“I’m Luke.” He pushed his tray to the side and extended a hand.
I gave him a firm handshake. “Adrielle Pyper, but you can call me Adri. Everyone does. Thanks for letting me sit here.”
“My pleasure. This place has amazing food, doesn’t it?” Luke lifted his burnt-end special and inhaled slowly, closing his eyes as he took a saucy bite.
I laughed but followed suit with my sandwich. “Mmm. The best barbeque I’ve ever had.” I felt self-conscious eating the messy sandwich in front of him, but the aromas caressing my nose had kicked my hunger into high gear, and not even the best-looking guy could make me miss out on this meal. When I bit into the fried pickle, steam escaped from the hot vegetable turned to the artery-clogging dark side. I chewed slowly, savoring the flavors. Luke’s face split into a grin.
“I haven’t ever tried the fried pickles. They just sound weird, but from the look on your face, they must taste good.”
He was forward. First inviting me to sit with him and now practically asking for one of my deep-fried delicacies. Chewing slowly, I picked the smallest breaded pickle and edged it onto his plate. “I dare you.”
Luke’s eyebrows lifted, and he set down the rib he’d been gnawing. He grabbed the pickle and took a bite. I heard the slight crunch and saw the steam release from the fried shell. “That’s hot!” He chewed quickly and swigged some water. “But tasty.” He examined the crusty exterior and took another bite. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” I took another bite of Clay’s special sandwich and savored how the pork separated in meaty chunks with each mouthful. “Are you from around here?”
Luke wiped his face with a paper towel he snagged from the roll sitting on our table. “Not really. I’m a transplant. But I found this place the first weekend I moved to town. I love coming on burnt-end special days.”
“I come here when I need comfort food. It’s been a while.”
“Why? What do you do?”
“I’m a wedding planner. I own Pyper’s Dream Weddings, and this is the busiest time of year for me.” The missing wedding dresses were the real reason I needed fried pickles, but I wasn’t about to make that public knowledge.
He wrinkled his nose. “I can see why you need comfort food. Maybe you should order some more pickles.”
“Hey, I love what I do. I make people’s dreams come true.”
Luke popped an onion ring into his mouth, chewed, and mumbled, “Or their worst nightmare.”
“Wow.” I leaned back with a frown. “Remind me never to let one of my prospective clients come within ten yards of you.”
“Probably not a bad idea, considering . . .”
“Considering what?”
“I’m just giving you a hard time.” Luke took a monstrous bite of his sandwich.
I knew my face was red, and if he had half a brain, he could see my hackles were raised in defense of every girl’s fairy-tale wedding.
He chewed for a few seconds, and when I didn’t respond to his rather brusque jab at my line of work, he reached across the table and brushed his fingers over the back of my hand. “I shouldn’t have said that. I apologize. I don’t even know you, and I shouldn’t make fun, no matter what I think of marriage.”
The glass of water became my focal point and I took a drink, clinking the ice cubes around noisily.
“You must be very good at what you do. I know why your name sounds familiar. You’re doing Sylvia Rockfort’s and Brock Grafton’s weddings, aren’t you?”
I tried unsuccessfully to hide the grimace that belied my feelings of Ketchum’s own soap-star diva. Luke slapped his thigh as he laughed. I gave in and laughed with him.
“See, now that would be my worst nightmare,” he said.
If he was new to the area, I wondered if he’d experienced Sylvia’s charm personally, or if he was only going by what the tabloids presented. “That’s not fair. I’ve worked with many brides who are wonderful and kind. You can’t knock marriage just because someone like Sylvia is doing it.”
“Whatever you say.”
I grumbled and finished the last bite of fried pickle. A glance at my watch made my throat tighten. It was already past one o’clock, and I had plenty of work to do. “My goodness, I’m a slow eater today.”
“Me too. I’d better be on my way.” He stood and swept a few crumbs from his pant legs. “It was fun talking to you. Do you ever give out your number to strange men set against marriage?”
I couldn’t help smiling, but I wasn’t sure about him. “Well, you know where to find me.”
“Ah, gonna make me grovel, huh?”
He rubbed his hand along the shadow of stubble on his jaw, and I almost relented when I noticed the dimple in his chin. But my pride kept me to the sticking point.
“I don’t think I got your last name.”
He paused. “It’s Stetson.” He waited as if to see how I would react, and then his shoulders relaxed. “Have a great weekend, Adri.”
I was confused with his reticence just before he left and wondered why he’d been reluctant to give his last name. The way his broad shoulders filled the doorframe tucked the question in the back of my brain, though, especially when he turned and lifted two fingers in a wave. When he walked out the door and straddled the Harley, I knew I was in trouble.
Chapter 6
Simple Wedding Card
1. Fold a 4¼’’ x 11’’ piece of white cardstock in half to make a 4¼’’ x 5½’’ card base.
2. Stamp a flower image on white cardstock. Using scissors or a shaped punch, cut around the image. Attach the flower image to the front of the card, about 1⁄3 of the way down on the left side of the
