Read Best Laid Wedding Plans Online
Authors: Lynnette Austin
Best Laid Wedding Plans (34 page)
Read on for a sneak peek from
Every Bride Has Her Day
Magnolia Brides, Book 2
Mobsters, morons, and moonlit gardens. An odd trinity.
“Unless you're me,” Cricket O'Malley sang, excitement, happiness, and nerves bubbling through her.
She centered her camera on the old railroad car, clicked, and sent the photo via Facebook. Her new shop, the Enchanted Florist! Her parents would love it.
And so did she.
A horn tooted behind her.
“Thought this might be a good time for you to meet Jenni Beth,” her cousin Beck called out, “but I just talked to her and she's not gonna be back in town till later tonight.”
With the window of his monster truck down, he rested one forearm on the door frame. “You up for a meetin' with her tomorrow?”
“I sure am! My partner in crime! Sort of.”
“You might want to be careful who you say that to, considerin' the circumstances.” He nodded toward her shop. “Lock up and let's go. I'll take you to dinner.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Want to ride with me or drive yourself?”
“I'll go with you if that's okay.”
“You bet.”
“Anybody ever tell you that you look an awful lot like Dierks Bentley?”
“Yep.” He grinned and slid a pair of dark glasses into place.
Cricket did a little happy dance as she locked up. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been so excited. It was a whole lot like buying a new notebook for the beginning of the school year. Nothing had been written in it yet, no mistakes made. The pages were waiting to be filled. An exciting new adventure begun. A month ago she'd been out of work and fast running out of hope. One phone call from her cousin had changed all that.
Now, here she was in Misty Bottomsâa very small town in Georgia's Low Country. She'd lived here the first five years of her life before her folks packed up and moved to Blue Ridge in the North Georgia mountains.
She and Beck, with whom she'd shared her first Christmases and Thanksgivings, had kept in touch through social media, and he'd found her a new business and a new house.
He leaned across the seat and opened the door for her. Sliding in, she buckled up, then rolled her shoulders. It had been a busy day, a very physical one. A lot of inventory to unpack.
“You gettin' rid of the ghost of Pia D'Amato?”
“I'm sure tryin'. Hope nobody holds her taste against me.” Cricket grinned. “I stripped the place bare and repainted. Pastel blue and green. A lot of work, but the shop looks so much better.”
They drove past Kitty's Kakes and Bakery, and Cricket pressed her nose to the window.
“Want to stop?” Beck asked.
“No. So tempting, though. Kitty's sticky pecan rolls. Mmmm.”
Beck slowed down.
“Keep movin', cuz. Don't encourage me. I've already indulged too many times this week. So many times that I stopped at the Piggly Wiggly yesterday and stocked my fridge with yogurt. That'll be dinner after tonight.”
“I don't know.” Hands on the steering wheel, he raised first one, then the other, palms up. “Sticky roll, yogurt.”
“Stop it! You're bad.” She smacked him, and he laughed.
“Okay, but tonight when you're lyin' in bed salivatin' for one, don't say I didn't warn you.”
“Fair enough. Right now, I want a big, juicy cheeseburger and a mountain of greasy fries.”
Beck drove down Main Street and parked in front of Dee-Ann's Diner. The old brick sidewalk, the red and white awning, the petunias and ferns in baskets and planters made Cricket smile. The owner obviously had a green thumb.
“We've come to the right place, then,” Beck said. “Dee-Ann serves the best artery-clogging fries and burgers in town.”
* * *
Later Beck dropped her off in front of her shop, and she gave him a big hug. “Thanks for dinner. And for everything else.”
“You are so welcome.” He studied her face. “Despite all your happy-happy, you look exhausted, Cricket. You're not gonna work anymore tonight, are you?”
She yawned and stretched. “Nope. Time to head home.”
Driving along the quiet streets of Misty Bottoms as the light faded, Cricket tried to look past all the empty stores and concentrate on the prosperous businesses. On the outskirts of town, she waved to some boys playing ball in an empty lot. She wanted so badly to be part of all this. To belong here.
She turned onto Frog Pond Road, the shady little lane she now called home. The light on her front porch welcomed her in the growing dusk.
Georgia's Low Country. She loved itâ¦and the cute little house Beck had found for her. She'd given him the green light to rent it sight unseen. The price was right, and he'd promised it would work fine, at least temporarily. It did. Wisteria twined up the porch banisters, Knock Out roses snuggled against the stone foundation, and a spot out back cried for vegetables and herbs.
A new home. A new shop. A new chapter in her life!
The only smudge on the whole cheerful tapestry? The abandoned house across the lane.
She couldn't actually see much of the two-story house itself. Mother Nature had pretty much claimed it as her own. Cricket wasn't sure what held the place up, unless it was the tall weeds and vines that had overrun the yard. She'd been tempted to head over there with some pruning shears and a lawnmower, but she'd held back. Getting arrested by Sheriff Jimmy Don wasn't exactly at the top of her bucket list. Besides, a person would have to be insane to tackle that place. It had strayed beyond the point of salvation.
And it wasn't her problem, was it? Refusing to think about it anymore, she walked inside her own well-taken-care-of home, kicked off her shoes, and changed into shorts and a tank top. Moving into the kitchen, she poured a glass of iced tea and carried it to the back patio. Even in the heat of the day, it was comfortable in the shade of an old oak. Sprawling on the chaise, she pulled out her phone and thumbed through the photos Jenni Beth had sent of Magnolia House and its first bride.
Cricket had arrived in Misty Bottoms with a mortgage on the flower shop, the tiniest U-Haul the company made, and a promise she'd get all the work for the Magnolia House weddings.
She yawned again. Right now, she wanted only two things. That big, old piece of banana cream pie she'd brought from the diner, then her bed.
* * *
Sam DeLuca had never run away from a fight. Until now. And look where it had landed him.
Smack-dab in the middle of nowhere.
“This has to be the stupidest idea I've ever had.”
He'd forgotten how dark country nights could be. A thin moon scuttled from cloud to cloud and only a rare star twinkled in the inky sky. His Harley's single headlight cut a narrow swath through the darkness. A dog barked in someone's yard.
Not a solitary light shone from the windows of any of the houses he passed. Was every single person in Misty Bottoms, Georgia asleep?
He checked his GPS. He was close. As he approached an intersection, he idled along, looking for a street sign. And then he spotted it. Frog Pond Road. Thank God.
Twenty years had passed since he'd stepped foot in this town, and he'd been all of ten. Sitting at the crossroads, he couldn't remember if he was supposed to turn right or left. Well, roll the dice and pick one. He could always turn around if his choice proved to be the wrong one. He sure as hell didn't have to worry about traffic.
The clock on his instrument panel read a little after one a.m. He had wanted to arrive in the daylight hours, but between his late start and all the hold-ups of summertime interstate constructionâ¦well, it was what it was.
His already sour mood took a further dip. There it was, his great-aunt Gertie's house. Hell, his house now. Or what remained of it.
Sam pulled up in front of the deserted building. He sat on the motorcycle, legs spread, studying it in the nearly nonexistent light. No streetlights. No porch lights. He cursed small towns and rundown houses as the Harley idled smoothly beneath him.
He backed up the big bike and turned so that he sat perpendicular to the house, his headlight spotlighting the tumbledown two-story.
“Nope, not a very well-thought-out plan, bud.”
Muttering a curse, he wondered if he shouldn't book a room at some little motel for the night. If he shouldn't turn around right here and head north, back to the city. A person would have to be crazy to even consider doing anything with this place. But then he was, wasn't he? Crazy? Why else would he be here?
Maybe it was karma. Maybe he was meant to move into this dump, as broken down as he, himself, felt. Maybe the two of them could nurse each other back to health, or at least some semblance of sanity.
Squinting, he studied the place once more before setting his kickstand and climbing off the Harley. Halfway to the house, an owl hooted and he automatically reached for his shoulder-holstered gunâthe gun that wasn't there anymore. His rueful laugh sounded loud in the once-again silent night.
Nah. Who was he kidding? He and the house had both passed the point of no return.
Order Lynnette Austin's next book
in the Magnolia Brides series
Every Bride Has Her Day
On sale May 2016
The luxury of staying home when the weather turns nasty, of working in PJs and bare feet, and the fact that daydreaming is not only permissible but encouraged, are a few of the reasons middle school teacher Lynnette Austin gave up the classroom to write full time. Lynnette grew up in Pennsylvania's Allegheny Mountains, moved to upstate New York, then to the Rockies in Wyoming. Currently, she and her husband divide their time between Southwest Florida's beaches and Georgia's Blue Ridge Mountains. A finalist in RWA's Golden Heart Contest, PASIC's Book of Your Heart Contest, and Georgia Romance Writers' Maggie Contest, she's published five books as Lynnette Hallberg. She's currently writing as Lynnette Austin.
The Best Laid Wedding Plans
is the first in her sparkling new contemporary romance series, Magnolia Brides. Visit Lynnette at
www.authorlynnetteaustin.com
.
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