The Bride Wore Tie-Dye. Pamela Ingrahm
decorating to her list. She’d been expecting dark leather, but found instead beige and soft blue fabrics. The carpet was deep and luxurious, though—she’d been right about that.
The house was filled with sound. In addition to the hidden video game, a stereo somewhere was playing soft rock favorites that mingled with laughter from down the hall to her left. She assumed the mixture of voices were the other members of the video team Trent had mentioned.
Melodie wound her way through the living room, assuming she was going in the right direction, and finally located the kitchen. She was delighted to find Bridgette exactly as she’d expected the parent of an urchin like Amber to be: petite, with her light brown hair pulled back in a swinging ponytail, and a bright, sweet smile. The mother was as warm and pleasant as the daughter, and it was easy to tell that Amber would be equally beautiful when she grew up.
“Amber talks about you all the time,” Bridgette offered as she shook Melodie’s hand and returned to slicing tomatoes. “She just loves dance class and is absolutely sure she’s going to be a prima ballerina when she grows up.”
Melodie chuckled. “Don’t worry. As soon as she hits the tomboy stage, she’ll want to be a fireman.”
Bridgette smiled in return. “Oh, I’m sure. But I just wanted you to know that I appreciate the attention you give her.” Bridgette stopped cutting and cocked her head. “Not that she gives you any choice!”
“Are you talking about my sweet girl?” A deep voice preceded a tall, blond-haired man into the kitchen. He moved behind Bridgette, wrapping his arms around her waist to nuzzle her neck.
Both intrigued by their play and feeling intrusive, Melodie’s stomach tightened as she watched the couple. She wasn’t used to such open displays of affection.
“Glen, stop it!” Bridgette shrugged him off, her cheeks flushing a becoming pink. “Glen, this is Melodie. She’s Amber’s dance teacher.”
Glen offered Melodie a firm handshake. “So you’re the one responsible for the need for ballet slippers and tights in every conceivable color.”
“Oh, no,” Melodie defended herself with a laugh. “I don’t have a dress code for class. The kids were supposed to bring home notes telling you that.”
“I think Amber conveniently lost hers.”
“Listen, Melodie,” Bridgette interjected, “would you mind taking these buns out to the barbecue so Trenton can get them browning? If I can get Glen to leave me alone long enough, I’ll finish the condiments.”
The knot in Melodie’s stomach pulled taut. What could she say?
“Uh, sure.”
“Just go straight through there,” Bridgette directed with a pickle in hand, “and out the sliding doors to the patio.”
Taking the bag of buns, Melodie left as instructed.
Trenton heard the glass door slide open, but he was too busy fighting the flaming grill with his squirt bottle to turn around. “Just a second, brat. I’m a little busy right now.”
When he turned, he pulled himself up short. The beautiful woman standing there certainly wasn’t Bridgette. She bore a striking resemblance to the quirky dance teacher he’d met earlier in the afternoon, however.
And a smile was twitching at the corner of her mouth.
“I have to admit I haven’t been called a brat by a relative stranger in a long time. People usually have to know me for at least a week.”
Trenton felt chagrined. “I apologize for that. I thought you were Bridgette.”
“Nope, just me with the buns.”
Trenton had to bite his tongue to keep from saying, “And nice buns they are.” He didn’t know Melodie yet, and sometimes people were taken off guard by his humor. Not to mention that, from their conversation this afternoon, Melodie obviously thought him something of a stuffed shirt. He wanted to relieve her of that impression, but not by changing the image to a sexist jerk.
She stepped forward, a little awkwardly, which struck him as odd. He found everything about her graceful, just as he’d expect in a dancer. Now that she was out of that baggy T-shirt and those wild leggings, he could see that his suspicions were indeed correct. Her sleeveless shirt revealed sleek, toned arms and an elegant neck. Her wrap skirt hugged slender hips, as well as the long legs he’d admired earlier, pigs and all.
Hearing the grill sizzle warningly behind him, he hurried forward to take the bread.
“Why don’t you grab something to drink and have a seat?” He motioned with his tongs toward a cooler at the end of the benches built into the perimeter of the deck.
A length of her hair fell over her shoulder as she chose a cola from the ice. With the sunset behind her, and the breeze playing with her long tresses, she looked as though she could be posing for a commercial. He was sure he wouldn’t be the only man to buy that brand of soda.
Suddenly his mouth felt dry. “Would you mind grabbing a root beer for me?” He nodded toward the grill. “It keeps flaming up and I don’t want to scorch the burgers.”
A moment later, as she handed him the chilled can, his fingers touched hers just for a second. It sent a jolt up his arm. Funny. He hadn’t noticed how small the deck was before now. He’d entertained twenty or thirty people before and it had never felt this close.
And quiet. He’d turned off the outside speakers to enjoy the crickets and cicadas, but now the silence wrapped around him.
He cleared his throat. “Did you have any trouble finding the place?”
“None at all.” She glanced around the deck. “Why are you out here by yourself?”
He flipped a patty and looked back at her. “Although the breeze makes it tolerable out here, everybody else likes the air conditioning. Besides, I just bought the newest version of Space Warriors from Planet Ten, and everyone’s trying to beat my high score.”
“You play video games?”
Her expression was nothing short of amazed. He barked a laugh. “Sure, why not?”
In the fading sunlight, he thought she blushed, but he wasn’t certain. “I don’t know. I…didn’t take you for the video type.”
His grin widened. “Just what type did you take me for?”
She smiled back. “Oh, somehow I imagined you spending an intimate evening with six or seven law books and a stack of legal pads.”
Trenton exaggerated a wince. “Sounds like I need to work on my image.”
She remained enigmatically silent.
He tried again. “I’m glad you could make it after all. What made you change your mind?”
“The idea intrigues me,” she said, her face brightening. “I think I was taken off guard this afternoon. When I had a minute alone to let it all sink in, I realized I’d spoken too hastily at Kidstravaganza.”
The grill chose to flame up again before he could reply. “Yow!” he. yelped, snapping his hand away from the danger. He grimaced and nodded toward rust on the grill. “I’m glad the neighborhood association hasn’t been by for an inspection, or I’d be in big trouble.”
Again, surprise registered on her face. Had he really made that bad of a first impression? Did she think he had no sense of humor at all?
Every time he glanced at her, he experienced her viscerally. His lungs constricted, or his gut went taut, or his legs tightened. He found it all rather interesting since he’d been around some of the most beautiful women in the city, and none of them had had this effect on him.
He was suddenly having trouble remembering why he couldn’t put her on his candidate list because he felt certain that somehow, some way, he was going to have