I hit send on the email I’d finished, and smiled. “Hello, Wyatt.”
“Working today?” he asked.
I closed down the email screen. “Yes, I’m scheduled to meet a new couple for their September wedding.”
“Oh.” He started to rise. “Do you need me to leave?”
“No.” I waved him back in his seat. “They’re not due for another ten minutes.” I slid the laptop aside. “Besides, I wanted to say thank you for the novels you brought to me.”
He met my eyes. “They weren’t too creepy for you?”
He’d be horrified if he ever knew what I actually did find ‘creepy’…I thought. Nothing like growing up seeing your mother perform black magick rituals toskew your outlook on horror. I yanked my thoughts to the here and now. “No, the books weren’t too scary for me,” I said, smoothly. “I enjoyed them.”
The small smile he flashed changed his whole face. “I’m glad, and you’re welcome.”
I glanced deliberately around the coffee shop. “See any likely victims—I mean, ‘fictional character inspiration’ in today’s patrons?”
Wyatt chuckled and rubbed a hand thoughtfully over his beard. “You never know…” he said dramatically.
I grinned, enjoying his sense of humor.
“There’s something about you,” he said, almost as if he was speaking to himself.
“It’s the accent.” I rolled my eyes. “I get asked on a daily basis where I’m from. Y’all act like I’m from Mars instead of the South. Maybe you should write a story about a Southern woman, driven mad by folks asking her about her accent.”
“Maybe…” He seemed to think it over. “But if I did, I’d have to make her a gorgeous brunette with dark blue eyes.”
I couldn’t help but react to his words. My shoulders stiffened. Just once, I thought. It’d be mighty nice to be appreciated by a man for something other than my looks.
“I’ve offended you.” Wyatt tipped his head to one side, considering me. “You’re uncomfortable with compliments?”
“Not uncomfortable, merely disappointed that men aren’t able to see past this.” I pointed to my face.
“I see more than your face, Magnolia. I see a loving mother, and a clever, capable business woman.” He sipped at his coffee. “Even down to one arm you were back to work within a week. You’re determined and a hard worker, I’ll give you that.”
My stomach actually fluttered over the compliment, and I smiled at him. “Thank you,” I said, and meant it.
“You’re welcome.” Wyatt nodded, his expression remaining sober. “Now, would it piss you off if I said you have a beautiful smile?”
I tossed my hair over one shoulder. “Are you flirting with me, Wyatt?”
“If I were?”
I sat back in my chair. “You know, I used to think you were shy and quiet. Now I’m not so sure.”
“I am not shy.” Wyatt frowned over my description.
“No.” I narrowed my eyes as I considered him. “You are direct though, in a very odd sort of way.”
“I prefer to think of myself as thoughtful, or studious.” He sounded completely serious.
“I’m sure you would, sugar.” I added the last bit in the hopes that he’d smile again. He didn’t disappoint me. “You have a very nice smile.” I told him. “You should use it more often.”
“Are you flirting with me, Magnolia?”
“Honey, I’m a Southern woman. If I flirt with you…believe me, you won’t have to wonder. You’ll know.”
His brows disappeared beneath his shaggy hair. “I’ll consider myself warned.”
I was saved from making a clever come back by the arrival of the September bride and groom. When the couple hailed me, Wyatt stood.
“I’ll let you get to your clients. Goodbye, Magnolia.” He gave me a polite nod and left without another word. Compared to the happy chatter of the bride, Wyatt literally slipped into the background.
I blinked, and he was quietly easing his way out the door.
***
The fitting for Autumn’s bridal gown went smoothly. There were only minor adjustments to be made and afterward I found myself face-to-face with Autumn’s great Aunt—and mine—Faye Bishop.
I couldn’t say why, but I had the strangest feeling of disapproval from the older woman. She lounged in the chair at the bridal salon like a queen, and the associates at the salon apparently thought the same, as they scurried to do her bidding.
When Autumn asked me what I thought of the gown, I’d told her honestly that I thought her choice was perfect for a garden wedding. The white floor-length gown featured an illusion neckline with a sleeveless lace bodice topped by an A-line chiffon skirt. She’d opted out of a veil and explained that Violet was working up fresh flowers for her hair.
I noted the hair accessory and, while the bride changed back into street clothes, made my best effort to be polite to my grandmother’s sister. “Autumn tells me you’re wearing a soft gray suit dress and matching hat to the wedding.”
“I am.” Her silver eyes narrowed on me. “I’m walking the bride down the aisle as well.” Her tone of voice sounded like a challenge.
“Yes ma’am, I have that in my notes.” I smiled. “How lovely for you both.”
“You have my sister’s eyes.” Faye frowned.
I closed my notebook and took my time slipping it back in my bag. “I wouldn’t know, I never met Irene Bishop.”
“Truth be told, you look more like your grandfather, Phillip.” Faye sniffed in derision. “Clearly, you’re more Drake than Bishop.”
“Hmm,” was the most polite response I could offer. The woman’s attitude put my back up, but I was determined not to let her know.
“I suppose we have to invite you and your child to the bridal shower,” Faye continued with a scowl. “Autumn would want that.”
“But you don’t,” I said, twisting my ring as I watched her.
“No,” she said bluntly, “I don’t.” Her eyes narrowed on my hands.
“Where did you get that ring?” Faye demanded. “How long have you had it?”
I automatically dropped my gaze to the antique sapphire ring on my right hand. “It was a gift from my Grandma Taylor when I graduated from high school.”
Faye rose to her feet and snatched my hand. She lifted it
