Turnabout's Fair Play (19 page)

“Flan, did you bring any pictures to show?” Zarah turned off the tablet and returned it to her large purse.

“Y’all wouldn’t be interested—mostly I took pictures for work of the warehouses and printing presses. And I’m sure you’ll see all of the tagged photos of me online as people get home and upload everything from the conference. Oh, but I did get my bridesmaid dress back from the tailor in time to take it with me, and I wore it at the banquet the last night.” She pulled out her phone and found the picture she’d had a colleague snap of her in the now just-above-the-knee black dress.

“Oh, wow—it looks even better as a cocktail-length dress than floor length.” Zarah handed the phone back to her. “I’m glad we were able to find something that y’all could use elsewhere.”

“Speaking of finding dresses …” Caylor’s face went as red as her hair.

“What?” Flannery grabbed Caylor’s wrist.

“Don’t tell me, you’ve set a date?” Zarah clapped her hands together and then held them up in front of her mouth.

“Actually…yes. Sunday, after your wedding, Zare, Dylan came over to swim, and we decided that if we didn’t want to wait until next year, we should go ahead and plan something small for this summer before school starts. And since my parents will be coming in from Geneva for Sassy’s birthday at the end of July, we’ve decided to get married the last weekend in July.” Caylor reached out and took Zarah’s and Flannery’s hands in hers. “He’s already asked his brothers to stand up with him. Will the two of you stand up with me? Sage has already agreed, but I can’t do this without the two of you, also.”

Flannery’s heart thudded a slow dirge. “I agree on one condition.”

Caylor’s forehead creased with her frown. “What’s that?”

“That your sister is your maid of honor and that I’m just a bridesmaid.” Both of Flannery’s sisters had chosen a friend as their maid of honor over their own sisters, and Flannery didn’t want to do that to Sage.

“I agree.” Zarah nodded. “Sage should be your maid of honor. I know you two haven’t always been close, but it would probably go a long way in healing your relationship to pick her over us.”

Caylor looked between the two of them and then shrugged. “Okay. But I’m going to be counting on the two of you to help Dylan plan everything, because I know Sage will flake out.”

“Help Dylan plan?” Flannery looked at Zarah, and then they both gaped at Caylor.

“Oh yeah, I didn’t tell you that part. Dylan decided that since he can’t contribute financially to the wedding, and because I have a book due in August, he’s going to plan the whole thing. I agreed with the condition that if he gets stuck or needs help with anything, he’s to call the two of you.” She cocked her head and looked toward the ceiling. “And I just pray that his mother doesn’t decide to try to take over.”

At the thought of Dylan’s mother—who’d made quite a spectacle of herself and her family in her bid for a state senate seat a few months ago—taking over the wedding, Flannery shuddered. “Don’t worry. Zarah and I will make ourselves available to help with anything Dylan needs.”

“So, tell us what you’re planning.”

At Zarah’s request, Caylor launched into a detailed description of what she and Dylan had already decided for their midmorning outdoor wedding at the home of Dylan’s grandparents. Flannery tried to pay attention; but exhaustion short-circuited her focus, and her mind wandered.

The conference. Work. Personal projects. More work. Printers’ proposals. An unacceptable manuscript from one of her longtime authors. Traveling. Jamie O’Connor.

She shook her head. Where had that come from? She’d been trying not to think about the conversation they’d had at the airport. Mostly because it had been one of the most confusing encounters she’d ever had.

After a few meetings, she’d thought she had him pegged. Arrogant. Condescending. Creepy. But sitting there listening to him talk about his job and his family…she’d seen a whole different side to him. One that made her even more sympathetic toward him. One that scared her a little bit—because
that
Jamie O’Connor was someone she might actually like.

But she’d already made up her mind about him. He was one of those guys who was too good looking for her peace of mind. She needed to keep disliking him. Otherwise, she was in for a world of hurt—because she could very easily fall for him.

Of course, then there was the whole Sir Gawain and Dame Ragnelle thing.

“Flannery, do you think you will?”

She blinked a couple of times to bring her attention back into focus. “Will what?”

“See, I told you she wasn’t paying attention.” Zarah’s brows raised, and she ducked her chin and gave Flannery a pitying smile.

Caylor sighed, but she looked more amused than put out. “I asked if you think you’ll bring a date to the wedding. Right now, you and Zarah and Bobby are the only people outside of our families we’ll be inviting.”

Attend the wedding alone? Absolutely not—they’d spend the whole day trying to match her up with one of Dylan’s younger brothers. “I might bring a date. If I can’t find anyone else, Jack will always do in a pinch.”

The ultracute blush that crept across Jamie’s cheeks when she’d asked him what he’d been reading on the computer came back into clear view in her mind’s eye. She’d always sworn she wouldn’t fall for a good-looking guy but one who was more on the geeky side.

Did both possibly exist in the same man?

Jamie patted the soil around the base of the last tomato plant and sat back on his haunches to survey the garden. Not a bad day’s work, if he did say so himself. He enjoyed the benefits of Cookie’s garden—tomatoes, carrots, squash, cucumbers, and roasted pumpkin seeds later on in the fall, pretty much the only vegetables he ever ate besides mushrooms, sweet potatoes, and white potatoes—so the least he could do was help her with the hardest part after she got each plant started.

“Are you finished?” Cookie called from a couple of rows over.

“Finished. You?” He rose and made his way to the squash row, dumping the remaining half bag of topsoil into the wheelbarrow beside her.

She spaded a bit more soil onto the base of the sixth and final squash plant. “Finished.” She reached her hand toward him, and Jamie helped her to her feet. “Hopefully waiting this long to transfer everything to the ground won’t adversely affect the yield. We just had such a stormy, cool spring that I didn’t want to risk losing any of them by planting too early.”

Jamie pushed the wheelbarrow back to the potting shed and laid a piece of plastic over it. After the first good, hard rain—forecast for later this week—they’d probably need to add the rest of this to replace what would be washed away.

“What are your plans for tonight?” Cookie removed her gardening gloves and set them on the high, heavy wooden table alongside stacks of empty plastic planters.

“Don’t really have any. Figured I’d go home, take a shower, and eat some leftovers and watch one of the DVDs I got in the mail this week.” The movie-rental subscription was just one item on a long list of things he would have to give up at the end of June if he still hadn’t figured out what he wanted to do—and if he decided to go back to school, he’d definitely be giving up a lot of the things he now enjoyed, including the expansive (and expensive) digital cable service and the tendency to order delivery or pick-up takeout whenever he felt like it.

“Since you’re thinking about changing churches, I thought you might like to try Acklen Avenue’s Bible study for the young professionals’ group tonight. It’s my understanding that it’s the group that includes the younger singles in the church, so those would be the ones you’d want to meet anyway.”

“Younger? How young?” His experience with the “young adult” group at his church made him feel like an out-of-place old man—given that everyone in the group was college or graduate-school age. When he’d started getting strange looks from the older married couples who taught and volunteered with the group for being a good ten years older than anyone else in the class—especially the females—he’d stopped attending.

“Oh, I think you’d fit right in. Some of my friends have grandchildren around your age who are involved in the singles’ ministry, so I’m certain you’ll fit right in.”

Some of her friends…like Kirby McNeill? Jamie couldn’t pass up an opportunity of having another good encounter with Flannery. “What time does it start?”

“Six.” She looked at her watch. “So you’d better get a move on if you want to go home and shower and change clothes. Which you should.” She wrinkled her nose at him.

He tossed his work gloves onto the table beside hers, kissed her on the cheek, and started across the yard to the gate. “See you later this week, Cookie.”

“Have fun!”

Once home and in the shower, Jamie had second thoughts about attending the Bible study. But he’d promised Mom and Don he’d find a church where he could “plug in,” as they put it. And Flannery had sort of invited him…before she thought better of it.

He’d go. And if Flannery gave him a hard time—or made it obvious she wanted to avoid him—that would be his sign as to whether or not to visit on a Sunday morning.

The drive to Acklen Avenue Fellowship took fifteen minutes—three times as long as his drive to Christ Church. He parked behind the imposing red-brick building and sat in the car for a few minutes. Several people who looked young adultish entered not the brick building but the modern glass-and-concrete building across a small courtyard from it.

He grabbed the slim, gray leather Bible from the passenger seat, checked his appearance in the rearview mirror—ugh, he needed a haircut—and followed two guys into the newer building. He waited behind them at the table set up at the end of the hallway that led into a large community center.

Once they walked away, he stepped up to the table. The young woman—emphasis on
young
—greeted him with a toothpaste-commercial smile. “Hey. I’m Cindi.” He could tell by the way she said it she spelled it with an
i
on the end. “Is there something I can help you find?”

“I…uh …” He glanced into the large room beyond her, uncertainty eating at him. “I’m looking for the singles’ Bible study.”

“The
singles’
Bible study? I didn’t know they had one.”

Jamie inclined his head toward the people milling about in the community center. “What’s this, then?”

“This is the young professionals’ Bible study.”

More confused now, Jamie shook his head. “What’s the difference between singles and young professionals?”

“The young professionals’ group is for unmarrieds, almost-marrieds, and newly marrieds between the ages of eighteen and thirty. The
singles’
group”—her nose wrinkled up at the word—“is for the older people who still aren’t married yet—and maybe some who are divorced, but there’s a divorce-care class, too.”

Of course. Jamie sighed. “So you don’t know if the singles’ group has a Bible study or not?”

“They have a Sunday school class between the early service and the regular service. But I don’t know if they do anything else.” She cocked her head and her tone clearly indicated that anyone
that old
should probably be home eating rice pudding and having someone change their adult diapers for them.

“Okay. Well…thanks.” So much for that idea. He returned to the car, never having felt as old or unwanted as he did at the moment.

And then he did exactly what he told Cookie he’d planned on doing: he went home, reheated some chicken curry—an experiment of Cookie’s from a heart-health cookbook that turned out quite good—and put in a movie.

Before going to bed, he stood staring at himself in the mirror for a long time. When had those hairs in his sideburns and at his temples started turning gray? He forced a smile. Yep, he knew for certain those wrinkles hadn’t been there last time he’d looked at himself. And he had some serious dark circles under his eyes.

No wonder Cindi had instantly pegged him for someone who didn’t fit the description
young professional
. Not only did he no longer have a profession, but he definitely didn’t look young.

He reached over and turned off the bathroom light, throwing himself into silhouette, with the bedside lamp casting a glow on the door behind him.

Needing something to settle his mind so that he might get some sleep, he propped a couple of pillows up against the headboard and sat in the bed with the netbook. Maybe his favorite fan-fiction author had posted something new.

Of course, every time he pulled up the site—or even thought about it—Flannery’s look of distaste made him regret telling her about it. But even that wasn’t enough to keep him from going to it.

Nope—no new post from his favorite writer. He thought about sending a note but decided instead to go back and read everything this writer had posted. She—he assumed it was a she, since her username, LadyNelle, was female—was posting a continuing story in installments. Ragnelle’s backstory was that she was the hag who tricked King Arthur into making Sir Gawain marry her. Then in true Arthurian style, Gawain, through honor and integrity, managed to break the spell on Ragnelle and return her to the beautiful woman she was by giving her what she wanted—independence and the right to make her own choices. Jamie loved LadyNelle’s take on the character—making her a strong, independent woman who seemed to be someone from a medieval culture and not just a modern woman written into the pseudo-historical setting. He also loved that the richness of the writer’s description and history of the land of the misty other-times of England—not truly historical but not truly fantasy—added to the lore of his favorite legend instead of trying to change it to fit her own preferences. He also liked the fact that she added a spirituality to her version of the characters that wasn’t in many of the stories.