Wyatt nodded, took out his cell phone and apparently began to tap in notes to himself.
“What on earth are you doing?” It concerned me, but I forced myself to act casual.
“Better watch out, Maggie.” Duncan gave me an elbow nudge. “Wyatt’s a writer.”
“And nothing and no one is safe.” Wyatt’s lips turned up, as he agreed with his friend.
Duncan chuckled. “You never know…you could find yourself or that Southern drawl in his next book.”
I frowned as the man continued to enter notes on his cell phone with blinding speed. “Y’all act like I’m from Mars or something. Louisiana’s hardly exotic.”
“It’s different and fabulous,” Wyatt muttered as he typed.
Oh, I realized. The man was simply a sucker for an accent. I sipped my cappuccino and told myself to act casual. “Don’t get out much, do you Mr. Hastings?”
“I make myself get out of the house once a week,” he said soberly, and set his phone aside on the tabletop. “Besides, sitting here and having a coffee is a good way to get ideas for new characters, or…to figure out ways to kill people.”
I choked on my drink. The man had been completely serious. “What sort of books, do you write, Mr. Hastings?”
“Mysteries,” he said.
“Murder mysteries. Really gruesome ones,” Duncan added, with relish.
I raised my eyebrows at the writer. “Well, isn’t that nice?”
Wyatt began to chuckle. “I’m almost disappointed. You didn’t call me, ‘sugar’.”
My lips twitched, but I refused to smile. Wyatt Hastings was certainly an odd duck. “Well, if y’all will excuse me.” I stood. “I have several bridesmaids to wrangle.”
“Good luck with that,” Duncan said cheerfully.
I nodded to Mr. Hastings. “It was certainly interesting meeting you.” I waited a beat until those pale blue eyes met mine. “Sugar.”
The smile Wyatt Hastings flashed my way almost made up for him taking notes on me and my accent. I allowed myself a slight smile, slung the tote bag over my shoulder and headed for the bridal shop.
***
I had several different styles of the chiffon gowns Autumn had indicated she preferred hanging up by the fitting rooms. Going from my notes, I made sure to have the correct sizes pulled, as well as a petite size for Candice, before the bridal appointment. As I hung the last dress, the bridal store manager introduced herself and we exchanged a few pleasantries. Which of course began with: I love your accent. This was naturally followed by: What brings you to Missouri?
“Where are you living now that you’re our newest resident?” the manager asked.
I gave her a polite smile. “I’m renting a cottage here in town.”
“Oh? There are some charming properties in the historic district. Did you nab one of those?”
“Yes, I’m staying in the cottage on the Drake property.”
The woman flinched. She tried to cover up her reaction, but I’d already seen it. “Do you know that family well, dear?” Her voice sounded strained.
I frowned. “The Drakes are a family connection,” was the most information I was willing to share.
“I didn’t know you were related to the Drakes.” She cleared her throat and flashed a nervous smile. “Excuse me while I go get the spring color swatches for the bride to choose from.”
I watched as the manager went behind the front counter. She said something to her co-worker and the co-worker stopped what she was doing. The pair of them stared blatantly at me from across the floor.
Must be a small town gossipy thing, I decided, as the women began to whisper. Although it made me uncomfortable, I shrugged their odd reaction off. Glancing at my watch, and seeing that I had a moment, I double-checked my appearance in the mirror before everyone arrived.
The sleek ponytail I wore was a calculated move—one must never outshine the bride. It was a hard cold fact that brides were often uncomfortable with a coordinator who was prettier than they were.
My whole life people had cast judgments on me because of my appearance. They’d figured I was either a prize to be won, someone’s trophy wife, or that I was looking for a man. When I disabused them of that notion, then I was accused of being aloof, cold, or a bitch.
When it came to the bridal industry my best bet was to simply tone my looks down with a careful choice of apparel and subtle cosmetics. My black slacks were a basic element in my consultant’s wardrobe. Typically I wore heels, but in concession to the winter weather, I’d switched out the pumps for a pair of black suede, low-heeled boots. The crisp white blouse served me well in Louisiana, but with the colder temperatures up north I’d added a mock navy turtleneck underneath and looped a camel plaid infinity scarf around my neck.
With a final adjustment of the scarf, I reminded myself to remain calm. I was about to meet more of my grandmother’s people, and I wanted to be prepared, polite, and in control of the situation when I did.
I had exchanged emails with all of the bridesmaids but had only met Candice and Violet face-to-face this week. There were still three more to meet—relatives all. Lexie Bishop: Autumn’s sister in law, and Holly and Ivy Bishop, Autumn’s twin cousins.
“Hi, Maggie!” Violet arrived first, announcing that she’d ducked out of the flower shop and had walked the few blocks to the bridal salon. “Are you ready for the craziness that’s about to go down?” she asked, unbuttoning her heavy coat.
“I can more than handle ten children for a birthday party.” I held my hands out for her deep amethyst wool coat. “Everything will be beautiful tomorrow. Don’t you worry.”
“No, not the party,” Violet chuckled. “I meant the bridesmaids.”
I passed Violet’s coat onto a staff member of the salon. “They won’t break me,” I said.
I heard the ruckus outside before the door to the salon swung open. Autumn
