Page 3 of Meeting Mr. Adorkable
Arlo groaned silently. There was no way he could get out of the invite, and no excuse he thought up would be good enough to back out of Hank and Francine’s extended family gathering, with the conversation confined to football, baseball, and the one hundred and one best sauces for ribs and steak. It was a mean thought, and he pushed it aside. Hank and Francine were good friends, and doing their best to make sure he settled back into Collier’s Creek.
“Of course I’m coming.” A couple of hours, max…
“She’s got a cousin visiting with us from out of state.” Hank buried his face in his beer.
“What? Ah. Okay.” Jesus, not again. Sweet Francine… who was a Rottweiler in her attempt to play matchmaker.
“His name’s Wilbur, and he’s a dentist from some hick town in Colorado.”
“He sounds — interesting? At least I’d get a discount on dental work.”
“Don’t knock it, not with the price of insurance.”
“You know, back in high school when we were all trying to work out what our futures would hold, I never imagined cut price dental work would be the route to my heart.” Arlo pressed his fists to his chest and sighed.
“I’m sorry, man. But you know Francine. She wants everybody to be happy. It’s just the way it is.”
Arlo squeezed his friend’s shoulder. “I know, and I appreciate her concern — I do,” Arlo proclaimed when Hank’s brows shot up into his hairline. “But I’m not looking for The One. Honestly, I’m not. I’ve been there, remember, and I’ve no intention of going back.”
“But—”
“There’s no ‘but’. If I meet somebody who I want to get to know — and it’s a big if — then great. But if I don’t, then that’s great too.” Arlo got up. “I’ll come and play nice with Wilbur and make Francine happy for an hour or two.”
Grabbing his jacket from the back of his seat, Arlo slapped his friend goodbye on the back.
Outside, in the cool night air, Wilbur and Francine’s matchmaking machinations were forgotten, as his thoughts turned to dark floppy hair and a pair of battered glasses that refused to stay perched on an upturned nose. Making for one of the waiting cabs, he tapped his back pocket, finding the slight bulge of a slim wallet.
CHAPTERTHREE
“Can I suggest something more classic? Timeless in its simplicity and beauty?” Lucian gritted his teeth into what he hoped resembled a professional smile as the woman pouted. “Cream and pale pink roses, with lots of greenery, tumbling down into a teardrop. It would off set your wedding dress perfectly.” And distract from the rhinestone encrusted bustier…
“My, but that does sound good, Tiffany. Very pretty.” The older lady accompanying Tiffany glanced between the two of them. “What did you say, young man? Perhaps you could remind me?”
“Certainly, madam,” Lucian said, ready to give it some posh, as his dick of an ex used to say, but The Shit Formerly Known as Miles was the very last person he wanted to think about. He wanted to think about him even less than the petulant pouter standing in front of him with her long suffering, sweet mother.
Lucian smiled and inclined his head. “The design I’m suggesting is a classic, first carried by Princess Bontempie…” If there was ever a Princess Bontempie in the annals of royal history, he’d skipped that page back in the classroom. “It soon became a standard for royal brides of yesteryear and is now very much coming back in vogue. You will, literally, look like a princess on your wedding day to Bert.”
“Bart.” The truck tires that were masquerading as Tiffany’s lips pouted some more.
“My apologies, madam. Bart. And when might you and the lucky Bart be tying the knot? I don’t believe you said.” If she had, he hadn’t heard, because he was too busy fighting the thumping headache that had plagued him since he’d got up. Okay, hangover. Who knew cat’s piss was that strong?
A dark look passed between mother and daughter, dinging Lucian’s gossip antenna.
“A date’s not as yet been set. Not for certain.” Tiffany jutted her chin out.
“They’re just getting everything set up.” The sweet, older lady wrung her hands.
“So, how far have you got in the preparations for your nuptials?”
Lucian looked from one to the other. Who the hell ordered a wedding dress, any wedding dress, let alone a baby pink, rhinestone encrusted one, just because they might get married at some point in the—
“Hey Tiffany, hey Amanda. Lucian here been looking after you? Oh, what a pretty dress,” Bibi enthused, glancing at the photograph on Tiffany’s phone. “Lucian, there’s a consignment just come in. Would you mind sorting? I’ll take over. Tiffany and me, we go way back.” Bibi’s smile was shark-like.Get away before I bite you…
“Ladies.” Lucian dipped his head. “I’ll leave you in the expert hands of Bibi herself. I’m sure she can help you make the right choice for your wedding day. Whenever that might be.”
“Thank you, Lucian.” Bibi’s smile split her face in two. She was going to bite, chew, and spit him out.
In the room at the back of the store, Lucian batched up the flowers and placed them in the cooling cabinet. Most of the flowers he knew, but some he didn’t, because they were native to mountainous Wyoming. He pulled out his phone and took a photo of the blooms he wasn’t familiar with, so as he could find out more about them on the specialist horticultural site he subscribed to. Laughter drifted in from the front of the store, full of familiarity. Bibi was a native of the little town, and she seemed to know everybody who came in. He wasn’t, and he didn’t. His hands fell still.
