The Wedding Planners, page 18
“Oh, hey.” Her eyes darted over my face and lower. She swallowed. “What are you doing here?”
“This seems to be our planning HQ, I thought I’d drop by.”
Harley deposited my mug on the pass as she took the plates. Nerves started tightening my gut.
“Your timing is quite good actually.”
“Oh yeah?”
She nodded, peeking sideways at me. “I’ve got a couple of photographers coming in today to have a chat.”
“A chat?” I sipped my coffee.
“Well, I didn’t want to call it an ‘interview’, that sounds so formal.”
“And you were just going to pick one without me?” I gripped my chest in mock offense, and she bit her lip, clearly unsure what to say.
“Jemma, I’m kidding. I did the filtering to make your job easier, remember?”
“Uh—Yeah, I remember.” Her cheeks went pink. “And well, I didn’t—” She cleared her throat. ”I mean we haven’t exactly been—it’s been awkward, right?”
I shrugged, I guess it had the potential to be awkward but I sure as hell didn’t feel that when I was around her. I felt pretty much anything but awkward.
“Nothing needs to be awkward…”
A tint of concern was clouding her usually bright blue eyes. It made me want to kiss all those worries away. But I was keeping my hands to myself, for the moment at least.
“It doesn’t?” She seemed genuinely surprised, eyebrows jumping.
“No, Jemma, it doesn’t.”
Her lips twisted, her teeth sinking into the lower one. If she kept doing that I wasn’t going to be able to keep my hands to myself for long. Our conversation didn’t get any further before a few more orders were thrust through the swinging doors.
Without thinking I took them and read out the meals. Jemma watched me with a bemused look on her face.
“Let’s go, Chef,” I said with a wink and took up my position at the sink. I could count on one hand the number of times I’d done dishes in the last, probably, eight years. And yet here, in Jemma’s kitchen, I’d happily wash every last one if it meant she’d keep me around.
Two hours and three ‘chats’ later—squeezed in between brunch orders—we had successfully chosen a photographer. Sadie Hall was a senior at NYU with an incredible eye and would have been my first choice even without speaking to her. I had a feeling she was Jemma’s, too, but she felt the need to carry out some due diligence. And, naturally, I respected her dedication to being thorough.
I was continually amazed at how satisfying planning this thing had been. I was even enjoying the celebrant process. If someone had told me before we sold Bailey Brick Co. that I’d suggest becoming a celebrant for my sister’s wedding I would have laughed in their face. And yet, here I was. Celebrant in the making and semi-pro wedding planner.
It was the exact kind of challenge I hadn’t even realized I needed when I got back to New York.
Twenty-One
Jemma
If I didn’t get my hands on Nash’s naked body soon, I was going to spontaneously combust.
It was still a bad idea, a terrible one even. That hadn’t changed. But there was only so much increasing tension a girl could take. I was trying not to daydream about kissing him; however, the fact I had two very recent references was not making that easy. It was driving me to absolute distraction, and I had no idea what to do about it.
Despite spending more and more time together, we had not so much as touched since the kiss outside Rudi Blue. Even still, the phantom feeling of his hands on me lingered.
All of this to say, I was appallingly frustrated, and even my favorite vibrator was doing little to ease the pressure.
“Jemma, earth to Jemma.”
My eyes snapped into focus, the picture in my head evaporating like smoke in the wind.
“Everything okay?”
Not at all. I’ve been fantasizing about the feel of your nipple under my tongue for the last ten minutes. “Of course, why?”
Nash’s eyes narrowed, concern and amusement dancing together in their depths. There was an excellent chance he knew exactly what I was thinking. “You just spaced out for a second there.”
I nodded and told myself not to look at his mouth. It didn’t work. “I was just thinking that we need to get on top of the kitchen at Rudi Blue.” It was believable, kitchens definitely had the power to make me space out.
“Already under control,” he said, a smirk lifting the left corner of his mouth. Not looking at his mouth, again.
“Good. Great. That’s great.”
“You have no idea what I was saying, do you?”
“I—what—yes.”
His smirk stretched into a grin. And I was still looking at his mouth.
“No.”
“I was saying that we should try and finalize the menu.”
“Yes, we should do that.”
“Means you’ll need to show me yours.” He wagged his eyebrows as he said it and I rolled my eyes, playing it off like I was not at all affected by him or a hot second away from throwing myself into his lap.
“Well, you have shown me yours...”
“Exactly.”
“It seems only fair.” My heart had taken off at a gallop the moment he pitched in my direction and my breathing had gone all wispy and shallow. We were leaning close, but not touching, smiling, attention darting from mouths to eyes and back again.
My attraction to this man was driving me batty. I should just tell him I’d email the menu through and go home (alone) before things got out of hand and I acted on any of the things rolling around in my head.
That’s what I should have done. I definitely shouldn’t have said, “How about you show me the progress you’ve made on the kitchen, and I’ll show you my…menu.” And yet I did. Making the word menu sound dirtier than it had any right to.
“That’s—”
“Not a euphemism,” I clarified with a wink and stood from our table, hoping some space would help to clear the lust fog that was permanently clouding my brain.
It had been particularly slow today at Cream and Sugar, even for a Monday, which meant more time to flirt with Nash—work, more time to work with Nash. More time with him (to work or flirt or stare and imagine how his tongue tasted) wasn’t really a good thing at this point, what with all the crackling tension and sidelong glances and aforementioned lust fog.
It had gotten to the point where the two of us ending up in bed together felt utterly inevitable. Would it end badly? Maybe. Almost certainly, especially considering the baggage each of us was carrying. And yet I knew I wouldn’t fight it, because at least it would serve to douse this unbearable tension.
I wouldn't be the one to break though. Nope, that wasn’t happening.
Rudi Blue was still and quiet as Nash let us in. I hadn’t seen it completely empty, but it allowed my brain to better visualize how things would look at the wedding. The string lights. The greenery Fleur was putting together. Nervous anticipation bubbled in my stomach. This was all really happening. And soon.
It wasn’t until I watched Nash slip a set of keys into his pocket that something occurred to me.
“Where are Mack and Chase?” I asked, my voice high and reedy.
“Closed on Mondays. They sometimes come in for meetings, but not always. Why? Did you need to talk to them about something?”
“No.” I squeaked then cleared my throat. This was fine. I was alone with Nash, but this was fine. I was definitely not going to do anything stupid and impulsive like pin him to the bar and have my way with him. That wasn’t going to happen. We were on the cock— clock! We were on the clock.
“You okay?” He asked, one eyebrow raised and that infuriating, intoxicating smirk tugging at his mouth.
“I’m great. Let’s see what you’ve done with the place.” I marched across the bar to the barren kitchen.
The formerly barren kitchen.
The center of the space was dominated by a large stainless island with shelves on both sides. The sink and dishwasher were tucked into one corner. A tall, glass-doored fridge stood on one wall. More benches and shelving ran the length of another, perpendicular to the double wide hob that I swear I was going to be dreaming about later.
“Oh my god, Nash...this is incredible.” His chest bowed at the compliment, a pink tint coloring his cheeks, visible even through his beard.
I wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words. It was like he’d seen inside my head and brought it to life. I’d done what I could with Cream and Sugar, but the space wasn’t truly mine, I was working within limitations. But this. This was my perfect kitchen.
“How—” I shook my head. “This is amazing, it’s perfect. I honestly didn’t think it would happen.”
“Oh ye, of little faith.”
I laughed. “No, I believed you could do it, obviously, you can do anything. But—”
“I can do anything, huh?”
Heat rushed up my neck and over my cheeks. Of course, Nash could do anything, he was driven and passionate and brilliant. But I hadn’t intended on saying it to him.
“You have truly outdone yourself,” I said, rather than acknowledge the ‘you can do anything’ comment, as I inspected the oven and fryers. “Mack and Chase are going to need to start serving food, so this doesn’t get neglected again.”
“Unlikely.” A voice said from the doorway and we both turned. “Unless either of you want to take up the torch?” Mack added with a wide grin.
“Oooh!” Chase appeared under his arm, which was braced against the doorframe. “Are you two cooking for us? I’m so hungry.”
“You’re always hungry,” Mack said with a fond smile at her.
“And?” She shot back, jabbing him in the ribs with the point of her elbow. He yelped and danced away from her.
Nash slid me a sidelong glance and bounced his eyebrows. Of course he wanted to cook. I pinned my lip between my teeth. I didn’t not want to cook, but cooking with Nash seemed like a temptation I was unlikely to weather well. Judging by the look on Chase’s face I didn’t have much choice in the matter.
“Looks like we’ve got ourselves some menu testers.”
“Yeah, we do,” he said with a grin, which hit me squarely in the chest and a little further south. “Although it means that once again you avoid having to show me your…menu.” If I thought I’d managed to make the word menu sound dirty before, I was very, very wrong. Nash’s voice wrapped around it like a caress, and not an entirely gentle one, it was raw and a little rough around the edges, raising goosebumps down my arms.
“You can still see it—I can show you,” I all but purred at him before remembering Mack and Chase were still in the vicinity. “What I mean is, if we’re going to use this as a taste test, we should take dishes from both our proposed menus. We’ll need supplies though.”
An hour later the Rudi Blue kitchen, which until recently had been a sad, under-utilized dumping ground for cocktail napkins and empty beer crates, was a battlefield. Nash and I arrived back to find Chase and Mack trash talking from opposite benches.
“Did we miss something?” I whispered, edging behind Nash because I was not above using his large body as a shield should plates start flying.
“Only that these are two of the most competitive people you will ever meet and can turn literally anything into a competition.”
“You’re back! Welcome to Kitchen Stadium!” Chase hooted from her corner, bouncing on her toes, raven ponytail swinging wildly.
“Chase had a thing for the original Iron Chef during junior year.”
“It is still one of the best TV shows ever made.” She took one of the bags I was juggling and started unloading its contents.
Mack hooked me around the neck, he smelled good, not as good as Nash, but still good. Like the ocean and sunshine and trouble. “I get Jemma. Blonds v brunets.”
“Ha! I don’t think so sir.” Chase shoved at his chest until he was forced to let go and stumble back a couple of steps. “This is ladies v gents, all the way. Prepare your A-game, boys, because we are going to wipe the floor with you.”
“What are the stakes?” Nash asked.
Chase grinned as she hooked her arm through mine. “Five hundred and losers clean the kitchen.”
I opened my mouth to argue, because I wasn’t betting five hundred dollars on anything, but Nash cut me off with a concise, “Done.”
Chase pulled me over to one bench and turned our backs to the competition. “Do not be fooled by Mack, those blond curls hide a devious spirit and he is not above cheating.”
“Don’t trust Mack, got it,” I said looking over our half of the menu. I might not be a competitive person generally, but once challenged I wasn’t about to back down and I had every intention of winning this thing.
“Or Nash,” she continued, “he’ll smolder all your secrets right outta you.”
“He does smolder!”
“Of course he does. It’s his secret weapon and he will not hesitate to use it. But you are stronger than that.”
I nodded, not at all sure that I was in fact stronger than the power of Nash’s smolder. But I could be, if it meant winning.
“Don’t you go talking shit over there, Linden,” Mack said, and a lime came sailing between Chase and I.
“Stop eavesdropping, Kent. And if you throw another piece of food at me, I will end you.”
“Big words.”
“I’m holding a knife.”
The two of them continued back and forth as I shot a look over my shoulder and found Nash watching me, a smile tipping up one corner of his mouth. He winked.
And, before I could do anything else, Chase nudged me in the ribs and hissed, “Do not succumb to the smolder!”
I did not succumb to the smolder. And it was not without effort.
But something else happened while we cooked. I saw a slice of Nash I hadn’t before. We didn’t know one another all that well, but I had thought I was getting to know him better. Seeing him with Chase and Mack was like peeking behind a door that, until today, I hadn’t even realized was a door. Until today, it was just a bookcase and then I leaned on something and boom!
He was different with Chase and Mack, lighter, younger. I thought I’d seen him smile before. I was wrong. With them, with his friends, those smiles didn’t just curve his lips, they split his face wide open, they brightened his eyes. And his laugh was something else altogether, deep and long, and bordering on hysterical. Twice I was sure he almost cried or was about to pee himself. And it all spelled danger for my poor, already battered, heart that I was trying so hard to protect.
With all of our food spread across the center island, and jugs of frozen margaritas thanks to Chase (she was an excellent multi-tasker), the judging began. It wasn’t so much judging as it was just eating. I had no idea how we were going to decide on a winner and not have Mack or Chase argue about it.
“Did you end up speaking to Jake?” Chase asked between mouthfuls.
“Yeah.” Nash nodded. “Seeing them tomorrow night.”
“Pipsqueaks?”
“That’s the one.”
“Are you going too, Jemma?” Chase was looking at me expectantly as I hurriedly tried to chew my mouthful of steaming potato, parmesan and truffle croquet. I shook my head, hoping it communicated that I didn’t know who Jake was, or Pipsqueaks.
Nash jumped in to clear up the confusion. “Jake is Chase’s cousin, I’m hoping his band will agree to be our entertainment.”
“Oh, that’s great,” I managed to wheeze after burning my esophagus with too-hot potato.
“You should go,” Chase said. “They’re really fun.”
A tingle of awareness traveled the length of my spine. If I said yes to this, to going along with Nash, the night could end only one way. I could see it. Feel it. And I wasn’t sure I was strong enough to keep resisting this pull.
“Sounds like a plan.”
Twenty-Two
Nash
Pipsqueaks was crammed with bodies when Jemma and I arrived on Tuesday night.
I’d decided pretty early on that a full band would smoke a DJ, and for those in between moments—according to Jemma’s increasingly detailed schedule for the day—I would create a killer playlist. Sorted. Finding a band who were available had proved more difficult than I initially anticipated, but I would not be broken.
The Last Ashes found their way onto my radar through Chase. And after speaking to Jake, her cousin and their bassist, we decided to talk more after I’d seen them perform. I’d already watched a bunch of their stuff on YouTube and had been listening to their latest album on Spotify for two days. They were it. I just hoped that Jemma would agree.
She looked fucking incredible. Her black dress was loose but hit somewhere just above mid-thigh and every time she moved, I expected to get more of a view than she probably intended when she put the thing on. Or maybe I was just praying I would. How could I not, when her legs looked like they went on forever and I remembered all too well how they felt wrapped around my waist as she kissed me? Their length was further accentuated by a pair of black ankle boots that looked like they could kill a man. Numerous pairs of eyes followed her as we moved deeper into the club, and I had to stop myself from pulling her into my side and growling ‘mine’ at every last one of them. Not that she was mine, obviously, not even close to it.
“So, what are these guys like?” She asked, her eyes twinkling as she peered at me over the top of her beer. We’d been dancing around one another and putting up a good fight of resisting our increasing electricity, but I didn’t think it would last for much longer. I was wondering if tonight we’d finally wind up back in bed. I might even request she keep the boots on. I cleared my throat, thinking about having my head between her thighs and those boots digging into my back was not a good idea, not if I wanted to keep my hard on to myself anyway. Had she asked me a question? Yes, the band, how was the band?
