Kaye Dacus - Stand-In Groom

George sprang lightly to his feet and helped the boys gather their fishing poles, shoes, and tackle box. She should turn around now and go into the pavilion. Shoes tucked under his arm, he stopped when they made eye contact.

She smiled and raised her hand in a weak greeting. She couldn’t let him see how he affected her. She had to remain distant until she got the rest of her life sorted out.

He smiled and angled over toward her.

What to say to him? Should she tell him about Cliff? What if Meredith was right and he’d be jealous or upset to hear it? He was within a few feet. She had to say something. “There aren’t any fish in that pond, y’know.”

He shook his head and laughed. “I’d surmised as much. But there’s more to fishing than catching fish.” He motioned toward the pavilion.

She fell in step with him. “More than catching fish? I thought that was the whole point.” What an inane conversation…inane but neutral, casual, easy.

“For a professional fisherman, yes, I suppose that would be the general idea. However, for the man of leisure, fishing is an exercise in relaxation, in getting to know oneself and one’s companions better.”

She laughed, relaxing. “Except for the accent, you sound like one of those fishing show hosts on TV.”

“You don’t fish?” He clasped his hands behind his back.

He clasped his hands behind his back. Five days ago, he’d taken hold of her hand as they’d walked out of church. Something had changed between them. Focus. Keep things casual. “I’ve only been on one fishing trip with my family, and I got yelled at for talking too much when we were sitting there in a boat in the middle of the lake. How can you get to know your companions better if you can’t talk?”

He chuckled, a deep, rich sound that tugged at her heart. “Men don’t need words to bond.”

“Ah, so it’s a male-bonding ritual, then.” She stopped when they reached the edge of the crowd gathered in the pavilion.

“Precisely.” In the waning sunlight, his eyes took on a coppery glow.

Papere called the family to order to say grace, for which she was grateful. Around them, everyone joined hands. George enveloped hers in his. She hadn’t noticed Sunday how large and strong his hands were. During the prayer, she stole a glance at him. Don’t you hurt me, George Laurence. If I give you my heart, please be the man who’s going to watch over me and protect me from pain. Don’t break it the way Cliff did.

When the prayer ended, Jenn and Mere grabbed her by each arm. “How’d you do it? You said no one could come out today.” Jenn waved at someone over Anne’s shoulder.

Anne laughed. “I called in a favor.”

Meredith pursed her lips. “Let me guess…a classmate from high school.”

She shook her head. “Nope, college. I didn’t tell you earlier because he didn’t know for sure if he’d be able to come out today.”

“ ’Grief, Anne, you know everyone in this city. We should have known you’d know someone who could fix the swimming pool.” Jenn kissed her cheek. “Thanks. We enjoyed it this afternoon. It sure was hot outside.”

“Tell me about it. I had an outdoor reception to work—” She shoved Jenn when her cousin rolled her eyes. “Quit rubbing it in. I plan to make full use of it tomorrow and Sunday.”

When she’d filled her plate, she turned and scanned the long tables under the open shed. George stood and waved her over. She laughed when she got closer. On each side of him were his two fishing buddies. She went around and sat opposite the threesome.

“Mr. George, can you help me with this?” Cooper held up a hamburger hemorrhaging ketchup from all sides.

“Of course.” With a plastic knife, he scraped away the excess condiments, then cut the sandwich in four pieces. “Better?”

“Yes, sir!” The boy did his best to shove one of the wedges into his mouth whole.

George turned to his right and did the same for Christian and his hot dog.

“You’re going to be a wonderful father someday.” She’d said it out loud! She couldn’t take it back. She might as well have come out and told him how she felt.

“Thank you, Anne.” George’s gaze burned into hers.

Embarrassed, she dropped her attention to her plate. So much for being low-key.

The boys vied for his attention, leaving Anne to eat in peace… and to fall in love with him a little more with each passing moment. God, You’re supposed to be helping me resist him! Not making him more irresistible.

Peace didn’t last long. After less than fifteen minutes, leaving mangled bread and soggy chips behind, Christian and Cooper left the table to expend their now-refueled energy.

“Where’s Forbes tonight?” George consolidated the remains onto one plate and stacked them.

“He’ll be here shortly. Some kind of emergency conference call came up at work.” They were watching. All her relatives. Their gazes bored into her. She glanced around, and no one seemed to be looking in her direction. But she knew what they were thinking and hoping and plotting.

He pushed the plates out of the way and leaned on the table on his crossed arms. “Tell me what to expect tonight.”

“Well, about eight thirty, Papere will read the Declaration of Independence. We’ll sing ‘America, the Beautiful,’ ‘My Country, ’Tis of Thee,’ and the national anthem, and if we’ve timed it right—which we usually do—the fireworks should start.”

“No stage show?” Disappointment furrowed the space between his well-groomed brows.

“Stage show?”

“A concert by the local philharmonic while the fireworks are being shot.”

“Oh, they have that up at the amphitheater. But it’s always so crowded on that end of the park, so we crank it up on the radio—the public station broadcasts it.”

“How big is this park?”

“It’s triangular—about two miles long and about a mile wide down here at the base. The north end is only about two hundred yards wide. That’s where the stage area is. They shoot off the fireworks from about halfway between.” She rested her chin on her hand. “How many Fourth of July celebrations have you been to?”

“I witnessed the Washington, DC, celebration last year because my employer was in town—for work. I’ve seen it in New York, too.”

“Is it strange for you to watch us celebrate our independence from England? After all, what we’re celebrating today is basically the declaration of war between our two countries.”

The twinkle in his eyes was as addictive as hazelnut crème lattes. “We Brits have taken on a very pragmatic attitude toward the countries that were once a part of the British Empire. As long as no one is currently declaring war on us, we don’t mind people celebrating wars that happened centuries ago.”

Around them, everyone headed for the field. George took her plate to throw away, and she took his cup to refill with Diet Sprite, no ice. They joined Jenn, Meredith, Jason, and Rafe, who’d overlapped the ends of two quilts on the ground.

Forbes flopped down beside Anne as she got settled. “Miss anything?”

She returned his kiss on the cheek. “Just dinner.”

“George came?” he whispered.

Odd question. “Of course. Why wouldn’t he?”

“Oh, I thought—never mind.” Forbes leaned forward and greeted his sisters by pulling their hair.

After he finished reading the Declaration of Independence, Papere led young and old alike in singing, “America, the Beautiful.” Anne added her alto to Forbes’s tenor, Jason and Rafe’s bass, and Jenn and Mere’s soprano. The dumbfounded expression on George’s face ended their harmony with laughter.

Forbes held up his hand. “We know, we’ve heard it all our lives: ‘You’re just like the Von Trapps from The Sound of Music.’ ”

George recovered himself. “Not exactly what I was thinking, but it did sound nice. Pray, continue.”

When they segued into “My Country, ’Tis of Thee,” Anne made the mistake of looking at George to see what he thought of the coopted British national anthem. He leaned over and sang low in her ear, “God save the Queen!”

“You’re bad,” she whispered.

“I’m bad? Your ancestors stole our song, and I’m bad?” He shifted position, turning his torso toward her, their noses almost touching. A few inches, and they would be kissing. His grin faded. Emotion flooded his gaze. “Anne, there’s something—” With a whoosh of breath, his forehead banged hers.

“Ow!” She rubbed her head and leaned away. “Hello, Christian, Cooper.”

The two boys hung from George’s neck, one in his lap, the other on his back.

The boys’ mothers rushed over. “Oh, George, Anne, we’re so sorry. Boys, come on with us.”

He waved them away. “It’s quite all right, Andrea, Keeley. Let them stay. We’ve been bonding today.”

The second time he was with her family, and he’d remembered everyone’s name so far. Each moment she was near him, he revealed even more how he fit the image of her perfect mate.

Forgiving ol’ what’s-his-name didn’t seem so hard all of a sudden.

“It had to be you,” Anne sang with the music flooding her office. She smiled, recalling the warmth in George’s cinnamon-hazelnut eyes as he’d talked at length with her grandfather Friday evening at the picnic. He’d been such a good sport to put up with the ribbing Papere and the uncles had given him. But he still had to prove himself. She couldn’t just fall head over heels for him because he got along with her family.

She wound pink tulle onto a heavy cardboard bolt, pulling the fabric yard by yard out of the white trash bags that nearly filled the floor of her storage room. Her bride Saturday afternoon had taken the wedding from Steel Magnolias as her model, with pink bunting draped over anything that would stand still. Anne’s own wedding would be much more sophisticated—

Whoa. Thinking in terms like that could only bring disappointment. Sure, she liked George now, and he seemed to like her, but what if the glow wore off? What if she discovered him lying to her about something important again?

The future without George Laurence in it looked dim and dismal. But it was a possible reality she needed to face. At thirty-five, she was too old to indulge in a crush. She couldn’t pin her hopes on him. She could, however, have fun exploring the possibility of something permanent.

The room filled with Frank Sinatra’s voice crooning “I Get a Kick Out of You.” Anne sang along, swirling around in the tulle. She wished more brides would choose standards for their receptions. Easier to dance to, the words and music also spoke to a larger audience than the inane pop music of the moment her clients tended to choose.

George listened to the same kind of music, and oh, how he could croon it! But could he dance—more than just the waltz they’d already shared? If not, they could always take ballroom dancing together. She knew a few—the waltz, the fox-trot, and the cha-cha. She spun around, her feet tangled in the tulle, and she fell, landing on the soft pile of bags of fabric.

The bell on the front door echoed throughout the town house. Oh no, her ten o’clock consultation! She struggled to her feet and managed to reach the door. “I’ll be with you in a moment,” she called. Her own laughter didn’t make extrication from the pink cloud easy. Once out, she had to dive back in to find her left shoe and hair clip. She slipped into the eggplant-colored pump, then crossed to check her reflection in the mirror on the back of the storage room door. She ran her fingers through her hair, tossed the clip on the nearest shelf, opened the door, and rushed down the stairs.

The couple seated on the love seat under the front window stood. He was in his late thirties, slender, just over six feet tall, well dressed, wearing expensive shoes, and would look good in a single-or double-button coat, charcoal or black.

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting.” She extended her right hand to the bride first. “I’m Anne Hawthorne.”

“Kristin Smith. I’m so glad you were able to fit us into your busy schedule. This is my fiancé, Greg Witt.” Kristin looked several years younger than her fiancé. She stood about five and a half feet, with shoulder-length blond hair that would look good in an updo and a crown headpiece, and a pink skin tone that would look best with pure white.

Anne shook hands with the groom, then motioned for them to sit. She grabbed her planner off her desk before taking her place in the armchair across the coffee table from them. The purple tulips were starting to wilt a little. She’d have to call April’s Flowers to see if they’d gotten in another shipment.