One Hex of a Wedding by Yasmine Galenorn, now you can read online.
One
THE PARTY WAS in full swing when Harlow grabbed the microphone and motioned for the Barry Boys to take a break from the ’80s retro dance numbers they were playing. The strains of “Burning Down the House” fell silent as she stepped up on the stage and clapped her hands for attention, although she needn’t have bothered. My ex-supermodel buddy was tall, gorgeous, with golden blond hair braided à la Bo Derek’s cornrows, and the mere sight of her standing there in a gold mini-dress and red stilettos stunned the room into silence.
“Welcome, and thank you for coming. As you know, Emerald and Joe will be taking that last leap of faith and making it official. Countdown is T-minus two weeks! And we’ll all be right there with them, cheering them on. Until then, let’s bring down the house!”
The crowd erupted in a roar and Jimbo, who was standing next to me, swung me up to sit on his shoulder. I grabbed hold of his shirt collar with one hand—I’ve never been one for high-wire acts—and he braced my legs against his chest and paraded me around the room. I waved as a volley of friendly catcalls rang out from our friends, and then he stopped in front of Joe and tossed me into my fiancé’s arms. I gasped as I sailed through the air, but Joe caught me without so much as a grunt. As he set me down on the floor, I looped my arm through his.
Harlow’s voice rang out again. “Be careful, Jimbo. Remember she head-butted you to the floor once before. I’m sure she can do it again.” Another round of laughter from the crowd. “Okay, let’s show these two just what we’re made of. Get your butts in gear and bring on the music!”
Joe and I found ourselves unceremoniously pushed into the middle of the dance floor while the band began a frenzied rendition of “Whip It.” He grabbed my hand and spun me out to the center, where I let go with a shimmy that brought yet another round of cheers, and then the room was filled with dancers, clapping and head-banging to the beat. As the band segued into “Don’t You (Forget About Me),” by Simple Minds, I rested my head on Joe’s shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around my waist as we swirled around the floor, lost in the music. Would we still be dancing like this in fifty years? I couldn’t see that far ahead, but something inside told me we would.
“Babe, you look gorgeous,” he whispered.
And in truth, I felt gorgeous. I had shaped up a lot over the past six months as I advanced my practice of yoga, and while I vowed never to give up my caffeine or chocolate, I had managed to cut back on the sugar. As for my outfit, I’d found the perfect lilac gauze and lace skirt for the party, thanks to Harlow and a trip to Seattle. It floated a couple inches above my knees, and I’d paired it with a plum camisole and a Victoria’s Secret demi bra.
I’d also succumbed to vanity at long last, and dyed the silver out of my waist-length mass of curls. When I told Harl I intended to go to Bab’s Salon down the street from my teashop, she whisked me away to Seattle. We stopped at the Gene Juarez spa for the works. As an early shower gift, she paid my way through a trim, color job, manicure, pedicure, and massage, and I didn’t put up a fight. Then we hit her favorite boutiques, where I found my outfit and the perfect pair of shoes.
As Joe danced me around the floor, I glanced down at the open-toe, sling-back black pumps, still aghast both at how high the heels were and at how much they’d set my credit card back. My toenails, painted a brilliant fuchsia, stood out against the rich fabric. Suddenly overwhelmed by the whimsy of the situation, I pushed aside my worry over their cost and laughed as Joe dipped me. The back of my head almost touching the floor, I raised one leg into the air, toe pointed, in a kick that would have made Catherine Zeta-Jones proud.
After the song ended, the band took a break and everybody headed for the buffet. I rested my head on Harlow’s shoulder. “Thank you,” I said. “Even with my family here, I’m having so much fun. Thank God, I don’t have to entertain them tonight. The buffet will take care of that. It’s been crazy since they showed up.”
Harl’s eyes twinkled. “Relatives can be a bitch, can’t they?” She threw her arm around my shoulder and wrinkled her nose. “I’m so glad you let me plan everything. Murray’s knee-deep in work right now, and I love playing hostess. You shouldn’t have to worry about anything.”
I frowned. She’d just touched on a point that had been bothering me all day. “Harl, does Murray seem different to you lately?”
“What do you mean?” Harl cocked her head to one side.
I shook my head. “I don’t know. It seems like she’s been moody and distant for the past couple of weeks. I know things are okay with Jimbo, so I don’t think it’s anything to do with their relationship. I’m just a little worried. She doesn’t seem herself lately.”
Harlow shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. To be honest, I’ve been focused on other things. Like this party.” She looked around. “Everybody seems to be having fun, don’t you think? And the room looks gorgeous.”
She was right, on both counts. Everyone—including my easily offended Grandma McGrady—had a smile on their face. And the banquet room at the Forest End’s Diner had been decked out in full glory. A huge photograph of Joe and me blown up to poster proportions graced an easel near the buffet. Roses, both pink and red, filled vases on every table. Streamers in sparkling metallic hues of purple, green, blue, and gold spiraled from the ceiling, and the walls had stick-on hearts plastered on them.
I had a suspicion the latter was Kip’s idea. He’d developed a romantic streak ever since he realized that I’d be marrying a man who would be there every day to hang out with him and treat him like his father should have, but never did. Add in the fact that I’d seen the hearts peeking out of my ten-year-old’s backpack before he and Miranda headed out to help Harlow get things ready, and I was pretty sure my guess was on track.
“Speaking of Murray, where is she?” Harl asked. “I wanted her to lead the toasts.”
Anna Murray, my best friend in the whole world and my maid of honor, was nowhere in sight. I glanced around, wondering where she’d disappeared to. “I don’t know. Last I saw she was dancing with Jimbo. Whoever knew he could do the twist? And I’d have lost my shirt betting he wouldn’t know the difference between the Hustle and a waltz.” Jimbo, it turned out, was not only a biker extraordinaire, but also quite the star on the dance floor.
“You and me both,” Harl said. She glanced around and a smile filtered over her face, a smile I recognized instantly. I followed her gaze to find myself staring at her husband, James. He was a lean, muscular, dark-haired man who was a good three inches shorter than Harlow. James carried himself with a quiet dignity. He was holding their daughter, Eileen, who was only a couple months shy of her first birthday. The look on his face said everything was right in his world. Harlow and Eileen were lucky ladies. He was one of the good guys.
“You, my dear, have a beautiful family,” I said. “So, what’s next on his agenda?” James was a photographer and was often away for several months at a time on photo shoots. A childhood sweetheart of Harl’s, they’d reconnected years ago when he was assigned to photograph a layout where she was the star supermodel. They’d rekindled their romance and—aware of the fleeting life expectancy of her career—Harlow decided to get out while she was on top. She had socked away most of her money, after a brief dip into the cokehead-party lifestyle, and they were set for life.
Harl shrugged, her smile fading. “He said he’s staying close to home, but I know for a fact he’s being talked up by one of the big adventure magazines. Other than that, he’s got a three-day shoot coming up at the end of the month for the Seattle tourism board. We’re all going and turning it into a minivacation. But that’s after your wedding, so don’t worry about us skipping out on you.”
Just then, I noticed Murray slip back into the room from the double doors leading to the restaurant proper. When she saw us, she motioned with her head. I didn’t like the look on her face.
I touched Harl on the arm and she followed my gaze. “She looks upset.”
“Yeah, she does, doesn’t she? Come on, let’s go see what’s up.”
As we made our way through the crowd, I fielded congratulations from all sides. The party was one last bash before the wedding, for my relatives, my customers, and all of our friends. The ladies who frequented my tea and china shop would have felt slighted if they weren’t offered the chance to congratulate their tea-monger. Jimbo and Joe were planning a family-and-friends-only barbecue for tomorrow after my bridal shower, and Harl would be holding a formal dinner a few days before our wedding.
Murray impatiently gestured us over to the doors. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I thought you’d want to know in advance.” Her gaze fastened on my face and a shiver ran up my back. Yeah, something bad was coming.
The kids were here, my family was here, and Joe was here, so there couldn’t be anything wrong with any of them. A sudden sweep of panic rushed over me. “The cats? The house? Did something happen?”
“No . . . nothing like that,” she said.