“Sure. I have a rental car, and I’m no longer too drunk to drive it. We’ll have to swing by the bar where I left it last night. You probably have errands that need running last minute, right?”
Only a million. My brain goes racing down the list. “Balloons,” I say quickly. “I’ve ordered four dozen of them for eleven o’clock so that they’ll stay fully inflated all evening.” All Blake has to do is shove them in his car and drive away. He couldn’t ruin it if he tried. “And Grandma Canning needs a lift from the airport.”
His face splits into a grin. “See? You do need me to help you.”
“You’re right, I do.” It hurts me to admit this. But I really do. “But…you’re just going to leave your date to herself for several hours? Won’t she mind?”
“Not in the least,” he says grandly. “She might even be glad.”
I bite back the urge to make a pithy comment. “Why don’t you raid my fridge while I dry my hair, and then I’ll drive you to your car?”
“Now we’re talking!” He takes one huge stride toward my kitchen, and the muscles flex in his gorgeous…
“Blake?”
“J-Babe?”
“Put on some clothes.”
He sighs. “If you insist.”
3 Everything Looks Terrif
Jess
The ceremony and reception are being held on the gorgeous, sprawling grounds of the gorgeous, sprawling house that belongs to friends of my parents. Originally we were going to rent a banquet hall somewhere, but Mom was at lunch with the Todds a few months back and, when she mentioned that Jamie was getting married, the couple offered the use of their home.
And they refused to let us pay them. Apparently Mr. Todd is a hockey fanatic. He was actually trying to pay us for the privilege of hosting Ryan Wesley and more than half the Toronto roster.
The good thing about doing this at a private residence is that it makes it easier to fly under the radar. A public event would’ve no doubt found its way to the press, who’ve been hounding Wes and Jamie ever since their relationship became public. This way, the two of them can actually have some privacy while they declare their undying love for each other.
Me, I’ve pretty much been on the verge of a nervous breakdown all morning. I’d decided to become a party planner because I wanted to do something artistic. But it hasn’t worked out that way. If anything, I’m more like a drill sergeant. It’s not fun. It’s fucking exhausting.
I tell as much to Dyson as the two of us sit under the enormous tent set up on the Todd property. We’re folding ivory-colored napkins at one of the tables while various people shuffle in and out of the tent, hauling chairs and flowers and centerpieces.
“I don’t know,” he muses. “I’m having fun.”
“You’ve been here for an hour folding napkins into swans. I’ve been here since the crack of dawn, dealing with a million teeny details. Trust me, it’s not fun.”
Dyson shrugs. “Well, if it helps, you’ve done a fab job, baby-cakes. No joke.” He waves an arm around the interior of the tent. “Everything looks terrif.”
That does help. Relief flutters through me as I take in the scene. The centerpieces turned out really beautifully. So did the flower arrangements. I guess the thirty-two hours I spent consulting with the florist paid off.
“Thank you,” I say gratefully, reaching for another napkin. “And thanks again for coming early. You don’t know how much I appreciate it.”
“No problemo.” My date grins. “Even though you only invited me to make someone jealous.”
My jaw drops. “I did not! I told you, I just need a buffer.”
“Buffer, jealousy provoker, same diff. Can’t wait to see who it is. Don’t tell me, okay? I want to guess.” He brushes some napkin lint off his tie. “Hey, what do you think of this color? It was between this and the salmon. Did I choose wisely?”
Dyson holds out the end of his purple-and-silver-striped tie, which perfectly matches the purple bellflower on his lapel. His suit is slate gray, which I was happy to see. I was genuinely worried he might show up in pastels or something.
“Definitely the wiser choice,” I assure him.
“I know, right? As much as I love the salmon, it would have clashed horribly with your dress.” He gestures to my mauve shift. Then he frowns. “But I still think we could’ve made a bigger splash if we color-coordinated so we both wore salmon.”
“Would you please just call it pink? It’s pink! And let’s get real here, Dyse—you look terrible in pink. It washes out your complexion.”
Before he can object, a frazzled voice calls out from the tent’s entrance. “Jess! Mom’s asking about Nana.” My sister Tammy hurries over to our table. “Who’s getting her from the airport?”
“The best man,” I answer. “He texted ten minutes ago to say that her flight was slightly delayed. She’ll be landing any minute, though.”
Tammy looks relieved. “Okay, good. Mom was getting worried. Hey, Dyson—when’d you get here?”
“A bit ago.” His tone is vague as he studies Tammy’s face. “You doing okay, sweetie? You look tired.”
“I had a baby fourteen weeks ago. Of course I’m tired.”