Smooth as Silk, page 16
“None for me, thanks,” Ava Grace said, moving toward the door. “Skip’s in Tulsa and I want to call him before bedtime. Y’all eat my part.”
Ever the matchmaker, at least she was being subtle. It was entirely reasonable that she would want to talk to her almost fiancé.
But then, when she got to the front door, Ava Grace paused and flipped the light switch. “I wanted to see how it all looks with the lights off.” There, the subtlety ended. Ava Grace closed the door behind her, leaving them in the glow of fairy lights—as if Hyacinth would fall into Robbie’s arms just because they were in a dim setting that smelled like Christmas. It was a thousand wonders she hadn’t found a way to pipe in a Fifty Songs to Have Sex To playlist.
But Robbie hadn’t noticed how blatant she’d been. He was too busy staring in wonder at the tree and the shimmering garland that lined the crown molding, doors, and front window.
“Looks like the stars in the sky.” He pronounced stars like a cross between stirs and stairs. Déjà vu. He’d done that before and she’d thought the same thing. It was charming.
“I wouldn’t say exactly like the sky,” she said.
“No?” He smiled and her stomach turned over.
Don’t look at him, Hyacinth! He’s a mess. He’ll turn your life upside down, and break your heart. No. Not her heart. That wasn’t up for grabs. It was her sanity that was in danger and that was worse. She could control her heart. She was going to run, run to the light switch and turn it on.
But then he put an arm around her shoulders and pointed to the garland above the tree. “Dream a little, Hyacinth. Don’t you see the Big Dipper just there?”
And he slid a hand down her arm.
She was lost—right back where she’d been the night before Thanksgiving at Evans’s house, with her heart pounding and a million stars shooting through her, warming and electrifying every part of her being.
All because of this haphazard, unpredictable man.
He felt it too. His arm tightened around her at the same moment that he brought his green, green eyes to melt into hers. There was a question in them, a question she was going to say yes to. He was going to kiss her and she was not only going to let him, she was going to revel in it. She wouldn’t fool herself into believing it was just a kiss. It would be more—the beginning of something. She wouldn’t fool herself into believing it would end well either, but right now she didn’t care. So what if he wasn’t a forever kind of guy? Sometimes right now mattered; this was one of those times.
He leaned in and parted his lips, testing the waters.
In answer, she raised her face and let her hand drift to his cheek.
Then his mouth was on hers, his hands caressing her back, her cheeks, her neck. Their tongues tangled and Hyacinth’s stomach turned over and crashed against her heart like a storm at sea. The longer they kissed, the tighter he held her until she wasn’t sure where he left off and she began. She raked his hair back and ran her hand down the back of his neck.
He leaned into her hand. “Ah, la... Hyacinth,” he said, breathing hard.
She tightened her arms around his neck. “Call me lass. Always call me lass.”
He buried his face against her neck. “Lass, lass, lass.”
And he kissed her again and again and again as the storm inside her raged on.
When they broke for a breath, he whispered against her ear, “I think we’re having a moment, lass.”
“Several.”
“More good than bad?”
“Excellent,” she admitted. “Beyond excellent.”
“And our next moment?” he asked.
Good question. Did he expect them to move straight for bed? Probably. Maybe the storm inside her liked that idea, too, but that’s not who she was.
Just then, his stomach growled, providing her with an answer.
“Pizza?” she said.
He laughed, low and sweet, and pushed her hair off her face. “Pizza would be outstanding.”
“What do you like?” she asked. “I’ll order.”
“Order? Oh, no, no, lass. You won’t catch me with tomato sauce around all this.” He gestured to the racks of dresses. “I’ve learned my lesson. It’s the Brick Oven for us. It’s a right fine night. We can walk.”
When he stopped her halfway down the block to kiss her again, it struck her. A kiss was not just a vehicle to the next step for Robbie. He liked kissing—and people were almost always good at what they liked.
Perfect—a perfect day with perfect pacing.
As for later—this one time in her life, she’d worry about later when later came.
Chapter Fifteen
Fresh from the locker room shower, Robbie whistled as he made his way to his stall.
“You’re mighty happy today, Scotty,” Able said.
“What have I got to not be happy about?” he asked. “Great practice today and my jersey’s on the wall at Hammer Time.”
And I spent some quality time with a soft, gorgeous woman wrapped in my arms last night.
There was a time he would have said that out loud, but not today, and not about Hyacinth. She might be buttoned up and wound tighter than an eight day clock in her day-to-day comings and goings, but she had a fire in her—a slow burning one, but that was all right with him. Of course he wanted her, but she wasn’t ready, and the journey would be sweet.
When she’d asked him to call her lass, it had gone straight to his heart, as if it cleared away all the bad things they’d said to each other.
“Did you hear me, Scotty?” Able shook his shoulder. “You’re acting like you’re on another planet.”
Planet Hyacinth, and he couldn’t wait to go back.
“Do you want to go to Crust with me?” Able asked. “Meat pies were on the lunch menu today, but Ariel put some back and she’ll bake them for us.”
“Sounds good, but no. I have somewhere else to be.”
He was meeting Hyacinth at the Waffle House out by the highway. Though the taping was over a week away, she claimed they needed to make plans for the All Dressed in White shoot and there wouldn’t be many distractions at Waffle House. He didn’t really understand why they needed to make plans. It seemed like all they had to do was show Jules some dresses and be themselves, but Hyacinth liked plans.
This morning he’d lain awake thinking about her.
Maybe he’d been too hard on her about the whole Jake and Evans thing. Clearly, she did care about them, even if their happiness wasn’t her first thought after getting word of the elopement. Who was he to judge? She was coming from a different place and had to worry more about her future.
If he blew out his knee tomorrow and could never skate again, he’d be fine. He could go back to Wyndloch and spend the rest of his days making wedding cakes, hanging Christmas lights, and pinch-hitting at the piano for the odd wedding music emergency. And, though losing hockey would be a blow, he’d be happy. Besides, he’d already earned enough money to live well for the rest of his life.
Hyacinth didn’t have any of that—no family, no fortune made from playing hockey, no one who’d have her back if she failed.
No one...unless, maybe, he could be that for her. An idea began to take root.
* * *
Hyacinth sat in a back booth and laid out her laptop, calendar, and printouts.
She’d chosen Waffle House because, one, it would be relatively quiet. Two. Coming straight from practice, Robbie would need food. Three. Since it was unlikely there’d be anyone here they knew, there would be fewer distractions. When she’d told Robbie this last night over pizza, he’d said it would be completely quiet and uninhabited at her place or his, so why not that?
She’d only given him a pointed look. Since he was holding her hand across the table and their mouths were swollen from kissing, he got it.
“Right. Distractions. That’s what you’re trying to avoid.” And he’d kissed her nose.
She closed her eyes and relived that moment—the nose kiss. Certainly not the main event of their time together, but a sweet moment and that was a surprise.
She fought back the inclination to wonder where this was going, or if it should be going anywhere. No. This one time, she would not plan. She would just enjoy it while it was happening. Later, when whatever this was with Robbie was done, she’d have her plans to fall back on—continuing to build her business and hoping for a permanent relationship with someone who was a good fit.
Her stomach knotted in rebellion at that last part, but she didn’t want to think about that.
“Ma’am? Take your order?”
This was a safer—and easier—subject.
“Iced tea and BLT for me, water, two cheeseburgers, and double hash browns for my—”
Her what? He wasn’t her fling. She wasn’t a fling kind of person. Besides, they hadn’t had sex and a fling involved sex. Didn’t it? But he wasn’t her boyfriend—if women her age even had boyfriends. Maybe he was her interlude. Yes. She liked the sound of that. But you didn’t go around saying that to Waffle House waitresses. A sobering thought washed over her. What if it was nothing? Just some kissing among the Christmas lights, some pizza, and pizza flavored kisses on her doorstep? She had assumed she was in control and would drive this bus where she wanted it to go. Could it be that he was in control and hadn’t given a second thought to last night?
“Ma’am?” The waitress prompted her.
“My friend. The burgers and hash browns are for my friend. He should be here soon.”
Chapter Sixteen
At the Waffle House, Hyacinth was dressed in a blue sweater and her hair was down. Robbie wondered if she’d done that for him.
“Hello, lass.” He didn’t mean for his tone to go soft when he called her that, but the memory that went with it snuck into his voice. She must be remembering, too, because her cheeks turned a pretty pink. He didn’t think he’d be calling anyone else lass ever again.
Without a thought, natural as could be, he cupped her cheek and gave her a quick hello kiss—and stopped short. He’d never done that before, given a kiss that was more affection than passion. He’d seen it done a thousand times between his mum and da, sisters and brothers-in-law, cousins, aunts and uncles.
“Is something wrong?” Hyacinth asked.
“No.” He settled into the booth across from her. For the first time, something might be right. “What’s all this?” He gestured to her equipment and stacks of paper.
“Things we need to talk about. We’ll go over it while we eat.”
“Right. I’m hungry.” He looked at the menu printed on the plastic placemat. “I’m going to have two cheeseburgers and hash browns, since I don’t see fries.”
“Just what I ordered for you,” she said. “And here it is. I got you water. They don’t serve beer here.”
“How did you know what I wanted?” he asked after the waitress had gone.
She shrugged, pushed her sandwich to the side, and opened her laptop. “You said that was your go-to meal after skating. And it’s what you ate at Hammer Time after the game.”
She remembered that when he didn’t even remember saying it. That had to be a good sign, didn’t it?
She handed him a stack of papers and turned her computer so they could both see the screen. “Can you eat and talk about this at the same time?”
“Sure.” He didn’t see why not. She would be doing most of the talking. He squirted ketchup on his hash browns and, in the process, dribbled some on the papers she’d given him. “Sorry.”
“This is a printout of the PowerPoint I’ve made.” She wiped at the stain on the top page, which was a calendar. “Follow along with me. Stop me if you need to make notes.”
“Aye. I will.” He took a bite of his burger.
“Do you have a pen?” she asked.
“No. I don’t usually travel with one.”
“No problem.” She, quick as a wink, produced one and set it by his water glass. He supposed he ought to try to make some notes, but he doubted if she had left anything out.
She pointed to the calendar on her laptop screen. “Today is Monday.”
“Yes. All day long.”
“Tomorrow is Tuesday.” She pointed to the Tuesday block on her calendar.
He was tempted to ask her how dumb she thought he was that he needed a PowerPoint to tell him the days of the week, but he just nodded and ate some hash browns.
“You have away games on Wednesday and Thursday.”
At last, something he could comment on. “The Big Apples. Thursday is a matinee. I’ll be back that night.”
“Right.” She nodded. “You have home games Saturday and Sunday, then another home game on Tuesday.”
“Minnesota. Anaheim,” he said.
“The taping is the next day. Wednesday, the sixth. Trousseau will be closed all day. The show will air on the sixteenth, a week and a half later. That’s also Jules and Reynolds’s wedding. You have a game that night.”
“The Sound. Away, but we don’t spend the night in Nashville.”
She nodded. “Now back to the taping.” She scrolled to a page with a list of bullet points. “You’ll find this on your second page.” He started to flip the page, but she stopped him. “Let me. You have mustard on your hand.”
“It would go with the ketchup. Might try for relish on the third.” Saying that kind of thing had gotten him in trouble in the past, but she didn’t seem bothered. Either she liked him better now, or she didn’t have time to be mad, what with all the bullet points.
“Some of the production staff is coming on Tuesday afternoon to bring equipment, move things if necessary, and make sure the Christmas decorations are up to par.”
“Why wouldn’t they be?” They’d nearly killed themselves decorating that shop and those TV people damn well better like it.
“I don’t have any reason to think they won’t. I’m only telling you what’s going to happen. You don’t need to be there Tuesday.”
“Good thing. I have a game.”
“I know. Anaheim. Seven o’clock. But you do have to be there Wednesday morning at seven o’clock. I’ve told them you have to be at the rink at seven that night to go to the airport. They said we should be done in plenty of time.”
That was a lot of sevens. “It’s going to take all day? To make an hour-long show?”
“Probably. They film everything and will edit it down to an hour. This is the order of how things will happen. Jules will have Reynolds, her mother, and her sister, who’s also her maid-of-honor, with her. There will be some meet and greet with us. Next, Reynolds will leave. Then, with any luck, we’ll find Jules a dress. I’m to treat it like any other bridal appointment. I have some dresses put aside that I think will work. You’ll bring them out and I’ll talk to her about them. Patty and Brad will be there in the background to help, but they won’t be on camera. Alex said it gets confusing if there are too many people trying to interact.”
“Who’s Alex?”
“Alex Leman, the assistant director. Deb Carmichael is the director, but Alex is my contact.”
He wondered what kind of contact they’d had. “Is it Alex as in Alexandria, or Alexander?”
“Alexander. Why?”
“No reason. What am I to do during all this? Besides being a dress holder?”
“Unlike a lot of reality TV, All Dressed in White isn’t scripted. They said act natural, be yourself. Comment on the dresses. Talk to the mother and sister. Brad will hand off the dresses to bring out. He knows the order I want them shown.”
“That should be easy enough. I know how to be Robbie.” He smiled at her and picked up his second burger.
She smiled back, but then it faded away. “Yes, you do. But that’s one of the things I want to talk about.” She reached under the table and brought out a large shopping bag. “I sent Brad downtown to get you some clothes.”
What the hell? “I have clothes,” he said.
She opened the bag and pulled out a pair of khakis, a blue button-down shirt, a leather and canvas belt, and a pair of loafers—in other words, the Southern Fraternity Boy uniform.
“Brad says they’ll fit. He’s a genius for knowing sizes. He’s never wrong.”
“If you were going to dress me up like Brad or Jake Champagne, why didn’t you just have them do it?”
“Robbie, please.” Her eyes begged and he suspected that was the only begging Hyacinth ever did.
“Okay. All right. If it’ll make you happy, I’ll wear the preppy mama’s boy outfit.” He did want her to be happy. At least there was no tie.
“Thank you. Roll the sleeves up to right below your elbows. On second thought, don’t. I’ll do it for you.”
“Anything else?” He wasn’t cutting his hair. He liked some flow out the back of his helmet.
“Yes. One thing. I know Alex said for us to be ourselves, but I’d like you to be a little less yourself, if you know what I mean?”
He put his burger down. “No, I don’t think I do.”
“A little more low-key. Not quite so charming.”
He was torn between being annoyed because she didn’t want him to be himself and taking pleasure in her admission that he was charming. Reminding himself that he was going to try to make this go like she wanted, he decided to go with the latter.
“You think I’m charming, do you, now?” He smiled and reached across the table and took her hand. “How charming am I, lass?” He made sure lass sounded like a caress.
She jerked her hand away. “Stop it, Robbie. That’s what I’m talking about. Don’t take over. I need this to go smoothly. This has to be dignified and elegant.”
He almost asked her how dare she accuse him of being undignified, but he saw the look of terror on her face and took a deep breath. Nobody ought to have to be that terrified of making a little TV show.
