It was uncomfortably quiet for a few moments until a small giggle broke the silence. Clara was trying not to laugh and failing miserably. Angela and Molly joined in, followed by Jean and Melissa. Even Avery’s mouth was twitching. Taylor frowned a little, wondering what the joke could be.
Amy had the grace to look chagrined. “Okay, I know. My track record sucks.”
Angela spoke up. “Honey, Rhys Bullock is one tough nut to crack. Someday the right guy’s gonna come along.”
Amy’s eyes glistened. “Just my luck I won’t recognize him when I see him.”
Everyone laughed again.
Then Avery spoke up. “That’s what I thought, too, Amy. Don’t give up hope. You just never know.” She looked at Taylor. “And I know for a fact that Rhys is smart and stubborn. Sounds like someone else I know. Keep us posted, Taylor.”
“Yeah,” Clara added, her hand on her rounded stomach. “The old married women need some excitement now and again.”
“I swear I bumped into him outside. Literally. Ran smack into him and nearly broke my phone.” She brought her hands together in demonstration of the collision. “It was dark, it was dinnertime and we had pot roast. End of story.”
But as the subject changed and they cleaned up the paper and ribbons, Taylor’s thoughts kept drifting back to that night and how she’d almost reached out to take his hand as he walked her home.
It was such a simple and innocent gesture to think about, especially in these days of casual hookups. Not that hooking up was her style, either. That philosophy combined with her long hours meant she hadn’t had time for personal relationships for ages. Not since the early days of her business, when she’d been seeing an investment planner named John. He’d wanted more than a girlfriend who brought work home at the end of a twelve-hour day and considered takeout a sensible dinner. After a few months in, he’d walked. The thing Taylor felt most guilty about was how it had been a relief.
She balled up used napkins and put them in the trash. Time kept ticking. A few days from now was the rehearsal, and then the wedding and then Callum and Avery would be away on their honeymoon and Taylor would move out of the B&B and into their house until Boxing Day, where she planned on watching movies, reading books and basically hibernating from the outside world. It was going to be peace and quiet and then a family Christmas.
Complications in the form of Rhys Bullock would only ruin her plans.
CHAPTER THREE
IT WAS TAYLOR’S experience that if the rehearsal went badly, the wedding was sure to be smooth and problem free. A sentiment which boded well for Callum and Avery, as it turned out, because nothing seemed to be going her way.
First of all, everything was an hour late starting thanks to a winter storm, which dumped enough snow to complicate transportation. The minister had slid off the road and into a snowbank. The car wasn’t damaged but by the time the tow truck had pulled him out, the wedding party was waiting and quite worried by his absence. Then Taylor opened the box that was supposed to contain the tulle bows for the ends of the church pews to find that they’d been constructed of a horrible peachy-yellow color—completely unsuited for a Christmas wedding!
The late start and the road conditions also meant canceling the rehearsal dinner that had been organized at an Italian place in the city. Taylor was just about ready to pull her hair out when she felt a wide hand rest on her shoulder.
“Breathe,” Rhys commanded. “It’s all fine.”
She clenched her teeth but exhaled through her nose. “Normally I would just deal with stuff like this without batting an eyelid. I don’t know why it’s throwing me so much.”
“Maybe because it’s for your brother,” he suggested.
He might be right. She did want everything just right for Callum’s wedding. It wasn’t some corporate dinner or celebrity party. It was personal. It was once in a lifetime.
God, there was a reason why she didn’t do weddings.
“What can I do to help?”
She shrugged. “Do you have a roll of white tulle in your pocket? Perhaps a spare horseshoe I could rub for good luck or something?”
He grimaced. “Afraid not. And you rub a rabbit’s foot, not a horseshoe. I’m guessing our plans for dinner have changed.”
She looked up at him. He was “dressed up” for the rehearsal—neat jeans, even with a crease down the front, and a pressed button-down shirt tucked into the waistband. His boots made him look taller than ever, especially as she’d decided on her low-heeled boots tonight in deference to the weather. There was a strength and stability in him that made her take a deep breath and regroup. For some reason she didn’t want to appear incapable in front of him. “I’ve had to cancel our reservations.”
“I’ll call my mom. It won’t be as fancy as what you planned, but I’m guessing she can manage a meal for a dozen of us.”
“We can’t have a rehearsal dinner at a diner.”
His lips puckered up like he’d tasted something sour. “Do you have any better suggestions? I guess you could pick up some day-old sandwiches at the gas station and a bag of cookies. You don’t exactly have a lot of options.”
“It was supposed to be romantic and relaxing and...” She floundered a little. “You know. Elegant.”
He frowned at her and she regretted what she’d implied. “What would you do if you were in Vancouver right now?” he asked.
“This kind of weather wouldn’t happen in Vancouver.”
He made a disgusted sound. “You’re supposed to be so good at your job. You’re telling me nothing ever goes off the plan?”
“Well, sure it does, but I...”
“But you what?”
“I handle it.”
“How is this different?”
“Because it’s family.”
The moment she said it her throat tightened. This wasn’t just another job. This was her big brother’s wedding. This was also the chance where she would prove herself to her family. She could talk until she was blue in the face, but the truth of the matter was she still sought their approval. The Shepards were driven and successful. It was just expected. She knew she’d disappointed her dad in particular. He thought what she did was unimportant, and the last thing she wanted to do was fall on her professional face in front of him.
“This isn’t Vancouver, or Toronto, or New York or L.A.” Rhys spoke firmly. “This isn’t a big-city event with a bunch of rich snobs. It’s just Cadence Creek. Maybe it’s not good enough for you but it’s good enough for Callum and Avery and maybe you should consider that instead of only thinking about yourself.”
His words hurt. Partly because he was judging her without even knowing her and partly because he was right, at least about things being simpler here. How many times had Avery said they didn’t need anything fancy? Taylor had insisted because it was no trouble. Had she messed up and forgotten the singular most important rule: Give the client what they ask for?
“Call your mother, then, and see if there’s any way she can squeeze us in.”
“Give me five minutes.”
The words weren’t said kindly, and Taylor felt the sting of his reproof. Still, she didn’t have time to worry about Rhys Bullock—there was too much left to do. While the minister spoke to Avery and Callum, Taylor fished poinsettia plants out of a waiting box and lined them up on the altar steps in alternating red and creamy white. The congregation had already decorated the tree and the Christmas banners were hung behind the pulpit. The manger from the