Page 43 of Never Marry the Best Man (Whatever It Takes #4)

Relax, don’t be nervous

Two glasses of wine, not one sip more

Don’t forget the baguette

What should I wear???

Relax, don’t be nervous

Ranney

Ranney picked up her bag and the bread in its paper wrapper, then she put them down and went back into her bathroom, heels clicking on the white marble tile of the floor.

Maybe her lipstick was too dark? Maybe pulling her hair back would be more age-appropriate?

Was perfume going to send the wrong message?

This is ridiculous, she told herself. Tonight is just a formality, a courtesy to Mame . It is not a date. It’s just a necessary detail to get through this strange–but temporary–situation that I brought on myself, that I inflicted on my family.

She sighed, fluffed her hair, and snapped the light off.

Two minutes later, she was in the elevator, headed down to her building’s small lobby.

By waiting there for Tom, she could avoid the awkwardness of having to ask him into her apartment.

There would be the drop-off at the end of the evening, of course, but she’d have to deal with that later.

Keeping one eye on the vestibule, she looked down at herself.

It was a weekday, and her goal had been to look like she’d just come from work, put together but not trying too hard.

In reality, she had raced home and changed into a fresh new outfit–literally new, bought yesterday.

It may sound superficial but it’s true: New clothes carry power.

And she was in need of power.

A crisp chambray midi skirt with a high waist was topped by a just-slightly-cropped navy tee.

Her buckle slide sandals–also new–were a cognac leather that almost, but not quite, matched her bag.

What she had actually worn to work that day was resting in a wrinkled pile on her closet floor, smudged with the grime of unpacking cartons of stain remover and unscented bug repellent as she re-stocked the supply closet.

The outfit she was wearing now wouldn’t have survived an hour of her normal daily activities.

It was ironic–but a fact of life–that it took an enormous amount of effort to look like you’d made no special effort at all.

A bustle in the entry caught her eye, and there he was, his arms filled with deep-pink roses.

Despite herself, she smiled.

And despite herself, her pulse leapt.

For a moment, she stood still and watched him scan the list of residents on the intercom, unconsciously savoring the scene. Then she walked quickly to the locked door and opened it.

“Looking for someone?” she asked.

“No, all set, thanks. I already found her.” Smiling, he held out the roses, and she remembered the feeling of those arms around her, skin warm against hers.

More than warm.

Hot.

“Are these for Mame?” Nose in the wrapper, she breathed in the rose perfume, wanting him to hug her, pull her in for a kiss, take the awkwardness away and make the leap.

But Tom just smiled brightly at her. “Hers are in the car. Those are for you.”

“Oh, thank you! They’re beautiful. I should put them in water…”

“Why don’t I go get the car while you’re doing that? I had to park pretty far away.”

“Perfect. Five minutes.” Handing him the baguette, Ranney carried the roses quickly back up to her apartment, where she filled a water pitcher and plopped them in. No time for arranging, she could do that later tonight.

When she returned.

Alone?

What was she doing? They were married. Tom had texted her less than a week ago and she'd fumbled.

The impulsive gesture in Vegas now made her feel like a fool, and she had no idea how to navigate this.

Tom's gestures and words about caring for her were just part of the pretend, right?

Part of the novelty of being Vegas Bride and Groom.

What had seemed like a fun fix was now a faux pas, but she wished it weren't.

Wished he'd kissed her.

Wished she could just open her mouth and fix this.

As promised, five minutes later she was standing on the steps of her building, scanning the block, having forgotten to ask what kind of car he drove.

It wasn’t that she was worried. She knew he would just pull up in front when he arrived, but it was amusing to speculate on his choice of vehicle.

He was a successful, sophisticated man who’d spent lots of time in Europe–was he a BMW type? Or Porsche, for high performance?

But then again, as an architect, he probably had to drive to construction sites, so maybe something four-wheel drive, with big tires and mudflaps? That was her bet, she decided, practical and unpretentious. Quiet, under the radar.

The light at the intersection changed, sending a fresh rush of cars, trucks, and Ubers down the street.

It was just after six o’clock, peak traffic time in Boston, a city famous for its aggressive drivers.

She had turned to look in the other direction, checking for backups, when a close-by car horn made her jump.

It was followed instantly by a chorus of other horns, several shouts of outrage, and one death threat.

A pink RAV4 was double-parked in front of the building, blocking most of the west-bound lane. As she took in the scene, the driver’s door opened and Tom popped up, waving.

“Hop in!”

Without a thought–what rational thought was possible?–she leapt forward, grabbed the passenger door handle, and did as told.

Shifting into drive, Tom took off, and the blaring of horns ceased. He was grinning from ear to ear.

“Tom! This car–how..?”

“I bought it from Achilles and had it shipped. It just got here yesterday.”

“You… what? Why? Why would you do that?”

“This vehicle holds our romantic history, Ranney.” He sounded mildly shocked and maybe a little offended.

“How could I not? Someday we’ll get in this car and go for a drive, and it will be like we’re traveling back in time.

Perhaps a weekend on the Cape? Or Bar Harbor?

I've heard Halifax in October is beautiful.

Or -- do you speak French? Mine is passable for Montreal but I'd fumble in Quebec City.”

Ignoring the “someday” part of that, and his wonderful weekend suggestions, she asked, “Wouldn’t a photo have been a perfectly good memento and saved fifteen thousand dollars or so, plus shipping? And a monthly parking space, I don’t even want to think about that.”

He heaved a sigh. “I have married a woman with a heart of stone.”

“You have got to stop talking like that. Turn left up here.”

“If architecture doesn’t work out, I can always turn it back into an Uber.”

“Architecture seems to be working out just fine, though. Have you heard anything more from the Saltzman committee?”

“Not yet, but it should be any day now.”

“Turn right at the stop sign.” Without warning, she laughed out loud.

“What? Did I do something?”

“No, it’s just that while I was waiting for you, I was wondering what kind of car you drove, and I guessed it would be an SUV.

” A fresh burst of laughter escaped her.

“So I was right about that, but I wasn’t picturing pink, with Nevada plates and a ‘Follow me to the Aegean Wedding Chapel’ bumper sticker. ”

“Ah! You were expecting a Jaguar and what you got was a pink panther?”

“More like a pick-up truck, or a big utility vehicle.” Now they were both laughing hard. “But I wasn’t wishing for a Jaguar. I just wasn’t expecting… this.”

“I hope to keep surprising you, Ranney.” As he turned his gaze to her, his laughter softened into a gentle smile.

“That’s her street up there,” she said nervously. “We just have to find a parking spot.”

“Another benefit: We never again need to worry about auto theft. Cool new place for dinner in a dodgy neighborhood? No problem! And insurance rates will plummet–this car may pay for itself in a matter of months.”

“This is Newton. It’s not a dodgy neighborhood.”

“Of course not, I didn’t mean tonight.”

Before she had finished touching up her lipstick, he had run around to her side and opened the door. Stepping out onto the sidewalk, she glanced up toward Mame’s front window and was pretty sure the curtain fabric swayed slightly, as if someone had just moved away from the glass.

Tom reached for her hand, startling her, and as she turned to look up at him, he pulled her close, the warm scent of him so all-consuming she melted without thought.

Pressed against him, his hand at the base of her neck, the whole of Tom turning their bodies into a world, she let herself sink, softly, into what they were.

And then he kissed her.

It was sweet and long, slow and luxurious, a kiss you give with confidence, yet deference.

His tongue was light against hers, soft and exploring, her own matching his attentions, He kissed her like a man who needs a kiss, whose day is better with her kiss, who is a better man by having her in his arms.

And then reality intruded as Ranney remembered the window.

"Oh!" Looking up, she was relieved to see no one was there. Tom followed her gaze and frowned as she pulled back.

"Is everything - what's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just - I thought I saw someone in the window."

He squeezed her hand as she moved toward Mame's front entrance. "Let them watch."

And sure enough, just as she touched the door handle, it swung open to reveal Charlene, wearing black pants, a black blouse, and the harassed expression of a stage manager on opening night.

As Ranney had explained to Tom, Charlene’s role was nominally that of a housekeeper but in reality, she was so much more.

It was a state of affairs that had created some awkward moments, for example, this one.

Neither fish nor fowl–neither invited guest, blood relative, nor any kind of servant–Charlene’s exact status may have been undefined but her attitude was not.

Any awkwardness was purely on Ranney’s part.

“Come on in. She’s outside on the terrace.” Looking at the roses Tom was carrying, she said, “You can give those flowers to her and then I’ll put them in water.”