The Bridesmaid's Gifts. GINA WILKINS
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She’d forgone the overused bride-and-groom topper, using white gum-paste roses instead.
She had been pleased with Nic’s reaction upon seeing the finished cake for the first time. Nic had acted as though she had never seen anything more beautiful in her life, even becoming uncharacteristically misty as she had examined every angle of the cake.
“It’s gorgeous, Aislinn,” she had said huskily. “The best you’ve ever done. I feel as though you should enter it in a competition or something, not just give it to me for my reception.”
Laughing, Aislinn had shaken her head. “There’s nothing I would rather do with it,” she had assured her friend. “As far as I’m concerned, this is the most special cake I’ve ever created because it’s for you.”
The guests at the reception seemed to be properly appreciative of the effort. They gathered around the cake, oohing and aahing, asking Aislinn repeatedly if all the details were actually edible. Laughing, she assured them that, as intricate as the decorations were, the cake was meant to be eaten.
“So you made that?”
She turned to find Ethan standing behind her, a glass of punch in his hand, his gaze focused on the cake. “Yes, I made that.”
If he noted her wryly mocking repetition, he ignored it. “It looks nice.”
Feeling a little petty now, she replied more genuinely, “Thank you. It was the most important cake I’ve ever done.”
“You and Nic are pretty tight, huh?”
“We’ve been friends for a long time. Since elementary school.”
“And when did you start the psychic thing?”
She counted mentally to ten, then gave a fake smile and a slight wave aimed toward a pillar on the other side of the room. “If you’ll excuse me, Ethan, I see someone I should say hello to. Perhaps you should offer your mother another glass of punch. She looks a little wilted.”
Before he could answer, she was already moving away, congratulating herself on her restraint. There was absolutely no way she would do anything to put a damper on Nic’s wedding reception, but Ethan Brannon could try the patience of a saint.
She didn’t know what it was about her that made him feel compelled to bait her, but he never seemed to miss an opportunity. Fortunately she could think of no reason for spending any more time with him once this evening was over.
“Ethan.”
Having been unaware that his brother was anywhere nearby, Ethan grimaced a little before turning around to face Joel with an expression of feigned innocence. “Hey, bro. Nice party.”
“Yes, it is. So stop trying to mess it up, okay?”
“I’m not doing anything,” Ethan muttered into his punch glass.
“You were picking on Aislinn again.”
Faintly amused by his brother’s wording, Ethan shrugged. “I was just talking to her. You know, making small talk. Isn’t that what one’s supposed to do at these things? I told her I liked the cake.”
“There was more to it than that. I didn’t hear what you said, but I could tell she didn’t like it.”
“So are you into mind reading now?”
“Leave her alone, Ethan. She’s not a fraud and she’s not a crackpot. She’s Nic’s best friend, almost a sister to her—which makes her, like, an honorary sister-in-law to me now. So be nice to her,” Joel ordered sternly.
Ethan sighed. “I’ll try. It’s just that whole psychic thing. I’m not buying in to it.”
“Nobody’s asking you to. Certainly Aislinn’s not asking you to. She hates when anyone calls her a psychic or talks about her…well, gifts, for lack of a better word. Just treat her like you do anyone else. No, scratch that. Be polite to her.”
Because it was Joel’s wedding day and Ethan was feeling uncharacteristically magnanimous, he said, “I’ll work on it.”
Joel clapped him on the shoulder. “I appreciate it.”
Still looking radiant in her white satin and lace, Nic broke away from the final group of well-wishers who had lingered with her at the end of the reception line Joel had just escaped. “What are you two plotting over here?”
Ethan lightly chucked her chin with the knuckles of his free hand. “I was just commiserating with my kid brother. Now that he’s married a cop, he’s going to have to toe the line.”
“You’ve got that straight.” Nic’s sudden tough-girl expression was especially funny considering the delicate lace draping her. “I’ve got handcuffs.”
Looking intrigued, Joel slid his arm around her slender waist. “Maybe we should discuss those…later.”
Ethan groaned and looked down at his empty punch glass. “I think I need some more of this fruity stuff. Since there isn’t anything stronger.”
“Nic. Joel.” Nic’s mother, Susan Sawyer, hurried toward them, a look of determination on her face, which so strongly resembled her daughter’s. “The photographer wants to take a few more pictures of you while the guests are in line at the buffet tables.”
Though Nic rolled her eyes a bit, she took Joel’s arm and turned obediently with him. “Yes, Mother.”
Joel looked back over his shoulder at his brother. “Try to look like you’re enjoying yourself, will you? I know you don’t like parties—but you could pretend you do.”
“To paraphrase a cheesy movie I caught on cable recently—this is my party face.”
Joel moved on with a resigned shake of his head, leaving Ethan to reflect that when it came to parties, he had always been pretty much hopeless. He didn’t do small talk, he wasn’t much of a dancer, he was uncomfortable in crowds and he was lousy at pretending to be having a good time when he wasn’t.
He stood unobtrusively at one side of the room while the other guests gathered around Nic and Joel or sat at the comfortably arranged small tables to enjoy the finger-foods buffet provided by the caterer. Ethan wasn’t hungry, so he remained where he was, watching.
His gaze turned toward the cake table in its place of honor. The cake was so fancy that it was almost a shame to destroy it, he thought, wondering how many hours Aislinn had spent on those incredibly detailed decorations. Hers was an odd business. All that time and effort spent on something so transient. A plain cake tasted just as good as one covered in fake lace and flowers.
Still, as a small-business consultant, he appreciated the fact that she had found a market for her skills and was apparently making a living at it. He wondered idly if she was charging enough for her time, taking full deductions on her supplies and other expenses. If she had a solid business plan to keep her on track to grow and expand her cottage industry.
“You’re thinking about work, aren’t you?” His mother, petite, blond Elaine Brannon, slipped a hand beneath his arm as she spoke indulgently. “You always get that exact look in your eyes when you’re trying to figure out how to make money for someone else. Are you already planning how to restructure your brother’s business office?”
“Something like that. How are you holding up, Mom?”
She gave him a look and spoke firmly. “I’m fine. The wedding was lovely, wasn’t it? Very simple and sweet.”
“It was nice. Nic was right to resist overdoing things. I hate those splashy, overblown, pretentious affairs.”
“You’re referring to your cousin Jessica’s wedding last year?”
He grimaced. “Bingo. The circus with the twelve bridesmaids and four flower girls and two dogs in tuxedos and the white doves and oversize ice sculptures and clowns and horse-drawn carriages and full orchestra and endless