Sweetheart Bride. Lenora Worth
did you wind up here?”
He laughed at her deliberate smile. “Good question.” Then he whirled her around again. The man smelled like a fresh rain out on the sea. So good. No, not good. Not good at all.
Brenna pulled in her flaring nostrils. “Well, what are you doing here?”
“I’m an architect. I’m here to oversee the renovations on the Dubois house. We’ve been working on it for a month or so now. Just about finished with the inside.”
“Fleur House.” That got Brenna’s attention. “Oh, I love that house. I used to go past there and wonder what kind of art was inside those old walls. I’d decorate it inside my head. I always heard Mr. and Mrs. Dubois had quite a collection at one time. Of course, I never actually got to go inside the house.”
He gave her what looked like a teasing glance. “Callie tells me you have a deep appreciation for art.”
“Appreciate. Yes, more like a passion. I make my living from selling it,” she replied. “I work in a gallery in Baton Rouge.” Or at least, she had. “Budget cuts have forced me on an indefinite layoff, however.”
He nodded, inclined his head toward her. “Brenna mentioned that to me. It’s good to know. I might need some help with the renovations. My employer will expect some world-class pieces and I could use a hand picking them out. I know what I like, but he has very refined taste and a big wallet to back it. And although he told me to surprise him, I need an expert.” He winked. “I think you’d be perfect.”
Brenna scanned the room for Callie. So she could murder her. “What a coincidence. Because I know my nosy sister wouldn’t dare put you up to dancing with me just so we could discuss art, now would she?”
He actually looked confused and then he grinned. “No. I wanted to dance with you before I knew you were Callie’s sister.” Leaning close, he said, “I have to admit, I was hoping you were the art expert, however. I saw you fidgeting up there by the bride. You obviously don’t enjoy weddings.”
Brenna wanted to explain exactly why she didn’t enjoy weddings, but that would be rude. “I’m very happy for my sister, but weddings give me the hives.”
“Oh, I see. You’re not ready to settle down.”
“I’m just not ready to settle,” she said on a snap.
“Hmm, someone is bitter.”
“Very.”
“I’m sorry.” He whirled her around the floor, bringing admiring stares from the onlookers. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve been burned a few times myself.”
“It should, but it doesn’t.” She didn’t want to be mean, but this man was annoying. But easy on the eyes while he was being annoying. His suit looked expensive. His hair glistened like wet ink. And those eyes—part pirate and part heartbreaker.
Brenna was pretty sure she heard sirens and warning bells going off inside her head.
“I won’t tease you anymore,” he said, turning serious.
She changed the subject. “And as far as getting my advice on art?”
“I’m a businessman, Brenna. I need an art expert. Your sister was thrilled to tell me about you and how talented you are, but if you’re not interested—”
“I am,” Brenna said, wishing she could climb into the wedding cake and never come out. “I mean, I’m always interested in acquiring good art. But my expert opinions don’t come cheap.”
“I’m willing to pay you a fair salary,” he said, giving her one last glance. “I enjoyed our dance. But if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work.”
“On a Friday night?” Brenna said, more to herself than him. She had actually begun to enjoy talking to him.
“Every night,” he replied. With a wave and what seemed like a dismissal, he turned and left.
And Brenna realized the music had stopped.
Chapter Two
“Order up!”
Brenna skidded on her sneakers, then stopped an inch from Winnie. “Did y’all get that order for the Western omelet, heavy on the sausage and salsa?”
“Got it,” the cook called through the pass-through. “Told you that five minutes ago.”
“And my customer’s been waiting ten minutes.”
Brenna pushed at strands of damp hair. Filling in for her sister had seemed like a good idea a week before the wedding, but now her feet hurt, her back hurt and she needed a long hot shower. And it was only eight-fifteen on Monday morning.
How did Alma do this day in and day out?
“Got a new customer in your section,” Winnie said with a smile. “You’ll get the hang of it. It’s like riding a bike.”
“Yes, but bike riding is much more fun than this,” Brenna replied with an impish sticking-out of her tongue.
Then she glanced down the aisle and saw a gleaming dark head and a crisp white button-up shirt. “No, not him.”
“What is it?” Winnie stared toward the table by the window. “Just a handsome man needing food.”
Brenna lowered her voice. “Not just any man. Nicholas Santiago. I met him at the wedding. He made me...nervous.”
“Oh, I see. I do believe you not only met him, but didn’t you dance with him, too?”
“Uh...sorta. Only because Callie made me.”
“Yeah, right.” Winnie handed her a menu. “Well, we’re busy, so you need to let go of being nervous and go make nice.”
“You are no help,” Brenna replied. “Look at me.”
“I see you,” Winnie said on a chuckle. “But I don’t see those overpriced walking shoes walking toward that waiting customer.”
“You’re mean, too,” Brenna said, but she couldn’t hide her smile. Winnie wouldn’t hurt a fly. Or at least Brenna thought she wouldn’t. But Winnie would defend to the death anyone she loved. And Brenna knew Winnie loved her.
So she had to do her job and do it with a smile.
And pray he wouldn’t recognize her.
“What’ll it be,” she said, staying off to the side. Hoping he wouldn’t glance up.
He did. Then he grinned, the effort splitting that interesting face while she was pretty sure the sun split through the clouds outside.
“Hello. Bridesmaid number two, right?”
“Always the bridesmaid,” she quipped, then instantly regretted it.
“And a woman of many talents.”
She shook her head. “This isn’t one of them. I’m helping out so my sister can enjoy her honeymoon.”
“I see.” He took his time glancing over her Fleur Bakery T-shirt and jeans. “Cute. Especially the ‘slap-your-mama’ part.”
“Cute?” Brenna wanted to die. “I’m hot and tired and so not a morning person. I really do want to slap someone. But not because of good cooking, even though we do offer that.” She hissed a sigh. “What do you want for breakfast?”
“Hmm.” He kept his eyes on her. “How about one egg, scrambled, dry toast and fruit.”
“You call that breakfast?”
He laughed, his eyes twinkling. “What would you suggest, then?”
“Eggs, country cured ham, biscuits that will make you weep for butter and some of Alma’s mayhaw jelly