Sara, you’re now free to discuss Mr. Porter’s wedding.”
Sara struggled to smile, remembering the windows.
“Would it be okay if we talked at that coffee shop around the corner?” Cade asked. “I haven’t had my quota of java yet, and I wouldn’t mind something to eat. I think I’ll need my energy to make all these decisions you’re talking about.”
“It’s—”
“A wonderful idea!” Katie’s smile resembled that of an obsequious slave. “Take as long as you like, Sara. We want to do our best for Mr. Porter.”
“Please, call me Cade.”
Sara frowned at Katie. Earlier her sister had bawled her out for redoing the display mannequin’s makeup instead of attending to the massive files stacked behind the reception desk. Now suddenly Katie was all smiles and pleasantness at the prospect of having Sara leave the building?
Something was fishy.
“The desk will be unattended,” she reminded softly. “I could be gone a while.”
“I’ll find someone else.” Katie’s smile never wavered.
Cade cleared his throat. “If the arrangement isn’t to your liking, Ms.—”
“Her name is Sara. Sara Woodward.” Katie’s Cheshire cat smile widened.
“It’s nice to meet you, Sara,” Cade said softly, his smile charming. “But I repeat, if the arrangement isn’t to Sara’s liking…”
Nothing about her current circumstances was to Sara’s liking. Her “liking” would be to work with Gideon Glen—a special-effects genius whose work Sara had admired for years. Sara’s biggest “liking” would be for her family to accept her independence and stop trying to coax her back into the family business.
But she could hardly say that in front of a client. Instead Sara leaned forward, grasped her sister’s arm and excused herself.
“We’ll just be a moment, Mr. Porter.”
“It’s Cade.”
“Of course it is.” Sara dragged Katie around the corner.
“Sara!” Katie struggled to free her arm. “What are you doing?”
“Consulting. Katie, this guy doesn’t have the first clue about a wedding.” She kept her voice subdued through rigid control.
“You’ll figure it out. Work with him. And take your time,” Katie said sweetly. Too sweetly.
Warning bells chimed a second time, but all Sara could do was ignore their caution and follow her sister back into Woodwards’ reception area.
“Enjoy your coffee, you two.” Katie made it sound like a date.
Sara ached to refuse. But with Cade Porter watching—
You’re home to help, remember. So help.
“Mr. Porter, how do like your coffee?”
“Strong and black.” He flashed his smile and Sara’s knees softened.
Those blue irises are only colored contacts.
Her knees didn’t seem to care.
“Bye.” Katie waggled her fingers at them before picking up the phone.
Cade opened the big glass entry door. Sara walked through, wondering if she’d imagined the smug look on Katie’s face.
“Autumn’s such a refreshing season, isn’t it?” Mr. Porter grinned as he clapped a hand on his Stetson so the wind couldn’t take it.
“I guess.”
It was obvious from his deep breaths that he’d found the store confining and enjoyed the freedom of outside. Sara struggled to match her step to his. Not an easy feat wearing the needle-thin heels Katie insisted were the only appropriate footwear for a fashion-conscious house like Woodwards’. Her best effort was a mincing half jog.
When they finally arrived at the coffee shop, Sara collapsed into a chair and brushed the mass of damp tumbling curls off her face. Her look, reflected in the pastry case mirror across the room, was so not the image of a pulled-together career woman out for coffee with a client.
“Makeup artist, cure thyself,” she muttered, patting a napkin against her damp forehead.
“Excuse me?”
“Talking to myself. Often happens after a round with the twins.” Hiding facial flaws on others was Sara’s passion. Hiding her own was a losing battle, so she ignored her reflection. “Somehow those two little kids always leave me feeling like I need time to recoup. Happy but drained. The way you looked before we left the store.”
“I wasn’t drained,” he said.
“Right.” He’d been chafing to get away. Sara wondered why.
“Because I invited you, I’m buying. What will you have?” Cade leaned one shoulder against the wall, his face all sharply defined planes and angles in the dimmer interior.
“Just coffee, thanks. Double cream.”
Cade’s shadowed gaze raked her face, then his swift assessment moved slowly from her untamed curls to the pearly sheen of polish Katie had painted on her toenails. He nodded once, then walked to the counter.
Sara leaned back against the banquette. Because Cade wasn’t volunteering any information, she’d have to come out and ask about his sister, and risk sounding like a snoop. She hadn’t come up with a way to begin when her client returned, grinning as he set a gigantic cup in front of her.
“Thank you. Is something amusing you, Mr. Porter?”
“Cade.” He studied her hair, frizzy now from the outside humidity. “You don’t look old enough to drink that.”
Sara’s molars met. Tomorrow she’d cut off her curls. Perhaps then—
“I assure you I am perfectly capable of functioning as your wedding planner. I do have the necessary credentials.” Later she’d ask Katie how that certificate had gone from the trunk in her room at their parents’ home to hanging on Woodwards’ wall.
“I’m sure you do.” He sat down across from her, stretched his long legs to one side. His eyes turned a moody shade of blue.
“Is the coffee bad?” She sipped her own.
“Coffee’s fine.” The granite jaw softened slightly.
Sara liked the effect. “So—?”
“I wanted to do something really special for my sister. I didn’t realize planning her wedding would be so complicated.”
“And now you’re thinking more along the lines
