He smiled back.
“You know watching women sleep fits into the creepy category, right?”
“I thought it was fair game as long as I didn’t have a camera.”
She giggled, a happy sound that was at odds with her ragged sobbing from earlier.
Those giggles were everything, and he knew then.
Knew that he would do anything to keep her from crying again.
He waited until her breathing had resumed the slow regularity of sleep before he quietly went back into the kitchen.
But instead of tackling the dishes, Seth unplugged his cell phone from his charger, taking it into the small den off the living room and closing the door behind him.
And made the call.
Tommy Franklin picked up on the first ring. “Mr. Tyler, how can I help you?”
“Franklin. How are you?” Seth forced himself to keep his voice steady and cool, as though this were a normal business arrangement. He didn’t bother with small talk.
“Fine. Although, if you’re checking on my progress, I already told you I’ll reach out when I have something concrete.”
“I’m calling about something else, actually.”
“Ah.”
Seth took a deep breath, gave himself a chance to back out. Then he remembered Brooke’s tears.
“I’m wondering if you do business on the West Coast,” Seth said gruffly. “Or if you have any colleagues you recommend.”
“Absolutely. What do you have in mind?”
Last chance to back out . . .
Seth rubbed his forehead, bowed his head. And pressed forward.
“I need you to check out someone for me. Have you heard of Clay Battaglia?”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
IN HER SEVERAL YEARS of experience, Brooke had learned that there were two types of wedding planners.
Those that you hired for their vision—the firecrackers who gave you their opinions, like it or not, but in the end were worth it, because their vision was probably better than yours anyway.
Then there were the wedding planners you hired to implement your vision—the ones who listened to what you wanted and found a way to make it work.
Brooke was the latter. She was a people pleaser, and nothing made her happier than when she could make a bride’s dream come true, securing that perfect venue or quaint little church, or even that moment when you could matchmake her with her ideal dress.
But that said, Brooke wasn’t above having private little celebrations when her vision and the bride’s vision aligned.
Such was the case in Maya Tyler’s wedding.
Even if Brooke and Seth weren’t doing . . . well, whatever it was that they were doing, Maya and Neil’s wedding would go down in the books as one of Brooke’s favorites.
Maya had chosen Hamilton House for her reception. They’d just put the deposit for the gorgeous space Brooke had shown Seth just a couple weeks earlier, and Brooke wasn’t sure who was more excited, her or Maya.
Even Seth seemed more or less on board. Brooke wouldn’t go so far as to say he was excited about the wedding, but he’d quieted his objections.
So far they’d even managed to compartmentalize her work from their personal life. As previously agreed, Brooke ensured he signed off on any big expenses, but beyond those weekly check-ins, they rarely talked about the wedding.
It wasn’t ideal. The woman in Brooke was more than a little curious about how he was dealing with his sister marrying a man he didn’t approve of, but the wedding planner in her knew that boundaries were important.
Her other in-progress weddings made for occasional pillow talk, but never Maya’s.
Speaking of Maya . . . Brooke checked her watch. The other woman was fifteen minutes late. Which wasn’t totally unusual. Maya was late more often than not, although she typically texted.
Still, it gave Brooke an extra few minutes alone with her favorite spot. Maya was meeting her here today to discuss layout. Brooke already knew what she’d do. A skinny stage set up along the far wall for a live band. A dance floor in front of that, big enough to feel festive, but not so big that it was intimidating. She’d put the bar in the opposite corner, along the windows, so that when people waited for their champagne or martini, they’d have a view of the Brooklyn Bridge.
Maya and Neil had settled on an early December wedding, and though Maya was still debating on color scheme, Brooke had her fingers crossed for a gold-and-white holiday theme. Twinkle lights everywhere, flocked trees with glittery gold ornaments, delicate flutes of sparkling champagne with delicate gold wine charms with the couple’s initials, or perhaps even a little touch of edible gold glitter . . .
Brooke’s daydreams were interrupted by the slam of the door, and she turned, expecting to see Maya and Neil, and instead seeing . . . Maya and Grant?