“But you were able to talk them out of it, right?’
“Bentley did. She got right on the phone and straightened it out. For now, anyway. I hate to think what’ll happen if the real killer isn’t found.” She let out a long sigh and touched my shoulder. “I do so appreciate your support through all this, Lila. It’s good to know you’re on our side.”
Reaching over, I cupped her hand in my own and gave a little reassuring squeeze. “Hang in there, Flora. It’ll all work out, I promise.” Although my words sounded hollow, even to me. Things would work out, sure; one way or the other they always did. But there was no guarantee that things would work out for Jodi. Not unless the real killer was found.
Chapter 13
Despite Ms. Lambert’s complaint that Jodi’s incarceration had generated negative publicity, attendance at the expo this evening didn’t seem to be affected. The Arts Center was yet again packed with happy brides-to-be browsing booths with nothing more serious than murmurs of dress fittings and reception venues punctuating their lighthearted conversations. Soon I found myself immersed in their joviality, ruminations of suspects and clues quickly replaced by daydreams of bouquets and receiving lines.
Tickets to hear Franklin’s two authors and the subsequent do-it-yourself seminar sold out in the first hour after the doors opened. Fortunately, I was able to slip away from the book sale table, where I was on duty with Jude and Zach, long enough to catch the tail end of the talk given by the author of Tie the Knot on a Shoestring Budget. I jotted down a few helpful notes and planned to get a copy of her book later for a closer look. Even though I dreamed of a simple, elegant affair, it was shocking how quickly costs accumulated. And with Trey’s education to consider—or maybe not—I didn’t have a lot of wiggle room in my budget.
I returned to the book sale table to find Jude leaning back and relaxing with his feet propped on the table. With most of the clientele currently attending the author presentations and craft seminars, the hallway was empty. Jude told me that Zach had taken the opportunity to grab a quick bite to eat but would be back soon. As I settled into my own chair, Jude regarded me with a pensive expression. “Been getting some ideas for your own wedding?”
“A few.” Wariness crept over me. Every time the conversation turned to my wedding, Jude became contentious. I quickly picked up a random book and feigned interest, hoping to avoid any more talk on the subject. A red-hot flush overcame me as my eyes skimmed the page and I realized I’d picked up one of Pam’s racier novels.
“I’m happy for you, you know,” Jude was saying.
I briefly glanced over the top of the book and nodded. “Thanks.”
“I hope you’re planning to invite me to the wedding.”
I closed the book, setting it aside as casually as I could muster. I reached for A Handmade Wedding and shrugged. “Sure.” I half expected him to follow up with a smart quip or something condescending toward Sean, but this time there was no razzing, no playful goading, no annoying comments. Instead he reached over and placed his hand on my arm, drawing my attention away from the book.
I looked up, caught off guard by the intensity in his brown eyes. “You’re going to make a beautiful bride.”
I froze. His sparkly eyes, the warmth of his hand on my arm . . . My whole world stopped. Then he slid his hand up to where my hair grazed my shoulder and playfully tugged on a strand. Sparks shot through me; his full lips, oh so very close to mine, turned up at the corners as if he knew some sort of secret. His long lashes swept down to half cover those warm chocolate brown eyes of his, tempting me to drink in his soft gaze. We remained there, suspended in a moment of lusty ambiguity while my insides screamed for me to pull back, get away, and put a stop to this nonsense while another teensy-tiny part of me remembered, with all the tingly thrill, the time that we’d shared a kiss so long ago . . .
“Lila?”
I startled, a shaky hand flying to my ready lips, guilt glaring in my mind’s eye. I kept my hand there, holding back the excuses that threatened to spill from my mouth as I looked at Makayla, who was staring down at me with . . . with what? An accusing look. That was what it was. Then I looked back at Jude, who was sitting smugly, that mischievous glint dancing in his eyes as his lips now spread into a knowing grin. He winked. My insides screamed: I would not have kissed him! I wouldn’t have!