The Stand-In (20 page)

“Yes, I noticed. We need to buy you a new bed.”

Amber knocked on the door. Patrick moved into the kitchen. With a deep breath, Winn opened the door.

Amber stood in the hallway, her cheeks covered in black tracks where her mascara had mixed with her tears. “Your father dumped me for another woman.”

“What? Who in God’s name has he taken up with now?”

“Your mother!” She stumbled into the unit and threw herself down on the couch, sobbing on the cushioned arm.

Winn shut the door and gawked at Patrick, who shrugged and nodded at Amber. Winn turned to face her old friend, wanting to hate her. It had become so easy to hate her the past few years, so part of her routine. Wake up. Get dressed. Hate Amber. Go on an audition. Come home. Hate Amber some more.

Only seeing her like this, distraught and drenching the fabric of her couch, it was difficult to dredge up the old resentment. Surely what she said wasn’t true. Her dad reunited with her mom? Had the sun just collided with the moon?

She approached Amber as if approaching a wounded serpent, one who might still be capable of spreading its venom. “Are you sure?”

She looked up, giving Winn a clear view of the mascara stains on her white couch. “I should think so. I found them in bed together.”

“You can’t be serious. Maybe you got it wrong.”

“Winn,” she cried. “I know you think I’m a slut and an idiot, but it was pretty clear what they were doing. And frankly, I saw it coming. I just didn’t want to believe it.” She turned and sat with her hands in her lap, staring at her knees, looking like a lost child. “Pierce has always loved antagonizing your mom, and at first I told myself it was out of anger. But I began to realize he got off on it. That a part of him was using me to drive her nuts. And after a while, I think he realized he missed her. I was such a fool.”

Winn wasn’t sure what to do. Was she supposed to comfort the woman who’d destroyed her parents’ marriage? Was she supposed to gloat? Tell her karma was a bitch and she’d gotten what she deserved?

Or was she supposed to take the high road and be a friend?

She stared at Amber, the woman who’d been her bosom buddy for years. The old Winn would have rushed to console her, would have yanked out a tub of Hägen-Daz, or something stronger, and they would have cursed mankind while getting pleasantly tipsy on Mint Chocolate Chip and merlot.

Only Winn hadn’t had a real friend in some time. Somewhere along the way, she’d become the stand-in, a woman who seemed to have it all together, but acted at being friends. She’d sneered at her brides, thinking them incapable of maintaining friendships, but perhaps she’d been at fault, too. It was easy to blame the theater for fleeting connections, but maybe she should have tried harder. And maybe, when Amber took up with her dad, she should have sat them both down and had a difficult conversation.

Only she’d never been big on confrontation. Her history with Mike proved that.

Perhaps being a stand-in in life no long worked for her.

She knew one thing for sure. Even though her job had led her to Patrick, her role at Margie’s agency no longer satisfied her. In fact, she sort of wished she had a clerical job in a nice office somewhere.

Sighing, she stared at Amber, knowing she had to say something. She got the sense her professional-bridesmaid speeches wouldn’t cut muster in this situation.

She glanced at Patrick. He nodded and smiled.

Sitting next to Amber on the couch, she put a hand on her leg. “You’re not a fool. You made some bad decisions. I have, too. We can’t let them define us.”

This time, when she looked at Patrick, his smile grew wider and his eyes shone with pride.

Amber sucked in a breath. “Oh, Winn. I’ve been such a bad friend. I’m so sorry. Will you ever forgive me?” She held out her arms.

Winn stared at her outstretched arms. After a strange moment in which she felt a burden slip away, she hugged Amber. “I’m willing to try.”

Patrick remained a discreet distance away and allowed them to blubber in each other’s arms some more. However, after a few minutes, he approached, wielding Winn’s wooden spoon. “Ladies, I don’t know about you, but all this forgiveness has made me hungry. Spaghetti all around?” He arched a brow at Winn, looking for her okay.

“I don’t know,” said Amber. “I don’t want to wear out my welcome.”

Winn squeezed her hand. “Stay. It’s just spaghetti.”

Amber excused herself and went to the washroom to freshen up.

Patrick put his arms around Winn’s waist and tapped her bottom with the wooden spoon. “I’m proud of you.”

“Well, it doesn’t mean I’m going shoe shopping with her or sharing all my secrets. I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet.”

“It doesn’t matter. You did the right thing. The rest will sort itself out.” He wrapped her in a tight bear hug. “Although between you and me, I do wonder about our families. They’d give the folks on
General Hospital
a run for their money.”

“Does that mean you watch
General Hospital
?”

“I admit to nothing, Busby.” His lips compressed in mock anger and he gave her bum another, harder tap with the wooden spoon. “I like this spoon. I think it’s coming to bed with us later.”

Winn just smiled and didn’t argue.

Chapter 11

“I appreciate you coming in on such short notice.”

Winn smiled at Margie. Her boss had called her in for an “emergency meeting.” She knew her employer had been miffed over Patrick killing the
Player
article but she’d agreed the magazine might not be the best to represent her agency anyway. Aside from that, she couldn’t imagine why Margie would need to meet with her in person. She normally sent her details on upcoming wedding gigs by e-mail. In fact, Winn had done a couple more since she and Patrick had become an item.

An item
. She rolled her eyes at the old-fashioned term. Still, she wasn’t quite sure what to call them as a unit. They’d been sleeping together for about three weeks now. In fact, he’d already suggested it might be prudent for her to keep some of her things at his townhome, just as he’d taken to leaving some of his clothes and toiletries at her place.

Even though Enid cautioned her on a regular basis to take things slowly with Patrick, Winn caught herself smiling all the time. He made her happy and she found herself finding excuses to do little things for him during the course of the day, to make him happy, too. And every night, when they fell asleep together, she knew more than ever that she’d tumbled head over heels in love with him.

In love. A couple of months ago, she wouldn’t have believed it.

Of course, neither of them had said the words yet, but she tasted their sweetness as they teased the tip of her tongue. She’d caught them as they almost slipped out of his mouth a couple of times. His bewildered gaze told her time and again.

She somehow understood he hadn’t voiced the words yet out of respect for her past. He knew she’d been hurt. In fact, she’d given him all the gory details of her almost-wedding. Her frantic need to strip herself of her wedding dress and feel the hug of regular clothes again. Her hushed, awkward words with Will, Mike’s brother, as he attempted to explain what might be going on in Mike’s head.

Her fear she was unlovable.

Patrick had assured her of the opposite.

Despite not hearing those three words, life was good. In fact, she hadn’t even had panic attacks at the last couple of weddings. Perhaps she’d finally gotten over her bizarre allergy to matrimonial bliss.

“Winn, did you hear me?” Margie asked. “You seem to be in your own little world.”

“My apologies. I’m a bit distracted.”

“So you’ll do the wedding?”

Boy, she’d really tuned out. “I’m sorry. Which wedding?”

“This Saturday. Ava left me in a lurch. She was scheduled to take this one but flew off to Aruba on a last-minute holiday.” Margie shook her head. “If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s people who don’t keep their commitments. When Ava gets back from globe-trotting, she’ll find she’s out of a job.” She exhaled and smiled at Winn. “That’s what I love about you. Always reliable.”

“Thanks.” She didn’t mind squeezing in a wedding this Saturday. Patrick had said something about taking her to the Distillery District farmer’s market, but she figured they could do it Sunday. She’d give him a call as soon as she left the office.

“Great. Let me confirm with the bride while I have you. She was fit to be tied when Ava backed out.” Margie picked up her phone and dialed a number. “Stacy? It’s Margie Kent. Look, I have a fabulous new stand-in bridesmaid for you.” She smiled at Winn. “Absolutely. She’s my very best. I know she won’t let either of us down. I’ll text you her information in a few. Now you go enjoy your pedicure and leave the rest to us.
Ciao
.”

Winn stood. “Great. We’re all confirmed. I’ll look for your e-mail with the details.”

Margie held up a hand and rummaged in her desk drawer. “Just a minute, Winn. I have the wedding details right here. It’ll save me an e-mail later.” She pulled out an embossed, eggshell-white envelope and handed it to her. “Here you go.”

Winn took it but only gave it a cursory glance to inspect the eye-catching silver scrollwork around the script. Lovely. Just the sort of design she might have chosen. She shoved it in her purse. “Okay, thanks.”

Margie stood. “Winn, darling. You’re an absolute star. I think it’s about time we start talking raises. You’ve earned it.”

“Thanks, Margie.”

As Winn left the office and headed to the subway stop, she considered her job situation. Before she’d even taken a seat on the northbound subway, she was feeling pangs of guilt stabbing into her chest. Ever since talking to Amber, since growing closer to Patrick, something about her role as a stand-in bridesmaid felt wrong. Although Margie’s business was booming, the whole scenario now felt uncomfortable. Like a pebble wedged in her shoe.

Who was she kidding? It was a sham. She no longer wanted to perpetuate her position as a substitute friend. It didn’t feel right.

Patrick had been encouraging her to look elsewhere for work. “You’re the genuine article, Busby,” he’d said a couple of times. “Why play at being friends? You have lots of people who care about you. You’re worth better.”

It was a message Mike had never given her. When he’d left her at the altar, he’d let her know, in no uncertain terms, that she was second best. A place marker until someone more exciting came along.

A stand-in.

The idea of being one at work now left a tinny taste in her mouth, like sucking on a paper cut to ease the pain and swallowing yucky blood. Unpalatable, despite the fact it kept her in ten-dollar lipsticks and rent money.

However, she didn’t feel like returning to the soul-crushing world of the theater either.

She supposed her job as a stand-in would have to do for now, until she found something else.

* * * *

That night at dinner, Winn didn’t joke with him so much. She usually had a snappy comeback for his comments, but tonight she seemed pensive. Patrick watched as she pushed her omelet around on her plate, separating the chucks of green pepper from the bits of tomato.

“Hey,” he said. “I know I’m a shitty cook, but I make a mean omelet. Don’t you like it?”

She managed a grin. “You make an awesome omelet. I guess I’m just not hungry, after all.”

He put his own plate aside and stood, moving behind her. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he proceeded to give her a good rub. Her shoulders, tight balls of tension if he’d ever felt them, loosened under his touch and she let her head fall back. As she closed her eyes, he leaned down and kissed her forehead. “What’s up, Busby? This can’t be because you had to postpone our date at the farmer’s market. Although, personally, I’m devastated.”

Her chest rose and fell in a quiet laugh and she opened her eyes. “I guess I’m just not keen on this professional-bridesmaid gig anymore.”

He let go of her shoulders and moved in front of her, crouching. “Then do something else.”

“I don’t know what yet.”

“You’ll think of something.”

“But in the meantime, I have to pay my rent.”

So move in with me
. He wanted to say the words. He really did. But no matter how much he wanted to keep Winn in his bed, he was always careful not to rush her. God only knew, he’d wanted to share his feelings with her for some time. The feelings that kept him up late at night, that kept his stomach gurgling with wonder and happiness. However, she’d been hurt before, and he didn’t want to give her an excuse to run out of his life.

After all, he loved her.

And he didn’t want to scare her away.

“It’ll all work out in the end. I promise.” He ran a hand up her thigh, loving the fullness of her flesh. “Look at me. I almost have a job again.”

As soon as Gloria Dietrich’s admission became public, along with her husband’s bad behavior, Patrick’s contacts seemed eager to speak with him again. Even Joe at the
World
wanted to have coffee. And coffee with Joe was basically a job offer. Scheduled to meet him tomorrow, Patrick couldn’t wait to see what he put on the table.

“I’m excited for you.”

“I’m excited you’re here with me.”

“Patrick.”

“I mean it. You make me happy, Winn.”

Her face did that adorable crinkly thing, the same expression she assumed when commercials featuring kittens appeared on TV. Only her kitten look was all for him and he loved it. It made him feel important, big and warm, like Prometheus bringing fire to humankind.

He stood and pulled her with him, enfolding her in a hug. Her scent, a powdery, rose-petal perfume, claimed his senses and he breathed deeply. Forget food and drink. He could live on her scent and on her touch. They nourished him as nothing else did. And if his touch made her feel a fraction of the same pleasure, he’d give it to her until his body expired.

That thought in mind, he led her to the couch and they tumbled onto it, kissing and bumping noses.

Life was good.

It got even better when she straddled him there and pulled her shirt over her head.