Kaye Dacus - Stand-In Groom

George traced the contours of her face with his fingertips. “You’d be surprised what God can bring about.”

“You’re such an optimist.” She stepped back into his open arms and relaxed into his embrace. “The only way I’d be able to talk to Cliff Ballantine is if he were to walk through those doors.”

A sound rumbled in George’s chest. “Stranger things have happened.”

Headlights flashed in Anne’s rearview mirror. Who in the world would be pulling into her driveway at three o’clock in the morning? She parked and cut off the engine, then reached into the center console for her pepper spray.

The car pulled up beside her, and she released a shaky breath when she recognized Jenn’s classic Mustang. Wearily, she climbed out and fumbled with her keys to locate the master for the back door.

“You just getting in?” Jenn called in a hushed voice.

Anne nodded. “And I feel guilty about leaving when I did. There’s still so much to finish tomorrow—I mean today.”

Jenn skirted her car and put her arm around Anne’s waist. “If Fridays weren’t one of my busiest nights of the week, I’d offer to help.”

“I know. Thanks. How come you’re getting in so late?”

“I went out with some of the staff for midnight breakfast after closing. Sort of a celebration. We scored a ninety-eight on our latest health inspection.”

“The surprise inspection? Jenn, that’s great.” Anne looked down to find the right key for the back door.

“So was George there tonight?” In the yellow glow from the porch light, mischief glimmered in Jenn’s eyes.

Anne’s cheeks burned, and she focused on getting the door unlocked.

“Anne?” Jenn grabbed the keys. “Something happened tonight, didn’t it?”

The memory of George’s kisses—the one in the office and his good night just a few minutes ago—sent goose bumps racing up and down Anne’s body.

“Oh my goodness. He kissed you, didn’t he?”

Was she that easy to read? She nodded, unable to speak.

Jenn hopped up and down, her blond-streaked red ponytail bouncing about her shoulders. “I knew it! I knew it! I knew the first time I saw him he was the one for you.”

Anne laughed. “Jenn, the first time you saw him, you thought he was a client I was planning a wedding for.”

She shook her head. “Nope. Even then. I knew somehow the two of you would end up together. He was too interested in you to be engaged to someone else.” She waved her hand to fend off a dive-bombing june bug. “Meredith and I started making plans as soon as she met him.”

“Making plans?” With Jenn’s attention on avoiding the bug, Anne unlocked the door into the hall that connected all three apartments to the back porch.

“Yeah—for your wedding.”

She dropped the heavy key ring on her foot and stifled a yelp. Her wedding? She hadn’t let her own mind go down that path. She didn’t want to be disappointed again when things didn’t work out.

“I mean, it’s not like we’ve actually gone out and booked the Vue de Ciel or anything. We just started looking at dresses…and flowers…”

Crazy. Mad as hatters. Her cousins— “What did you just say?”

“What? That we were looking at dresses and flowers?”

“No, before that.”

“The Vue de Ciel? Could you imagine having your reception there? Of course it would have to be at night when all the stars are out.” Jenn’s tone turned dreamy. “Being on the top floor of the tallest building in downtown; surrounded by glass overlooking the city; the moon and stars glittering like diamonds on velvet…”

Anne dropped the keys she’d just retrieved and grabbed her phone, speed-dialing George’s number as she raised it to her ear.

Jenn stopped gushing about the location. “Who are you calling at this hour?”

Come on, George, I know you can’t be at home in bed yet. As soon as she heard the click of connection, she started talking. “George, I’ve got it. I know Courtney was disappointed that we can’t have the reception at Jardin. But I know where we can do it.”

“Slow down. Breathe. What brought on this sudden inspiration?”

She smiled in reaction to the barely suppressed laughter in his voice. “Oh, a conversation I was having with Jenn. Next week we’ll go see the Vue de Ciel.”

“Is it large enough?”

“A long time ago, I planned a served dinner for nearly a thousand attendees and still had room for a dance floor and bandstand.” Fatigue faded as ideas started to take shape. With approximately seven hundred guests, she could have the room set with a mixture of two-, four-, and eight-person tables. The long head table would go on the west side, so they’d have the best view of the city—

“Anne? Are you still there?”

“Sorry. Just formulating some ideas. I need to get it down on paper while I’m thinking about it.” She bent down and picked up her keys.

“Are you going to get any sleep tonight?”

“Probably not. I may try to grab a thirty-minute nap tomorrow afternoon when I know everything is going smoothly.” Black and white linens with mirrors and candles as centerpieces. Only candlelight— no ambient lighting to distract from the view.

“Do try to get some rest, please?”

Well, a bit of electric lighting so it wasn’t so dark people would trip and hurt themselves. “I can’t make any promises, but I’ll try.”

“See you at seven for breakfast?”

The enormous cake, fabulously made by Aunt Maggie, would grace a large table on the south wall. Of course, the photographer would have to figure out how to do the pictures surrounded by so much glass. “Yes, seven at Beignets S’il Vous Plait on Spring Street.”

“Good night, then.”

“G’night.” She flipped the phone closed and started up the stairs.

“Annie? You okay?” Concern laced Jenn’s voice.

“Yeah. I’ve just got to get this all written down before I forget.” She turned and kissed her cousin on the cheek. “I probably won’t see you until Saturday.”

“Bring George by the restaurant Saturday night if he’s available. Y’all need to go on a real date and have some alone time.”

Somehow, the two of them going to dinner at Jenn’s restaurant didn’t sound like “alone time” to Anne. “I’ll mention it to him and see if he can get away.”

* * *

“You got in awful late last night.”

George gratefully took the blue ceramic mug full of Mama Ketty’s chicory coffee and sank onto a stool at the kitchen island. “We had to leave quite a bit undone to get home at that hour.” The rich, slightly bitter, extremely hot liquid woke up his mouth. Hopefully the rest of him would follow suit soon. After only three hours of sleep, he felt every one of his forty-one years…and then some. He’d gotten soft. Many times in the past few years, he’d had to attend to tasks for Cliff late at night and still be up at six in the morning to keep up with both their schedules. Two months away, and he’d lost the ability to hop out of bed without a minimum of seven hours of sleep when the alarm first sounded. “What time did Mr. Ballantine get in last night?”

“ ’Bout an hour before you. He was mightily fearsome when he found out you weren’t back yet.” Ketty covered her bread dough and set it aside. “Did that young man never learn how to pick up after himself?”

George snorted. He’d picked up Cliff’s discarded couture clothing from the bedroom, bathroom, and dressing-room floors this morning. “Apparently not. But it keeps me in cash.”

“You gonna clean up after the little miss like that, too, once they’re hitched?”

“In the three days she’s been back, have you seen her put anything down where it doesn’t belong?” His brain started clicking better as the caffeine took effect. “No, Miss Courtney appreciates the fact I have enough to do with looking after Mr. Ballantine. She hardly allows me to do anything for her.” And treats me like I’d always hoped a daughter would… That poor girl. Did she know what she was getting herself into? He had no doubt Cliff was head over heels in love with her. But as soon as Cliff announced their engagement, the media would pursue her as they had Princess Diana. George hoped he’d be able to protect Courtney from the worst of it.

“I s’pose y’all will be getting in late again tonight.” Disapproval dripped from Mama Ketty’s words.

He caught her about her thick waist as she tried to brush past him. “I’m terribly sorry, lovey. I know you worry.”

The muscles in her cheeks twitched as she tried to hold on to her scowl. “Don’t go tryin’ to butter me up. I told you when you first came here that I work better with a regular schedule. Now you got people coming and going at all hours….” She harrumphed, kissed the top of his head, and continued to the pantry.

“Sorry, what people coming and going?” He checked his watch. Six thirty. He needed to leave in a few minutes to meet Anne for breakfast—and coffee. He swirled the bit of black liquid still remaining in his cup and chuckled. He needed a cup of coffee to wake up enough to go to a coffee shop for breakfast. He really was getting old.

“Them movers that came yesterday after you left.”

Frowning, he followed her into the storage room. Fresh spices and dried herbs mingled with the odor of the onions and garlic cloves in the wire basket suspended by a long chain from the high ceiling. “What movers?”

Mama Ketty balanced near the top of the stepladder. She glanced over her shoulder and handed him a large sack of cornmeal. “They came to the service entrance and knocked. Said they had furniture for the upstairs that they was to deliver to Mr. George Laurence. I figured since you and Mr. B. weren’t here it was okay, so I let them in. I had Miss Courtney’s dinner just coming out of the oven, and I came back to the kitchen. But when I checked on them half an hour later, they weren’t moving any furniture, and one of them was coming out of the office. Said he was leaving you a note that they had the wrong furniture and had to go back to the store.”

“Oh, love a duck!” The pantry door slammed against the wall in response to George’s hasty retreat. Had they been reporters? Had they found anything? He hadn’t thought it would be necessary to lock the office when he was out of the house. He kept the file cabinets locked unless he needed something out of them.

The dark wood door swung open at his touch. Nothing appeared to be out of place.

The computer. He dropped the bag of cornmeal and turned the machine on. It didn’t require a password to get into the main operating system. Most of his files were encrypted, but what if they’d copied them and had a computer elsewhere that could get into them?

“What’s wrong?” Ketty wheezed, out of breath from running after him. “Did I do something I oughtn’t have?”

He stared at the blue Welcome screen. How difficult would it be for them to figure out his password for the confidential files was anne0608? The “anne” part they might figure out if the perpetrators knew Anne was planning the wedding. What they didn’t know was that he’d first met her on June 8.

The image of the Big Ben clock tower with a purple evening sky behind it replaced the start-up screen. A yellow bubble popped up in the right corner. YOU HAVE FILES WAITING TO BE WRITTEN TO THE CD. TO SEE THE FILES NOW, CLICK THIS BALLOON. His heart sank when the window opened and he saw the list. Five files. The RSVPs and travel arrangements for the engagement party. The guests for the wedding ceremony. The invite list for the reception. And the detailed questionnaire he’d filled out for Anne.

He hoped the thieves had been thwarted by the unreliable CD burner. But half the time when he used it, that message popped up even after the files had been successfully copied to a disc. He closed his eyes and rubbed them with the heels of his hands, hard enough to see stars.

The dulcet chime of his Westminster clock marked forty-five minutes past the hour. Mama Ketty’s warm hand rested on his shoulder, and she leaned over him to look at the screen. “What’s all that?”

He let out a defeated breath. “Confidential documents about the wedding. Those blokes weren’t movers.”

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. I knew I should’ve called you when they showed up. But they knew your name. …” She squeezed his shoulder. “Do you s’pose they’re reporters?”

Nodding, he shut down the computer. “I’m certain of it.” He patted her hand. “Our saving grace is that Mr. Ballantine will make the announcement just a few hours from now. If they can get through my password and figure out what the files mean, we can only hope they try to keep the information for themselves. After the press conference this afternoon, everything will be public knowledge, and they’ll lose their exclusive story. Just pray they can’t break those passwords.”