Wooing The Wedding Planner. Amber Leigh Williams
closed his fist around the keys. “When?” he asked.
Constantine lifted his shoulders. “Why not tomorrow?”
Byron’s brows drew together. “Didn’t Ma crack down on you for verbal contracts?”
“This is different,” Constantine said. He was serious. Byron rarely saw his father so serious. He had to swallow a few times to digest it. “It’s family. Athena. You. The house. It’s all in the family. I’m sure Athena would gift it to you outright—”
“No, I’m buying it outright,” Byron argued.
“Even if the loan goes toward your inheritance anyway?” Constantine asked.
“I want my name on it. I also want the appraisal estimate. Nothing lowball.”
Constantine knew better than to argue the point. As the family real estate business was shared between him and Vera, he usually found houses to renovate and flip into lease homes, while Vera handled the actual leasing and brokerage part of the equation.
Constantine did have a point, however. With its claim to family heritage and Byron’s long-held interest, the Victorian perhaps called for a more casual approach.
“Take some of your things over tonight and see how you adjust,” Constantine was saying. “If you don’t have any second thoughts over the next forty-eight hours, I’ll bring the papers Wednesday.” He lifted the go cup to punctuate the question.
Byron felt another smile, big and true, on his lips, and he liked it there. He raised his own cup. “I’ll drink to that.”
A knock on the door prevented him from raising the coffee to his mouth. Kath peered inside the office, her silver hair gathered on top of her head in a twist that pulled the corners of her eyes into a slant. “Good. You’re already in.” She spotted Constantine, stopped midspeech and smiled. “Oh. Sorry, Mr. Strong. I didn’t see you arrive.”
“I snuck in,” Constantine said with a wink. “How’re you, Kathleen?”
Byron sipped his coffee as his father worked the charm on the older woman, bringing a pretty blush to her cheeks. Both his parents were compulsive flirts. They were also two of the happiest compulsive flirts he’d ever seen.
Strongs are like Magellanic, gentoo and royal penguins all wrapped up in one very Greek, very reformed package, Constantine had told his three children all their lives. We’re crazy enough to mate once, for life, and the male and female are equals.
You know way too much about penguins, Dad, a surly teenage Byron had once remarked. At the time he’d thought it was a strikingly conventional belief for a man who was in no way conventional.
Yet the belief held weight not even the staunchest cynic could deny. Byron’s parents had been married for thirty-five years and were still madly in love—so much so that open affection refused to die off between them. Byron had seen enough parental PDA over the years to make a Friday-night dinner with his mother and father go from gag-worthy to blasé.
The belief had held for Priscilla, as well. She’d married Grim right out of college. The two had been married for a decade and were impatiently awaiting the birth of their first child. In addition, Vivienne’s wedding to her boyfriend of four years, Sidney, was only a few short weeks away.
That “mate once for life” business was all too real. And that was the trouble.
Byron lifted his chin, catching Kath’s gaze. “What can we do for you?”
The twinkle Constantine had brought to the woman’s eyes faded out. “The Xerox machine is on the fritz.”
Byron pushed up from his chair. “Again?”
She held up her hands. “I’ve tried the manual. I’ve tried customer service. I even channeled Pelé and gave the dang thing a few kicks like you did last week. Until the maintenance guy gets here later in the week, I’ll have to run to the library to see if they’ll let me use theirs.”
Byron shook his head. “It’s too cold out. You stay in. I’ll go to the library.”
“But you have a meeting,” she reminded him.
“I’ll have plenty of time to get back and prep.” Pointing at the manila folder she’d folded against her chest, he asked, “Is this what we need copied?”
Kath relinquished the papers. “They’re for today and tomorrow’s appointments. I usually make three copies of everything. One for records, one for the client and one spare.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Byron said.
Kath eyed Constantine over Byron’s shoulder. “You and the missus sure raised this one right.”
“Ah, I’m a bad influence,” Constantine said with a smirk. “This one’s the work of his mother.”
“Whatever the case, he’s gentleman to the bone,” Kath noted. “The world could use several more just like him.”
Byron tossed a heated glance into Grim’s office when he heard his business partner snigger. “Thank you, Kath.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said as she returned to the lobby.
As Byron stuffed the folder into his satchel and pulled on his coat and scarf, his father buttoned his peacoat. He peered into Grim’s office and asked after Priscilla and the baby before joining Byron at the door while saying, “Vivi’s flight was delayed again.”
“She still hasn’t flown out?” Byron asked, pushing the door open into the cold. Byron didn’t particularly care for his sister being on another continent, not to mention a third-world country. The flying didn’t soothe him either. She and her fiancé, Sidney, treasured their humanitarian calling. Their work was important, but Byron would feel a lot less edgy when his baby sister was back on home soil. “She’s going to miss her own wedding.”
“She’ll be here. Don’t you worry.” Constantine clapped an arm around Byron’s shoulders. “Remember, you need us, we’re here.”
“Yeah, I got that,” Byron said, amused.
“Go see Athena.”
“First chance I get,” Byron promised. He wrapped an arm around his father. “Come here, you old geezer.”
“Ah.” Constantine squeezed him into a bear hug, rubbing circles over Byron’s back just as he had when he was a child. He gave him a few thumps for good measure. “Fruit of my loins.”
“Pop, word of advice,” Byron quipped. “Don’t talk about your loins when you’re hugging people. Unless it’s Ma. In which case please ensure the rest of us aren’t anywhere within hearing distance.”
A laugh rolled through Constantine’s torso. He grabbed Byron’s face and kissed him square on the mouth. “I love ya.”
Byron rubbed his lips together. “Save some for her, huh?”
Constantine opened the driver’s door of the Prius and folded his long frame behind the wheel, defying everything Byron knew about logic. He winked. “Valentine’s Day, leap year, Lincoln’s birthday...” He cranked the Prius to life. “Doesn’t matter what day it is. My girl gets the lion’s share.”
Byron threw his father a casual salute. He waited for him to leave the parking lot before starting off for the library to the north. He bypassed the children’s park, taking a shortcut between the buildings that walled off Fairhope’s version of the French Quarter to cut the wind off his face.
As he came out onto De La Mare and turned east toward Section, he collided with the brunt of an icy gale. His scarf loosened and went flying. He spun around quickly to snatch it. The wind swirled, sending the scarf sailing the other way. And a torrent of rose petals rushed up to meet him.
He raised his hands to shield his face from the odd deluge. When he lowered them, he saw the