Page 35 of Framing the Pitch (Red Dirt Romance #1)

Heavy drops begin to fall just as Trace and I get back to the hotel, like the sky was waiting for us to get under cover before sending the summer storm.

The echoing sound of raindrops hitting the roof grows louder as we make our way upstairs to the conference room that’s listed on my laminated agenda card for the rehearsal dinner tonight, assuming that’s where Mom and Jenna will be.

Tomorrow, Jenna’s wedding ceremony and reception will take place somewhere up the mountain, if the weather decides to clear up. Today’s setup is just for the rehearsal dinner…hopefully.

But it seems like Trace and I are the only ones in the room holding onto that hope, judging by the way the wedding planner is running around, organizing flocks of various hotel staff to “move this” and “move that” and asking questions like, “How long will it take to set up the ballroom downstairs if the rain doesn’t stop?

” to a poor hotel employee who looks like this trouble is well above his pay grade.

No one else from the wedding party is here besides me and Trace, and when I catch Jenna as she runs past me like a chicken with her head cut off, she breathes a huge sigh of relief .

“Thank goodness you’re here,” she practically pants. “Mom has officially lost it.”

“Where’s everyone else? I thought Mom called the lot of us up here to help.” At least, that’s what she told me on the phone.

Jenna looks around, making sure we’re in the clear before reaching up on her tiptoes to get closer to my face. I lean down slightly, and her heels hit the hardwood floor as she says, “Mom sent them all away because she said they were getting in the way.”

“What?” I stand up straight, trying to keep a straight face but failing miserably. My eyebrows come crashing down in a scowl before I can smooth it away.

Jenna looks over her shoulder, and I follow her gaze to where Mom is in the corner of the room arguing with Christa, the wedding coordinator.

“Just…” Jenna sighs, looking back to me and Trace, “...find something that looks productive.” After another deep breath, Jenna heads in Mom’s direction, leaving me and Trace standing around without a job.

A hotel employee passes us, carrying an armful of bright white tablecloths.

“Hey,” I call quietly, and he pauses. “Is there something we can help with?”

“Everything’s pretty much taken care of…” He trails off, glancing at the tables that are already covered in off-white tablecloths. His eyes land on the stacks of dishes that are spread between the ends of a few tables.

“Please, is there literally anything we can do?” I lean in a little closer. “If we don’t look like we’re helping, the crazy lady is going to get mad at us. ”

Trace stifles a snort behind me, and I reach back with my foot to lightly kick him on the shins.

“Do you guys know how to roll silverware into napkins?” the employee asks, looking back at me. “I’ve got to take these down to the supply closet, but I can show you how once I get back.”

“Perfect!” I clap my hands together once. “We’ll just wait for you over there.”

The employee smiles tightly, then continues on his way out of the conference room. I grab Trace by the arm and pull him down to the end of the table where piles of silverware are stacked next to folded green napkins the same shade as the dress I tried on yesterday.

“If this rain won’t stop, everything will be ruined for your big day, Jenna!

” Mom’s voice can be heard from across the room.

I look up from the pile of napkins to see her walking this way, and I quickly grab a napkin off the stack and unfold it.

Making it up as I go, I add a set of silverware to the middle and do my best to fold the ends in and roll it up—anything to make myself look busy if Mom is coming this way.

I bump Trace with my elbow, and he follows suit.

“It’s okay, Mom. Rain on your wedding day is considered good luck. It rains on lots of peoples’ wedding days.” Jenna tries to console our mother, but her words go in one ear and out the other.

“But not on yours! This wedding was supposed to be perfect. How can you be happy about rain during your outdoor ceremony?”

“Mom…” Jenna trails off, and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to understand her exasperated tone.

She fishes her phone out of her pocket and taps on the screen a few times.

I try to look busy, since the member of the hotel event staff already told us everything was taken care of, even though Mom insisted on Trace and me helping.

“Look,” she says, angling the phone at Mom’s face.

“This says the rain stops ar ound midnight. The hotel will have plenty of time to get everything set up in the morning. It’s going to be fine. ”

But Mom doesn’t look like she wants it to be fine.

She goes off on another tirade, and Jenna sighs, her shoulders slumping in defeat.

One look at me has me feeling that same sense of despair.

Slowly, she walks toward me and Trace, stopping to lean against the table where Trace and I are folding silverware into napkins.

“Thirty-six hours.” Jenna drops her head, and I hear her sniffle. “Thirty-six hours,” she repeats like it’s a life-saving mantra. “How do you do it?” she asks suddenly, lifting her head and turning toward me.

“Do what?” I ask, my hands slowing then stopping as I turn to look at my younger sister.

“Deal with her without losing it?”

I shrug. “I don’t.”

Jenna’s face scrunches in confusion. “But I’ve never seen you explode at her?”

“I never said I did.” I chuckle, passing another rolled silverware to Trace. “I said I don’t deal with her.”

“Is that why you never come home?”

Jenna’s question hangs heavy in the air, and the silence around us grows thick.

“Yes.” I finally manage to get the word out through a throat that feels much too tight.

Jenna’s face is unreadable until she gives a sharp nod.

Like it reset, her face instantly morphs into the polite smile she’s been flashing at everyone this weekend, and she steps in to gather the rolled napkins.

“Thanks for helping out, you two. Why don’t you guys go get ready, and I’ll take this from here? ”

“Are you sure? We can finish these napkins.” I look around for the employee who said he was going to show us how to correctly fold them, but he’s nowhere to be found.

“I’m sure. And it won’t be too hard to finish up the last few. You guys go rest or get ready for tonight, or do whatever else you have planned.”

I open my mouth to ask Jenna if she’s sure for a second time, but Trace wraps his hands around mine. “You give us a holler if you need any more help, okay, Jenna?”

Jenna nods at Trace, and he slowly pulls me out of the room and down the hall toward the elevator.

“Sometimes,” he says, stroking my fingers softly, “you’ve gotta know when it’s not worth the fight.” Trace looks down at me with a rueful smile. “And I have the feeling that your mom would have taken issue with whatever you were doing in that room, no matter if it were completely right.”

I think about my experiences with my mom both throughout my childhood and all of our interactions with her since we arrived. I sigh, knowing that Trace was just trying to save me from yet another negative interaction with my mother. “I hate it when you’re right.”