Happy Ever After
Page 19
“Of course I understand. But I also think you’re very stressed just now, again understandably. I bet Richie is, too. Well, Bonnie, your mother isn’t marrying Richie, and though I know she loves him, she doesn’t know him the way you do. I think, if Richie thought of it as anything other than a silly, blowing-off-steam male tradition, he’d never have told you. But he did, and the way he did tells me he thinks of it as a joke. His brother’s just doing what brothers often do.”
She closed her eyes a moment, listened as she thumbed out a Tums. “Yes, I do understand, but you’re not marrying Richie’s brother. I’m sure none of you, really, want something as unimportant as this to cause any sort of a family rift.”
She listened again. “Yes. Mmm-hmm. Does Richie love you? Mmm-hmm. Has he given you any reason to doubt that, any reason not to trust him? What I think isn’t important. It’s what you think, and what you feel. But since you asked, I think I’d laugh it off, and I’d go have a wonderful time with my friends before I spent the next week getting ready to marry the man I’m just crazy about.”
While she wound it up, he finished the arrangement, then stepped back, hands tucked in his back pockets to study the result.
“That’s nicely done,” Parker commented.
“It’s not bad. So . . . problem?”
“Nothing major.”
“The groom’s brother’s hired a stripper for the bachelor party. She projected,” Malcolm added, “really well.”
“I guess she did.Yes, and the bride hit flashpoint, aided by the fury and dire warnings of her mother—who really doesn’t think anyone’s good enough for her baby girl, and will, I predict, always find fault with Richie.”
“She wanted you to back her up.”
“Naturally.”
“And you soothed and smoothed while managing to turn it back on her. Nice wrangling,Tex.”
“If you’re mature enough to marry, you ought to be mature enough to stop crying to Mommy every time something upsets you. And if she doesn’t trust her perfectly affable, devoted, and honest-to-a-fault fiancé not to jump on a stripper a week before the wedding, she shouldn’t marry him.”
“That’s not what you said to her.”
“Because she’s the client.” She caught herself.“And I shouldn’t be saying it to you.”
“Hey, what’s said in the—What is this room?”
“Butler’s pantry.”
“No shit?” He let out a half laugh as he scanned the space again. “Okay, what’s said in the butler’s pantry stays in the butler’s pantry.” That got a smile out of her, a faint one. “You calmed her down.”
“For now anyway. They’re moving to Atlanta—he’s been transferred—in a couple months.The mother is supremely pissed over that, and it’s the very best thing that could happen. They’ve got a good chance, I think, if she gets out from under Mommy’s thumb.”
“It tensed you up.”
She shrugged and picked up the vase. “I’ll get over it.”
“I gotta ask you something.”
She glanced back at him as they walked out. “What?”
“Do you own a pair of jeans?”
“Of course I own a pair of jeans.”
“How about a leather jacket, with or without designer label.”
“Your interest in my wardrobe is very strange.” She set the vase on the counter, then handed Malcolm a notepad and pen. “You should write her a little note, so she’ll see it with the flowers when she gets home.”
“Okay, while I’m doing that, go put on the jeans and jacket.”
“Excuse me?”
“I love the way you say that.You’ll enjoy the ride more out of that suit.”
“I like this suit, and I’m not going for a ride.”
“I like how you look in the suit, but you’ll be more comfortable on the bike in jeans.” He tucked a thumb in his front pocket, leaned a hip against the counter. “It’s a nice night. Neither of us have anything booked. So, we’ll take a ride, clear your head. I’ll buy you dinner.”
“I’m not getting back on that motorcycle.”
“You’re not afraid of the bike, or of having dinner with me.”
“It’s not a matter of fear but preference.”
He smiled. “Prove it. Here’s the deal. You take the ride, have dinner—casual, public place—I bring you home. If you don’t have fun, or at least enjoy the change of pace, I back off. All the way.”
This time the look was regal, and just a little amused. “I don’t need to negotiate to get you to back off, Malcolm.”
“You’re right about that.” He waited a beat while their eyes stayed locked. “So why haven’t you backed me off ?”
Good question, she thought. She might as well figure out the answer. “A ride, a casual meal.That’s it.”
“That’s the deal.”
“I’ll go change.”
She did something for him, Malcolm thought as he scrawled You still owe me a dance on the notepad. He wasn’t altogether sure what it was she did, but it was something.
He wanted his hands on her, no question, but Parker Brown wasn’t the jump in, roll around, then roll off type. Added to that, he valued his friendship with her brother.
He walked out of the kitchen, wandered the first floor.
If he considered Parker an easy bang, and acted on it, he’d fully expect Del to kick his ass, or try to. Reverse positions, he’d do exactly the same. And that was one of the reasons he valued the friendship.
He poked into what he figured they called—due to the big-ass piano—the music room. The misty watercolors shimmering on the walls were undoubtedly originals, and nice enough. But the collection of instruments in a fancy glass case caught his interest.
Guitar, violin, various flutes—maybe a piccolo—a concertina, a drum, harmonica, what he thought was a dulcimer, a cowbell, bongos, and a few things he couldn’t readily identify.
If it hadn’t been locked, he doubted he’d have resisted the urge to open the cabinet and try out a couple of instruments, just to see how they sounded, to see how they worked.
And, he supposed, that was why he didn’t consider Parker a casual bang. He had this urge to open her up, see how she worked.
She closed her eyes a moment, listened as she thumbed out a Tums. “Yes, I do understand, but you’re not marrying Richie’s brother. I’m sure none of you, really, want something as unimportant as this to cause any sort of a family rift.”
She listened again. “Yes. Mmm-hmm. Does Richie love you? Mmm-hmm. Has he given you any reason to doubt that, any reason not to trust him? What I think isn’t important. It’s what you think, and what you feel. But since you asked, I think I’d laugh it off, and I’d go have a wonderful time with my friends before I spent the next week getting ready to marry the man I’m just crazy about.”
While she wound it up, he finished the arrangement, then stepped back, hands tucked in his back pockets to study the result.
“That’s nicely done,” Parker commented.
“It’s not bad. So . . . problem?”
“Nothing major.”
“The groom’s brother’s hired a stripper for the bachelor party. She projected,” Malcolm added, “really well.”
“I guess she did.Yes, and the bride hit flashpoint, aided by the fury and dire warnings of her mother—who really doesn’t think anyone’s good enough for her baby girl, and will, I predict, always find fault with Richie.”
“She wanted you to back her up.”
“Naturally.”
“And you soothed and smoothed while managing to turn it back on her. Nice wrangling,Tex.”
“If you’re mature enough to marry, you ought to be mature enough to stop crying to Mommy every time something upsets you. And if she doesn’t trust her perfectly affable, devoted, and honest-to-a-fault fiancé not to jump on a stripper a week before the wedding, she shouldn’t marry him.”
“That’s not what you said to her.”
“Because she’s the client.” She caught herself.“And I shouldn’t be saying it to you.”
“Hey, what’s said in the—What is this room?”
“Butler’s pantry.”
“No shit?” He let out a half laugh as he scanned the space again. “Okay, what’s said in the butler’s pantry stays in the butler’s pantry.” That got a smile out of her, a faint one. “You calmed her down.”
“For now anyway. They’re moving to Atlanta—he’s been transferred—in a couple months.The mother is supremely pissed over that, and it’s the very best thing that could happen. They’ve got a good chance, I think, if she gets out from under Mommy’s thumb.”
“It tensed you up.”
She shrugged and picked up the vase. “I’ll get over it.”
“I gotta ask you something.”
She glanced back at him as they walked out. “What?”
“Do you own a pair of jeans?”
“Of course I own a pair of jeans.”
“How about a leather jacket, with or without designer label.”
“Your interest in my wardrobe is very strange.” She set the vase on the counter, then handed Malcolm a notepad and pen. “You should write her a little note, so she’ll see it with the flowers when she gets home.”
“Okay, while I’m doing that, go put on the jeans and jacket.”
“Excuse me?”
“I love the way you say that.You’ll enjoy the ride more out of that suit.”
“I like this suit, and I’m not going for a ride.”
“I like how you look in the suit, but you’ll be more comfortable on the bike in jeans.” He tucked a thumb in his front pocket, leaned a hip against the counter. “It’s a nice night. Neither of us have anything booked. So, we’ll take a ride, clear your head. I’ll buy you dinner.”
“I’m not getting back on that motorcycle.”
“You’re not afraid of the bike, or of having dinner with me.”
“It’s not a matter of fear but preference.”
He smiled. “Prove it. Here’s the deal. You take the ride, have dinner—casual, public place—I bring you home. If you don’t have fun, or at least enjoy the change of pace, I back off. All the way.”
This time the look was regal, and just a little amused. “I don’t need to negotiate to get you to back off, Malcolm.”
“You’re right about that.” He waited a beat while their eyes stayed locked. “So why haven’t you backed me off ?”
Good question, she thought. She might as well figure out the answer. “A ride, a casual meal.That’s it.”
“That’s the deal.”
“I’ll go change.”
She did something for him, Malcolm thought as he scrawled You still owe me a dance on the notepad. He wasn’t altogether sure what it was she did, but it was something.
He wanted his hands on her, no question, but Parker Brown wasn’t the jump in, roll around, then roll off type. Added to that, he valued his friendship with her brother.
He walked out of the kitchen, wandered the first floor.
If he considered Parker an easy bang, and acted on it, he’d fully expect Del to kick his ass, or try to. Reverse positions, he’d do exactly the same. And that was one of the reasons he valued the friendship.
He poked into what he figured they called—due to the big-ass piano—the music room. The misty watercolors shimmering on the walls were undoubtedly originals, and nice enough. But the collection of instruments in a fancy glass case caught his interest.
Guitar, violin, various flutes—maybe a piccolo—a concertina, a drum, harmonica, what he thought was a dulcimer, a cowbell, bongos, and a few things he couldn’t readily identify.
If it hadn’t been locked, he doubted he’d have resisted the urge to open the cabinet and try out a couple of instruments, just to see how they sounded, to see how they worked.
And, he supposed, that was why he didn’t consider Parker a casual bang. He had this urge to open her up, see how she worked.
