“Mom! You know the Belles aren’t supposed to talk about the weddings we work on. We sign confidentiality agreements.”
“But you talked about it.”
“Yes, to my mom,” Heather said, rubbing her temple.
“And I talked to my friends. They won’t tell a soul, don’t you worry, sugar.”
Heather snorted. Joan Fowler’s friends were a loyal bunch, but discreet they were not. Still, she doubted the gossip in Merryville would ever make it to Danica Robinson’s ears. And it’s not like the wedding was top secret. Jessie said she’d been fielding calls from the media for weeks.
“Just . . . no more details for the girls, okay?” Heather asked, keeping her voice as gentle as possible.
“No, no, of course not,” her mother said. “But things are going well? I know you were stressed about it last time we talked.”
“Eh, I don’t know about well,” Heather said, adjusting her mug atop her knees. “I toured a bunch of places yesterday and sent Danica my feedback, and she wrote back saying to pick ‘the best one.’ ”
“Well, that’s good. That she trusts you.”
“I suppose. And I’m glad she’s not being a total diva about it. But don’t you think it’s weird?” Heather asked. “I mean, she’s this huge reality star, and her wedding will be everywhere, and she doesn’t care enough to get involved?”
“I just watched her show the other day,” Joan said. “She’s busy launching her shoe line. Maybe she doesn’t have time.”
“For her wedding?”
“Well, not that I’ve ever been married,” her mother said slowly. “But maybe she’s smart enough to know that the wedding is just a day and that it’s really about the marriage.”
Heather rolled her eyes. She’d heard that before. Hell, she’d said that before. It was a common refrain for people trying to calm down brides-to-be. She just wasn’t convinced that that was what was at work here. Danica hadn’t struck her as a romantic soul in touch with what really mattered in life.
“I did have a little stroke of luck,” Heather said slowly.
“Oh?”
“So, there’s this guy—”
“Oh!”
“No, not that kind of guy,” Heather said with a smile. Like mothers everywhere, Joan Fowler thought her daughter’s life would be a little bit better if she could find a nice boy and settle down. Heather never wanted to make her mom feel bad, but she hadn’t exactly had a stable picture to model her relationships off of when she was young. Joan flitted from man to man like flavors of the week, and sometimes Heather had gotten caught in the crosshairs. She’d concluded that a life without a man was a calmer, steady sort of life, just the kind she’d always wanted. “But in a crazy coincidence, the guy that lives next door actually used to date Danica.”
“Huh.”
“Huh what?”
“Is this the same neighbor that plays his music too loud?”
“Yes.”
“The cute one.”
“I don’t recall saying that he was cute,” Heather said warily.
“But he is, isn’t he?”
Heather snorted. Cute wasn’t the word for Josh Tanner’s appearance. Ridiculously hot, maybe. It was almost handy, how good-looking he was. It was like a constant reminder not to fall for him, because men who looked like that were not the kind you fell in love with. They were the ones you admired from afar, sparred with occasionally, and kept at a very, very safe distance.
Even if they did seem to have a knack for planting very hot, very skilled kisses on you when you weren’t expecting it.
“Anyway,” Heather said, “Josh and Danica dated for a couple years. If anyone has a sense of what this woman wants, it’s the guy who she had jumping through hoops to please her.”
“And he agreed?”
“Actually, yeah,” Heather said, still a little surprised by the ease with which Josh had agreed to let her run a few things by him. But then if there was one thing she’d learned to expect from Josh, it was to be surprised. “He’s even agreed to go to look at a couple places with me tomorrow.”