my gosh.” Nic looked a bit dazed as she turned to Aislinn. “I think I just got married.”
Aislinn laughed, as did everyone else within hearing. “You did, sweetie.”
“Too late to back out now,” Joel said cheerfully.
His bride grinned up at him. “That goes both ways.”
Aislinn noted that Joel didn’t look at all perturbed by Nic’s reminder.
The reception was held in the ballroom of a local country club. It wasn’t an overly large room but big enough for the intimate crowd Nic and Joel had invited to celebrate their marriage with them. A local country band, made up of four talented teenagers who were already getting statewide attention for their singing and songwriting talent, provided the music.
Unpretentious but delicious food was served buffet-style, with coffee, fruit punch and sparkling grape juice for beverages. The lack of champagne or other alcoholic choices had nothing to do with the wedding budget but everything to do with Nic’s relentless campaigning against drinking and driving. Through her career she had seen entirely too many tragic accidents involving alcohol and she had no intention of contributing to the statistics by serving drinks to people who had driven to her reception.
It wasn’t as if public transportation was plentiful in the smallish central-Arkansas town. Whole months often passed without Aislinn seeing one cab. When the locals wanted to go somewhere, they drove. This was part of the reason traffic was such an issue as the thriving area grew more rapidly than the aging street system.
She cast a quick, assessing glance at the table that held the wedding cake, making sure it was still in pristine condition for photographs and the ceremonial cutting by the bride and groom. Though Nic had requested an understated cake to go with the simple theme of the wedding, Aislinn had spent hours crafting the perfect wedding cake for her best friend. She had taken her inspiration from Nic’s heirloom wedding gown, first worn in the mid-1940s by Nic’s grandmother, then by Nic’s mother, Susan, in the early seventies.
The gown was satin, covered with lace painstakingly dotted with seed pearls. It had been hand sewn by Nic’s great-grandmother, making it a priceless family treasure, immaculately preserved. Only a minimum of tailoring had been required for Nic, and Aislinn had no doubt that the gown would survive for another generation or two, perhaps to be worn by Nic’s future daughter-in-law, or maybe a granddaughter.
Aislinn had so few heirlooms from her own family that she could only imagine how much the gown meant to Nic and her mother. So the dress had seemed to be the logical theme for the wedding cake. Borrowing Nic’s matching veil for a few days and using photographs of the dress as inspiration, Aislinn had designed a white-on-white cake that looked as though it was covered in the same lace as the dress.
It had involved hours of eye-crossingly intricate string work and hundreds of tiny, hand-set edible “pearls.” She had created gentle folds in the fondant “fabric” and had cascaded a spray of white-frosting roses entwined with green-tinted frosting ivy down one side, as if a bouquet had been carelessly laid upon the satin-and-lace cake. She’d forgone the overused bride-and-groom topper, using white gum-paste roses instead.
She had been pleased with Nic’s reaction upon seeing the finished cake for the first time. Nic had acted as though she had never seen anything more beautiful in her life, even becoming uncharacteristically misty as she had examined every angle of the cake.
“It’s gorgeous, Aislinn,” she had said huskily. “The best you’ve ever done. I feel as though you should enter it in a competition or something, not just give it to me for my reception.”
Laughing, Aislinn had shaken her head. “There’s nothing I would rather do with it,” she had assured her friend. “As far as I’m concerned, this is the most special cake I’ve ever created because it’s for you.”
The guests at the reception seemed to be properly appreciative of the effort. They gathered around the cake, oohing and aahing, asking Aislinn repeatedly if all the details were actually edible. Laughing, she assured them that, as intricate as the decorations were, the cake was meant to be eaten.
“So you made that?”
She turned to find Ethan standing behind her, a glass of punch in his hand, his gaze focused on the cake. “Yes, I made that.”
If he noted her wryly mocking repetition, he ignored it. “It looks nice.”
Feeling a little petty now, she replied more genuinely, “Thank you. It was the most important cake I’ve ever done.”
“You and Nic are pretty tight, huh?”
“We’ve been friends for a long time. Since elementary school.”
“And when did you start the psychic thing?”
She counted mentally to ten, then gave a fake smile and a slight wave aimed toward a pillar on the other side of the room. “If you’ll excuse me, Ethan, I see someone I should say hello to. Perhaps you should offer your mother another glass of punch. She looks a little wilted.”
Before he could answer, she was already moving away, congratulating herself on her restraint. There was absolutely no way she would do anything to put a damper on Nic’s wedding reception, but Ethan Brannon could try the patience of a saint.
She didn’t know what it was about her that made him feel compelled to bait her, but he never seemed to miss an opportunity. Fortunately she could think of no reason for spending any more time with him once this evening was over.
“Ethan.”
Having been unaware that his brother was anywhere nearby, Ethan grimaced a little before turning around to face Joel with an expression of feigned innocence. “Hey, bro. Nice party.”
“Yes, it is. So stop trying to mess it up, okay?”
“I’m not doing anything,” Ethan muttered into his punch glass.
“You were picking on Aislinn again.”
Faintly amused by his brother’s wording, Ethan shrugged. “I was just talking to her. You know, making small talk. Isn’t that what one’s supposed to do at these things? I told her I liked the cake.”
“There was more to it than that. I didn’t hear what you said, but I could tell she didn’t like it.”
“So are you into mind reading now?”
“Leave her alone, Ethan. She’s not a fraud and she’s not a crackpot. She’s Nic’s best friend, almost a sister to her—which makes her, like, an honorary sister-in-law to me now. So be nice to her,” Joel ordered sternly.
Ethan sighed. “I’ll try. It’s just that whole psychic thing. I’m not buying in to it.”
“Nobody’s asking you to. Certainly Aislinn’s not asking you to. She hates when anyone calls her a psychic or talks about her…well, gifts, for lack of a better word. Just treat her like you do anyone else. No, scratch that. Be polite to her.”
Because it was Joel’s wedding day and Ethan was feeling uncharacteristically magnanimous, he said, “I’ll work on it.”
Joel
