of a photo shoot in a magazine, those who looked closer would spot the attention to detail. The two typical flower arrangements, a bustle of lavender, blue and white by the front door, were set up in trifle bowls. The guestbook on the edge of the gift table was set with a silver Montblanc pen identical to the one Donovan always used. There were other little touches of tradition and style that fit the couple.
“This looks amazing.”
Grace recognized Owen’s voice and blinked before turning, a polite smile already in place. But she felt it waver when she looked into his face. His easy grin and the way he seemed to be checking out her instead of the room. Hadn’t she been clear that nothing could happen between them? “Thank you.”
“How long did this take?” He reached around her to finger the tiny cages on the table, the movement making the small flowers inside rustle.
Grace felt the heat from his arm sink into hers. She took a small step sideways, away from Owen. “I got here around two.”
“Amazing,” he said again, but this time he was definitely looking at her.
Grace felt the heat creep into her cheeks. She knew she didn’t look awful. Even during setup, she was careful to maintain her image. Hair pulled into a tidy ponytail, clean jeans with no rips or loose threads, a simple, black silk T-shirt and ballet flats so she could do any necessary hard labor. But amazing was a bit of a stretch.
“Can I do anything to help?”
“It’s all under control.” She was happy to give the party line. “Your only responsibility is to enjoy yourself.”
“You sure? I am the host. I’ve got the suit and everything.”
And a fine suit it was, cut slim to show off his physique and made out of poplin. The light gray shade set off his dark coloring and he wore it with a plain white dress shirt, the top two buttons left undone.
Grace yanked her gaze away from that small patch of exposed tanned skin. She had no business thinking about that skin, wondering if it would feel warmed by the sun or if it would taste like sugar, rum and mint.
Her eyes fell to his feet and the bright green kicks he wore. The tightness banding her lungs loosened.
This was who Owen Ford was. The kind of man who not only wore bright green kicks, but also wore them with a designer suit. The kind of man who didn’t get serious. Not the kind of man she was looking for at all.
“It’s all handled,” she told Owen, drawing in a calming breath. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get ready.”
* * *
OWEN WATCHED GRACE glide off, noting the way her jeans clung to her long legs. What he wouldn’t give to feel them wrapped around his waist.
“Here.” He blinked when a bar napkin was shoved in his face, then saw his sister grinning. “To wipe the drool from your chin.”
Owen accepted the napkin and dabbed at his chin. “Thanks.”
Mal’s smile widened. It was good to see her laughing. She hadn’t done enough of that lately. “Of course, it’d be better if Grace would quit giving you the brush-off.”
“True.” Owen tucked the napkin in his pocket. “She does like me, though.”
“She has a funny way of showing it.”
“Grace has some funny ideas. Says she can’t get involved with me because I’m a client.”
“Does Donovan know you’re planning to steal his bride and marry her in his place? Tacky, Owen, and just when the two of you were starting to get along.”
Owen snorted because the idea of him marrying anyone was a joke. “Maybe you should tell Grace that and put in a good word for me while you’re at it.”
“No.” Mal seemed to relish turning him down. “I won’t be your wingman.”
“So you just came over here to harass me?”
She nodded. “That and to help you with your drooling issue. You are the host tonight, Owen. Show a little couth.”
“A little—” He started to laugh, long and hard. He’d missed this snarky side of his sister. Even when it was directed at him. For the past few months, she’d been muted, all her color washed away. He threw an arm around her now, wrestled her into a headlock the way he had when they were kids.
“Owen, if you mess up my hair, I’m going to kill you.” But she was laughing, too.
He grabbed a handful of strands and gave a light tug. “How’s that for couth?”
“A poor showing.” Mal extracted herself—but only because he let her—and smoothed her hair. “Very poor. See, Owen, it’s behavior like that that keeps me from acting as your wingman.”
He laughed again. “If I promise not to touch your hair anymore, will you do it?”
“No.” She took a quick step back, hands raised to deflect any further hair-touching.
“What about if I act as your wingman, too?”
Her face fell. Damn. He’d thought she was doing better, was moving past whatever had happened between her and Travis.
“My offer to beat him up still stands,” Owen said. Yes, Travis was one of his best friends, but Mal was his sister.
Mal’s eyes were sad, her voice soft. “No. I appreciate the support, but it’s not necessary. No fighting required.”
Which was good because Travis was a good two inches taller than Owen’s own six foot one and his friend outweighed him by fifty pounds, all of it muscle. So really it would have been less of a physical beating and more of an “I don’t know what happened between you and Mal, but fix it because I promised her I’d beat you up and I’d prefer not to lose a tooth.”
“You sure?” This time when he put his arm around her it was to give her a hug.
“Positive.” But she held on to him a second longer. “Thanks, Owen.”
He watched his sister go, wondering if there was something else he could do to help. But Mal was proud and refused to tell anyone what had happened.
Owen grabbed a bottle of water from behind the bar and cracked it open. Which was why he thought it was better not to get too serious when it came to relationships.
Sure, he could end up like Julia and Donovan or his own parents, but they seemed to be the exceptions to the rule. Most people didn’t last, and wasn’t it better to go into the relationship with that already in mind?
Owen sipped his water and glanced at his sister, who was talking to Stef and smiling. But the cheerful expression didn’t reach her eyes.
Yes, it was definitely better to keep things light and casual. And a hell of a lot less painful.
* * *
GRACE TWITCHED THE HEM of her silvery-gray dress into
