And since that time, she had literally stood in one spot until the rug beneath her feet was threadbare.
The analogy wasn’t lost on her, and the timing was perfect. If she was going to get on with her life—do something with the degree in public relations she’d managed to finish, meet a nice, stable guy and settle down—she was going to have to…move her feet.
The phone rang and Gracie snapped back into business mode.
“Taking Care of Business Wedding Chapel, where Elvis lives in your heart. How can I help you?” She answered the man’s nervous questions by rote as she referred to the appointment book. “Yes, we have some openings this evening. When would you like to schedule a ceremony?”
“The earlier the better,” the man said, his baritone voice bursting with love and enthusiasm.
Gracie’s heart swelled and with great restraint she fought a crazy impulse to ask questions of her own, such as how he’d met the woman he’d fallen in love with, how long it had taken before he’d known she was the one and what had been the turning point? What exactly had made him sure she was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with?
How ironic that she’d witnessed thousands of weddings, yet still was clueless about lasting love.
“How about seven-thirty, sir?”
“Great. But this has to be really special. My fiancée is a huge Elvis fan. Does your Elvis look like the real thing?”
Steve’s chiseled features and blue, blue eyes came to mind with startling clarity. “As a matter of fact, he does. Does your fiancée have a favorite Elvis song?”
“‘Love Me Tender’ gets her every time.”
“Then we’ll include it in the package.”
“Does your Elvis sing, or lip-synch?”
Neither, she thought, but didn’t say so. “Our Elvis is having a bout with laryngitis at the moment, sir. But if he’s not feeling well enough to sing, we’ll play a beautiful digitally mastered recording in stereo. You’ll feel like you’re at an Elvis concert.” She winced at her own words, but they needed the business.
The man made a doubtful noise. “I don’t know…the Elvis over at the Fools Rush In chapel sings.”
At a noise, she glanced up to see Lincoln Nebraska, their florist and spare minister, walk through the door carrying two bouquets of mixed white flowers. She smiled a greeting, then resumed her sales pitch to the customer on the phone. “I promise you, sir, that you won’t find another wedding Elvis in Vegas as good as ours. I’ll even throw in a complimentary bouquet for your bride and a boutonniere for you.”
Lincoln frowned, but she ignored him.
“Okay,” the man finally said.
“Great.” She took down his name and contact information. “We’ll see you and your lovely bride at seven-thirty.” She hung up the phone and grinned at Lincoln, who was bald and tanned and wearing funky horn-rimmed glasses. “Hi, there.”
“Who is he?” Lincoln said without preamble.
“Who?” Gracie asked as nonchalantly as possible.
“You know who—the hunk of burning love who was talking on the cell phone when I walked past the closet.”
“Oh. Him.”
Lincoln smirked. “Yes—him. Tell me he’s our new Elvis.”
She hesitated. “Yes. But he thinks he’s the photographer.”
Lincoln scoffed. “H.D. could run the camera equipment if someone lifted him high enough.”
“I know,” she said. “But Cordelia hired the guy and didn’t tell him the full story.”
“Ah, the old bait and switch. Well, she probably took one look at him and knew he’d be perfect.” He sighed. “At least what I could see of him from the back looked perfect.”
She laughed. “He’s also perfectly taken. Or at least, I assume so, since he needed privacy for the call.”
“Man or woman?”
“Woman,” she said emphatically. “Sorry.”
He looked distressed for all of two seconds, then wagged his thick eyebrows. “If he won’t take me away from all this, maybe he’ll rescue you.”
Since Cordelia had caught them kissing, the news was bound to get out. “We, um, did have a…moment…earlier.” She held up her forefinger and thumb pinched together. “Just a little…kiss.”
He gasped. “I was only gone for a few minutes—how…?”
“It was nothing big, and it won’t happen again.” She made a note on the calendar for the seven-thirty wedding. When she looked up, Lincoln was gaping at her.
“Are you kidding me? You kissed the man already? Was ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ playing?”
She nodded, feeling like a fool.
He sighed. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, sweetheart. No one can fight those lyrics. Besides, the man screams ‘affair.’”
She held up both hands. “No way. I’ve sworn off affairs, remember?”
“Oh, right. Well, maybe he’s the settling down type.”
Grace shook her head. “He went to great lengths to explain that he was not interested in marriage—now or in the future.”
He frowned. “Kind of presumptuous of him, wasn’t it?”
“It was in the context of business, but I got the point.” At least her brain had understood.
Lincoln scrutinized a rose in one of the bouquets he held. “What’s his name?”
“Steve Mulcahy.”
“Nice name.” He frowned. “What’s his story?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, why would someone who looks like him be working in a place like this?”
Gracie frowned. “Thanks a lot.”
“You know what I mean. I love TCB, but wedding chapels aren’t exactly a magnet for straight, great-looking guys. What kind of photographer aspires to this job?”
Admittedly, the same thoughts had crossed her mind. She shrugged. “Maybe he’s between jobs, or is down on his luck.”
“Right. Maybe he’s a gambler,” Lincoln said. “Maybe he lost his real job, and he’s desperate.”
Gracie somehow couldn’t reconcile the description of a quasi-loser to Steve, even if she had only just met the man. Something about him radiated power and authority, but Lincoln had a point. For some reason,
