concentrated, a question kept staining the back of her mind. Exactly what did she owe Reed?
She stepped back and knew immediately she’d hung it too high.
How could she possibly make a major life decision based on feelings for a man who’d only been back in her life for a couple of weeks? And darn it, why did Garrett ever have to come back into her life? She’d known there were issues in her marriage with Reed. But she might have been able to make Reed happy-might have been able to settle herself-if Garrett had just never come home.
She stepped back from the linen wall hanging and gritted her teeth. Now she’d hung it too low.
“Hey, Emma.” Josh poked his head in the doorway. He was working in the front with a group of volunteer kids- they’d battled over who got to do that job because they both loved working with the teenagers, but Josh had won. This time. “Your mother’s on the phone in the office.”
“Thanks.” Could this day get more frustrating? But it could, she discovered, when she picked up the phone in the office and heard her mother’s slurred voice.
“Emma?”
“Mom. It’s only three in the afternoon!”
“Couldn’t help.” Emma heard the
After that cheery call, Emma returned to the wall-hanging project, thinking, okay, okay, what did she owe her parents? And how come she couldn’t seem to escape any of the hairy life questions today, no matter how hard she tried?
To add insult to injury, she still hadn’t conquered the wall-hanging problem before noticing a silver van with Weddings By Felicity for a logo. Seconds later a platinum blonde flew into the room, wearing heels too tall to walk on and a short, sassy haircut that matched her short, sassy print dress. “Oh, good, you’re not busy!”
Emma glanced at the boxes heaped all over the room. “Felicity-”
Her old friend motioned with her head toward the door-since both her hands were filled, one with a long bottle of wine, the other with two crystal glasses. “You and I are going to talk. Right now. Don’t even try arguing with me.”
“I’m not arguing. I’m always glad to see you. But-”
“Uh-uh. No buts. Move the tush, cookie. We’re drinking and talking behind closed doors for at least the next half hour, and that’s that.”
Felicity looked a lot like a young Meg Ryan, except that Meg used to play such nice roles in movies, and Felicity shared more in personality with an army tank. She set up behind Emma’s steamed-cherry desk, burrowed in her purse for a corkscrew and, predictably, found one. She poured one glass to the brim and shoved papers aside to push it toward Emma.
“If you weren’t one of my dearest friends, I’d have mopped the floor with you long before this.”
“Me?” The sign over Emma’s desk said Our Lives Are Reflected in the Things We Choose. Ironic, she thought, because the gallery was brimful of elegance and style in all forms, yet her office walls were wallpapered with children’s work. Finger painting. Shaving-cream art. Pictures made from macaroni and spangles and beads and buttons. Of course, no one ever hung out in the gallery office but her. And bossy, nosy, intrusive friends, it seemed.
“Look,” Felicity said firmly. “I know that Reed’s already made the honeymoon plans. Which means you both have to know when the wedding’s going to be, yet somehow you still aren’t calling me to pin down the date.”
“I know. And I’m sorry. It’s wrong…” She looked down at the wineglass. “Felicity, honestly, I can’t drink in the middle of the day.”
“Of course you can. Because we need to talk, and right now you’re way too buttoned-up. Now listen to me.” Felicity leveled herself into the wraparound red velvet chair and cocked her very long leg with its very tall heel on Emma’s priceless desk. “I’ve been through this a million times. I know brides like no one knows brides. Brides get cold feet. It’s nothing new, nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, you’re likely to get colder feet than most.”
“Why do you think that? That I’d get colder feet than most?”
“Because you’re the kind to take marriage more seriously than the rest of us,” Felicity said as if that should have been obvious. “Admit it. You think marriage is for keeps, don’t you?”
“Well, yes.”
“I rest my case. You’re hopelessly naive. But that’s not the point, Em. The point is that nerves like yours are why Weddings By Felicity exists. So I can take the stress off your back. And because this one’s about you, and I love you, I don’t care if it all has to be done at the last minute. I’ll make it happen. It’s also a lot easier to make it happen because it’s at your mom’s place. And when there’s no limit on money, obviously that’s a major help, as well.” Felicity downed another sip of wine. “Although, I have to say, your mother is driving me batty. She wants everything her way.”
Emma was listening. It was just…All right, she wasn’t listening. She hadn’t been listening to anyone or anything in days now. Ever since that afternoon with Garrett, she seemed to have suffered a complete brain meltdown. She just couldn’t seem to stop replaying those moments. When he’d tugged her wrist and they’d been inches apart. When desire had risen in her like a fierce wildfire. She’d wanted to be kissed at that moment more than she’d wanted life or air. Wanted to kiss him. Wanted to be kissed by him. There’d been nothing else in her head, her heart, nothing. It was like being swooshed under by a tidal wave.
A tidal wave named Garrett.
And damn it, it was one thing to settle when you thought pale was all there was. But now she knew she hadn’t come close to the possibilities before.
“Hey.” Felicity snapped her fingers. “Wake up, you. Remember, I’m the one who paid for the great wine?”
“Yes. And that was really nice of you. And I’m sorry my mother’s being a pain.”
Felicity waved a hand. “Brides’ moms and grooms’ moms come with the territory. It’s like having to eat your spinach when you’re a kid. I can deal with it. And I can deal with your nerves, too, if you’ll just let me. So either start talking to me or I’ll have to slap you.”
Emma understood she was supposed to laugh. But somehow what came out of her mouth was a question. “Do you think I’m a cold fish?”
“Huh? I was talking about cold feet, as in being nervous. Not cold fish, as in being frigid.”
“But do you think I am? I mean…do I come across as less…sexual…than the rest of the group?”
“Oh, boy, this is getting good.” Felicity dipped the wine bottle into her glass again, then squirmed her fanny back in the chair. “Honey, no one we grew up with is likely to wear a white dress at her wedding, if you know what I mean. Although…” She suddenly squinted at Emma. “Holy horseradish. You couldn’t still be a virgin, could you? I didn’t think it was possible.”
“At my age? Come on,” Emma scoffed and for the first time reached for her wineglass and took a gulp.
“You
“I’m not. I’m not.”
“Well…” Finally Felicity let it go. “Let’s go back to the original question. What was the cold-fish remark all about?”
Emma couldn’t sit. She walked over to the window, rubbed her itchy back against the frame. “There are a lot of reasons…why I’m no longer sure I’m the right person for Reed,” she said quietly.
“Okay. Since you bought up the cold-fish thing, I assume sex is the real issue we’re not talking about, right? And if that’s all you’re worried about, chill.” Felicity relaxed again, as if relieved to discover nothing important was the problem. “Come on, you know it’s the same for everyone. Sex is always great in the beginning. Then the first lust fades like the bloom on the rose. Then the couple both have to work at it-and good lovers do just that, so they tend to end up just fine. You know how it goes.”
“Yes, of course I do,” Emma said and this time filled the wineglass herself, keeping her expression averted.
“My theory, though, is that if it isn’t great in the beginning, then the relationship just isn’t worth going for. I mean, a guy who’s selfish from the get-go never improves. That’s not about sex, it’s about a character flaw, you know?” Felicity suddenly looked startled. “Reed isn’t that kind of selfish, is he? I mean, I barely know him. But he seems like such-”
