Page 37 of The Wedding Deal
Okay, now you’re letting your imagination get carried away.
Charlotte set her stack of marked-up papers aside and padded over to the door, then cursed not stepping into her shoes—the peephole was too damn high. “Who is it?” she asked through the door.
“Room service.”
If this were a movie, this was where the bad guys charged inside because she was stupid enough to believe room service had been sent without her ordering anything.
Yes, because logically, you’d be a huge target.
It was official. She needed more caffeine—clearly her brain wasn’t functioning at maximum capacity. Or even minimum capacity. Obviously thinking about unattainable guys zapped too many brain cells, on top of leaving you slightly depressed.
Finally she opened the door, a crack at first, and then wider when she saw the man with the silver tray and matching pitcher on the other side. The scent of dark roasted beans filled the air, and if she was going to go down over anything, caffeinated seemed like a good way to go.
“Mr. Quaid called and asked us to deliver coffee and pastries. He also insisted we run to the store for this.” He tapped the large bottle of Southern butter pecan creamer.
Her heart went all squishy on her. He remembered her special creamer and paid who knew how much to ensure they’d deliver it with the coffee—amazing, blessed coffee. “Do I need to sign or…?”
The guy swiped a hand through the air. “Mr. Quaid already took care of it.”
Charlotte thanked him and closed the door behind him. Since she had her priorities in order, she doctored a cup, sighing when the coffee hit her tongue. No surprise, this fancy resort had the good stuff. Good enough she probably didn’t even need her special creamer, but after going without it, she could fully attest that it was so much better with it.
For a couple of seconds, she debated waiting to thank Lance until after he returned. But sometimes it was easier to thank someone over the phone, where his big, oxygen-stealing presence couldn’t twist up her thoughts and her tongue.
She took an Instagram-worthy picture of the mug, the pretty silver pitcher, and the creamer. She typed outTHANK YOU!!!!in screaming caps with an inordinate amount of exclamation points. She added a heart. Deleted the heart. Added the two smaller pink hearts. Deleted them. Settled on a smiley face.
When her phone rang instead of chimed, she nearly dropped it. Of course he’d call—he was forever on the phone, so maybe he had something against texts.
“Hey,” she said. “Seriously, thank you so much.”
“Really it’s selfish on my part,” he said in that rich voice that caressed her skin and settled deep in her bones. “I’ve gotta keep you going.”
She didn’t buy it, but she smiled all the same. The cherry Danish was calling her name, so she plucked it off the tray and took a bite. It was so delicious she had to suppress a groan.
“I also need to warn you about something,” he said, and she tensed. “My mother has your phone number. I tried to tell her I could pass on a message, but she insisted and gave me the Mom Glare, and I’m not proud to admit it, but I totally caved.” She could picture him grinning and pacing, the phone held against his ear. “This is why I needed you here as a shield—she’s relentless, and I end up agreeing to crazy things. God only knows how many horrible dates I would’ve been forced to endure.”
Now she was glad she was here, too, only she was more worried the dates would’ve been good, and what was wrong with her? The guy had coffee, creamer, and pastries delivered, and suddenly she was ready to claim him as her own?
“Anyway, you can expect a call or text from her shortly. We just wrapped up the photo shoot, if you can believe it, but we ended up way down the beach so we could get a picture in the historic gazebo, and traffic’s horrible because of some parade.” Okay, so maybe he wasn’t pacing but sitting in the back of a car. “The boys are upset they can’t get out to watch, but Taylor’s afraid they’ll ruin their tuxes, and it’s a whole thing, so now we’re eating chicken nuggets in the car in our undershirts.”
That was quite the picture, and not a sentence she ever imagined him uttering. Before coming here and seeing him with his family, it wouldn’t have computed at all, and she liked that she got to see this other side of him. Even if it also put her weak-willed heart in danger.
“Hopefully I’ll be back within the hour,” he said.
“I’ll keep guzzling the coffee, then.”
“If you need anything else, just order it and tell them to charge the room.” Voices sounded in the background, growing louder and louder. “Apparently someone’s trying to use ketchup, and my tackling skills are required. Heaven help us all.”
She was still giggling over the idea of a bunch of grown-ups attempting to wrestle ketchup packets from toddlers in the back of a car when her phone pinged. Sure enough, Maribelle had her number and wasn’t afraid to use it. She invited Charlotte to go with the girls for manis and pedis tomorrow and added that Stacy was hoping she’d also attend the bachelorette party with her and her friends tomorrow night.
Longing rose up, even as her pulse hitched. She wanted to go—whenever she’d seen movies where the characters took part in those sorts of girly outings, she’d thought about how fun they looked and how much she’d like to take part in them if she ever got the chance. But was she getting too tangled up in these people she’d most likely never see again?
On the other hand, it’d give her some time away from Lance, which meant less chance of her accidentally getting more attached to him.
On the otherotherhand, spending time with his family also made her quickly growing feelings for him that much stronger. This entire trip was acting as a catalyst, making everything bigger and faster, and she told herself it would calm down once they were back in the real world.
Besides, she might never get another chance to take part in all the pre-wedding fun, and she was already here. She didn’t want to let her worries stop her from enjoying herself.
With the girls.
