You Say It First

CHAPTER THREE

PALLAS WENT THROUGH a fast-food drive-through window on her way back to work. By the time she arrived, she’d finished her double cheeseburger and only had a few fries left. She tossed them in a belated attempt to be virtuous, then took the stairs to her office at a jog. As if that would burn off any excess calories.

“Mothers,” she muttered as she changed from her dress into jeans and a T-shirt. “What was God thinking?”

She tied her tennis shoes, then drew in a breath. She was restored to her regular self. The day would go on as if the unfortunate lunch incident hadn’t occurred. Pallas genuinely didn’t know what to do about Libby’s job offer. She’d earned her degree in finance because it was expected and required to go into the family business. Shouldn’t she be thrilled at the thought of working at the bank? It had always been her dream. Weddings in a Box was hardly making her a fortune. The sensible decision would be to sell it and start living a normal life. Only she just couldn’t seem to do it.

“I’ll decide in September,” she said aloud. “When the season is over. I’ll know what to do.” Assuming there would still be a job waiting with her mother. There was no way to know.

She went downstairs. The ballroom needed a good vacuuming and doing that would probably count as exercise. She would—

She turned the corner and screamed when she saw a man in the hallway.

The intruder turned and morphed into Nick. Pallas pressed a hand to her chest.

“What are you doing here?”

“I work here and have a key.”

Both were true, she told her rapidly thudding heart. “I forgot.”

“Which part?”

“Apparently all of it.”

He flashed her a smile. “Second thoughts on hiring me?”

“Gifted artist willing to restore my sad wooden panels for almost nothing above minimum wage? No second thoughts, although I do worry about your mental state. Not that I’m complaining about it. As long as you fall in the nonthreatening spectrum of crazy, I’m good with it.”

He chuckled. “I told you. I’m between projects and I’m excited to work on the panels. They need some serious love.”

She knew what he meant but had to admit the phrase “serious love” had her thinking of something other than wood restoration. She’d been without that particular brand of maleness for a long time now. Her lifestyle didn’t exactly lend itself to dating. For one thing, she worked weekends. For another, when guys found out she was “in the wedding business” they tended to get nervous.

To distract herself, she thought about how lucky she was that Nick was interested in helping her. What with him being talented and famous. Not that she knew more than the basic information. It wasn’t as if she’d actually seen his work in person. There had been lots of pictures online, but that was different than seeing the real thing. Maybe she should go to Atsuko’s gallery and poke around. Or not. Staring at what he’d created, complete with five-or six-figure price tags, would probably give her a heart attack.

“I came by to figure out what tools to bring with me when I get started tomorrow,” he added.

“You’re going to have to take them down, aren’t you?” She eyed the massive panels. “How is that going to work? And where will you put them?”

“I thought I’d move all the princess wedding props to the Roman wedding prop room and take over that space. My brothers and Alan will help me get the panels down and onto supports.”

“You’ve thought this through.”

“It seemed best to have a plan.” He hesitated. “You okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. You seem upset or something.”

Ack! Having lunch with her mother was starting to leave actual marks. “It’s nothing. Family drama.”

Nick stayed right there in the hallway, as if waiting for her to say more. She told herself to keep quiet, but then belatedly remembered she generally caved under pressure.

“How much do you know about the history of Happily Inc?” she asked as she leaned against the wall.

“I don’t know. It was founded and people moved here?”

She laughed. “Probably. I’m talking more recent history. Say the 1960s.”

“Before my time. Yours, too.”

“But not my grandfather’s.” She drew in a breath. “In the 1960s Happily Inc was struggling. My grandfather on my mother’s side owned a local bank. If the town failed, no one would pay back their loans and he would lose piles and piles of money.”

“Bad for anyone,” Nick acknowledged.

“Exactly. Being the kind of man who wasn’t going to let that happen, Grandpa Frank invented a story about a stagecoach full of brides-to-be heading for the gold rush in northern California.”

Nick frowned. “I know this one. The stagecoach broke down right here and it took several weeks for the repair parts to arrive. By then, all the brides had fallen in love with local guys and the stagecoach continued its journey empty. That’s where the town gets its name.”

Her grandfather would be so proud, she thought humorously. “That is the legend.”

“It’s not true?”

“It’s a total crock, made up by Grandpa Frank. The thing was, he not only knew how to make up a good story, he knew how to sell it, and to whom. It played very well in Hollywood. Several movie stars were so intrigued, they held their weddings in Happily Inc. The media followed and now we have this.” She waved her arm to indicate the building. “An entire town devoted to the destination wedding.”

“Built on a lie. Pretty slick.”

“He’s an impressive guy.”

“Still around?”

“Grandpa Frank will outlive us all.”

“I hope I get to meet him.”

“I’d be surprised if you didn’t.”

He nodded slowly. “There’s a family bank and you work here. That’s interesting.”

“You mean what’s a nice girl like me doing in a place like this?”

“Something like that.”

She told him the abridged version of her failure at college and having to finish putting herself through school before she could be considered for the family firm.

“Working full-time, it took a little longer, but I got there. I have officially matriculated.”

“Damn, you’re impressive.”

She blinked. That wasn’t exactly the reaction she was expecting. “I did what a million other people do every day.”

“You did great. So what’s got your mom all in a snit? You got a C. The world shouldn’t end.”

“She has a lot of rules.”

His gaze shifted to something beyond her. “Some parents are like that. They want things done their way.”

“Tell me about it.” Pallas thought of all her attempts to be her own person while still having her mother’s approval. For some reason she couldn’t seem to learn that those two things were mutually exclusive.

“I was supposed to go work in the bank as soon as I got my degree. Which I did last January. Then Gerald died and left me the business. I’ve been running it ever since. Now my mom has offered me a job and I don’t know what to do.”

“Why do you want to go work in a bank?”

“I always have. It’s a family thing. I’ve planned on working at the bank since I was a little girl.”

“But?”

She sighed. “Gerald loved this business. He was like a second father to me. I don’t want to let him down.”

“Plus you love it, too.”

She was less sure about that. She liked it and the work was always interesting, but was it her passion? “I’m confused.”

“What did you tell your mom?”

“That I have weddings booked through September. I’ll decide after that. It’s one of the reasons I want the panels fixed. They’re a big part of the business and if they’re in good shape, that should help attract a buyer.” She shook her head. “Wow, that was a serious amount of information you probably didn’t want. That’ll teach you to ask me anything.”

“I like knowing more about you.” He tilted his head toward the hallway. “Come on. I want to show you something.”

They went into the storage area where the panels were hung. He flipped on the overhead lights and motioned for her to step close.

“Give me your hand,” he commanded.

The eight-year-old inside of her silently murmured “but then I’ll only have one,” which totally explained why she really wasn’t ready to work anywhere serious like a bank.

She did as he’d asked. Nick pressed her hand to the panel and placed his on top of hers. The combination of cool, smooth wood and warm male skin was unexpected. And kind of nice. Especially when she felt a little tingle start low in her belly. It had been a long time between tingles.

“Can you feel it?”

She had no idea what he was talking about. Him or the wood? Because if he meant the tingles, that was a big ole yes.

Before she could fake an answer, he moved her hand across the relief. “The work is exquisite. So detailed, so rich. The birds look ready to fly off and the plants should still be growing. This isn’t just a panel or even art. It’s life. Whoever did this was a master artist. They’re something you should treasure. But if things ever really get bad, you can sell them, Pallas. For a lot of money.”

That got her attention even more than the tingles. “Like how much?”

“Hundreds of thousands.”

“Of dollars? Are you kidding me? For these?”

“Not really an art major, huh?”

She shook her head. “Okay, then. I have more respect for them now. Not that I can pay you any more than I offered.”

“I believe you. Don’t worry about it. Just know that they’re here if you need them.” He flashed her a grin. “Like money in the bank.”

* * *

ALAN GLARED AT the panel. “I prefer skinny brides who haven’t eaten in three weeks. That sucker was heavy.”

It had taken Nick, his two brothers, Joseph, Jonathan and Alan to wrestle a single panel onto the supports Nick had put in place. Everyone else had already left but Alan lingered to complain.

“Is it inappropriate for me to say man up?” Nick asked.

Alan chuckled. “No. But next time I’m going to be busy and unable to help.”

“Fair enough. At least we know they’re solid wood.”

“Was there any doubt?”

“Not really.”

Nick walked around the single panel, studying it from all angles. He would take pictures and start his research when he got back to his brother’s place. For now he simply wanted to take in the piece, to get to know it so he could figure out where to begin.

“Have you done this sort of thing before?” Alan asked. “Restoration work?”

“No, but I understand the process.”

“No wonder Pallas got you for cheap. You’re not going to ruin it, are you?”

Nick looked at the other man. “I give you my word. I know what I’m doing. I’ve worked with wood for a decade now. I’m not going to screw these up.”

Alan didn’t look convinced. “I guess I don’t have a choice. Pallas trusts you.” His tone indicated that might not be a good thing.

For reasons he didn’t fully understand, Nick wanted to win the other man over. Maybe because he was someone Pallas trusted.

“Thanks for your help with the heavy lifting.”

“You’re welcome. At least I don’t have to go to the gym today.” Alan walked around the panel. “I should check on some of the costumes. They’re getting a little ratty. I don’t suppose you know how to sew?”

“Not my thing.”

“Too bad. It’s not mine, either. Pallas has a friend, Violet, who repairs the costumes when they need it. I know it would be better to simply replace them, but there’s the cash flow issue. Keeping this old place going isn’t cheap.”

Nick would imagine there was a lot of outflow—moneywise. “Moving the panels in place would take time. I wonder why she doesn’t replace them with lightweight frames with paper panels that could be changed out for different types of weddings? That would lessen the manpower needed.”

“An interesting idea. You should share it with Pallas.”

“I just might. How long have you known her?”

“Years. Nine or ten. Ever since she came to work for Gerald.” He smiled. “She was so earnest. He liked that about her. She also worked hard and enjoyed what she did. That can be hard to find.”

“Do you live in Happily Inc?”

Alan wrinkled his nose. “God, no. I did for a while, when I moved here.” His expression turned mischievous. “I’ll save you the trouble of the subtle questioning. Yes, I came here for Gerald. He was my mentor and then my lover. We were together five years, and when it ended, we stayed friends. I miss him.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me, too. Dying sucks, or so I’ve been told. Now I live in LA and come out on the occasional weekend to help out Pallas.”

Nick put the pieces together. “She’s like family.”

“She is. Gerald and I had Pallas in common, as well. We needed her and she needed us.” He sighed dramatically. “I’ve only met her brother once and he seemed decent enough, but her mother... Have you met Libby?”

“Not yet.”

“Brace yourself. On the surface she’s oh-so proper, but underneath, she’s a total bitch. At least to her daughter. I mean seriously, what’s up with all the rules? I keep telling Pallas to stand up to her. That once she does, all will be well, but she doesn’t believe me. Not a surprise. It’s easy to tell someone else what to do and more difficult when you’re the one who has to do it.”

“Families are complicated,” Nick said, thinking of his own troubled relationship with his famous father.

“They are. What I can’t figure out is why Libby resents Pallas so much.”

“You think that’s why she’s always on her?”

“It’s the only explanation. That or Libby hates her own daughter and trust me, no one wants to go there. My guess is there’s some deep dark secret in Libby’s past. Maybe her mother resented her and she’s just passing it on. We’ll probably never know. Gerald and I would run interference when we could.”

“I’m sure it helped.”

“I hope so.” He glanced at Nick. “So what’s your story?”

“I’m waiting to hear on a commission in Dubai. If I get it, I’ll work there for two years.”

“I wonder if I’d like Dubai.” He considered the thought for a moment. “If you move there, I’ll come visit and decide for myself.”

Nick had no idea what to say to that. “Ah, sure. Great.”

Alan winked. “If you could see your face. All right, my little woodcarver friend. I’ll leave you to it. And if you see Libby approaching, throw water. I’m fairly confident she’ll melt.”

* * *

WEDNESDAY PALLAS LEFT work early as she did every week. It was her night to get together with her friends. In a town that catered to weddings, no one had weekends off. With the exception of high school football games and Sunday morning church services, almost nothing social happened Thursday through Sunday. Everyone was too busy supporting the weddings that kept the town coffers full.

She drove north to the Rio de los Sueños and across the Transfer Bridge. Not only was the rhythm of the town affected by the dominant industry, but so were most of the local businesses and even street names. She lived in a neighborhood referred to as The Arcs. To the west was Honor Arc, to the east, Love Arc. There were streets named Serenity Boulevard and Hope Chest Drive. And if anyone found that really, really annoying, she could cheerfully inform them it was her grandfather’s fault.

She was still smiling when she turned onto her street. She lived in a small Spanish-style bungalow. When she’d first come back to Happily Inc after her college failure, she’d had to find a permanent place to live. Moving home with Mom had been out of the question. Along with a job offer, Gerald had told her about the bungalow and she’d become both his employee and his tenant. When he’d died last January, in addition to the business, he’d left her the small property.

His generosity still astounded her and she felt guilty for not appreciating him more when he’d been alive. All her life she’d been taught that love and one’s place in the family had to be earned. But not with Gerald. He’d loved her and had expected nothing in return.

Pallas parked in her narrow driveway. She looked at the sky and whispered a brief prayer of thanks for the man who had believed in her, then got out of her car and headed for the front door.

Twenty minutes later she had the French doors open to her walled garden. She’d already cut up the rotisserie chickens she’d bought at the grocery store for her curried chicken salad sweetened with mango chutney. She’d bought mini quiches to bake and a veggie plate with ranch dressing. Her friends expected good company, not home cooking.

When the salad was finished, she put it in the refrigerator, and then began cutting up grapes and kiwi for her chardonnay-based sangria. She set up her large drink dispenser that had a drop-in ice container to keep the liquid cold without diluting it. She put out glasses and plates on the small island in her kitchen, then stuck her phone on the docking station that was attached to the speakers in her living room. Seconds later, music began to play.

She glanced at the clock and saw she still had a few minutes before everyone started to arrive. She changed into white jeans and a lime-green cotton shirt, then slipped on espadrilles. As she returned to the living room, she heard someone walking up her front path.

Her girlfriend squad had six members. Carol, Violet, Natalie, Silver and Wynn. She’d known Silver and Wynn all her life. Wynn was a couple of years older, but Silver and Pallas had been friends all through school.

Carol and Violet were sisters. They’d moved to Happily Inc about three years ago. Natalie was the newest member—she’d been in town a little over a year. Pallas had first met Natalie when she’d been a bride. One horrific wedding disaster later, Natalie was single again and working for Atsuko at the gallery—a few weeks after that, Wynn had brought her to a girlfriend dinner and the rest was history.

Pallas opened the front door and smiled when she saw Carol about to knock.

“Hi, you,” she said, and hugged her friend.

“Hello, yourself.” Carol held out a container full of cookies. “I semibaked. They’re refrigerator sugar cookies, so technically an oven was involved. And I iced them.”

“You’re practically a Food Network star.”

“Tell me about it,” Carol said as she entered the small house. “I keep saying no to my own show, but they won’t stop bugging me. It’s getting embarrassing.”

Carol was tall, about five foot ten, with short red hair. She was strong and sensible. Her idea of glamor was jeans and a blouse rather than her usual uniform of khaki cargo pants and a T-shirt. She didn’t wear much makeup or bother with jewelry. Pallas frequently wondered how much of that was Carol’s personality and how much of it was necessitated by her career.

Carol worked for the animal preserve outside of town. She was in charge of the various animals—taking care of them, making sure they had what they needed. When she’d been two, her parents had moved to South Africa to live on a preserve. After their parents’ divorce, she and Violet had split their time between the preserve and New York City.

Pallas led the way into the kitchen. She put the cookies on the counter and got the oven started, then poured sangria for them both. They walked out onto the back patio.

Pallas frequently thought the garden was the best part of the bungalow. It was walled, with a trellis, and covered with climbing and creeping plants. She didn’t have to do much other than make sure the drip watering system was working and trim off a stray shoot or two. In return she had purple and pink flowers nearly all year long. There was a small gas fireplace when the evenings got chilly and enough privacy that she could dance around naked if she wanted, without anyone ever seeing.

Not that she did. She’d never been the dance-around-naked type.

“How are things?” Carol asked when they were seated on the covered patio.

“Good. Busy. Wedding season is ramping up. You know how we all get. What’s going on with you? Did your giraffe arrive?”