings and shootings interspersing our brief encounters left me scared to death. Through all the gory stuff, somehow, I developed stronger emotions, most likely love. The flutterings in my heart were a good indicator. Right now, I couldn’t admit anything to anyone and especially, not to Allan. Yet, deep down, I knew:

—Stating I loved him would make me feel vulnerable.

—Mother would be happy with the love part.

Allan made it plain when he yelled through the door the other day. For him to stop by should be deemed major importance. However, the monkey on my back told me to make a move. With a long sigh, I punched one.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he said.

Caller ID could be scary. His voice sounded cinnamon bun sticky sweet and warm, too. “Howdy. Jenny said you made a pitstop?”

“Yep. Somebody dumped a huge problem on me, and you get to help.”

I transferred huge to an image of enlarged man-parts. I squeaked. “Problem? How, er, huge?”

He chuckled. “Not the problem you’re thinking of, sweetheart, although I am up—ha-ha—for whatever whenever.”

Strange how we shared brainwaves. And maybe a “huge problem.” However, why try? His cellphone would buzz, a version of coitus interruptus.

“What’s up?” I cringed. What a terrible line and not the best one to say right now.

Allan laughed and laughed.

The deep breath I blew ruffled a few eye-level hair strands. “Can’t we discuss your problem at tonight’s tango lesson? I’m dripping and shivering.”

“Fresh out of the tub? Which equals naked.”

Of course, he knew naked. All men claimed to like “naked.”

“How about phone sex?”

“Smartass.” I cradled the cellphone between my shoulder and cheek while I re-tucked the towel.

“Phone sex will have to wait, sweetheart. I’m not kidding. I have an enormous challenge. I don’t want to talk about it in front of Tracey and Stuart.”

I checked my hair in the mirror. Passable. “Okay. Enlighten me.”

“Stuart’s mom threw the rehearsal dinner my way, I mean, our way—”

“She what?” As I straightened, the phone slipped. I grappled for the device. “As the M-I-L, she plans the rehearsal.” Some people. “You’re a cop. Don't let his mom manipulate you. Handle it, big boy.” Aren’t I supportive?

“No kidding.” Allan blew a long sigh. “I don’t know what to do. I felt sorry for Mrs. Steems. I got to thinking—”

“I can’t wait to hear—”

“You can help me.”

I am so not believing her…and him. I set my makeup box on the vanity and touched up my eye shadow. “How’s that?”

“You work for a bridal salon.”

“What’s your point?” I’ve been on the bridal job for two days, and already the whole world thinks I know what I'm doing. Makeup done, I shuffled to my bedroom, where I dropped the towel. “I’m no freakin' expert.”

“You have lots of experience—”

“I do not—”

“You have lots of friends and cousins—”

“Only one is married—”

“And girls know what to do—”

“I do not—”

“You have a new job at the bridal shop—”

“So?”

He drew a breath.

I hit Speaker on the phone and dropped it on my bed. I pulled on my undies and bra then shoved my arms through sweater sleeves.

“Hattie? Are you there?” he said.

“I’m here.” Quickly, I stuck the device to my ear. “I didn’t help with Corrine’s wedding, and my job at Wonderland began the other day.”

“Way more experience than me. Please. You owe me.”

Turning on the Speaker feature again, I dropped the phone a second time. “I owe you a big fat nothing. Not. A. Thing.” I flopped across the end of the bed and pulled on my jeans, wiggling them into place. My belly flattened enough to enable me to zip them. After I jumped to my feet, I snatched the phone to my ear. “I paid my dues by baby-sitting Lucky.”

“In your dreams. Remember the engagement dinner you asked me to go to with you?”

“Same song, second verse, maestro.” Only crickets followed my statement. I was over the moon when Allan escorted me to the engagement dinner, a “dream come true” date. We danced intimately, kissed, and attempted almost wild, almost sex.

In my Book of Debts, I didn’t owe him one iota. However, I could hear my mother in my ear, trotting out a page from the “Right Thing to Do” lecture. What Stuart’s mom did broke all wedding protocol, and Allan doing his saintly thing told her he would help, which translated meant he desperately needed somebody else’s help.

“Fine. I’m in, but you owe me more, like a date to the”—I grasped on the first thing that popped in my head—“opera.”

“Opera? Since when do you like opera?”

I held back a grin. “Since yesterday.”

Allan blew a huge sigh. “Done.” He paused. “Opera?”

I terminated the call. Something-something-something smacked me wrong because he agreed too quickly. I didn’t want to go to the opera. He hated opera. I did, too. Nothing good would come out of this arrangement.

“Three minutes ’til,” Jenny yelled. “Step on it.”

“Allan will need lots and lots of help.” I shoved my feet into driving mocs and grabbed my trench coat. I revisited my conversation with him as Jenny and I dodged drops to her car. We scrambled into the four-door sedan, and I informed her what was what.

“Stuart’s mom is just like him.” Jenny checked her rearview mirror before changing lanes. “Always full of surprises.”

“Wait until I tell you about the opera.”

“Opera?” She canted her gaze toward me very briefly. “You hate the opera unless Bugs Bunny’s singing.”

Jenny knew me too well. Didn’t everybody think The Barber of Seville was the best opera evah?

****

After I entered the studio, I paused to note the expanse of the hardwood floor and the spicy dance music. I blew a disgusted snort. A couple of lessons to go—my ass. My shoulders drooped. Is it horrible to wish for a sprained ankle to get out of this mess?

My conscience didn’t agree, reiterating “for my sister, for my sister” in my head. I dumped my coat and handbag on a chair and turned to face the room with my arms crossed over my boobs.

Jenny did the same except for the “crossing the arms” part.

Ms. Yolanda paired us with the same partners, and of course, Allan did a repeat as mine.

Stuart and Tracey stood at the other end, holding hands, their gazes never leaving each other’s faces. An ecstasy bubble entombed this bride and groom-to-be.

Right now, I thought them rather self-centered to act so ooey-gooey. I swore to God their constant smiles were tattooed on them, and the overwhelming impulse to smack ’em consumed me.

Allan’s expression resembled the cat caught face-planting in a bowl full of cream. He took my hand and set his other to my waist.

I positioned mine in the designated spot on his shoulder. Heat inched into my palm and spread along my arm, my neck, and fanned across my cheeks.

With a smirk, he tugged me closer, letting our bellies rub together. So close, his irresistible pine scent teased my nose. Oh boy.

“Let’s see if we do better this time,” I gritted through clenched teeth.

His devouring-you grin made me twist my mouth. I rolled my eyes. “Stop leering like-like the Big Bad Wolf.”

“Just practicing my tango expression.” He relaxed his hold, and a soupçon of distance crept between our tummies. “The story implies the Big Bad Wolf lusted after Little Red Riding Hood.”

Great.

Ms. Yolanda clapped. “Anda one, anda two…”

Allan and I slid sideways. “I don’t have a red cape,” I said.

“Buy one. We can indulge in fantasy role-playing.”

Role-playing? “Whatever.” Two to three minutes of silence encompassed us as I concentrated on my steps. “How about we change the subject? Exactly what do you have in mind for the rehearsal dinner?”

“I’ve never planned a rehearsal dinner before. I’ve been to a few, but only as a member of the party-hearty gang.” He crinkled his nose. “Any suggestions?”

Arcing my arm over my head, I tilted back and studied the ceiling. Everyone believes the position looks romantic; however, one’s back could go wonky. On the fourth count, I dropped my arm and realigned. “What about a picnic at Sommerville Lake, you know, the spot—”

“On the hill with the best view of downtown. Nice. Very nice.” He stopped moving and took my hands. “What about rain?”

I bent my leg around his calf. “You could rent the Waterworks building on the other side of the lake. If the weatherman predicts sunny weather—yipee. The patio would be ideal. If rain comes, go inside. Or both, depending on how many guests you invite.”

“Class, lunge,” Miss Yolanda said.

I lunged to my left, and Allan did the same toward his right.

“Good. Straighten and lift your arms over your head,” said Ms. Yolanda. “Lunge again. Ladies, point your toes. Wrap your leg around his front calf. Whip away your leg. Wrap a second time.”

I looked at my foot. Toe pointed and wrapped my leg around his calf.

“Faster,” she said.

I whipped faster and kicked his ankle.

Allan hopped on one leg as he kneaded the sore spot on the other.

Ms. Yolanda glanced over her shoulder.

After he shook his leg loose, he straightened. “Back to the dinner… Chairs and tables inside and outside seem redundant.”

Redundant. Spoken like a reformed accountant. I pursed my lips. “How about setting bales of hay outside for a casual farmhouse feel? Festive and different. Can be recycled for mulch afterward.”

“Another good idea,” Allan said.

Reading Mom’s decorating magazines is paying off.

He flicked a glance at Stuart. “Your future brother-in-law doesn’t look like a farm boy.”

“Hardy har-har. Tracey likes the farmhouse look. Dress the bales in burlap. We—”

“We sounds hopeful.” Allan dropped his arms.

Sliding my arms to my side, I prayed to the one above to find the best response. I ticked off my left hand. “Checkered napkins, fried chicken, mashed potatoes, hot buttery biscuits with homemade strawberry jam. A good ol’ grandmotherly-style meal sounds yummy and not very expensive.”

Allan made a slow, easy smile. “Fried chicken’s one of my favorite foods.”

“See? Easy peasy, too. And a buffet is ideal.”

“Now, you’re talking.”

I inclined my head. “Is Stuart’s mom helping with the moola end?”

“Mrs. Steems said she would pay. She’s out of town and didn’t know what or how to host a rehearsal dinner. As if I would know.” He scrubbed his palms. “What about dessert?”

“I’m glad you mentioned dessert—my specialty.” I thumbed my chest. “How about Texas chocolate sheet cake topped with pecan fudge frosting or peach cobbler and vanilla bean ice cream. Or both. I’d eat both.”

“You do have a sweet tooth. I vote for you to make the food arrangements. I’ll reserve the Waterworks Building and buy—”

Golly, his white toothy grin makes him even more attractive.

“—the hay. I’ll order balloons in their wedding colors— By the way, what are their colors?”

“Colors?” I wrinkled my nose. “Balloons? What for?”

“All celebrations require balloons.” Allan’s face took on a solemn and serious expression. “Lots and lots of them.”

Which explained why every time he gave me a gift bag, he tied on a balloon.

“Tracey’s colors are blue-ish green or greenish-blue, like sea foam, and peony pink. I’ll work on an invitation list, too.” I rubbed the side of my nose. “Who do you want to ask to the reception besides the wedding party and family? You can invite out-of-towners, but you don’t have to.”

Allan pulled me tight into his arms. “Grandparents.”

“Anda one, anda two,” Ms. Yolanda instructed with dips and sways to urge the class.

I resumed my hold. “Perfect. We can send e-vites.”

“I’ll lick the stamps.”

I followed his lead. “Those don’t need stamps, silly. However, you do have a point about paper invitations. Very classy. I can get the guest list from my mom.”

“Can I lick the stamps?”

“No licking stamps anymore. Just stick-ons.” I tilted my head, wondering about his stamp fixation. “Are you being deliberately obtuse?”

“Maybe.”

I snorted. “You can address the invites, too.”

“Your handwriting’s better.”

Allan grazed his cheek along my jaw—on purpose. The rasp from his five o’clock shadow caused funny sensations to revolve in my chest. I relished the feeling and whispered, “You’re welcome.”

He drew back and stared long and hard.

The moment suspended everything as we stared into each other’s eyes. Had he said, “I love you?”

Ms. Yolanda’s clap broke my romantic notions. “Let’s go over the steps again, and then we’ll combine them with what you learned in lesson one. Look at your partner. Anda one, anda two…”

Jolted from our feelings, my partner and I took forward steps and paused. I extended my leg with pointy toes. Joining hands, we lifted our arms.

“Glorious, best man and maid of honor.” Ms. Yolanda bestowed on us a beaming smile. “Simply glorious.”

Glorious—my ass. Off to the side, I noted Jenny collapsing with laughter. I sure hope we don’t have to show off again so the others could study our moves.

I pushed a finger against my thudding temple. Does tango stuff give everyone a migraine?