Page 157 of Traces Of You
She might have had more jitters in her body than her students today while she watched the clock tick down.
She left the school with her bag over her shoulder, got to her small SUV, and pulled her nude pumps off the passenger seat to swap out the canvas sneakers she had on with her long summer dress.
She wanted to impress Clay Ridgeway. Coming in with sneakers and a flowing dress didn’t show too much professionalism for a fancy wedding planner.
As she drove through the main street, then took the turn to go toward Warrensburg and into the country where the orchards were, she fished around in the bag on the passenger seat for her belt.
Once her hand landed on it, she pulled it out to set on her lap.
Meredith entered the property to the orchards, parked in front of the massive, converted barn. Wrapping the belt around her waist, she cinched it tight, then pulled the material of her floral dress up a bit to gather. She hoped it looked as nice as it had when she tested it this morning.
After she got out of her SUV, she flung her purse on her shoulder, then opened the backdoor and grabbed the three bulky binders of samples, materials, and ideas.
The soft giddy laugh escaped her lips before she could stop it, then she rushed into the barn, where the doors were open, just waiting for her to make her grand entrance like all the newly married couples would do.
Too bad in her pass through the doors, her heel caught on the step, her feet skated around as if she were on ice, her ankle turned and the binders went crashing to the ground in athunkloud enough to echo in the Grand Canyon.
She was positive she was going down next to them, but the large hands of Clay Ridgeway caught her before her knees kissed the floor.
“Damn it,” Clay said. “I’ve got to fix that step now.”
“No,” she said. “It’s me. The step is fine. I’m not used to wearing heels and my shoe caught.”
“Then why wear them?” he asked.
She straightened herself, then looked into the dark brown eyes of the man she’d been thinking about for weeks.
Oh lord, the pictures on his website hadn’t done him justice.
His hair was as dark as it was when he was a child. He towered over her, but now more so. He had muscles and strength to pack a punch like a heavyweight boxer.
“What?” she asked. He was searching her face, his powerful hands on her forearms keeping her steady.
“Why wear heels if you can’t walk in them?”
“To look good,” she said. He let go of her arms and she was steady enough.
“Falling kind of outweighs that in my eyes,” he said, his tone shorter than she remembered.
Oh well. She wouldn’t let this get her down.
Speaking of down, everything she’d brought with her had spilled at her feet, binders opened, pages exposed. At least it was all still intact.
“Comes with the territory for me,” she said, kneeling down to gather her books.
He squatted and picked up two of them before her, and they stood together. “I’m assuming you’re Meredith Banks and not some saleswoman coming in here to sell me”—he looked down at the binder on top—“flowers?”
Bummer. He not only didn’t recognize her, but didn’t even remember her name.
Her ego could take the hit. She knew she was forgettable most times.
She stuck her hand out enthusiastically. “That’s me. Meredith Banks, interviewing for the part-time wedding planner. My dream job.”
He snorted. “Why don’t we go over here and talk? Think you can make it without tripping?”
He reached for the binder in her hands, and she handed it to him. “You’re funny.”
“I wasn’t trying to be,” he said and turned to walk toward a table close by.
