it.”
“I don’t know what to think about that,” he said, looking like a kid who walked in on his parents doing the dirty deed.
“I think your dad has got a little Casanova mixed in with the car mechanic. It’s sweet and a little surprising,” she replied.
Jordan pressed his fingertips to his eyelids. “I just witnessed my dad making a move on Maureen.”
“I’d venture to say, he’s full-on making a move,” Georgie added as Denny retrieved a pair of eclairs for the two of them. “Does it bother you?”
Jordan shook his head, and his bewildered grimace transformed into a more contemplative expression. “No, my mom’s been gone for almost twenty years. I know how much he loved her, but I never thought of my dad as…”
“A smooth operator? A player? A real Don Juan?” she teased.
He pinned her with his gaze. “You’re loving this, aren’t you?”
“A little bit. You know me. The why date a ten when you should marry an eight, Georgie Jensen, loves a good romance. And, thanks to a healthy appreciation for eighties love ballads, I can say with one hundred percent accuracy that your dad is a solid eight.”
“I thought we agreed that relationships hinged on more than just a number,” he countered.
“True. And it’s probably only a little bit of harmless flirting. But they are two single adults. And who knows? Your dad’s a great guy. Maureen is a lovely woman. They could totally hit it off and have a booty call or two.”
“Jesus, Georgie!” Jordan said on a weary sigh as he glanced around the opulent room. “Is this wedding thing getting crazier by the second? When I got up this morning, I didn’t anticipate a possible middle-aged booty call, a Belgian Waffle Princess, an engagement ring that doesn’t fit, and now, CityBeat capturing our every move. Should I have whisked you away to elope instead?”
Georgie shook her head. “No way! If you think Botox wedding Barbie Lorraine Vanderdinkle is bad now, imagine what she’d be like if we told her we’d run off to Vegas to get hitched.”
But she couldn’t deny, especially after the last hour they’d endured, that running off to marry Jordan did sound heavenly.
Her mother meant well. She knew this. But she also knew Lorraine Vanderdinkle could go overboard. A little voice in her head reminded her of the years being shuttled from beauty pageant to beauty pageant, and her mom’s desire for her to be the best—a perfect ten.
A foreboding prickle traveled down her spine and flip-flopped in her belly. “What if the wedding isn’t perfect? What will people think? What impact could it have on the blog or our brand? What if we stopped being CityBeat’s sweethearts?”
She’d wanted to make it big. She’d dreamed about becoming a CityBeat contributor and sharing her vision and advice with others. But had she and Jordan been wearing rose-colored glasses when they’d envisioned their future as quasi-celebrities?
“Georgie, it will be perfect because it’s us,” Jordan answered, but she could see the worry in his gaze.
The wedding crazy train had left the station, and he was just as unsure as she was as to what could lie ahead.
“Hold on,” Jordan said.
Nonchalantly, he sauntered over to the pastry table, bypassed the god-awful pineapple, piled a plate with gourmet doughnuts, then returned like a triumphant explorer.
“Here, eat one of these. We don’t do diets in More Than Just a Number. We’ll stay true to ourselves. We’re mindful and deliberate. No matter what, we’re us.”
She nodded. “Us, okay,” she answered, taking the chocolate sprinkled treat when her mother materialized like the undercover pastry police.
“Pumpkin, no! Think of the wedding photos!” the woman said, knocking the sweet treat from her hand, then froze as the doughnut fell to the polished parquet floor with a sugary thud.
“Is that who I think it is?” Hector said, swooping in alongside Lorraine.
“I’d put out feelers, but the woman is like a ghost,” her mother answered, staring at the entrance to the ballroom.
Hector pressed his hand to his chest. “I’d called a few people, too. She’s an enigma. I’ve heard she has people scrape all her photos from the internet.”
Lorraine shook her head. “I think it’s her! She’s a bona fide legend! She doesn’t even advertise, and word on the street is she’s booked out seven years.”
“Lorraine Vanderdinkle, it appears the bling is here, at your party,” Hector said like the Queen of England had wandered into the room.
The bling? Did her mother hire a rapper to perform? It didn’t seem her speed.
Georgie