Bridesmaid for Hire Page 7

  "Thank you," Tasmine said, choosing one of Cook's famous ginger cookies. She bit into the crunchy, richly spiced treat and agreed that they were indeed delicious.

  Tasmine waited and soon Mrs. Bailey said, "First, I wanted to thank you for keeping a clear head yesterday. I don't know what came over me. I came down to get my glasses and I saw what I thought was a man attacking my husband. Even when I realized it was Eric, I had this terrible impression he was trying to hurt my husband." She raised her faded blue eyes to Tasmine's and she could see the stricken look in them. "If I had succeeded in stopping Eric, my husband might have died."

  "Mrs. Bailey, you acted on instinct. It was easier for me because I could clearly see what was happening. Don't be too hard on yourself. Everything worked out fine."

  The old woman nodded. "The judge and I had a long talk last night." She shook her head. "It’s funny how one moment can change everything. I could have lost my husband if it weren’t for Eric’s quick action and bravery. What is one painting compared to my husband's life? I could bear to lose every piece of artwork in this house, and the house itself, before I could bear to lose my husband."

  "I know." She couldn’t be married to Judge Bailey for five minutes without wanting to smack him, but she could see the deep love that existed between these two.

  “I suggested to the judge that perhaps we should tell Eric that due to his prompt and heroic behavior yesterday, we consider his debt to us to be erased. And do you know what Ernest said to me?"

  Tasmine shook her head. She somehow doubted that Judge Bailey was quite as forgiving as his wife.

  "He said I should discuss the matter with you." She smiled her sweet smile. "The judge thinks very highly of your judgment, you know. Well, we both do. And you seem to understand Eric so well. What would you advise us?"

  Tasmine sipped her coffee to give her a moment to absorb the fact that they were considering letting Eric off completely from his chores. She also had to take in the fact that two people of such intelligence and stature in the world would turn to her for advice. She set her coffee cup down, and gazed out the window for a moment. She didn't want to blurt anything out, but to give the best advice she was capable of.

  It was surprisingly easy to find the right answer, or what seemed to her to be the right answer. "You know, ever since Eric started working here, he's been changing. I don't know if he even realizes it himself. But he's taking pride in that job. It's the worst job I can even imagine, but I’ve been checking up on him. He doesn't slack off when he thinks no one's watching and he’s doing a good job. I feel like he’s taking responsibility for his actions for the first time and it’s good for him. Honestly, I think you should keep him working." Then she grinned at the older woman. "But, maybe when he finishes the pool you could find him some jobs that are less disgusting."

  "I see what you are saying. I do want to express my gratitude to him, though. And so does the judge."

  "Maybe the best way to do that is to do what you did with me. Offer him a cup of coffee once in a while or maybe an iced tea at the end of his workday. I think there is more to Eric than any of us realized. Let's let him find it."

  "Well, if you're sure."

  "Of course I'm not sure. I could be completely wrong. But, in my heart, this feels right."

  "It's funny, isn't it? The twists and turns that fate takes in one's life. If I hadn't gone to Paris that summer, I never would have fallen in love with painting the way I have. Or discovered artists who have gone on to become famous, partly, I like to think, through my influence. And, perhaps, if Eric hadn't done that foolish, foolish thing, and you hadn't suggested that his punishment take the form of hard work on our property, then my husband might have choked to death yesterday."

  It was strange that Mrs. Bailey was voicing so much of what she herself had said yesterday. "Fate is a strange and mysterious force," she agreed.

  "Well, I'd better stop wasting your time. I think I've chosen the fabrics I'd like for both of the bedrooms. I'm very excited to do these rooms over especially for my grandchildren. In fact, I hope you'll get to meet them."

  "I hope so too."

  They didn't talk about Eric or yesterday's incident any more after that. They went upstairs and between websites and catalogs of the various products her company represented, they were able to get everything ordered from the curtains to the furniture and even some accessories that were kid-friendly.

  When they were done, she was almost as excited as Mrs. Bailey. She glanced at her watch and saw that it was after noon.

  Mrs. Bailey said, "Maria serves lunch at twelve-thirty. The judge should be back by then. Would you care to join us?"

  Wow. She doubted many furniture suppliers would be asked to lunch. Unlike Grace Van Hoffendam, who had always made sure to remind Tasmine that she was hired help, Mrs. Bailey and the judge seemed like they appreciated people for their personal qualities rather than their net worth. She thought they were much nicer people.

  "Thank you. But I already agreed to eat lunch with Eric. Their housekeeper packs him these massive lunches."

  "Well, I am very glad he has you for a friend."

  Tasmine nodded and began gathering her things. And wasn't that great, that even Mrs. Bailey saw her and Eric as nothing more than friends. Why hadn't he patted her on the back last night, or given her a quick hug like people do when they’re friends? Even though the kiss was the shortest kiss in the history of kissing, she couldn't stop thinking about it.

  Chapter 8

  A stronger woman would skip out on lunch, but she wasn't that strong. She wanted to see Eric. And, strangely, she didn't want to let him down.

  When she got back to the pool area, he was still hard at work. This time, instead of stopping to stare at him longingly, she walked around the pool so that she was facing him, leaned down and waved her arms.

  He waved back, then put down his tools, took out his earbuds, and climbed out of the pool. "I hope you're hungry."

  "For one of Millie’s sandwiches? Always."

  He set his iPod down on the patio table and said, "I'll go wash up and get lunch."

  "Okay." She settled herself at the table and tipped her head back, enjoying being outside on such a beautiful day. She picked up the iPod, wondering what he really had been listening to, placed the earbuds in her own ears and pressed play. To her shock, she couldn’t hear any offensive rap music, or music of any kind. A man's voice was explaining, in a British accent, something about time.

  When Eric returned with the bag containing their lunch, she said, "You really were listening to Stephen Hawking's book."

  "I was."

  "Wow. You are full of surprises."

  He passed her a package of sandwiches, and when their gazes connected there was a certain disturbing gleam in his eye. "Oh, you have no idea."

  Why did he have to do this? Now he was flirting with her. But it was like that kiss last night, brief and teasing and she could imagine it didn’t mean anything if she wanted to. But what if she wanted it to mean something?

  As they munched their sandwiches and drank the cooled cans of soda, she said, "Millie can make me lunch anytime."

  He leaned back. "Do you have a wedding this Saturday?"

  She shook her head. "I have a blissful, wedding-free weekend."

  "I'm thinking about going for a hike on Saturday. Up to Sandstone Peak in the Santa Monica Mountains. Would you like to come? Millie will pack lunch."

  She stared at him. "After you've put in five days of hard, physical labor, you want to spend your free time hiking? I would've thought you'd spend it lounging around."

  He shook his head. "I'm not big on lounging. Too much energy. I like to stay active. Preferably outdoors."

  Her plans for the weekend had included laundry, getting her hair cut, maybe catching up with some girlfriends and hitting the gym. She thought that going hiking with Eric would be a lot more fun than all those other things put together. Plus, it could replace her gym workout. So she
nodded. "Thanks. I’d like that."

  "Cool. I’ll pick you up at nine?"

  "Perfect."

  "And remember, I'm bringing lunch."

  "Can I put in a special request for more of this apple cake?"

  “On it."

  Their conversation was as easy and casual as ever, but she felt that niggle of irritation that would not leave her. What did going hiking mean? If he’d asked her to dinner, or a movie, that implied it was romantic. But hiking? That was the sort of activity that you did with your buddies. Was she his buddy?

  Even though Eric had assured her that he would bring lunch for their hike, Tasmine still made sure to pack some emergency food supplies as well as a bladder of water and her first aid kit. It was another gorgeous, sunny day. She hesitated over her choice of hats. There was the pink ball cap, and then there was the hiking hat made of sun-protective fabric. If this was a date, she knew she'd be strongly tempted to wear the cute ball cap. But she wasn't going to risk premature aging and sunburn for a guy who seemed to view her as a gal pal.

  She determined to put aside all questions of what the relationship was and what she wanted it to be, and simply enjoy the day.

  Eric arrived right on time, which impressed her. He wore hiking shorts with multiple pockets, a decent and well-worn pair of boots, and a pack large enough that she suspected there would be no need of her emergency food supplies. "It looks like Millie outdid herself."

  "Oh yeah, she always thinks we’ll starve to death if she doesn’t feed us all day long." He said the words with affection, though, and she could see that the cook was an important person in his life.

  "Did you do anything exciting last night?" Since he had arrived on time, she suspected he had not partied all night.

  He glanced over at her, and then back up the road. "Are you joking? I barely get through dinner and then I crash for the night. The only social thing I've done since I started at the Gulag is dinner with you the other night."

  Immediately, her neurotic brain began to sift through the meaning of his words. Okay, he considered their dinner social, did that mean a date? Or not?

  "And today."

  He sounded a little sorry for himself so she reminded him that her life wasn't all sunshine and roses either. "Most of my social life revolves around weddings, which, for me, is a business."

  "So getting out in the mountains today is a big deal for you, too."

  "It sure is."

  "Do you get sick of weddings?"

  It was funny how many people asked her that question. She tried to answer honestly. "You know, I never do. There is something magical about a wedding, about seeing two people who learned to love each other in spite of their imperfections and who have made this amazing commitment to spend the rest of their lives together. We don't have a lot of big ceremonies in our culture. I think celebrating a wedding, putting on that special gown, announcing in front of God and your friends and family that you are committing to this other person, is fantastic." She quickly reviewed the past few weddings, and added, "I'm not saying it's always perfect. Brides can get a little difficult and emotional when the big day approaches, and it can be stressful for me, because little things always go wrong and it's up to me to fix them, but the actual ceremony? When they share that first kiss as man and wife? I pretty much always shed a tear at that moment."

  "Wow. You really are romantic."

  "You say that like it's a bad thing."

  "No. I thought you'd be all cynical and down on weddings, because you must see the people you work with at their worst."

  "Oh, I do. But then, I also get to see them at their best. They’re human, and if they believe enough, and love each other enough, I think it will work."

  His fingers tapped on the steering wheel and she realized that she had been talking without realizing that his wedding hadn't gone remotely as planned. He said, "Well, obviously that was the problem with me and Ashley. We did not love each other enough. I've been thinking about what you said, about how selfish it was to use her like that. Honestly, I never thought it through. I didn't mean to hurt her. She's a great girl. I thought, I have to get married anyway, a lot of our friends are doing it, and it would help me out of a jam, so why not?"

  He turned to glance at her once more, "But you made me see how wrong we were. I wish I could make it up to her."

  She really liked that he was willing to own his mistakes. She liked even more that he had listened to her and taken her words to heart. However, she tried to be an honest woman, and she suspected he was beating himself up needlessly. "I think it's great that you're trying to see this from Ashley's point of view. But, honestly? Would she and Ben have realized how they felt about each other if she hadn't been engaged? I mean, talk about figuring it out at the last minute."

  Suddenly he laughed. "I will never forget your face, when I showed up right before the wedding. And then I walked into that room and I saw the window wide open and I knew she'd run."

  "You looked sick."

  "I was terrified that I’d be going to jail. But deep down, I think I felt a little relieved."

  "You probably weren't ready to get married."

  There was a pause, then he said, "I definitely wasn't ready to marry Ashley."

  They got to the trailhead and unloaded. She put on her butt-ugly hat and he shoved a ball cap over his head. They hefted their packs and headed for the trail.

  It was so nice to be out in the mountains and the fresh air, away from the city, her weekend routines, and weddings. To spend a Saturday in hiking boots instead of high heels, her hair shoved under a hat instead of styled by a professional, and to wear no more makeup than a swish of lip gloss felt great.

  They hiked at an easy pace, neither trying to impress the other. They disturbed a snake sunning itself on the trail, which slid away instantly. As they climbed, she began to get views of the ocean and the nearby islands. “It is so beautiful here,” she said.

  “God’s country,” he agreed.

  When they reached the peak, he found them a flat spot with a view and they settled, with their backs against a couple of large rocks, to eat their lunch.

  They munched Millie’s amazing sandwiches and ate the apple cake. She pulled out a slab of chocolate.

  She turned to him. “Why do you hide how smart you are?”

  He looked uncomfortable. “Who says I’m smart?”

  “I do.”

  She thought for a moment that he wasn't going to answer; she could almost see him gearing up to make a joke. And then, as though he realized that she was on to him, he dropped the teasing act and said, "Sometimes it's easier to be the kid nobody expects anything from."

  She knew he was telling the truth, but she was genuinely puzzled. "But your family seems so . . .” She didn't quite know how to put this without sounding offensive. "So success oriented."

  "Yeah, I know. But I'm the youngest. My brother was always the one that had all the expectations piled on him. And, it was like he already had the Smart Spot, my sister already had the Girl Spot, that kind of left the Clown Spot open.”

  "The Clown Spot?"

  "I know it sounds crazy. But when I was growing up, my brother would bring home his excellent report cards and my folks pretty much piled on the expectations. Of course, I was younger. If I tried to say anything, he just shut me down and made me look stupid. And, I don’t know, I always had a gift for making people laugh. My mom used to call me her little clown. After a while, I figured out that if I started acting stupid everyone was happy. Plus, it was a lot easier on me. My folks pressured him pretty hard. Now, he's driven, he’s successful, but it's like his whole life is a report card, you know what I mean?"

  "Sort of. I don't have any personal experience with that, because my folks only wanted us to find a decent career, maybe one day buy a house, hopefully find a partner, you know, live a reasonably happy life."

  "I think the Van Hoffendams still have that mentality that their sons and daughters are supposed to lead s
ociety and excel in business. I don't think a reasonably happy life would be very high on their agenda."

  "So, by being happy and not trying very hard you were a complete rebel.”

  "I guess."

  "But you are smart." She'd met his brother, who was supposed to be one of the groomsmen at Eric's wedding. Tom was a pompous man, older than his years, who, if he had any sense of humor at all, kept it well hidden. She hadn't talked to Tom very much, but from what she overheard, he used big words when small ones would be more effective. "In fact, I suspect you have a much higher IQ than your brother does."

  “Probably.”

  He put a casual arm around her and pulled her close. Even though he didn't say anything, she could see him smiling. She thought that he was happy to have someone from whom he did not have to hide his intelligence. He tilted his head so he was looking at her. "Are you going to keep my secrets?"

  There was an unmistakable gleam in his eyes. This was not the way a man looked at his hiking buddy but the way a man looks at a woman when he's thinking about kissing her. She felt a shiver of attraction as soft as a light breeze skip across her skin. She was caught in his gaze, and when he shifted so that his mouth was an inch away from hers, in perfect kissing distance, she didn't pull away or do anything but feel her lips open in anticipation. He didn't lunge at her right away, he looked as though he were anticipating the moment before the kiss.

  She felt the delicious tension building in her belly, watched in fascination as his mouth grew slowly closer, and then she closed her eyes, and savored the moment his lips touched hers. His body brushed against her, soft and tantalizing, and he slowly deepened the kiss. Her heart began to pound and she felt lightheaded. She couldn’t stop herself from putting her arms around him and pulling him even closer. She tasted the salt of their workout. She felt how solid his body was, tough with muscle, and when he trailed his fingertips across her collarbone, she felt the calluses of a man who works with his hands.

  She could not stop the moan of pleasure, as he toyed with her mouth, teasing a response out of her, though, in fact, no teasing was necessary. She would give him anything in this moment. She suspected from the masterful way he handled her that he knew it, too.