The Wedding Planner's Big Day. Cara Colter

word in front of Becky English.

CHAPTER THREE

      “SINCE YOU BROUGHT it up,” Becky said solemnly, “I got the impression from Allie that she and your brother are head over heels in love with one another.”

      “Humph.” There was no question his brother was over the moon, way past the point where he could be counted on to make a rational decision. Allie was more difficult to interpret. Allie was an actress. She pretended for a living. It seemed to Drew his brother’s odds of getting hurt were pretty good.

      “Joe could have done worse,” Becky said, quietly. “She’s a beautiful, successful woman.”

      “Yeah, there’s that.”

      “There’s that cynicism again.”

      Cynical. Yes, that described Drew Jordan to an absolute T. And he liked being around people who were as hard-edged as him. Didn’t he?

      “Look, my brother is twenty-one years old. That’s a little young to be making this kind of decision.”

      “You know, despite your barely contained scorn for Moose Run, Michigan, it’s a traditional place where they love nothing more than a wedding. I’ve planned dozens of them.”

      Drew had to bite his tongue to keep from crushing her with a sarcastic Dozens?

      “I’ve been around this for a while,” she continued. “Take it from me. Age is no guarantee of whether a marriage is going to work out.”

      “He’s known her about eight weeks, as far as I can tell!” He was confiding his doubts to a complete stranger, which was not like him. It was even more unlike him to be hoping this wet-behind-the-ears country girl from Moose Run, Michigan, might be able to shed some light on his brother’s mysterious, flawed decision-making process. This was why he liked being around people as not sweet as himself. There was no probing of the secrets of life.

      “That doesn’t seem to reflect on how the marriage is going to work out, either.”

      “Well, what does then?”

      “When I figure it out, I’m going to bottle it and sell it,” she said. There was that earnestness again. “But I’ve planned the weddings of lots of young people who are still together. Young people have big dreams and lots of energy. You need that to buy your first house and have your first baby, and juggle three jobs and—”

      “Baby?” Drew said, horrified. “Is she pregnant?” That would explain his brother’s rush to the altar of love.

      “I don’t think so,” Becky said.

      “But you don’t know for certain.”

      “It’s none of my business. Or yours. But even if she is, lots of those kinds of marriages make it, too. I’ve planned weddings for people who have known each other for weeks, and weddings for people who have known each other for years. I planned one wedding for a couple who had lived together for sixteen years. They were getting a divorce six months later. But I’ve seen lots of marriages that work.”

      “And how long has your business been running?”

      “Two years,” she said.

      For some reason, Drew was careful not to be quite as sarcastic as he wanted to be. “So, you’ve seen lots that work for two years. Two years is hardly a testament to a solid relationship.”

      “You can tell,” she said stubbornly. “Some people are going to be in love forever.”

      Her tone sounded faintly wistful. Something uncomfortable shivered along his spine. He had a feeling he was looking at one of those forever kinds of girls. The kind who were not safe to be around at all.

      Though it would take more than a sweet girl from Moose Run to penetrate the armor around his hard heart. He felt impatient with himself for the direction of his thoughts. Wasn’t it proof that she was already penetrating something since they were having this discussion that had nothing to do with her unrealistic building plans?

      Drew shook off the feeling and fixed Becky with a particularly hard look.

      “Sheesh, maybe you are a member of the Cinderella club, after all.”

      “Despite the fact I run a company called Happily-Ever-After—”

      He closed his eyes. “That’s as bad as Moose Run.”

      “It is a great name for an event planning company.”

      “I think I’m getting a headache.”

      “But despite my company name, I have long since given up on fairy tales.”

      He opened his eyes and looked at her. “Uh-huh,” he said, loading those two syllables with doubt.

      “I have!”

      “Lady, even before I heard the name of your company, I could tell that you have ‘I’m waiting for my prince to come’ written all over you.”

      “I do not.”

      “You’ve had a heartbreak.”

      “I haven’t,” she said. She was a terrible liar.

      “Maybe it wasn’t quite a heartbreak. A romantic disappointment.”

      “Now who is playing the mind reader?”

      “Aha! I was right, then.”

      She glared at him.

      “You’ll get over it. And then you’ll be in the prince market all over again.”

      “I won’t.”

      “I’m not him, by the way.”

      “Not who?”

      “Your prince.”

      “Of all the audacious, egotistical, ridiculous—”

      “Just saying. I’m not anybody’s prince.”

      “You know what? It is more than evident you could not be mistaken for Prince Charming even if you had a crown on your head and tights and golden slippers!”

      Now that he’d established some boundaries, he felt he could tease her just a little. “Please tell me you don’t like men who wear tights.”

      “What kind of man I like is none of your business!”

      “Correct. It’s just that we will be working in close proximity. My shirt has been known to come off. It has been known to make women swoon.” He smiled.

      He was enjoying this way more than he had a right to, but it was having the desired effect, putting up a nice big wall between them, and he hadn’t even had to barge in the construction material to do it.

      “I’m not just getting a headache,” she said. “I’ve had one since you marched through my door.”

      “Oh, great,” he said. “There’s nothing I like as much as a little competition. Let’s see who can give who a bigger headache.”

      “The only way I could give you a bigger headache than the one you are giving me is if I smashed this lamp over your head.”

      Her hand actually came to rest on a rather heavy-looking brass lamp on the corner of her desk. It was evident to him that she would have loved to do just that if she wasn’t such a prim-and-proper type.

      “I’m bringing out the worst in you,” he said with satisfaction. She looked at her hand, resting on the lamp, and looked so appalled with herself that Drew did the thing he least wanted to do. He laughed.

      * * *

      Becky snatched her hand back from the brass lamp, annoyed with herself, miffed that she was providing amusement for the very cocky Mr. Drew Jordan. She was not the type who