Always the Wedding Planner, Never the Bride (29 page)
Read Always the Wedding Planner, Never the Bride Online
Authors: Sandra D. Bricker
"Try."
"But you have issues over what you went through with Cris, and I think you need to work those out. Not only with him, but within yourself."
"Issues," she repeated. "That's what you said you had about Maya."
"I just want you to play this out, Sherilyn. Make sure you're heading down a road you really want to travel."
"Andy—"
"This has nothing to do with my love for you," he tried to reassure her, without success. "This is all about you. Remember how Emma said you'd changed since she'd known you before?"
She nodded. She did remember, bitterly. "So, what? You want me to play soccer? Go to a Bob Seger concert?"
"I want you to find that girl again, and make sure she's interested in marrying a guy like me. If she is . . . tell her I'm right here waiting for her."
"What does that mean? Are you broken up then?"
"I don't know."
"What else did he say?"
"Nothing else. He just told me to go find that rocker chick you told him about."
Emma just stood there with the rolling pin poised in her hand, in mid-air.
"Why did you tell him that, Em? Now he thinks he doesn't even know me, when the truth is hardly anyone knows me as well as Andy does."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to . . . I'm sorry, Sher."
Sherilyn eyed the dough halfway rolled out on the table.
"What are you making?"
"Petta."
"What's petta?"
"I'm not entirely sure yet. I think it's a kind of cookie. Georgiann is giving a luncheon to honor a member of her women's guild. Mildred Something-avich. And they want an entirely Serbian menu. Norma's had Pearl and me researching all of this woman's favorite dishes for a week."
Sherilyn pinched a piece of dough from the edge and popped it into her mouth.
"Sher! Don't eat raw dough like that!"
"Mm. It's tasty."
"Wait until you see what's in the filling. Walnuts and sugar and cocoa, all the greats."
"Okay, you are under penalty of torture if you don't save me some of the finished product. I want me some panda."
"Petta."
"Whatever. I want some."
"Georgiann is coming in this afternoon for a sampling. You can join us."
Sherilyn headed for the door, pausing for a moment before pushing it open. "Time?"
"Four o'clock."
"Location?"
"Right here."
"I'll see you at 3:55."
"And afterward," Emma said, "you can come along with me to Zumba."
"Where's that?"
"Not where. What! It's an exercise class."
"You're joking."
"It's either that or kick boxing."
"Or neither," Sherilyn stated.
"Do you want to come to the sampling or not?"
"Em."
"Then you're going to go sweat it off with me afterward."
Sherilyn let the door swing behind her as she left.
"It's a good way to clear your head!" Emma called out after her.
She groaned as she crossed the lobby and passed the front desk.
"Ms. Caine?"
"Hi, William," she said, waving as she continued on her way.
"Ms. Caine, you've received several large deliveries. I sent them up to your office."
Oh, it figures I'd find both lost wedding dresses TODAY.
"Thank you, William."
Sherilyn leaned on the railing and gazed through the glass, watching the courtyard move farther and farther away until the elevator stopped at the fourth floor.
With her hand poised on the knob of the door to her office, she heaved in a deep breath and released it slowly before turning it. The door thudded against something as she tried to open it, and she squeezed through to find three enormous shipping boxes lined up in front of her desk, one of them almost as tall as Sherilyn.
"What in the world?"
She fumbled with the smallest one, about three and a half feet tall and just as wide, until she saw a shipping label. Next to it, a thick black Sharpie pen had obviously been used to scribble a note right on the outside of the box.
Hang on to these for me, Red. I'll be back on the 21st. RW
"Ah, Russell!" she groaned, pushing the boxes to the side so that she could make it around her desk to the chair. "This is just great."
Sherilyn opened her laptop and flipped it on. Andy's smiling face came up behind her desktop, and she felt a little tug at her heart.
"Hello?"
Oh, good. A distraction.
A lovely blonde who looked very much like a Cover Girl advertisement pushed her way past the boxes and stood at the corner of Sherilyn's desk. Her silky hair bounced as she asked, "Are you Sherilyn Caine?"
"Yes," she replied. "Sorry for the disaster area."
"I would venture a guess that it's from Russell and J.R.?" she suggested.
"Yes! You know them?"
"J.R. is my fiancé's brother, and he's been the unwilling recipient of the spoils of their travels in the past. And since they're out on the road right now, and I was sent to you via the two of them . . ."
"Brilliant deductive reasoning, my dear Watson," Sherilyn teased as she stood up and offered her hand.
"I'm Carly Madison," she said with a grin as she shook it. "Russell said I might like to talk to you about the possibility of having a wedding here at the hotel, if . . ." she paused, glancing at the boxes. "Well, if you can fit me in."
Sherilyn chuckled. "I think I'd stand a better chance of that if we moved downstairs." She closed her laptop and loaded it under one arm, leading Carly safely past the obstacle course and into the hall. "Why don't we go down and have some coffee? We can talk about it there."
Once they'd boarded the elevator, Carly leaned against the wall and smiled. "J.R. and his brother Devon have an agreement.
When J.R. is traveling with Russell Walker, he calls Devon every couple of days to let him know where they are and where they're headed. When he called on Friday, Devon told him that he'd proposed to me. That's when J.R. mentioned this place."
"Do you live here in Atlanta?"
"Out near Stone Mountain," she answered. "But I've read about the owner of the hotel, and how he converted it as a wedding destination. I have to admit, it's just as charming as I'd hoped it would be."
Sherilyn stopped at the front desk. "William, would you please have those boxes removed from my office? I can't function in there. Is there somewhere we can store them for a week or so?"
"I'll look into it and find a place, Ms. Caine."
After a quick stop in Emma's kitchen for a couple cups of coffee, Sherilyn and Carly settled into a corner table at the restaurant.
"So why don't we start with you telling me what you have in mind."
Carly produced a file folder from her large bag and plucked a sketch from inside it. "This is my dress!" she exclaimed, pushing the paper toward her.
The colored pencil sketch had a professional quality to it, and Sherilyn's eye darted immediately to the signature at the lower right corner of the page.
"Audrey Regan?" she clarified. "You're getting married in an Audrey Regan?"
Carly nodded with excitement. "She's my best friend."
"Really!"
"Isn't it amazing?"
Sherilyn scanned the page. Miles of floating ruffles, a ruched bodice, a ten- or twelve-foot train of chiffon and bling. "This is spectacular."
"She's just gifted," Carly stated as she took the sketch back and gazed lovingly at it. "She took everything in my head and poured it into this dress. I can't wait to wear it."
"I don't blame you."
Sherilyn felt that way about Vanessa's dress, and she wondered if she would actually have the chance.
"We've limited our guest list to about a hundred," she told her. "We'd rather spend the money on making it spectacular than on including everyone we've ever met, you know?"
"We have a couple of different venues that might work for you. What's your date?"
"Next spring. We're open on the date. Maybe late April or early May."
Sherilyn popped open the laptop and booted it. "Do you have a theme in mind?"
"I do. I want it to be a fairy tale. We'll arrive in a glass carriage, and I want rose petals everywhere, in all the colors of spring . . ."
Two hours later, they'd nailed down the date, the room, the colors, the flowers, the music, and the menu. Ten minutes after that, Sherilyn declared herself officially jealous.
Preheat oven to 375 degrees
Crust:
2½ cups all-purpose flour
2 sticks butter
1 tablespoon sugar
3 egg yolks
3 to 5 drops yellow food coloring
Mix flour, butter, and sugar together to form dough.
Add egg yolks, then beat with a fork or whisk. Add in food coloring and mix
until well blended.
Divide dough in half.
Sprinkle each half with flour and roll out on waxed paper to fit a 13"x9"x2" pan.
Place the first crust in the bottom of pan.
Save second crust for topping.
Filling:
6 egg yolks
1½ cups sugar
1 teaspoon baking powder
1½ cups ground nuts (walnuts and pecans work best)
1 tablespoon + 1 teaspoon cocoa
6 egg whites
Beat egg yolks, sugar, and baking powder until light.
Fold in nuts and cocoa.
Beat egg whites until stiff and add to yolk mixture.
Pour over bottom crust.
Carefully place second crust on top.
Prick the top with a fork.
Bake for 35 minutes.
When cool, make diagonal cuts to create diamond-shaped cookies.
A
ndy glanced at the clock the moment the doorbell rang.
7:10 p.m.
Sherilyn had left the house just before 6:30 that morning. They hadn't gone thirteen hours without talking since the day they met. He padded toward the door, hoping to see her face when he opened it. Disappointment mingled with curiosity when he found Cris Padilla standing there instead.
"Hey, Andy."
"Hi, Cris."
"Can I come in?"
After a quick debate with himself, he nodded and tugged the door all the way open.
"Can I get you something?" he offered half-heartedly, and he was relieved when Cris declined.
"I was hoping Sherilyn would be with you."
He didn't know whether to laugh or clench his fist. "No," he said. "Have a seat."
Cris took one of the chairs. Andy plunked down on the couch, wondering whether Cris recognized it as Sherilyn's. How many more of her things had he known before Andy ever entered the picture?
"I had no idea when we met that you and Sherilyn . . . even knew one another," he said, and he ran a hand through his shiny dark hair. "I was as surprised as she was yesterday."
Andy didn't know what to say.
"Miguel mentioned to me this morning that she's been pretty tied up in knots about what happened between us . . ."
"Did he?"
". . . and I just thought I should speak to her and try to sort some things out."
Andy traced the seam on the arm of the couch. "Well, Sherilyn isn't here, Cris. She doesn't live here, won't until after we're married." He swallowed the bitter taste of the words, hoping they would still make their way to marriage.
"Might I ask how I can reach her?" he asked. "If it's all right with you."
Andy looked the guy straight in the eye, and he was a little astonished at the sincerity coming across from him. Cris actually looked apologetic. Truth told, he had nothing much to apologize for beyond wandering into the wrong guy's house on a random Sunday afternoon.
"She works with Jackson," he told him. "At The Tanglewood. You can call her there."
"Really. Small world, isn't it?"
Too small.
Cris didn't move for several seconds, apparently waiting for something, but Andy had no idea what. When he finally stood up, he rested a hand on his hip and sighed.
"I'm really sorry about all of this," he said.
"It's just strange timing," Andy told him. "And, uh . . . I'm sorry about what happened between you and Sherilyn. I know she feels terrible about it."
"Thank you." For a moment, Andy thought he would walk away, but he just stood there. Finally, "Is she happy?"
Andy didn't know why he resented him for asking. "You'll have to ask her that question." Cris nodded and turned to leave. "What about you?" Andy asked him before he reached the hallway. "Are you doing all right?"
"It took a long time," he replied. "But yeah. Thanks for letting me in, Andy."
This time, Andy nodded. He stood frozen until after the front door closed.
Noodle dishes, smoked meats, and various Mediterranean comfort foods; not exactly Sherilyn's cup of c
. orba.
But when Pearl cleared the remnants of the meal from the table and Fee replaced the dishes with a platter of petta cookies flanked by one bearing some sort of candied pears stuffed with walnuts and pecans, she may as well have heard her name shouted from the center of the table.
"The petta recipe came directly from our honoree," Georgiann told them in her sweet southern drawl. "It's a chocolate nut cookie that her mama used to make."
"And the pears with nut stuffing," Emma announced, "are a Serbian recipe originating from parts of the former Yugoslavia, which is where her parents were born."
"Serbian cuisine is a mixture of Mediterranean influences," Pearl said as she helped Fee pass out small tasting plates, "mostly from Turkey, Greece, Hungary, and Austria."
"We're thinking of serving both of these on a dessert cart," Emma commented. "What I'd like to know from all of you is whether you think they complement one another, or if we should choose just one."
Sherilyn's penchant for chocolate made the petta a standout choice, and Susannah and Norma agreed. Pearl, Fee, and Georgiann seemed torn.
"I think you have to serve them both,
sugah,"
Madeline stated, wiping the corner of her mouth with a napkin. "What do y'all think?"
Susannah concurred. "They're lovely together. I say serve them both."
"There it is then!" Fee declared. "We have our menu. Was I right? Or was I right?" She and Norma exchanged a jubilant high-five.
Sherilyn resisted the urge to lick her fingers after placing the last of the petta from her plate into her mouth. When she glanced up and saw Emma's surprised expression, she wondered if her consideration had been that obvious.
"It's fantastic," she told her before realizing that Emma's attention was aimed just over Sherilyn's shoulder.
She pivoted atop the barstool and nearly choked when she came face-to-face with Cris, his eyes locked with Emma's.
"Hi, Emma Rae."
Emma darted a quick look at Sherilyn as she rounded the table toward him. She walked right into his embrace and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "Hi, Cris. How are you?"
"It's been a long time," he said as they parted. With a grin, he added, "Until yesterday."
"I'm happy to see you," Emma told him.
"You too."
Sherilyn sat frozen atop the stool, her hands gripping the seat on either side. When Cris's eyes landed on her, she tried to smile. Her face felt strangely like concrete.
"Sherilyn, I was hoping we could talk for a few minutes."
"We were just finishing up here," Emma stated, and Sherilyn wasn't sure she'd ever seen a room clear so quickly. If the baking thing didn't work out, Emma certainly had a future in cattle rustling. She and Cris occupied the kitchen alone in no time flat.
"Do you want a cookie?" Sherilyn asked. "Coffee?"
"No. Thank you."
He took the stool next to her that had been occupied by Norma just a few minutes earlier, and he leaned forward, propping his arms on the edge of the table.
"I'm sorry about surprising you yesterday," he said without looking at her.
"I'm sorry for surprising you too," she stated, and his warm brown eyes found hers. "I mean it, Cristián. I'm so very, very sorry."
He raked his shiny dark hair away from his suntanned face, and he sighed.
"I never should have just run away like that," she told him.
After a moment, he asked, "Why did you?"
She didn't even take a breath before answering. "Because I was a coward. I didn't want to face you to tell you that I didn't want to marry you, so I ran."
"All the way back to Chicago."
She nodded, and a flock of butterflies took flight in her stomach. She thought she might like to blame the Serbian food, but as she sat there and looked at Cris, she knew it had nothing to do with a few bites of noodles, lamb, or even cabbage.
"How are you, Cristián?"
"I'm good," he stated, and Sherilyn tilted her head and smiled.
"Really?"
"Really. I'm good." He touched her hand and returned the smile. "I just about lost my mind when you didn't show up at
the church. The next year or so was rocky, I'll admit. But then I met Miguel, and he started to counsel me . . . pray with me . . . and later he brought me into the fold of his church. Eventually, I found my way without you."
She fought the tears back into submission before she replied, "I'm happy to know that. I really am."
"I couldn't see this then," he said softly. "And I don't like the way you went about it. But you did the right thing. I'm not your husband, Sherilyn."
Her heart sank a little for him, and she nodded. "And I'm not your wife. But I'm so sorry for the way I hurt you. No explanation, no conversation at all, just disappearing. It was so wrong, Cristián, and I think it's been eating me alive ever since."
Cris stared at the floor for several seconds, rubbing his temple. Finally, he looked up at her seriously. "Release yourself from it, Sherilyn. God and I already have."
And with that, the dam of her emotions burst like a raging flood. Tears and sobs propelled out of her like the powerful rev of a jet engine. She had no control over it as her face contorted with what she and Emma had long ago deemed
the ugly cry.
Cris stood up and took her into his arms, and Sherilyn was completely undone.
"I'm so sorry," she wailed into his shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Cristián."
After several minutes, Cris finally drew away from her. He grabbed a napkin left on the table and dabbed at her tears before leaning down slightly to look her straight in the eyes.
"It's time," he told her, and Sherilyn nodded, understanding his meaning fully.
"I know."
"Let yourself be brave."
"And you . . . let yourself love," she returned.
Cris kissed her cheek and squeezed her hand before setting the napkin on her knee and walking out of the kitchen.
"For the newbies, kickboxing is a combination of martial arts, boxing, and general cardio. It involves a fast combination of kicks and punches. Once you get your balance, you'll find it's a great way to exercise as well as work out your frustrations of the day. That's why we always hold our classes later in the afternoon and early evening—so you can leave your rough day on the floor."
Sherilyn stood next to Emma, donning pink boxing gloves as she faced the third heavy bag in a row of eight and wondering how she'd been roped into such a thing. She almost wanted to laugh at her reflection, topped off with the curve of a ponytail right at the center of her head.
"Stand with your feet apart, around the width of your shoulders," the stick figure trainer instructed them. "Put one foot slightly ahead of the other one, take a deep breath, and just relax your body."
Relax your body. Yeah. I'll do that.
"If you bend your knees, it will help your balance. Now bring your hands up to protect your face, and hold them at about chin level."
Sherilyn glanced over at Emma who rocked from one foot to the other with her fanny jutted out a bit, her eyes glistening with anticipation, and her gloves poised. She looked like she could hardly wait to kick that bag's butt. Sherilyn's bag, on the other hand, hadn't incited her in any way. In fact, it seemed like a perfectly amiable bag, hanging there quietly, minding its own business.
"Turn just a bit to the side and suck in your ribcage, using your elbows to protect your midsection. Approach your target by stepping forward on one foot and—"
In a matter of seconds, the other six women in the class let loose on their bags, shouting each time they slugged them, Sherilyn just standing there watching them.
"Come on," Emma encouraged her, spinning on one leg while the other arched in a full-on attack. "
THAT'S
what I'm talkin' about!"
Sherilyn stared at her for a moment, sighed, and turned to walk out.
"No, no," Emma objected, laughing as she dragged Sherilyn back to her bag. Leaning forward over her shoulder, she whispered, "I know you have it in you, Sher. Kick some butt."
Sherilyn glared at the bag, leaning her gloved hand on the fold of her ample hip. "I have nothing against this bag, Em."
"Sure you do," she replied, taking her place again.
Sherilyn watched Emma for several minutes, rocking and pivoting, throwing punches and well-placed kicks. Somehow, against all odds, she caught the fire, and for the first time in her life . . .
Sherilyn Caine wanted to hit something.
"Youch!" she shouted as a stab of pain shot through her wrist and up her arm from the first punch thrown.
"Step into your jab," the instructor said from behind her. "Watch Emma again."
After another minute, she readied herself one more time and threw a couple of jabs at the bag.
"Awesome!" Emma shouted. "Hit it again!"
And she did.
In fact, she hit, kicked, shouted, and punched for the next thirty minutes with barely a pause. And when she was through, Sherilyn dropped on her fanny to the floor, fell over backward with a thud, and groaned.