Ain't She Sweet (Seven Brides for Seven Mothers #2) - Whitney Dineen Page 0,66
the wedding planner looks formidable and fashionable at the same time. She’s quite young—probably in her late twenties—tall and willowy. Her auburn hair is rolled tightly in a chignon at the back of her neck leaving her elegant features open for inspection. While she’s wearing a very feminine wrap-dress, there’s something about her that suggests she could lead an army into battle should the occasion arise.
“Welcome to the Willamette Valley Lodge,” Ruby says. “I’m sure planning a wedding at Thanksgiving adds some additional stress.”
“Your lodge has been very accommodating,” Claire replies crisply before adding, “I would like to meet with your chef and pastry chef as soon as possible.”
“Geoffrey will be able to cover all of your questions. Our pastry chef is currently out of town, but have no fear, your cake will be perfect.”
Claire arches an eyebrow in obvious concern. “I know this event is probably quite small compared to the ones you usually host, but I assure you it’s an extremely important affair.”
“All weddings are important to us,” Ruby assures her.
Temporarily placated, Claire asks, “Is everything set with the block of rooms I’m holding?”
Chris answers, “They’re all on the third floor so that your guests will have the best views.”
“I’m going to need keycards the morning of check-in so I can prepare them with the gift baskets and their weekend itineraries.”
“We’d be happy to do that for you,” Chris offers.
“Thank you, but my brother has entrusted me with making sure everything goes smoothly and I don’t intend to let him down.”
“Your brother is the groom?” Chris asks.
Claire nods her head once. “He is.”
“How nice that you’re the one to plan his big day for him,” Ruby offers.
She shrugs her shoulders. “I suppose.” She doesn’t seem at all excited about the wedding.
“Well, I’m sure the bride is pleased to have you in charge,” Ruby adds.
Claire’s large green eyes narrow slightly as she replies, “I couldn’t care less about her.”
James
Shrinkage. There, I’ve said it, the single most terrifying word any man out in the elements has to fear. It’s the primary reason the smart ones among us have eschewed the Speedo. We’re not embarrassed to show off our butts, because we’re too preoccupied worrying about possible, or probable, diminished volume in the package area.
It doesn’t get as cold in November here in Oregon as it does in much of the country, but that’s not to say it’s swimsuit weather. When I volunteered Tara for a swimsuit shot, I was thinking of the heated indoor pool at the lodge. But are we going to the lodge where I can stay warm and fully endowed? No. No, we are not.
Rachel thinks we should take the pictures in the great outdoors and showcase the natural beauty of our location. While I’m sure that will look great, the thought of taking my clothes off in forty-two-degree weather brings to mind the very word that renders panic in the luckiest of men.
“Are you sure I need to be in a swimsuit?” I ask Rachel. I’m thinking shirtless in jeans will have the same impact without the potential of destroying the reputation of my manhood.
“You big baby,” Tara teases me. “Surely you’re man enough to stand outside for twenty minutes in your swim trunks.”
Rachel gets in on it by adding, “Remember the Sports Illustrated shot of Tara ice fishing in Alaska.” She asks Tara, “How cold was it when you did that again?”
“Ten below zero,” she answers. “We were lucky to have such a warm day.”
With both women picking on me, there’s nothing to do but give in. “Fine, let’s go.” I lead the way from the lobby to the parking lot. “I’ll drive us up in one of the bigger golf carts.”
Tara and Rachel sit in the back and talk while I navigate the path through the woods. The energy is much lighter with Rachel than it was yesterday. I think part of that has to do with the fact that we already survived yesterday’s trial by fire.
I hear Tara say, “It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?”
“It is. Very different from LA,” Rachel replies. “Do you miss California at all?”
Tara doesn’t answer right away, which makes me think maybe she does. She finally says, “Not yet. I’ve traveled so much in my life that I adapt to new surroundings pretty easily.”
“I grew up in LA and stayed after college. I’ve never lived anywhere else,” Rachel offers.
“Do you have any kids?” Tara asks her.
Rachel says she doesn’t. While the ladies talk, I enjoy the view. Most of