Love Unrehearsed
Page 152
I felt indescribably hopeless about being told I was no longer welcome in my own pub.
And then a split second later, I felt pissed, too. All of this because of some misguided idiot and his stupid flowers.
Pete wrapped his arm over my shoulders.
“I know it’s hard to stomach, kiddo, but Marie’s right. You’re a public figure now.”
“That guy just admitted going through your trash, Taryn! For what? To see that we threw his flowers away? That’s messed up.
You saw how angry he got. I’d hate to imagine how things could have turned out if one of us wasn’t in here with you. You think Ry-an’s paranoid? He has every damn right to be. There are a lot of sick fucks walking this earth.”
As much as I hated to admit it, both of them were right. “So now what do I do?”
“Let Marie run the pub,” Pete suggested.
“She’d be perfect for managing the entire operation.”
“No,” Marie said adamantly. “Sorry, but Taryn knows my heart isn’t into it anymore. I have a new career on the horizon.” I knew Pete was just being diplomatic.
There was longing in that guy’s soft puppy dog eyes. “Pete, you’re running things now; how would you feel about making that permanent?”
Marie glanced at Pete, feeling him out.
“This something you want to do for the next few years? Taryn wouldn’t have to deal with it then.”
Pete nodded confidently. “Yes. I’d love to.
Tammy’s business just keeps growing. She’s making more money than I did working construction. And if we go ahead with serving food here with a lunch and dinner menu, this place will just become busier.” I was still pissed about the security system. “All capital expenditures get approved by me first. Clear?”
“Even the ones you don’t pay for?” Pete questioned.
My eyes narrowed. “Who paid for the system, Pete?”
“I think I hear sirens.” He walked off toward the window.
I had this overwhelming desire to tackle him and force him to speak. “Peter?”
“Who do you think?” he asked with a knowing glance. “They made me shake on it— both of them. And don’t even bother being pissed. You’ll have no argument once they find out what happened in here today. None.”
Damn it—Pete was right.
I zipped the back of Marie’s knee-length black dress, smoothing out the gorgeous satin, careful not to snag any of the soft tendrils that hung lose from her upswept hair. It had been almost three weeks since the pub incident, during which I used my newfound downtime to force a reconciliation between Tammy and Marie. Well, forced may be a bit of a stretch, but I most certainly had my say in the matter.
Their final argument started over moz-zarella sticks. Really. I still don’t know the full extent of their ridiculous fight because neither of them was making much sense, but both of their voices were so damn loud, I could hear them all the way upstairs.
I ended my conference call with our archi-tect and builder just to see what all of the ruckus was about. I knew Marie was still pissed about Tammy’s friend hooking up with Gary and the fact that Tammy did nothing to stop it, but after Tammy and Pete had their big showdown two weeks ago, Gary and Amy were out of the wedding, leaving them with absolutely no bridal party and Tammy in full bride-to-be meltdown.
I’d had enough of the insanity.
I was also wise enough to know that they were at each other’s throats because deep down they wanted the hostility to be out and over with. And the longer it lingered, the longer it festered.
But after thirty minutes and a whole lot of crazy accusations, I managed to get the two of them to hug.
The day before Pete and Tammy’s wedding, Ryan and Mike flew back to Seaport.
Come hell or high water, I was going to make sure my dear friend Pete married the woman who had captured his heart and that his woman would have a beautiful wedding to remember.
Marie and I stopped dead in our tracks in my living room when we took in the sights of Ryan and Mike dressed to the nines. Both were devastatingly handsome in their black tuxes and crimson neckties. They were standing near the front windows; the afternoon sun making them appear dreamlike.
“Oh my God,” Marie breathed out.
I knew exactly what she’d meant. All of that gorgeousness should be illegal because it was lethal.
“Mine,” I whispered, basking in the reality that Ryan was in fact, mine.
“I get the one on the left,” she muttered softly.
Marie and I had been given simple instructions: wear a black satin cocktail dress.
And then a split second later, I felt pissed, too. All of this because of some misguided idiot and his stupid flowers.
Pete wrapped his arm over my shoulders.
“I know it’s hard to stomach, kiddo, but Marie’s right. You’re a public figure now.”
“That guy just admitted going through your trash, Taryn! For what? To see that we threw his flowers away? That’s messed up.
You saw how angry he got. I’d hate to imagine how things could have turned out if one of us wasn’t in here with you. You think Ry-an’s paranoid? He has every damn right to be. There are a lot of sick fucks walking this earth.”
As much as I hated to admit it, both of them were right. “So now what do I do?”
“Let Marie run the pub,” Pete suggested.
“She’d be perfect for managing the entire operation.”
“No,” Marie said adamantly. “Sorry, but Taryn knows my heart isn’t into it anymore. I have a new career on the horizon.” I knew Pete was just being diplomatic.
There was longing in that guy’s soft puppy dog eyes. “Pete, you’re running things now; how would you feel about making that permanent?”
Marie glanced at Pete, feeling him out.
“This something you want to do for the next few years? Taryn wouldn’t have to deal with it then.”
Pete nodded confidently. “Yes. I’d love to.
Tammy’s business just keeps growing. She’s making more money than I did working construction. And if we go ahead with serving food here with a lunch and dinner menu, this place will just become busier.” I was still pissed about the security system. “All capital expenditures get approved by me first. Clear?”
“Even the ones you don’t pay for?” Pete questioned.
My eyes narrowed. “Who paid for the system, Pete?”
“I think I hear sirens.” He walked off toward the window.
I had this overwhelming desire to tackle him and force him to speak. “Peter?”
“Who do you think?” he asked with a knowing glance. “They made me shake on it— both of them. And don’t even bother being pissed. You’ll have no argument once they find out what happened in here today. None.”
Damn it—Pete was right.
I zipped the back of Marie’s knee-length black dress, smoothing out the gorgeous satin, careful not to snag any of the soft tendrils that hung lose from her upswept hair. It had been almost three weeks since the pub incident, during which I used my newfound downtime to force a reconciliation between Tammy and Marie. Well, forced may be a bit of a stretch, but I most certainly had my say in the matter.
Their final argument started over moz-zarella sticks. Really. I still don’t know the full extent of their ridiculous fight because neither of them was making much sense, but both of their voices were so damn loud, I could hear them all the way upstairs.
I ended my conference call with our archi-tect and builder just to see what all of the ruckus was about. I knew Marie was still pissed about Tammy’s friend hooking up with Gary and the fact that Tammy did nothing to stop it, but after Tammy and Pete had their big showdown two weeks ago, Gary and Amy were out of the wedding, leaving them with absolutely no bridal party and Tammy in full bride-to-be meltdown.
I’d had enough of the insanity.
I was also wise enough to know that they were at each other’s throats because deep down they wanted the hostility to be out and over with. And the longer it lingered, the longer it festered.
But after thirty minutes and a whole lot of crazy accusations, I managed to get the two of them to hug.
The day before Pete and Tammy’s wedding, Ryan and Mike flew back to Seaport.
Come hell or high water, I was going to make sure my dear friend Pete married the woman who had captured his heart and that his woman would have a beautiful wedding to remember.
Marie and I stopped dead in our tracks in my living room when we took in the sights of Ryan and Mike dressed to the nines. Both were devastatingly handsome in their black tuxes and crimson neckties. They were standing near the front windows; the afternoon sun making them appear dreamlike.
“Oh my God,” Marie breathed out.
I knew exactly what she’d meant. All of that gorgeousness should be illegal because it was lethal.
“Mine,” I whispered, basking in the reality that Ryan was in fact, mine.
“I get the one on the left,” she muttered softly.
Marie and I had been given simple instructions: wear a black satin cocktail dress.
