Chapter Twenty-Two
“I figured you could use either of these,” Kolby told her the next morning when she met him at the church. He was holding a bottle of Diet Pepsi in one hand, a go-cup of coffee in the other. His gaze dragged down her face. “Maybe both?”
Charity winced. She’d seen the aftereffects of the migraine on her face in the bathroom mirror after her phone alarm had woken her.
Even though she’d slept like the dead - thank you, prescription pills - she was pale, her eyes glassy, and dusky splotches darkened her under eyes.
Makeup hid most of it, but Kolby’s astute photographer’s eye could see past the applied artifice.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Better than last night. Still a little twingey, but I’ve got some ibuprofen on board.”
He nodded while she took the offered coffee. “Good.”
Holding it, and biting on the inside of her cheek, she looked down at the ground for a second before meeting his eyes again.
“Thank you,” she said, then clarifying, “for last night. I know you said I don’t need to say it, but I want to.
I would have made it home okay, slowly, but I would have got there with no issues.
Having you follow me made me feel...safer. ”
He nodded again. “No problem. I was worried about you, and following you helped ease some of that.”
When his lips lifted, she tilted her head. “What?”
“I checked under your welcome mat. No key.”
If she could be guaranteed her head wouldn’t suffer from the motion, Charity would have shaken it. Instead, she pursed her lips before taking a sip of the delicious coffee. How did he know exactly how she liked it?
Stupid question, Baby-girl. He’s a trained observer.
“Yeah, well,” she said after sipping. “After I thought about it, your obnoxious warning made sense.”
“Where’d you stash the spare?”
Peering at him over the rim of her cup, her silence her answer, one of his eyebrows inched up his brow.
“Okay,” he said, shoving the soda bottle into the big bag she had hoisted on her shoulder. “I don’t need to know. I’m just glad that it’s not where anybody could easily find it and break in.”
“In all the years I’ve had that key under the mat, I’ve never had a break-in.”
“Always a first time.”
She could argue with him, but what would be the point? Besides, he’d told her the same things her brothers and parents had when they’d found out about the key. She hadn’t taken their advice to move it. Why, then, had she heeded Kolby’s?
Too much to think about when her head was still a little clouded, and they had a full day of work ahead of them.
“I just got a text from the MOB that they are on their way. They should arrive in a minute or two.”
As if she’d conjured it, the limousine hired to squire the party around for the day pulled into the lot.
“Showtime,” she said, taking a bracing gulp of the coffee. “Thanks again for this,” she told him. “And the backup soda.”
“Anytime.” His lopsided smile charmed her. “You’ll probably need it.”
No probably about it.
They greeted the limo, Charity’s smile in place as the MOB, bride, and all the female attendants spilled out from its confines.
While the bride was hugging her, Charity noted the bridesmaid who’d been squeezing Kolby’s muscles yesterday sidled right up to him and tossed a mega-bright smile his way as she chirped a good morning.
Charity escorted the party into the back ready-rooms of the church, all the while the bridesmaid – what the heck was her name? Cindy? Mindy? - stuck to Kolby like bubblegum on the bottom of a shoe.
Make nice, Baby-girl, CarlieRae’s voice admonished.
Nice was the last thing she was feeling when she spotted Mandy – that was her name!
Amanda-call-me-Mandy. Everyone does. Charity had a vague recollection that the girl had been in another wedding they’d run in the not-too-distant past, maybe even one before that.
A local girl, she seemed to be in a close group of friends who were marriage minded.
Always a bridesmaid, never a bride.
A nasty statement that was as cliché as it was truthful.
While Jessie, her mother, and the maid of honor started getting their makeup done, Charity directed the rest of the maids to the table laden with baked breakfast items.
Mandy was more interested in sticking close to Kolby than the sticky buns provided.
For his part, Kolby smiled at, and chatted with her as he prepared his cameras and lenses to film the getting-ready session the bride had requested.
He didn’t seem overly invested in speaking with her, but he didn’t brush off her attention, either.
Charity had never known him to brush off anyone, especially not a beautiful, attentive woman.
Three hours later, the bridal party glammed to the bride’s specifications, Charity helped them all get into their dresses, while the MOB helped Jessie get into hers.
“Zip me up?” Charity heard Mandy ask Kolby as she showed him her bare-to-the-waist back, the zipper dipping below hip level and flirting with the crack in her ass. The other thing flirting with him was her seductive gaze peeking over her raised shoulder at him.
Girl’s as obvious as teats on a nursin’ sow. Her daddy’s voice was as clear as a bell in her ear.
No lie, Charity thought.
An unseen force shoved her from her spot next to the makeup girl and she stepped into Kolby’s space, saying, “I’ve got this.”
Mandy was not pleased and showed that displeasure in her tongue tsking and pursed lips. Kolby moved to take a few snaps of the MOB and bride.
The dress was too tight in the butt and Charity struggled to get the zipper started and up over the swell of the girl's ass cheeks.
For a hot second she wondered if she'd had butt implants because the roundness was an odd, not-found-in-nature shape. Mandy had forgone panties, and because she had, her bare skin was ripe for a zipper scraping. Which, although she hadn’t planned it, happened just as Charity tugged on the dress to get the zipper to close.
“Ow.” Mandy squealed. “You stupid bitch!” She pulled away from Charity, the zipper snagging against her bare skin again, eliciting another invective.
“What’s wrong?” Felicia asked.
“The stupid wedding planner scratched my ass,” Mandy stated, turning to see her back in the full-length mirror.
Charity’s cheeks went so hot she was certain her skin was going to peel off from the burn.
“Does the dress fit you?” the bride asked. “You got measured months ago. Have you gained weight? Your face looks a little fatter.”
“I’m thinner now than when I got measured,” Mandy spat. “And my face is fine.”
Felicia looked over at Charity, shook her head, and gave her a single upward eye flick. Slightly mollified, Charity said, “I’m sorry if I scratched you. The zipper is stuck at the bottom. Maybe you can take it off and we can grease it up a bit? Make it easier to get up?”
“What do you mean, grease it up?” Mandy asked, still inspecting her back. “I don’t want it ruined ’cuz I’m cutting it down right after the wedding to a cocktail dress so I can wear it again. This thing cost way too much to wear it once and be done.”
Charity heard the bride murmur “bitch,” and wondered why they were friends.
From her big bag, Charity produced a can of WD40. “This works great and won’t leave a stain on the dress.”
Lips still pressed together and hands now on her hips, Mandy didn’t look convinced.
“Twenty minutes until we start,” Kolby said. “I’m gonna go film the ushers and the groom.” He tossed a head bob at Mandy. “Charity’s the best in the business. If she says it’ll work, trust her.”
When he turned, he looked right at her and winked, a grin skirting his mouth.
“Well, if it’ll help.” Mandy didn’t even wait until he was out the door to drop the dress. Standing naked in front of everyone now, which, thankfully, was a room full of women, including the makeup artists and hairdressers, she handed the dress to Charity.
“Make sure it doesn’t stain.”
With a nod, Charity averted her eyes from the girl's breasts and nether region, and stalked into the bathroom, armed with the lubricant and the dress.
Girl’s carpet don’t match her drapes, she heard her mama whisper in her ear and had to stifle a laugh.
Ten minutes later, she helped Mandy back into the now zipper-lubricated dress without incident.
“It’s a little tight around your ass,” Jessie said when she gave Mandy a once-over. “You sure you haven’t gained weight since you got measured?”
Charity turned around so no one would see her smile.
***
Kolby skirted the outside pews of the church, filming from angles Charity knew he favored.
The service was almost over, and so far, everything had been perfect.
No drunken or hung-over groomsmen behaving badly, no more wardrobe incidents.
The soft violin, cello, and piano music from the trio in the upper level drifted over the congregation while the bride and groom said their vows.
They looked so happy as she watched them hold hands, recite the vows they'd written, and beam at one another while doing so.
I want this. So much.
As sappy as it may seem, to Charity, the vows were the best part of the ceremony. A true declaration before God and his people that you promised yourselves to one another for a lifetime.
She spotted Olivia Joyner, her daughter Freya seated by her side. Freya, she knew, had gone to grade school with Jessie, and the families were all close friends.
Charity needed to call Olivia. Soon. Her experience with Tom aside, she still wanted to find someone before her ovaries shriveled and dried like prunes out too long on the vine and in need of waterin’ and tendin’, as CarlieRae would say.
Her gaze drifted over the pews to Kolby.
He stood on one of the empty benches, his camera aimed directly at the couple as they stared into one another’s eyes and spoke the words declaring their love and eternal devotion.
His camera was clicking away, his focus so intent on the altar she worried he’d slip and fall.
It had never happened, but the natural worrywart in her was never far from the surface. At just that moment he stopped shooting, glanced down at the viewfinder, then lifted his gaze, capturing her staring at him.
Time stopped. The Reverend’s voice dulled to a barely there whisper, the air surrounding her turned thick and hot with intent. Even the rhythm of her heart beating changed; first, slow, then shifting to a gallop when Kolby gingerly stepped down from the bench.
She couldn’t drag her attention away from him as he moved into the aisle and made his way toward her. The skin on her face turned to blister-hot as he held her gaze the entire way.
Lordy, had any man ever looked at her like this? Like she was...everything? And had she ever responded to a man the way she had to Kolby O’Brian?
The answer to both questions was a resounding no.
The man made her feel. So much. From angry and confused, to so turned on she had trouble concentrating. From cherished and cared for to respected for what she did and who she was.
He was all wrong for her.
And yet...
Granny Quinlan’s favorite saying was, hope springs eternal.
Did it? Really? And if it did, should she...could she...hope?
When Charity had dreamed about her future, she envisioned a man who’d be a partner for life, the yin to her yang, the person who’d see her for who she was and love her without restraint. That man had been faceless in all her dreams.
Until recently that is, when Kolby's ridiculously handsome visage began invading those dreams.
But he’d made it plain as day he didn’t want what she did, so, hope could spring eternal all it wanted. Kolby O’Brian was a fantasy that was going to stay in that category.
“You feeling okay?” he asked, voice hushed as he came up to her. One hand shot out and cupped around her upper arm.
Charity had to stop herself from melting into all his warmth.
“Your head bothering you?” His gaze swept across her features, eyes narrowed, mouth dipping down in the corners.
“N-No. I’m okay.”
“You sure? You’re all flushed.”
“It’s warm in here. I just...I just need some water.”
“Where’s the soda I gave you?”
“Drank it right after the coffee.”
With a nod, he pulled her toward the back of the church.
“What are you doing?” she stage-whispered. “You need to be shooting.”
“I got the money shot, don’t worry.” He stopped them at the last pew, where his equipment was resting on one of the seats. “Here. Drink.” He shoved an unopened bottle of water at her he pulled up from the bottom of his work backpack.
After taking a huge gulp, she recapped it and handed it back to him.
“Keep it. Put it in your bag in case you need it again.”
“Thanks,” she said, one eye on the altar, one on him.
“You okay, now?” he asked.
Not even close.
“Yeah. Thanks again. You’d better...” She pointed toward the front of the church.
“On it.”
When he moved away, she laid her hand against her quaking abdomen and drew in a breath.
Focus. The last thing she needed was to be distracted by a man when she had a job to do.
But, her brain countered, he’s such a gorgeous distraction.
“Lord, please give me strength,” she muttered as she made her way up the side aisle of the church.