Always The Wedding Planner, Never The Bride Part 37

"The petta recipe came directly from our honoree," Georgiann told them in her sweet southern drawl. "It's a chocolate nut cookie that her mama used to make."

"And the pears with nut stuffing," Emma announced, "are a Serbian recipe originating from parts of the former Yugoslavia, which is where her parents were born."

"Serbian cuisine is a mixture of Mediterranean influences," Pearl said as she helped Fee pa.s.s out small tasting plates, "mostly from Turkey, Greece, Hungary, and Austria."

"We're thinking of serving both of these on a dessert cart," Emma commented. "What I'd like to know from all of you is whether you think they complement one another, or if we should choose just one."

Sherilyn's penchant for chocolate made the petta a standout choice, and Susannah and Norma agreed. Pearl, Fee, and Georgiann seemed torn.

"I think you have to serve them both, sugah," Madeline stated, wiping the corner of her mouth with a napkin. "What do y'all think?"

Susannah concurred. "They're lovely together. I say serve them both."

"There it is then!" Fee declared. "We have our menu. Was I right? Or was I right?" She and Norma exchanged a jubilant high-five.

Sherilyn resisted the urge to lick her fingers after placing the last of the petta from her plate into her mouth. When she glanced up and saw Emma's surprised expression, she wondered if her consideration had been that obvious.

"It's fantastic," she told her before realizing that Emma's attention was aimed just over Sherilyn's shoulder.

She pivoted atop the barstool and nearly choked when she came face-to-face with Cris, his eyes locked with Emma's.

"Hi, Emma Rae."

Emma darted a quick look at Sherilyn as she rounded the table toward him. She walked right into his embrace and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "Hi, Cris. How are you?"

"It's been a long time," he said as they parted. With a grin, he added, "Until yesterday."

"I'm happy to see you," Emma told him.

"You too."

Sherilyn sat frozen atop the stool, her hands gripping the seat on either side. When Cris's eyes landed on her, she tried to smile. Her face felt strangely like concrete.

"Sherilyn, I was hoping we could talk for a few minutes."

"We were just finis.h.i.+ng up here," Emma stated, and Sherilyn wasn't sure she'd ever seen a room clear so quickly. If the baking thing didn't work out, Emma certainly had a future in cattle rustling. She and Cris occupied the kitchen alone in no time flat.

"Do you want a cookie?" Sherilyn asked. "Coffee?"

"No. Thank you."

He took the stool next to her that had been occupied by Norma just a few minutes earlier, and he leaned forward, propping his arms on the edge of the table.

"I'm sorry about surprising you yesterday," he said without looking at her.

"I'm sorry for surprising you too," she stated, and his warm brown eyes found hers. "I mean it, Cristian. I'm so very, very sorry."

He raked his s.h.i.+ny dark hair away from his suntanned face, and he sighed.

"I never should have just run away like that," she told him.

After a moment, he asked, "Why did you?"

She didn't even take a breath before answering. "Because I was a coward. I didn't want to face you to tell you that I didn't want to marry you, so I ran."

"All the way back to Chicago."

She nodded, and a flock of b.u.t.terflies took flight in her stomach. She thought she might like to blame the Serbian food, but as she sat there and looked at Cris, she knew it had nothing to do with a few bites of noodles, lamb, or even cabbage.

"How are you, Cristian?"

"I'm good," he stated, and Sherilyn tilted her head and smiled.

"Really?"

"Really. I'm good." He touched her hand and returned the smile. "I just about lost my mind when you didn't show up at the church. The next year or so was rocky, I'll admit. But then I met Miguel, and he started to counsel me . . . pray with me . . . and later he brought me into the fold of his church. Eventually, I found my way without you."

She fought the tears back into submission before she replied, "I'm happy to know that. I really am."

"I couldn't see this then," he said softly. "And I don't like the way you went about it. But you did the right thing. I'm not your husband, Sherilyn."

Her heart sank a little for him, and she nodded. "And I'm not your wife. But I'm so sorry for the way I hurt you. No explanation, no conversation at all, just disappearing. It was so wrong, Cristian, and I think it's been eating me alive ever since."

Cris stared at the floor for several seconds, rubbing his temple. Finally, he looked up at her seriously. "Release yourself from it, Sherilyn. G.o.d and I already have."

And with that, the dam of her emotions burst like a raging flood. Tears and sobs propelled out of her like the powerful rev of a jet engine. She had no control over it as her face contorted with what she and Emma had long ago deemed the ugly cry.

Cris stood up and took her into his arms, and Sherilyn was completely undone.

"I'm so sorry," she wailed into his shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Cristian."

After several minutes, Cris finally drew away from her. He grabbed a napkin left on the table and dabbed at her tears before leaning down slightly to look her straight in the eyes.

"It's time," he told her, and Sherilyn nodded, understanding his meaning fully.

"I know."

"Let yourself be brave."

"And you . . . let yourself love," she returned.

Cris kissed her cheek and squeezed her hand before setting the napkin on her knee and walking out of the kitchen.

"For the newbies, kickboxing is a combination of martial arts, boxing, and general cardio. It involves a fast combination of kicks and punches. Once you get your balance, you'll find it's a great way to exercise as well as work out your frustrations of the day. That's why we always hold our cla.s.ses later in the afternoon and early evening-so you can leave your rough day on the floor."

Sherilyn stood next to Emma, donning pink boxing gloves as she faced the third heavy bag in a row of eight and wondering how she'd been roped into such a thing. She almost wanted to laugh at her reflection, topped off with the curve of a ponytail right at the center of her head.

"Stand with your feet apart, around the width of your shoulders," the stick figure trainer instructed them. "Put one foot slightly ahead of the other one, take a deep breath, and just relax your body."

Relax your body. Yeah. I'll do that.

"If you bend your knees, it will help your balance. Now bring your hands up to protect your face, and hold them at about chin level."

Sherilyn glanced over at Emma who rocked from one foot to the other with her f.a.n.n.y jutted out a bit, her eyes glistening with antic.i.p.ation, and her gloves poised. She looked like she could hardly wait to kick that bag's b.u.t.t. Sherilyn's bag, on the other hand, hadn't incited her in any way. In fact, it seemed like a perfectly amiable bag, hanging there quietly, minding its own business.

"Turn just a bit to the side and suck in your ribcage, using your elbows to protect your midsection. Approach your target by stepping forward on one foot and-"

In a matter of seconds, the other six women in the cla.s.s let loose on their bags, shouting each time they slugged them, Sherilyn just standing there watching them.

"Come on," Emma encouraged her, spinning on one leg while the other arched in a full-on attack. "THAT'S what I'm talkin' about!"

Sherilyn stared at her for a moment, sighed, and turned to walk out.

"No, no," Emma objected, laughing as she dragged Sherilyn back to her bag. Leaning forward over her shoulder, she whispered, "I know you have it in you, Sher. Kick some b.u.t.t."

Sherilyn glared at the bag, leaning her gloved hand on the fold of her ample hip. "I have nothing against this bag, Em."

"Sure you do," she replied, taking her place again.

Sherilyn watched Emma for several minutes, rocking and pivoting, throwing punches and well-placed kicks. Somehow, against all odds, she caught the fire, and for the first time in her life . . . Sherilyn Caine wanted to hit something.

"Youch!" she shouted as a stab of pain shot through her wrist and up her arm from the first punch thrown.

"Step into your jab," the instructor said from behind her. "Watch Emma again."

After another minute, she readied herself one more time and threw a couple of jabs at the bag.

"Awesome!" Emma shouted. "Hit it again!"

And she did.

In fact, she hit, kicked, shouted, and punched for the next thirty minutes with barely a pause. And when she was through, Sherilyn dropped on her f.a.n.n.y to the floor, fell over backward with a thud, and groaned.

Andy pulled back the paper sheath on the wooden chopsticks, balling it up and tossing it into the paper bag at his feet. As he popped up the lid on the Styrofoam container on the coffee table, the aromatic invitation to dinner set his taste buds to salivating. Fried rice brimmed over from the two small sections, and the larger one overflowed with a generous, heaping portion of pepper steak.

Just as he dug the chopsticks down into it, the screech of tires snagged his attention. Holding the sticks in mid-air, he held his breath, waiting for the impact. Another squeal, this time much closer, sent Andy to his feet. Dropping the sticks to the foam container, he jogged down the hall and opened the front door.

Sherilyn's Explorer sat running in the driveway, lights on, door open. A moment later, he noticed her racing up the sidewalk toward him with no coat on.

What is she wearing?

Gym shoes, black sweats, and an oversized white t-s.h.i.+rt. Her ponytail flopped over her head as she ran straight for him.

"Sheri-"

Without a word, just as she reached the edge of the porch, Sherilyn dove through the air toward him. When she landed on him, her arms wrapped around his neck and her legs around his waist, he went over backwards, and they both fell to the ground with a powerful thud.

"Wh-at are you do-ing?" he asked as she seemed to continuously b.u.t.t against his head with hers. An instant later, he realized she was pecking his face with kisses, and he began to laugh. "Sherilyn. What's going on?"

"I love you," she squealed between kisses. "I love you . . . And I want to marry you . . . And I want us to live here . . . And have a family . . . And . . . I don't know what else . . . but I love you."

"You might want to go out and shut off the ignition before we do all that," he told her.

She released a stream of giggles that thrilled him. They fumbled to get to their feet, and she started out the door, then turned back again and wiggled a finger at him.

"Wait right here," she demanded.

When he nodded, she skipped down the sidewalk to the SUV.

Andy's heart soared as she ran back to the front door, already talking a-mile-a-minute.

"I was at a tasting today with Emma and everyone. Serbian food. I don't recommend it on an empty stomach, by the way. Lots of cabbage and meat. Anyway, she made these little chocolate nut cookies called pandas, and we had to make a decision about a menu for this luncheon Georgiann is giving."

Andy didn't bother to interrupt her. He just closed the door behind them and followed her into the living room as she chattered on, knowing she would eventually get to the heart of the matter.

"Oh, you ordered Chinese food. Anyway, so just as we're finis.h.i.+ng up, Cristian comes in, and he says he wants to talk to me. It wasn't a long talk, it really wasn't, but I think we both got some sort of closure that we needed, you know?"

Andy nodded toward the Styrofoam container with an arched brow.

"Oh. No, thanks, but you go ahead. Anyway, so we kind of said what we needed to say, what we've been holding in all this time, and I said I'm sorry, and he said he forgives me, and then I went with Emma to a kickboxing cla.s.s."

She's taking longer than usual to bring it all back around.

"I know, right? Me? Kickboxing? But I think I did really well, at least Emma said I did. And afterward I was lying there, collapsed on the floor, and I thought, Andy!"

She went silent, looked at him expectantly, her eyes open wide.

"Andy," he repeated.

"I just wanted to tell you about it. About everything. About my day, and about Cristian, and about how much I really love kickboxing! And about this revelation I had on the floor of the gym where I think I realized I've been overeating and losing wedding dresses and expecting your mom to reject me, and all the time it's just been about guilt. You know, over what I did to Cristian. And that's when I realized it, Andy . . . I have to marry you."

Amused, he asked, "I'm sorry. You made that leap, how again?"

"There's no guilt with you."

He waited for her to expound, but she just looked back at him, that adorable wide-open grin on her porcelain face, the one that said, 'See? Am I a genius, or what?!'

"None," she finally said. "I don't think you've even noticed that I've been layering my past with chocolate. And if you have, you sure never made me feel like you did. You've been patient with me and understanding and loving. You've never once made me feel like I wasn't enough."

Andy's heart thud-thud-thudded inside his chest. He scooped up both of her hands, kissing each of them.

"I can totally be Sherilyn with you, and you never make me feel like there's anything wrong with that."

"Wrong?" he exclaimed. "Of course there's nothing wrong with it. I love every last thing about you."

"Exactly!" she cried. "Everything I've been missing . . . Family. Trust. Rea.s.surance. Andy, you give me all of that. I've never felt like this about anyone before in my life."