Kaye Dacus - Menu for Romance

He grinned at her. “Don’t feel like arriving windblown?”

She returned the smile. “Not particularly.”

“Did you have a good day off yesterday?” Major asked as she pulled out of the parking garage.

As she had with everyone else, she talked about what she’d done yesterday. But that filled only enough time to get them halfway to the studio.

Now or never. “Major, I wanted to ask you about Wednesday night—about why you left. Is everything okay?” She glanced at him from the corner of her eye.

He’d gone all stiff. “Everything’s fine. I just—something came up that I had to go handle.”

“At the emergency room?”

“It was...” He swallowed hard. “It was my mom. She got hurt, and I had to meet her at the emergency room.”

Finally—something about his mother. “Is she okay?”

“She will be. She burned herself—cooking, actually. Splashed scalding hot water on her arms.” Tension pulled in tight lines around his mouth.

“I thought you said she didn’t live here—but you met her at the emergency room?”

“She doesn’t live in town, but the hospital here is closest. Careful—don’t want to miss our turn.”

His discomfort with the subject couldn’t be any plainer. And though it hurt Meredith that he didn’t trust her enough to tell her the truth about his mother—whatever that might be—she was determined to figure out a way to convince him to confide in her. Because she was starting to feel like this secret was the only thing standing between her and a happily-ever-after ending with Major.

* * *

Major hoped his tension from the time they got out of the SUV at the TV studio until the cameras turned off would appear to Meredith as nothing more than nerves over being on the live broadcast. But her fishing expedition in the car, trying to find out what had happened with Ma, had sent him into a state of near panic, afraid he might have to lie to her or tell her the truth, both of which would ruin everything.

On the way back to the office from the studio, he talked about the great job Alaine’s team had done at putting together the documentary-style footage on all of the preparation leading up to the banquet as well as the event itself. And he’d been right—doing the live broadcast had been much easier to bear with Meredith sitting beside him.

He kept up a steady stream of inane chatter until they got on the elevator to go back to their offices.

“Can you have your reports to me by the end of the day?” Meredith’s voice sounded tired.

“To you or to Corie?”

“To me. I’ve got to take everything home with me to work on this weekend.”

“You work too hard.” His arms itched to hug her, so instead, he took a step back and leaned against the bumper rail at the back of the elevator car.

“I know, but it’s part and parcel of the job of being the executive director of a department. I knew that when I accepted the position.”

He wanted to say more, but her cell phone rang. The tension drained from her face when she put the thing to her ear. “Hey, Ward.”

He hated the softness, the warmth in her tone.

“Tonight? Well, I have a lot of work to do.... Sure, I could do something quick.” Meredith waved her farewell when the elevator doors opened at the fifth floor.

Major crossed his arms and stared out the window on the rest of the ride up to the top floor. He deserved every bit of the awful, gut-wrenching pain now ripping apart his insides at the idea of Meredith falling in love with and possibly marrying someone else. He deserved it because he’d brought it upon himself by pushing her away.

The kitchen crew was just finishing lunch service cleanup. He wished them all a happy weekend then cloistered himself in his office for the remainder of the afternoon. Just before five o’clock, he e-mailed his reports to Meredith, then gathered up all of his receipts and invoices in a folder.

Down in the corporate offices, the interior door that connected Corie’s office to Meredith’s was partially closed.

Corie looked up from her computer when he walked in. “She’s on the phone.”

Meredith’s laugh floated out through the narrow opening.

“I brought these for her. She said she wanted to take this stuff home to work on over the weekend.” He handed Corie the folder and tried to smile.

“I’ll make sure she gets it.”

“Thanks.” He couldn’t torture himself by standing here listening to the happy tone of her voice any longer. “Have a great weekend.”

“You, too.”

When he got to the parking garage, he realized he’d forgotten to bring jeans to change into. Oh well. The guys would just have to put up with him in his black-and-white checked pants and the limp New York City T-shirt he’d been wearing under his jacket all day. He pointed Kirby toward church and tried to keep his mind from returning to the ride with Meredith to the TV studio. The look on her face when he wouldn’t tell her why he’d had to disappear from the party last night...

A light drizzle started as Major pulled into the parking lot. He grabbed his folder of music and jogged in through the side door by the church offices.

George sat at the piano practicing the new piece they’d chosen to sing Sunday. He stopped, stood, and extended his hand. “Hullo.”

“Hey. I figured I’d be the last one here.”

“No. Forbes and Clay both called to say they’re running late.”

“Oh. Okay. That’s good, actually. I could use a few minutes’ downtime before we start singing.” Major tossed his folder into a chair and collapsed onto the floor, stretching out flat on his back.

“Nice pants,” George chuckled.

“Yeah, they’re all the rage in New York,” Major shot back. He did some of the stretches he’d learned in physical therapy after tearing his trapezius, ending his college football career. They almost always worked to ease the deep muscle spasms between his shoulder blades he’d been plagued with since then. Recently, though, nothing seemed to work. Every time he saw Meredith and the insane urge struck to tell her everything—about Ma, about his jealousy over Ward Breaux—he would clamp his mouth shut, his shoulders would tense, and the sharp pain would worsen.

He sat up and eyed George, who’d gone back to playing.

George must have sensed the scrutiny, because he looked up, and the music stopped. “What?”

Major hooked his arms around his bent knees. “I need to ask you something really personal. And if you don’t want to answer, I’ll understand.”

“Go on.” George turned to straddle the piano bench and leaned over to brace his elbows on his knees.

“When you met Anne and you couldn’t tell her the truth about who you were and whose wedding she was really planning, how did you handle it? How did you keep from just blurting out the whole truth?”

George registered no expression of surprise or offense—or any reaction at all—over the question. The man should be a professional poker player.

“I wanted to every day.” George rubbed his chin. “Many times I came close to slipping up and saying things that would have shattered my cover story. It was a wrench, I’ll tell you, especially once I started falling in love with her.”

Major could completely understand that. “But how did you make yourself keep the secret?”

“Because I was foolish enough to believe that the contract I signed was more important. But when I finally realized that it was not only wrong but would hurt Anne more the longer I waited to tell her, I gained permission to at least tell her I wasn’t the groom, just his stand-in.”

Major rocked back and forth. “So you wish you’d told her everything from the very beginning?”

“Of course.” George eyed Major speculatively. “Is there someone you’re keeping a secret from that’s vital to your relationship?”

Vital to their relationship? “No—yes. I guess so. It’s something about me—about my ... family that very few people in the world know. And I’ve kept it that way to protect myself from undue scrutiny and judgment.”

“But it’s something that will affect the person you want to have a relationship with?” Deep lines formed in George’s forehead when he raised his brows like that.

“Yeah—it could. It probably will.” Major collapsed down onto his back again, covering his eyes with his left arm.

“You must tell her, then. Even if you are not dating currently, putting off the telling of your secret will only serve to make it worse when the truth becomes known later.”

The choir room door swung open, and Forbes entered looking like Cary Grant or Gregory Peck in his dark gray, tailored suit and overcoat.

“Still waiting on Clay?” Forbes shook hands with George.

“I imagine he’ll be along shortly.” George turned back square to the keyboard and began playing again.

“In that case, Major, can I have a word with you? Privately.” Forbes motioned to the door leading into the men’s robe room.

Major nodded and followed, hoping this conversation wasn’t about what he was afraid it would be about. He leaned against the metal storage cabinet in the small room.

Forbes stood in the middle of the room and turned to face him, unbuttoning his suit coat. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but you have to tell Meredith about your mom.”

Yep. That was what he’d hoped this conversation wouldn’t be about. “What makes you say that?”

“She asked me about your family last night. She was very concerned about something that happened Wednesday night—you had to leave the banquet?”

“Ma spilled hot water during a cooking lesson and burned her arms. I had to meet her at the emergency room.” Major crossed his arms then uncrossed them—he couldn’t protect himself from Forbes’s penetrating gaze no matter where his arms were.

“Look, I went along with you when you decided not to tell anyone but my parents about your mother’s medical condition, but aside from the fact that Meredith is your boss, she’s a person who cares a lot about you—I have a feeling more than either of us wants to admit—and you’re only hurting her by not telling her the truth.”

Major ran his tongue along the backs of his teeth. Twice within five minutes. It couldn’t have been any clearer if God had taken a cast-iron skillet and smashed him over the head with it. “I promise, I will tell her the truth.” As soon as the right moment presented itself.

“Meredith, you’re going to wrinkle your gown if you keep holding it up like that.”

At Anne’s soft words, Meredith released her death grip on the layers of purple chiffon and satin. “Isn’t the bride supposed to be the nervous wreck and the maid of honor the one reassuring her?”

Anne paused in her circuit around the room, ensuring each person knew what to do as soon as they left the bridal room.

Melancholic joy filled Meredith’s throat until she thought it might burst. She was overjoyed for her cousin yet at the same time felt as if she were losing her.

“Don’t start,” Anne warned, her smile wavering. “You know if you lose it, I will, too.”

“I know—” Meredith’s phone chimed and saved her from dissolving into the unwanted tears. She dug her purse out of her satchel and read the new text message. She deleted it, tossed the phone back in her bag, and turned to Anne. “Ward’s here. Do you mind...?”

“We have a few minutes. Go on.”

Meredith avoided grabbing the front of her dress to lift the skirt. She didn’t need to for walking. She was just used to long skirts that were straighter than this A-line, flared thing. She was also used to being much more covered up on top. Though the straight-cut bodice provided modesty, the spaghetti-straps left her shoulders feeling very bare.

She nodded and smiled in greeting at the guests milling in the vestibule.

Ward’s dark, curly head towered above everyone else. Her pulse gave a halfhearted flutter at the sight of him. Dressed in the tailored charcoal suit he’d worn on their first date, he drew the admiring attention of every female near him.

Why, then, couldn’t Meredith muster even an ounce of attraction for him? She’d hoped that by bringing him as her date to such a romantic affair as a wedding she might be able to jump-start an interest in him as something more than just a friend.

“Meredith Guidry.” Her name came out as almost a low growl when Ward finally noticed her. “You look gorgeous. I’m afraid I’ll break you if I hug you.”

She rested her hand on his chest as he squeezed her bare shoulders and kissed her cheek. “Thanks. You clean up pretty well yourself.”