Sweeping The Bride Away. Michele Dunaway
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deceiving.”
He turned back around so he couldn’t see the women, especially her, anymore. “I’ve never discovered that to be true,” Blade protested, already knowing that whoever she was, she’d gotten under his skin.
At that lie, Dee simply shook her head and walked away.
“SO WHO’S THE GUY?”
Cassidy’s fork hovered over her strip steak. “You mean Dan?”
“No, not him.” Sara said. She pushed a dark hair off of her face. “The guy at the bar who keeps staring at you every few minutes. You were sitting by him when I arrived.”
“I don’t know him,” Cassidy said, spearing her cut piece of meat with such a force that Sara leaned back.
“Well for not knowing him, he sure got under your skin.”
“He did not,” Cassidy said with a vigorous shake of her head. “He’s just a guy sitting at the bar, that’s all. If you’d been on time, I wouldn’t have even been talking to him. You weren’t even your usual fashionably late self.”
“No, but my extremely late self got you next to him,” Sara said. She let her gaze rove over him, and Cassidy found herself bristling. “Man, he’s hot. I’d do him.”
“Sara!”
“What?” Sara looked taken back, as if surprised at the force of Cassidy’s reaction.
“You’re married.”
“Only until the divorce paperwork’s final,” Sara said. “Believe me, I’m allowed to look.”
Cassidy knew that. Never had she been so rattled. It had to be the beer. She stared at the empty bottle in front of her. She’d stopped at three, thank goodness.
Sara turned slightly so she’d have a better view. Cassidy watched as Sara put the end of her pinkie finger in between her teeth and gazed over toward the guy again. “I mean, he’s hot. And you know what they say, that you can tell a guy’s size by the distance between his thumb and pinkie. From the look of his hands…”
“Sara!” Cassidy put her fork down.
Sara’s brow furrowed. “Come on, Cass. Lighten up. You were never this prudish in college.”
“I wasn’t engaged then,” Cassidy said.
“Yeah, well you shouldn’t be engaged now, either.”
“Sara!” Cassidy realized she’d shouted that last one at her former roommate.
“Sorry, Cass. You know me. I call them the way I see them. All your friends are married, and now you’re settling down just because it’s the right thing to do. Believe me, I settled, and look what happened. He cheated on me right from the start.”
“I am not settling,” Cassidy protested. “I love Dan.”
“Dan is dull,” Sara said. “He’s like dishwater. You need it, but you don’t want to keep it.”
“I love Dan.”
“Yeah, as a brother,” Sara said. “I think that you’ve waited so long for Mr. Right you’re settling for Mr. Wrong. Come on, you can’t tell me that you don’t think that guy over there is to die for.”
Cassidy couldn’t get her lips to voice the lie. Instead she found another argument tack. “Yeah, but look where passion got me last time. Jeff the jerk.”
Sara nodded, but didn’t concede. “I’d forgotten about good old J.J. No offense but he was a loser.”
“Yeah, but passionate. He swept me off my feet and burned me bad.”
“True.” Sara thought for a second. “But we all go through the bad ones to find the good ones. Consider J.J. a learning experience.”
Cassidy shook her head. “I don’t have time for more learning experiences. I want children and a family. I’m twenty-eight. Dan is perfect.”
He was. She jutted her chin forward stubbornly.
Sara simply shook her head. “I hope for your sake you’re right.”
“I am,” Cassidy said. As long as I don’t run into that guy again.
She’d throw his business card away as soon as she got home.
IMAGE CONSULTANTS were not supposed to have hangovers. In fact, no one was supposed to have a hangover after only three longneck bottles of beer, then dinner and then another two hours of conversation with only water to drink before either she or Sara had done any driving home. Even that guy had left long before she had.
Cassidy rolled over and shielded her eyes from the bright sunlight pouring in her bedroom windows. Lillian’s mantra suddenly filled her mind. “Today is the first day of the rest of your life. Make the best of it.”
With that annoying thought, Cassidy sat up straight in bed. Today already sucked, and if today was a crystal ball of the future then she wanted no part of it. She blinked and glanced at the alarm clock—7:00 a.m. Great. Her alarm wasn’t scheduled to go off for at least another fifteen minutes.
Figured. She hadn’t even slept in.
Cassidy flopped back on the pillows and covered her eyes with her arm. Not that she could go back to sleep, anyway. The only concession was that she’d slept soundly, with no dreams of said men to haunt her.
Begrudgingly she rolled out of bed, hit the shower and within forty minutes had seated herself at the breakfast table with the yellow pages.
As she munched a grape-jelly-covered bagel, she frowned. By the time she’d finished the last of the bagel, she was sure lines ridged her brow, as well, creating a look her mother had always chided would give her premature wrinkles.
The yellow pages listed hundreds of contractors, and Cassidy had no clue whatsoever who to call.
Three hours later, after dialing for over an hour, she faced failure.
“Your problems are too small,” one contractor had said. “We don’t handle residential,” another’s haughty secretary had replied. “We can’t put you on the schedule for at least three weeks,” most had told her.
She was already at the Hs. She rose and faced her nightmare. Two steps took her to the stainless steel trash compactor. She’d run it last night when she’d gotten home.
Grimacing, she opened it up. Gingerly she picked through the remnants, finally finding the tiny cardstock paper she was looking for.
Glad the sauce had been white not red, she brushed off a leftover fettuccini noodle and read the words embossed.
J & B Construction. Blade Frederick, President.
Rather a fancy title to disguise what was probably a sole-proprietorship. She shivered as her gaze swept over the card again. His name was Blade.
She’d briefly heard it once or twice at the bar, but it hadn’t really registered. It did now, and his name fit. Sara’s prophetic words came rushing back, and Cassidy dropped the card back into the trash compactor.
She couldn’t call him.
She stared at the card, lying faceup on the congealing fettuccine Alfredo. She had to call him. She had no choice. Besides, he said he would recommend a handyman, not do the work himself.
Inaction paralyzed her, and finally anger overtook her. She was being silly. Last night had just been too much beer and too much of feeling sorry for herself because of her home situation.
She grabbed the card back out of the compactor and kicked the stainless steel door closed.
She’d simply make it clear to…Blade that she needed his help and that she wasn’t interested in any of his other services.
Besides, over the phone she