and no one can get to the venue. Likewise, the lakeshore options are stunning, but a mild winter where the lake doesn’t freeze can cause road flooding if we get a storm that weekend. If your department has to close roads, it means no one can access the reception.”
“Gotcha.” He studied the brochures, then angled a look to her, and when he did, she had to remind her heart that he was a somewhat presumptuous jerk who overprotected his children, no matter how gorgeous his smoke-toned eyes were. “A town reception venue would be a better choice, don’t you think?”
She shrugged. “I hate to discourage you from the others, because they’re gorgeous, but it’s important for our clients to see the whole picture when they plan an event. On the other hand...” She slanted a smile his way, and for just a moment, he held that look, almost as if interested...which was completely preposterous, of course. “You are the head of the highway department, your people are skilled at keeping roads clear and the few mishaps that have occurred are rare. So now it’s up to you. Shall we set up a time to go see some of these lakeside venues? I’ve got Monday free. Is it possible for you to get some time off?”
“There’s no availability to see them on a Saturday?”
She shook her head. “Fall and the holidays are crazy busy. They’re booked solid. We could arrange for evening visits if time off is difficult. I can call the ones that interest you, arrange a food tasting and a tour.”
“What evenings are you free next week?” he asked.
She should lie.
She should pretend to be crazy busy with a social life that overflowed into the following year, but the fact that she had every single night free was her new reality. “I’m available Monday through Thursday.”
He scanned the brochures, then handed three back to her. “Let’s check these first. I’d take the day off but Norm Pinkerton is out for knee surgery and he’s second-in-command. I really can’t take any vacation days for a few weeks.”
“Evenings are fine,” she assured him. “I’ll make arrangements. Our local venues hunger for business in the winter. They’ll offer us price concessions we’d never get in the busy season, and they’ll throw in extras to tempt you to sign with them.”
“I love a great deal,” he admitted. “But won’t that just muddy the waters?”
“Not with me on board.” She filed the brochures he’d chosen into a folder and started to stand.
He beat her to it, stood and reached down a hand to help her up.
Hand in hand, he pulled her upright, then steadied her with his other hand at her waist.
Electricity buzzed. The lights might have dimmed, or flashed or maybe they did nothing at all, maybe it was just the feel of her hand wrapped in his. Warm, solid, strong, yet gentle, as if he was the kind of man who was strong enough to be gentle.
Back away. He thinks you’re an airheaded beauty queen, and he’s kind of a jerk, so pretend you felt nothing and do your job.
She obeyed her conscience happily. Grant McCarthy may have traveled a tough road since his wife left, but she’d been handed a similar set of walking papers from her rich, self-absorbed ex-husband, and she wasn’t a jerk about it.
She slipped her hand away, pretended his touch had no effect on her and took a firm step back. “I’ll set these up and let you know the details. Do you prefer phone or email contact?”
“Email’s fine.”
Of course it was. Why would he want any more human contact with her than absolutely necessary?
She nodded, tapped her folder and moved toward the stairs. “I’ll send you times as soon as I have them.”
“I’ll be watching for them.”
She heard Rory laugh and chat as she helped Grant get the twins’ jackets fastened, and as the upstairs glass door swung silently shut behind her, she paused, wishing she could go back and help with those two priceless children.
She knew that kids with disabilities did better with high expectations. The thought that Grant McCarthy was content with babying that little girl made her pulse race.
Of course, when he’d held her hand her pulse raced in a different way, but she chalked that up to reading too many romances lately. Since coming home a year before, she’d avoided dating. She was back in Grace Haven on temporary assignment, to help her parents in a time of need. Her father was fighting brain cancer, and her mother’s popular event-planning business was funding the cost of experimental treatments in Texas. To keep the business going, she and her sister Kimberly had stepped in to help.
Kimberly was a natural at wedding planning. She’d learned the business alongside their mother, and with her parents’ impending retirement, it was natural for Kimberly to step into the role of running Kate & Company.
Emily was more at home on the wedding-gown end of things. Outfitting a bridal party, choosing materials and coordinating an entire look of a wedding came naturally to the former department store women’s fashion buyer.
Dealing with the chronic back-and-forth of event planning drove her a little crazy. It stifled her creativity. But if it helped her father’s prognosis, she could be crazy for however long it took.
But then—what next?
She had no idea, but she was pretty sure it wouldn’t be here in her hometown. She didn’t want to step on Kimberly’s toes, or be given a job out of sympathy.
She wanted respect. The respect she’d been denied in marriage, the respect she’d been denied professionally when her ex-husband’s father dismissed her from the company. Grant McCarthy’s cutting remark voiced what too many felt, that pageants were nothing more than pretty girls on parade. Her titles had paid for her education, and given her inroads with top designers, but that didn’t alter some opinions that pageants were nothing but fluff, and that meant the contestants were, too.
At what point would she stop feeling the need to prove herself and just be Emily?
Her parents had been proud of her pageant success, so Grant McCarthy could just stifle his negativity. She didn’t need it, didn’t want it and wasn’t about to put up with being anyone else’s castoff, ever again. Not personally and not professionally.
Later that day, Grant spotted the international number code pop up on his cell phone. He grabbed the phone as he muted college football on TV. “Christa, hey! How are you? How’s everything going? Isn’t it the middle of the night over there?”
“I’m all right,” she told him, and she sounded good. So good. “I’m on an overnight and had some time and figured the kids might be in bed.”
“They are—we’ve got temporary peace in the kingdom.” He laughed when he said it because he knew the reality behind the words. “I met with the wedding planner today, and we’re scoping out reception places this week. I checked the guest list and figured about a hundred and thirty people, right?”
“The
