Always The Wedding Planner, Never The Bride Part 21

One side of his mouth curled up into a curious smile, and Andy returned the favor by adjusting the scarf around her neck.

"Ready?" he asked her.

"Ready," she replied. It wasn't quite true, but she decided to be positive.

Andy's family church was indeed a bit of a cathedral, just as he'd said. The walk from the parking lot was a long one, slowed down by the throng of people ahead of them. Ma.s.sive windows of jeweled gla.s.s, stone carvings, and a steeple that reached well into the dark gray sky paved the way into a cavernous nineteenth-century interior where hundreds of people occupied ornate pews and followed the path of scarlet carpet toward the resplendent altar.

"And you didn't feel like we could have a small, intimate ceremony here?" she teased as they followed the neat line of people into the sanctuary.

Andy chuckled, and Sherilyn pulled off her gloves and tucked them into the pocket of her coat. She fluffed her hair as she removed the earm.u.f.fs and loosened her scarf. The natural flow of churchgoers landed them at the far end of a row, about two-thirds of the way back from the front of the church, and Andy helped her off with her coat before they sat down. A robed choir began to sing from the loft behind them, accompanied by the largest pipe organ Sherilyn had ever seen.

The church service was lovely, and the minister spoke about the approaching holiday season and the importance of maintaining a simple, basic perspective, which Sherilyn found just the slightest bit silly when issued from the podium of such a ma.s.sive and elaborate altar. But Reverend Baker seemed sincere enough, his congregation amiable and attentive. She couldn't help wondering what it must have been like for Andy to share his spiritual upbringing with so many hundreds of other people. The church she'd attended sporadically while growing up could have fit into the choir loft.

Andy had taken her to his church in Chicago on their third date, and she knew she'd found a church home before the service ended that morning. Pastor McCann offered just the right balance of compa.s.sion and fervor to reach down into Sherilyn's heart. The contemporary music ministered to her soul, and the people she met there had embraced her into the fold almost immediately. It had been a rough good-bye that last Sunday in Chicago.

As they sang the closing hymn, she found herself hoping she and Andy could find something similar there in Atlanta. Certainly, the right fit in a church home awaited them.

"Andrew?"

They both turned back to find Vanessa waving at them from the midst of a slow-moving crowd. Grinning, she made her way toward them.

"That is you!" she cried as she reached them. "I couldn't believe my eyes!" Vanessa hugged her son, then she surprised Sherilyn by embracing her as well. "I'm so happy to see you both here. What do you think of our family church, Sherilyn? It's quite impressive, don't you think?"

"It is that," she replied. "The gla.s.swork is spectacular."

"Don't get any ideas, Mother," Andy warned her.

"What do you mean?" she casually asked.

"You know exactly what I mean," he said with a grin, and he planted a warm kiss on her cheek. "Where are you parked?"

"Three rows over," she stated. "Will you come to brunch?"

Sherilyn hesitated, not wanting to hurt Vanessa's feelings, but she had no interest in waiting any longer to discover what Andy had planned for them.

"I'm sorry, we can't today," he answered for them. "But if you're free for lunch tomorrow, I thought I'd take you around to have a look at the new house."

"Oh, that would be lovely. Sherilyn, will you join us?"

"I can't tomorrow. I have two new clients coming in for consultations."

"Oh, that's a pity," Vanessa said, and Sherilyn almost believed her. "We'll plan a time to get together soon, just the two of us."

"I'd really like that."

Vanessa tugged on the collar of Andy's coat. "Pick me up at noon, and I'll make a reservation at s.h.i.+llings."

"Downstairs?" he asked with a Ches.h.i.+re grin.

"Don't be ridiculous. We'll dine upstairs, as always."

Andy chuckled and kissed his mother's hand as they parted ways.

"Upstairs is china and linens, I'm guessing," Sherilyn said on their way to the car.

"The Top of the Square," he replied. "And downstairs is The Streetside Grille."

"Pub?"

"Yep."

"Are you sure you weren't adopted?"

"You know, I wonder about that more and more all the time."

"I used to come here as a kid. They only had the large rink back then, but now they've built the smaller one, and they host what's called a cosmic skate on Sunday afternoons."

Andy looped the lace on his skate before kneeling in front of Sherilyn and tying hers.

"What's a cosmic skate?" she asked him.

"Colored lights, fog machine, music. A real production." He offered his hand and helped her to her wobbly feet. She stopped along the way to brush a wad of white dog fur from Andy's sleeve.

"I hope I don't fall," she said softly as they made their way out into the arena. "I don't want to embarra.s.s you."

"You're not going to fall. You always think you're going to, but you'll get your blade legs again the minute you get out on the ice."

With her arm looped tightly through his, Sherilyn allowed him to lead her through the gate and out to the ice. After a few shaky moments, she released her hold on him and grinned.

"Okay," she said over a deep breath. "Okay!"

"Are you good?"

"I'm good," she nodded. "Like riding a bike, right?" "Absolutely."

And in the next moment, she proved him completely wrong when her feet skidded out from under her and she b.u.mped along about six feet on her f.a.n.n.y and klunked to a stop.

Andy placed his hands under her arms and pulled her to her feet again.

They made a jagged circle around the rink, Sherilyn clinging to Andy until the shooting pain of her grip on his arm finally caused it to go numb. On the second time around, she started to relax a little; and on the third lap, she actually grinned at him.

"Andy, I'm so happy you thought of this," she said, looking up at him with a warm smile. She noticed another clump of fur on his shoulder and plucked it off.

"I wanted to recreate something we did back in Chicago, something that would bring back a good memory."

"This was a good choice."

Colored lights and lasers lit up the place like a carnival show, blinking out the rhythm of 1970s disco, and Andy covered Sherilyn's gloved hand with his own as they moved about the rink. He hadn't been out on the ice in far too long. He'd almost forgotten how much he loved it. His preferred activity on the ice involved a puck and a hockey stick, but skating had been one of the first things he and Sherilyn had found in common after they'd met.

In front of them, a mother held the hands of two adolescents, both of whom possessed far more aplomb on the ice than she, and a couple of teenagers skated alongside them with eyes devoted only to one another.

"Did you come here with your mother?" Sherilyn asked, eyeing the mother and children ahead of them.

"Ha!" he popped with one hard chuckle at the thought. "Not to skate. She's more of a sit-on-the-sidelines-and-watchwhile-sipping-hot-cocoa kind of mother. My dad and I skated though." The memory warmed him. "He used to try and convince her to give it a try by saying things like, 'Ice is just water that refuses to let people go swimming in it, Van.' But she would just wave her hand at him and sit down somewhere."

"We'll take our children skating together, as a family," Sherilyn declared, and he looked at her carefully. She looked almost angelic amid the artificial fog and brilliant lasers, with the soft cloud of the pink scarf tied loosely around her throat and the puffy mounds of fur over each ear.

When she caught him looking at her, she blushed. "What?"

"You are so beautiful," he told her, and he raised her hand to his lips and kissed her gloved knuckles.

"And you are blind."

"Blinded by love," he teased.

She called him out on the retort. "You're a cornball," she said, and they laughed together as they skated around the large circle, hand-in-hand.

Maya skipped across the path of his thoughts just then. If she'd ever made him feel what he felt just then, he sure couldn't remember it. Maya's exquisite appearance and charismatic charm never could quite make up for the fact that she coolly kept him at arm's length. Warning flags had been popping into the air throughout their two-year relations.h.i.+p, but he'd deftly looked away each time in an unconscious effort to deny their existence. Until he couldn't. Until he opened a door, turned a corner, and came face-to-face with the truth: Maya Collins could not be trusted with the most foundational and imperative things of life.

Sherilyn, on the other hand . . . She was true-blue. In every way. Andy knew he could trust her with anything, from his fears to his secrets, from his musings to his deepest dreams. And there was no drama with Sherilyn. Their relations.h.i.+p was easy. Smooth. How often these days could any guy really say that about the woman he intended to marry? Wasn't there always something?

"What do you say we score some hot chocolate," Andy suggested as they left the rink, and Sherilyn nodded happily.

"With marshmallows."

"Whipped cream," she corrected.

"Whipped cream it is then."

He helped her to the bench where she plunked down with a thump. He smiled at her and turned to walk away. But- Andy did a double take. He narrowed his eyes and moved in closer to her.

"Honey, what is that on your face?"

Sherilyn's pink-gloved hands popped immediately to her cheeks, and her bright eyes opened wide. "I don't know. What?"

"Are you all right?"

"Well . . . yeah . . . Why?"

"You look a little . . . swollen."

"Swollen?"

"And b.u.mpy."

"b.u.mpy! Andy, you're scaring me."

"Well, it looks like something's wrong. Some sort of allergic reaction, maybe?"

Sherilyn hopped to her feet and thudded along on the blades toward the ladies room. On her way in the door, two exiting women stopped to gawk at her for a moment, and one of them gasped, causing Sherilyn to reel around toward Andy and squeal at him before she wobbled through door marked Women.

"It appears to be an allergy of some kind. It says here that you're not allergic to anything other than aloe vera."

"Not that I know of."

"Perhaps a fabric or something that's touched your skin. Have you been exposed to anything new?"

Sherilyn pondered the question, replaying everything that may have touched her face. "My friend let me borrow the earm.u.f.fs and gloves I was wearing today. Could that be it?"

"You've never worn them before?" the doctor asked, rubbing his latex-gloved finger over her cheek.

"No. And there was a matching scarf too. I had that around my neck."

"That's probably it then," he told her, and he stepped back and peeled the glove from his hand. "The Benadryl should take effect soon. Some people find they get a little drowsy, so you may want to head straight home. In the meantime-" And he began scribbling on his small, white pad. "-I'm going to give you a prescription for some hydrocortisone cream that may help with the itching."

"Thank you," she said, accepting the prescription and looking it over.

"And I'd return that scarf to your friend immediately." Sherilyn chuckled as the doctor disappeared on the other side of the flimsy white curtain. In just a few seconds, Andy poked his head through the opening.

"Okay to come in?" he asked.

"Of course."

Andy stepped up to her where she sat perched on the metal table, and he pecked her temple with a quick kiss.

"Are you going to live then?"

"Probably. Unless I borrow anything else from Emma." Andy tilted his head curiously. "I'm allergic to the earm.u.f.fs, or maybe the scarf."

They both looked at the garments balled up on the chair as if checking them for radioactivity.

"Excuse me," Andy called to the nurse who happened to pa.s.s the cubicle carrying a plastic bag marked boldly with the last name Carnes. "Can I get one of those bags?"

"At the desk."

Andy gathered up the scarf, gloves, and earm.u.f.fs and carried them out into the hall. When he returned, the handle of the bulging bag was safely snapped shut.

"My hero," Sherilyn teased melodramatically.

"Fighting for truth, justice, and freedom from polyester," he returned. "Ready to head out?"

"More than."

She hopped down from the table and slipped into her coat. As they ambled down the corridor toward the emergency room exit, she brushed the shoulder and sleeves of the coat in an effort to clear any fibrous remnant of the culprit. She paused to examine her face and throat via the s.h.i.+ny metal plate on the sliding door.

"When I was nine," she told Andy, stroking her neck and squinting into the reflection, "Lacey Beauchamp and I decided it would be a great idea to start at the top of a hill of leaves and roll down to the bottom. That night, I had poison ivy over every inch of my body. My mom used cottonb.a.l.l.s to dab calomine lotion on me, and she put oven mits on my hands so I wouldn't scratch."

"I'll bet you looked cute." Sherilyn glanced up at Andy, her eyes misted over with tears, her heart squeezing into a tight little ball in her chest.