Diary of a Wedding Planner in Love (Tales Behind the Veils Book 2) (5 page)

Saturday, January 11th

So I suppose the universe gave me a lesson in patience today. A little reminder about good things coming to those who wait.

My bride, Rosaline, was from the Dominican Republic, and her groom, Thomas, was Jamaican. Knowing many of their guests would be on ‘island time’ and therefore tardy, Rosaline printed her invitations with a start time an hour earlier than the actual ceremony. Even with that, she reasoned most of them would fail to make it for the ceremony at all, so she only ordered thirty chairs. For two hundred invited guests.

Talk about making your wedding planner nervous. I knew from past weddings that certain cultural groups practice a more relaxed attitude toward time, but I kept envisioning two hundred people yelling at me to get the ceremony started and find them more chairs.

Rosaline laughed and told me not to worry, but I did.

At four o'clock—the ceremony time stated on the invitation, mind you—I had not one single soul there except the minister and the guitarist.

Two guests arrived at twenty after four, both apologizing for being late and neither from the islands.

By the time five o'clock rolled around—the actual ceremony start time—nine co-workers and four neighbors had showed up, but no one else. Not even the bride or groom.

To say I was freaking out is an understatement. I've never drank at work, but I was sorely tempted to ask the bartender to crack open a bottle of wine.

Rosaline finally arrived about a quarter after five with ten family members. By the time Thomas got there twenty minutes later, we had a total of forty-seven guests. Out of two hundred.

So when we started the ceremony an hour and forty-five minutes after the start time on the invitation, we had roughly one-fourth of the invited guests in attendance.

It is possible I have bald spots from pulling out my hair in frustration. Rosaline laughed at me. "Don't worry, Tyler. They will come."

We extended the cocktail reception until seven, by which time we had about sixty guests. I needed Valium, but Rosaline and Thomas took it all in stride. Like it was the most normal thing ever.

"Don't worry, Tyler. They'll come." Rosaline patted my arm with a smile. "I told you. Island time."

At seven-fifteen, the caterer demanded to serve dinner. It could sit idle on the stoves no longer.

"That's fine," Rosaline said. "They'll eat when they get here. Don't worry, Tyler."

Seventy guests went through the buffet meant for two hundred. The caterer nearly fainted.

"What are we going to do with all this food?" she asked. I shook my head in disbelief. I had no answers.

The pastry chef arrived with the cake around eight, and I gasped at the size of it. Six towering layers of cake. Enough to feed an army. Way too much for the eighty guests I had on hand.

"Here's a box for leftover cake, and a box for the topper," said the pastry chef. "She wants to save it for her anniversary."

"I think I'm going to need more boxes," I told her. "There's no way these people are going to eat all that cake."

The chef laughed and shook her head. "I’ve worked for this family before. Don't worry. They'll come."

That seemed to be the mantra of the night.

I asked several times if they were ready for first dance and toast, but Rosaline and Thomas put me off each time.

She would laugh and say, "Don't worry, Tyler. They'll come. We'll do it when they get here."

I began to feel sorry for the poor, delusional girl. She had invited all these people, bought a cake twice the size she needed, and less than half of her invited list came.

But she never wavered in her certainty that they were coming. Never showed any doubt or disappointment.

"Don't worry, Tyler" was all she would say.

The caterer came to me sometime after nine to say she needed to pull the food soon due to the time it had been out.

Rosaline was adamant the buffet should remain intact. "They'll be hungry when they come. Don't worry, Tyler."

"Are you ready to do cake cutting?" I asked.

She laughed at me. "You're so impatient. You must learn to wait. Other people don't live on our schedule. They live on their own. If we love them, we wait. Don't worry, Tyler."

It sounded like sage advice on my own life, but it came from a girl who'd invited two hundred people to her wedding and only had eighty show, so I wasn't too sure how much faith I should put in it.

But then, it happened. They came.

It must have been around nine thirty when it started. A seemingly never-ending line of guests streamed in as if a bus—or on second thought, a train—had pulled up outside and unloaded its passengers. The noise level in the room tripled as they hugged and high-fived, filling the dance floor and every corner of the room.

I stood to one side frazzled with exhaustion.

Rosaline shouted as she whirled past me on the dance floor. "I told you not to worry, Tyler. I told you they'd come."

They wiped out the buffet in less than twenty minutes. We had to hide the top anniversary layer when the cake ran out, and by midnight the caterer had sent someone to get additional ice and alcohol for a guest count hovering around two hundred and fifty.

It is now a little after two in the morning, and I just dragged my tired ass in the door and collapsed across my bed to find the cutest little stuffed animal. A precious white doggie with a tag reading ‘Roscoe’ attached to a bright red collar. He had a note between his front paws.

Hope your wedding went well. I waited for you for a while, but I guess you're having a late night. I left Roscoe here to keep you company. Hope you can handle the commitment.

              Talk to you tomorrow. C.

I went to sleep with Roscoe in my arms,
a smile on my face, and Rosaline's words in my head.

"Don't worry, Tyler."

Cabe is definitely worth waiting for.

Sunday, January 12th

Cabe and I went to Ybor City again today. No music festival going on, so the streets were much quieter than last weekend. We took our time meandering through the quaint shops and admiring the old architecture left behind by the Cuban and Spanish influences of the area's cigar history. We found a funky little vintage clothing shop, and he patiently waited as I tried on outfit after outfit, offering his appreciation for the ones he liked and laughing hysterically at the more outlandish ones.

We drank mojitos and listened to live music at sidewalk cafes, walking along hand in hand. Sometimes stopping to steal a kiss. I felt like a million bucks walking alongside him. I have always seen the way girls cast appreciative glances his way, and a mingle of pride and possessiveness filled me when they looked at him today.

I know this sounds like a voiceover in a cheesy movie, but today was a good day to be alive. The crisp air filled my lungs and the cool breeze tickled my skin. The sky was an unbelievably clear blue, so deep and alluring I couldn't help staring up into it. The sun bathed the buildings and the trees in a golden brightness that made every color vividly clear. Like watching a really well-done 3D movie with layers of complex scenery.

And Cabe. Oh Cabe. I cannot believe my good fortune. He's still my best friend. Still laughing and joking the same way we always have. Still having the same intense debates about whatever topics came to mind. Still interested in the same music, the same art. But now it's different. It's deeper. It's better than I could have ever imagined. Not only do I have my very best friend walking by my side, but I am hyper aware of the incredible hotness of the man.

His broad, muscular shoulders. His biceps so strong beneath my fingers on his arm. And those legs, so long and lean I have to take three steps for one of his to match his relaxed stride.

And those eyes. God, I could just stare into his eyes all day. So clear and light today they looked more silver or grey than blue. But always sparkling with mischief, and occasionally deepening with desire.

Speaking of desire. Wow. It is amazing that I have walked side by side with this man, slept by him, woken up next to him, laid across him on beach and couch and bed, and have never experienced the surges I have coursing through me now whenever he is near. I get goosebumps when he looks at me. Sometimes I can’t look away, and my insides bubble up all warm and tingly when he smiles and says, ‘What?’

I shake my head and say ‘Nothing’ because I don’t dare tell him how giddy I am inside.

Even the most casual contact tingles and sparks. Which probably explains why I can't keep my hands off him, and vice-versa. He touches me every chance he gets. His hand always on my back. A little squeeze of my hand. A brief kiss brushed against my cheek or the top of my head. A light caress of my rear end as I brush past him in a store.

And the looks he gives me. God, the come-hither look when I emerge from the dressing room is enough to make me want to pull him back in there with me.

It’s like I just hit puberty or something. I can't think about anything but being with him. Wondering what it will be like. When it will happen. How it will happen. I am obsessed. With Cabe. Who would have ever thought it possible?

We ended up on the couch again tonight, elbows and knees akimbo as we twisted and writhed and moved against one another instinctively.

But then he did it again.

He went from panting breathless, pursuing a goal with a concerted effort, to suddenly looking at me with that goofy grin and telling me how beautiful I am. It's maddening. I have sworn to myself that I won't pressure him about the past or the future, what to call our relationship, or whether or not we'll ever get a real dog without a ‘made in Taiwan’ label on its butt.

This, however, needed addressing.

"Why do you do this?" I pushed his long curls off his forehead and tousled his hair as I smiled up at him.

"Do what?" He smiled, fully aware of what I meant. He traced my jawline with his pinkie finger and then put his hand behind my head and pulled me forward for a kiss so passionate I almost forgot what I needed to know.

I remembered when he let go.

"This. You come onto me like I'm water in the desert, and you get me all revved up and ready to go, and then boom. You just pull back like it all means nothing and announce you're leaving. What's up with that?"

"I've told you. I want to wait. I want it to be right." He didn't stop stroking his fingers along my forearm as he talked. Could he really be so oblivious to what he was doing to me?

"Wait for what? When will it be right?"

He chuckled. "Tyler, you know I want you. I think it's rather obvious." He grinned and pulled me tighter against the evidence. "But I don't know. I feel like we were friends for so long, and I just don't want to go anywhere we can't come back from."

Shock numbed me like I’d been doused in cold water.

"Okay, so what does that mean? Do you want us to just be friends?" I cocked my head to the side and tried to fight the fear welling up inside me.

"We still are friends, Ty. And we're exploring that deeper and further. I just want to make sure we don't go too fast and make any decisions we regret."

Whoa, Nelly. What did that mean? We still are friends? Does he somehow think none of this meant anything? That we're just friends? I know I said before I didn't need a label or a definition, but I changed my mind.

"So we're still just friends?"

"You're putting words in my mouth. We
are
friends. And no matter what else we become and where this goes, I hope we will always be friends. Obviously, we've gone beyond that, but I don't want us to rush into anything."

I moved to sit up.

"I don't get it. Your hands are all over me all day. You're kissing me every chance you get. We're all up in each other's business on the couch. How do you just shut that down and say you don't want to go any further?"

"Again, you're putting words in my mouth. I never said I didn't
want
to go any further. But what I want and what I think is best are two different things. A lot has changed between us in the last couple of weeks, but it's only been that. A couple of weeks. I just feel like we need to put on the brakes a little. That's all."

I heard him. And I suppose on some level I understood him. I know I should have, like, admired him for it or something. Being a gentleman. Being chivalrous. Being cautious.

But I had never wanted anyone like I wanted Cabe. I felt like every doubt I'd ever had—about him, about love, about sex, any of it—was gone. I just wanted to be with him. His resistance conflicted with that and compounded my frustration.

What if I didn't want to wait? What if I wanted him to take me right then and there? What did that make me?

I've never been one to jump into bed with every guy I've dated, but surely this meant more than just a casual fling. In my mind, we had wasted so much time already. Why wait longer? If we both knew what we knew, then why not just go all in?

I felt frustrated. Physically. Emotionally. Mentally. I sighed in frustration and got up to pace the floor.

"Would you rather I just didn't touch you?" Cabe asked.

"No! Why would I rather that?" I flung my arms to the side and looked at him with an expression I am sure said "Idiot!"

He laughed and came to me, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me close.

"Ty, patience has never been your virtue."

"I don't think I have any virtues." I knew just my saying that probably jolted my mother awake from a deep sleep without a clue as to why.

He pressed his lips against mine and held them there. No tongue action, no groping, no panting. Just a simple physical connection of tenderness that melted my anger away.

When he pulled back, I smiled at him. And I let him go without any further argument.

I still think he's worth the wait, but I don't like it. Not one bit.