Wedding Party Collection: Once A Bridesmaid.... Avril Tremayne

you say so.’

      ‘I do. Say so.’

      ‘All right.’

      ‘I’m not.’

      ‘All right.’

      Another mouth-twitch. She was definitely trying not to laugh.

      And Leo had had enough. ‘I have to go,’ he said, despite not being needed in the kitchen for fifteen minutes.

      ‘Yes, I can see everything’s getting under way here. I love the buzz of restaurants. Jon and I used to try a new restaurant every other week. I miss him. He’s so...so important to me.’ Her voice wobbled the merest fraction as she added the last bit.

      Uh-oh, tears. Leo didn’t do tears. He felt himself shrink back. Wanted to run.

      But her face morphed into something tortured, right before his eyes, and he froze. It was as if a layer had been ripped off her in one half-second. Her eyes were strained and yet also vacant, as if she were seeing...emptiness. Her lips trembled. Her skin looked ashen. Every trace of happiness was obliterated. The contrast with her normal exuberance was dramatic—almost painful to see.

      All this because her best friend had moved overseas and she missed him?

      Huh?

      Leo wanted to touch her. Pat her hand or...something. Say...something. He who never touched, never comforted, because he didn’t know how. His hands fisted uselessly.

      Then Sunshine blinked. Shook her head—tiny, tiny movement. And in another half-second everything clicked back to normal and Leo breathed a silent sigh of relief.

      ‘Um...’ he said. Yep, he was super-articulate today.

      But she was smiling blindingly, as though that moment had never happened, so he did the sensible thing and shut up.

      ‘We haven’t got far down the list,’ she said. ‘What about if I shortcircuit a few things? You know, invitations, et cetera.’

      ‘What do you mean, “shortcircuit”? And “et cetera”?’ he asked, still a little shaken. Everything about her was throwing him off kilter.

      ‘I’ll get some options together for us to look over tomorrow. Nothing scary!’

      She was completely back to normal. Full-strength perky. Better than the tragic facemask she’d freaked him out with—but only marginally. Leo didn’t like perky. And if he were being made to board Sunshine Smart’s good ship Lollipop for this wedding he would be the one at the tiller.

      ‘I thought we’d be emailing the invitations,’ he said.

      She gave him what could only be termed a pitying smile. ‘Did you?’

      That was all. She wasn’t even going to bother arguing.

      Um...no. That was not how it was going to work. ‘It’s the twenty-first century,’ he said. ‘And time is short. I’ve seen some brilliant cutting-edge online invitations.’

      ‘Well, why don’t you bring one of those examples to our meeting tomorrow on your tablet/device/notebook/whatever you’ve got, and I’ll bring some hard copy snail mail samples appropriate for a chic but traditional wedding celebration.’

      ‘You’re doing the soothe thing again.’

      ‘Oh, dear, am I? I’ll have to work on that,’ she said.

      It was obvious to Leo that she had no intention of doing anything of the sort. But he wasn’t going to waste his breath pointing that out. He was tired enough from just looking at her.

      ‘We’ll talk tomorrow—after I’ve checked with Caleb,’ he said shortly, and stood abruptly.

      ‘Just one more thing, Leo, before you rush off.’

      He looked down at her and she cleared her throat.

      ‘What?’ Leo asked, trying not to feel a sense of impending doom.

      ‘Just...something that’s going to have to start now, like right this second, if it’s going to be ready in two months.’

      ‘And are you going to share with me exactly what this all-important thing is?’

      ‘Promise you won’t get mad?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘It’s important.’

      ‘Waiting.’

      ‘I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t absolutely vital. It’s just...’ She stopped, ran her hand through her long hair, widened her eyes at him as though she were trying to impart something telepathically. Ran her hand through her hair again.

      And he—

      God! The eyes. Why hadn’t he noticed her eyes before?

      She huffed out a breath and pursed her lips. Exasperated because he hadn’t read her chaotic mind, probably.

      But all he could think about were her eyes.

      ‘Hair,’ she explained. ‘It only grows one-point-two-five centimetres a month. One-point-three if you’re lucky.’

      ‘So?’

      ‘You have to start growing your hair.’

      He had no answer. Might well have been gaping like a hooked fish.

      ‘Sorry—but if I didn’t raise it now you might have shaved your head tonight and it would be a shame to lose those few millimetres.’

      ‘I don’t want to grow my hair,’ Leo said. Ultra-reasonable. The way you talked to a person who was certifiably insane.

      ‘But you will look so much better in the photos. And you have lovely hair.’

      ‘And you know this...how?’

      ‘I looked you up online and saw the photos from the launch of this place, when you had hair. Now, I’m not saying you’re not very good-looking even with the shaved head. Tall, but not in a carnival freaky way. Lean—which is amazing, for a chef, if you ask me. Wonderful sharp cheekbones, brilliant smile— All right, I’m guessing the smile bit, since I haven’t actually seen it, but I’m a good guesser. And really lovely eyes—amber is such an unusual colour, you know? Tigerish. But if you look quite delectable now, you will be absolutely, irresistibly gorgeous with hair.’

      Leo stood there, gobsmacked. ‘I’ve got to get to work,’ he said when he could trust himself to speak.

      ‘But you’ll think about the hair, won’t you?’ she asked anxiously. ‘And while you’re thinking, maybe keep the razor off your scalp...just in case you do decide to look absolutely, irresistibly gorgeous at your brother’s wedding.’

      He looked at her. Noted her eyes again. Really stunning eyes. She would look absolutely, irresistibly gorgeous herself if she—

      Aha.

      Leo could have crowed, he was so pleased with himself. ‘Let’s make a deal—you go into the bathroom and wash off that eye-goop right now, and I will not shave my head...unless I see that crap all over your eyes again. The minute I see it, I’m reaching for the razor.’

      And, yes! He’d stumped her. She was the gaping fish now.

      He watched as she processed what he’d said. She lifted her bag off the floor and rummaged inside, pulled out a compact. Flipped it open, looked in the mirror. Widened her eyes, then squinted. Turned her head to peer sideways, then switched sides and did it again. ‘You know that I have strange eyes, right?’ she asked.

      ‘Beautiful eyes.’

      ‘Evil eyes.’

      ‘Yeah, maybe lay off the sci-fi.’

      ‘Oh, it’s a real condition. It’s called heterochromia iridum, and there are various theories about how you