Diary of a Wedding Planner in Love (Tales Behind the Veils Book 2) (13 page)

"You okay?" I asked, wanting to be assured I hadn't screwed anything up.

He opened his eyes and smiled at me. "More than okay. Pretty freakin' fantastic. And you?"

"No complaints here," I said, refraining from adding '
why the hell haven't you done that sooner?'

He leaned forward to kiss me, and I stretched against him so our lips could touch.

"You're going to be the death of me, girl."

I pulled back to look at him, doubts creeping in to cloud my serenity in the aftermath of ecstasy. "I'm sorry."

Surprise crossed his face and then he squeezed me tighter to him, covering my lips with his before he lifted his head and kissed my forehead gently. "Don't be, Ty. I
do
want things to be right between us before we go too far. But I'm also human. Red-blooded male, if you will. I can only resist your temptation for so long. Tonight, I wanted you more than I wanted what's right. I needed you. To touch you. To taste you. To give you some inkling of how much you mean to me."

I smiled at his words and how closely they echoed my own thoughts.

"Well, you certainly accomplished that," I whispered, and he kissed me again.

He yawned, and I weighed whether I wanted to ask questions or allow him peace. I chose the latter when he reached to turn off the lamp.

The alcohol combined with the orgasm had made me drowsy and relaxed, but I don't think I ever really went to sleep. I drifted in and out of consciousness, unable to ignore Cabe’s presence next to me.

I wanted to stay there with him forever, but eventually I had to get up to pee and brush my teeth. So now I'm watching him sleep as I write this. Mesmerized by the steady rise and fall of his chest in the moonlight through the window. The relaxed, peaceful expression of his face in sleep. The curve of his abs and the thin, dark blond line of hair trailing down his stomach and disappearing beneath the sheet. The stray curl splayed across his forehead, and the others safely tucked behind his ears.

I love him so much it hurts.

I am his. Completely his. I don't think I can ever let go.

Wednesday, February 12th

Cabe texted me around noon to remind me we have animal shelter duty this evening. I had totally forgotten about it, and I think he may have, too. He didn't mention it last night or this morning before he left.

It would have been awesome to be prepared and have a change of clothes. A two-piece suit and a pair of pumps is not exactly the best attire for bathing dogs.

We were on our third dog bath, a huge St. Bernard mix named Hank. I was pretty much already soaked to the bone from the first two baths, but at least my heels had been safely stowed in the car. I had crouched beside Hank holding his leash, whispering what I thought were calming words while Cabe held the water hose and applied the shampoo. Just when we got him completely lathered, Hank gave a huge, enthusiastic shake to rid himself of the suds. The shock of being doused with cold water and soap suds stunned me, and I stood and covered my face instinctively.

Unfortunately, I dropped the leash in the process, and Hank took off like greased lightning. Who knew a dog that size could move so fast? As if it wasn’t bad enough that I’d let the leash go, it turns out I’d failed to latch the gate securely when I put my shoes in the car. So Hank had escaped and was running full speed ahead down the narrow two-lane road with Cabe in hot pursuit.

"He'll come to your car," the shelter volunteer yelled from behind me. "If you run after him, he just runs faster. Take your car!"

I sprang to action and jumped into my car, oblivious to the sopping wet mess I created on my seat. I peeled out of the parking lot and passed Cabe, whose athletic build proved no match for Hank when it came to running.

I saw Hank veer into the large yard on the corner of the upcoming intersection. I turned right after a slow roll through the stop sign and searched for the big soapy mutt on either side of the road. He was behind a bush a few houses down, and I pulled off the road and jumped out to catch him. I recoiled in my pain when my bare feet hit the sharp stones along the edge of the highway, and my loud, high-pitched yelp caused Hank to run again.

I got back in the car and followed him to the next house, where he stopped to take a massively huge dump on their lawn. I figured I could get him while he was pooping, but just as I opened my door, he turned and headed straight toward the car. I leaned over and opened the passenger door in time for him to leap inside.

Hank quickly realized the passenger side wasn't big enough for him, so he squeezed his huge, wet, soapy body over the console and proceeded to dance in circles in the back seat. His wet fur had collected dirt and mud all along his escape route, and as he flopped around the back of my car, bits and pieces of it flung against the windows, doors, and even the headliner where he used his height to rub his head back and forth. It wasn't until I reached across the passenger seat to pull the door closed that I realized dirt and mud wasn't all he was slinging.

Hank's bowel movement had not been clean cut, and the fragrant aroma filling my car triggered my gag reflex and made my eyes water.

Cabe reached the car and opened the passenger door as I screamed in outrage at the disgusting destruction of my vehicle. He had already climbed in to sit down before the stench hit him.

"Whoa, what the hell?" He immediately got back out, as did I. We both stood outside the car staring at Hank in the back seat, happily panting away as he licked dirt off the window and gazed out at me.

"What am I going to do about my car?"

Cabe cracked up laughing, though I failed to see the humor in the situation. "I don't know, but I'm damned sure walking back to the shelter."

"Cabe! My car is covered in dirt, mud, water, and shit! What am I going to do?"

He couldn't stop laughing long enough to answer me.

"Here," I said. "I'm going to open the door to grab his leash and walk him back. You drive my car."

He stopped laughing then. "No way. I'm not riding in there. I'll walk him back."

"Cabe, I can't get back in there. I'll puke. I swear."

He wiped tears from his eyes as he bent over in another fit of laughter.

"It's not funny! My car is seriously messed up."

Hank jumped from the back seat to the front seat as we discussed the situation.

"No! Not my driver's seat!"

Cabe was laughing so hard he could barely stand. I didn't find it so funny. Not then and not now.

"Look, Ty. He's already in your car. It's already messed up. Let's just take him back and we'll go clean out your car." He tried to keep a straight face but failed. I had no choice. It had to be done.

With Hank in the back, we drove together with the windows down, coughing and gagging the whole way. We hosed him down and got him settled in his kennel. The staff members apologized and offered me cleaners to use in my car, which still reeks after two hours of scrubbing, vacuuming, and disinfecting.

I finally made it home and took off the wet, stanky, mud-and-feces-encrusted suit and threw it in a plastic bag, which I promptly carried to the dumpster downstairs. No amount of dry cleaning would have helped that outfit.

I took a hot shower, allowing the warmth to cleanse my skin of the afternoon’s funk, but it became a bit of overkill after being wet for the last several hours.

Maybe I need to concede on this one. A dog may not be a good idea after all.

Friday, February 14
th

Valentine’s Day

I get that Valentine's Day is a made-up holiday probably invented by companies who sell cards and candy. But in my line of work, it's kind of a big deal. We had seven weddings today back-to-back: two ceremonies only, three ceremonies and receptions, and two receptions only. I was pretty much involved in some aspect of all of them. I did the four ceremonies at Lakeside, then raced across town to help set up Laura's reception while she did her ceremony, and then came back to this side of town for the last two receptions. Throughout the entire day of hearts, cupids, and lovey-dovey smoochfests, I heard not one single word from the man in my life. No text. No call. No card. No flowers. Not a single balloon or hand-scribbled note.

Now granted, he came and got my car while I was at the office yesterday and drove it to the dealership to be professionally cleaned and disinfected, which I appreciated.

But today was freakin' Valentine's Day.

He coulda called. He coulda texted. He could have let himself into my apartment and been waiting for me to crawl home from work exhausted, only to find him waiting with a nice, hot bath and maybe champagne and chocolates. Perhaps a foot massage and a carnal favor or two.

But no.

Not a word.

I guess this is where the whole slowing down kicks in?

Are we slowing down for Valentine's Day?

So you can kiss me, hold me, hug me, taste me, sleep next to me, and wake up in my bed any other night, but today necessitates radio silence?

I'm sorry, but I'm pissed. I'd like to be a big enough person to say the holiday means nothing, or to acknowledge that in some weird-ass technical sense of the word, we're not actually in a dating relationship.

But let's consider for a moment that every year that I've known this man, he's given me something for Valentine's Day. Well, except last year when he lived in Seattle. With Monica.

But other than that,
every single Valentine's Day
since I met Cabe, I've gotten chocolates or balloons or a stuffed animal or something. Even flowers one year if memory serves me right. Plus he has
always
given me a card.

All those years, we were just friends. Not dating. Not smooching and hugging and groping each other's private parts or kissing the most intimate of places. Nope. Just friends, and yet we were Valentines.

So how in the hell does it make sense to not hear one peep from the son-of-a-bitch today?

I get he needs time. I get he needs space.

Okay, you know what? No, I don't. I wrote that because I felt like I'm supposed to get it, but I don't. It makes no sense to me in any way whatsoever that he could supposedly have feelings for me all this time, and obviously have some sort of feelings for me now, but yet not be sure if he wants to act on those feelings or pursue them. And at the same time, not want to abandon it or let it go.

So no, I don't get it. But I'm trying to.

What I really don't get is how I'm supposed to just keep reacting to whatever bullshit he throws out without losing my freakin' mind!

He loves me, he loves me not. Except he's never even said he loves me at all.

You know what? Screw Valentine's Day. And screw Cabe. I'm sick of this whole situation.

But I really wish he'd call.

Saturday, February 15th

I don't think I've ever wanted to quit my job before today. I mean, there may have been days I was frustrated, or a particular bride may have pushed me over the edge. But I seriously was ready to just walk away from it today.

I realize part of this stems from still being tired from yesterday, and then having five more weddings back-to-back today, along with knowing I have three more tomorrow. So physical exhaustion is definitely a factor.

Then there's the mental and emotional crap I have going on with Cabe's hot and cold emotions and the fact that he didn't call or text again today. Didn't answer my texts or the voice mail I left earlier tonight. He's pulled another one of those drop off the face of the earth moves, and I don't know whether to be scared or mad. I guess I'm both.

But the final bride of the evening topped it all off for me and made me want to tell the entire world to screw off.

It rained all day today. A rare, weather anomaly where it pretty much poured non-stop all day. Never happens in February in Florida. But it happened today. On the Saturday of Valentine's Weekend. The equivalent of Wedding Hell Day Two. Happy-happy-joy-joy.

I had shuffled umbrellas back and forth from the chapel to the parking lot before and after every wedding. Escorting people from their cars or buses inside before each ceremony and then escorting them back out afterward. Does no one ever pack an umbrella for vacation or think to pick one up in the hotel gift shop? I mean, I get that you're coming to the Sunshine State, but come on, people. It rains here, too.

The downside of all this escorting back and forth—besides my feet and shoes being soaked beyond measure all damned day—is that while I'm walking alongside wedding guests and members of the wedding party, I'm holding the umbrella over
them
. Which means I am fully exposed to the weather and soaking wet. All damned day.

My hair dripped and hung in my eyes. My mascara ran down my face and left what may end up being a permanent smudge on my cheeks. My wet bra chafed against my wet skin and rubbed it raw underneath my breasts. My feet wrinkled and shriveled and turned that sickly white color like when you've been in the tub too long. Oh, and did I mention I was freezing cold all day? We had the heat running inside, but when you're soaking-flipping-wet and spending so much time outside in the rain, you just never really get warm.

So the last wedding of the day became a goal I worked toward with a coal miner's determination. Just keep digging. Keep walking. Keep going, and there'll be light at the end of the tunnel.

Glenda was Melanie's bride. The train of her gown stretched so long it literally needed its own umbrella. The wind had picked up as we escorted her down the sidewalk from the parking lot, so we had one umbrella on each side of her one shielding her back in addition to the one over her train. Melanie held the one over the train as she followed the bride; Renee the florist and her assistant Addie held the ones on each side with Renee also balancing the one over the back of the dress. I walked in front of the bride holding one over her head and veil and the other at an angle to keep the wind from blowing rain in her face or on the front of her gown. Drops of cold rain pelted my face as I walked, and I sputtered and blinked trying to breathe and see where I was going.

It worked, and thanks to the efforts of our amazing team juggling six umbrellas over her, Glenda went down the aisle as dry as a bone. Even her shoes had been protected from the water in a plastic bag her mother carried, so once we dried her feet with a towel, she had nary a damp spot head to toe.

The rain lightened up by the end of her ceremony, and I could send a couple of guests out to the waiting bus on their own and then collect the umbrellas from the bus driver each time I went across.

By the time the photographer finished pictures, the rain stopped altogether, and I had already completed all my closing duties except turning out the lights and locking the doors. I was literally counting down the minutes until they were out of there and I could come home, take off my wet suit, peel off my wet panties, and wrap myself up in a nice, warm robe with a glass of wine.

Glenda stood touching up her make-up in the foyer mirror as she waited for her groom to exit the restroom, and she turned to me and asked if I was coming to the reception. In my head, I shouted, "Lord, no!" and whispered prayers of thanks that my day was done and I was about to go home. But my outward self smiled politely and said, "No, I'm headed home to take a shower and get out of these wet clothes. But thank you for asking."

"Oh, I wasn't asking you to come," she said as she applied her blood-red lipstick. "I was hoping you weren't. You look horrible. It's bad enough my guests had to see you here. I didn't want you at my reception."

My mouth dropped open, and I let it. I couldn't believe the nerve of the bitch to say that to me after I, along with my co-workers, had slopped through the rain to protect her gown, her hair, and her guests. After I sat there dripping water on the carpet and shivering while I dried her freakin' feet so they wouldn't be damp when she put her shoes on.

Ugh. It makes my blood boil again just thinking about it.

I wanted to tell her exactly what I thought of her. I wanted to go off on her with all the vehemence, anger, frustration, and angst I have bottled up inside me right now. It’s not just her, but rather a combination of everything that's been going on.

I am sick of feeling unappreciated, unvalued, unwanted, unseen, unloved. I am about ready to tell all these ungrateful, disrespectful, self-absorbed people where they can stick it. The brides, the guests, Cabe, Chaz, even the idiot who went inside to get food and shoot the breeze with the cashier while I was waiting to pump gas on the way home tonight. All of them can just kiss my fat patootie.

I came this close to quitting and walking away from that bride tonight. But I knew that would affect me volumes more than it would affect her. She'd just go to her party and fly home in a few days. I'd end up broke and homeless.

Why do they always seem to get their way? Why can the tide never just turn my way and stay there? Even once!