Page 55 of Holiday Wedding
Dean places the items from downstairs on the table and organizes them, putting the candles and matches together. He bends and puts the water bottles on top of the minifridge, neatly lining them up so the labels all face the same direction.
Control freak.
I place a candle on the table and light it, releasing a warm fragrance into the air. Leaning over, I sniff deeply, “Vanilla. Nice touch.”
Dean reaches out and brushes back a lock of my curly hair that’s fallen forward, dangerously close to the open flame. “Careful there, Tiger. Don’t want you to catch fire.” He tucks the strands behind my shoulder, smoothing them down with his hand. I’m suddenly in danger of combusting, but not from the candle. There was something tender about the gesture, coupled with that stupid dimple that just popped out because he’s smiling at me. I feel all squishy inside, like giddy little bubbles are fizzing up from my stomach.
As if the dimple weren’t bad enough, Dean has a manly smell I notice for the first time, since he’s standing so close. It’s not cologne, more like body wash, something earthy and spicy. It makes me envision cowboys driving luxury sports cars. That scent combined with that of the candle is intoxicating. I breathe it in, letting it flood my senses, and my knees weaken. I grab the back of the nearest chair for stability.
I need him to leave—immediately.
Candles and moonlight and dimples and yummy smells are too dangerous a combination.
“Well,” I say brightly, herding him toward the door. “Thanks for the help. You’ve been a real gentleman. Call your mother and thank her for raising you right.”
“Oh. Er—okay.” Dean pauses for a second in the open doorway, concern lowering his brows. “Are you sure you’ll be fine?”
“Yep. Fine. Perfectly fine.”
Please leave before I do something disastrous, like kiss you.
“Have a good night. Drive safe,” I sing out and, heart pounding, shut the door, even though he probably stands on the other side looking perplexed. With my back against the door, I wave a hand, fanning my heated cheeks. I hold my breath, listening to his footfalls as he retreats back to the stairs.
There. Crisis averted.
I congratulate myself on making good decisions. Something I didn’t used to do, but now, after the Gwen mistake, I’m working on.
I’ve had just enough time to use the bathroom and brush my teeth when a loud pounding on the door makes me jump. I open it to find Dean, his hair and clothing wet. Snowflakes glitter like diamonds, melting in his eyelashes.
“I can’t move the car,” he says. “The snow’s too high, and they haven’t plowed the road.” My mouth drops as he pushes past me into the room and peels off his dripping overcoat. He shakes his head, water droplets flying everywhere. “We’re stuck here. Snowed in.”
Well, darn.
“Are we going to freeze to death?” is the first question that flies out of my mouth.
“These old buildings have radiators that run on gas. We’ll be fine.” Dean sits down, taking off his shoes and wet socks. He goes over to the radiator in the corner of the room and drapes his socks over it, which is kinda gross, but whatever. There are no radiators in California, so I don’t know the rules. The first time this one warmed up, it made a loud banging noise. Scared the pants right off me. Now Dean’s barefoot, which he makes look attractive as he pads around.
“Didn’t you say something about soup?”
“Yes, chicken noodle.”
That’s when I notice he’s shivering, his hair still damp. I jump into action, grabbing him a towel to dry off. I put a pot on the burner. There’s a minute when I wonder if the stove will work with the power out, but I turn the knob and hear the whoosh of flame. Oh, yeah, I feel a bit silly. This is gas, too. Just like the radiator.
“I’m going to call and check on Caleb,” he announces. In this small room, it’s impossible to not overhear his end of the conversation when he finally connects. I gather that Caleb is fine. That his fancy apartment building has a backup generator and that Tom, another bodyguard, will stay with him tonight. There are some “Hmms” and “You don’t says” from Dean before he hangs up.
“Any news?” I ask.
“Caleb was worried about you. I told him you were okay. He said most of Manhattan is without power. He mentioned that it reminds him of when Hurricane Sandy hit.”
“I remember reading about that. Wasn’t it bad?” I get butter out of the minifridge and close the door with my foot.
His expression is sober. “The city shut down for about four days back then.”
I suck in a breath. “No! That can’t happen. I promised Gwen her wedding would be perfect. Said I’d personally make sure.”
“I know,” he says and nods. “Don’t worry. We won’t let this storm stop us. We’ll give them the wedding they deserve.”
I’m not sure where he gets his confidence from, but I like it. He makes it sound so easy, as if he can will away the chaos of this storm and create a calm, orderly wedding from nothing more than sheer determination.
