Page 5 of Never Marry the Best Man (Whatever It Takes #4)

Quail eggs, hard cooked

Shrimp and cheese grits in ramekins

Smoked Conecuh bacon

Buttermilk biscuits, herb butter

Satsuma oranges

Ranney

“Why do I even bother to buy groceries, much less cook them?” Ranney wondered aloud.

Her coworker Ashanti’s version of a Southern hunt breakfast was more than enough food for one day, more imaginative and better prepared than anything she would put together for herself.

As an added bonus, Ash’s menus were designed with flexibility in mind; light and healthy choices co-existed with full-fat and grass-fed.

In keeping with his personal philosophy, there was always something for everyone. No one went hungry.

Every Monday morning at nine-thirty a.m., Wedding Protectors’ staff met in the big conference room for an all-hands. Whatever was known about the upcoming week’s schedule was reviewed, with the unattainable goal of no surprises.

The communal meal was like family dinner before service begins at a restaurant. Delicious food, eaten together, lowers defenses and blood pressure, fosters camaraderie and teamwork.

It’s both primal and sophisticated.

In simple terms, it’s just harder to be irritated with someone when you’re both using your last chunk of biscuit to mop up any remaining traces of cheesy sauce from your plate.

Boston sports teams were discussed every week, their wins celebrated and losses mourned.

Fashion was discussed, with mid-rise jeans celebrated and platform shoes mourned, at least by Nilly, who was vertically challenged.

Sometimes post-mortems of weekend dates were conducted, and of course that led to a certain amount of celebrating and/or mourning.

On the table today was receptionist Carly’s new boyfriend. Not literally. Ashanti would never cook non-organic meat.

“ Possible boyfriend,” she clarified. “ Potential boyfriend. Too soon to tell.”

After both swiped right, their first phone call had revealed mutual acquaintances (her second cousin grew up on his street!), common interests (bouldering–well, she fibbed a little on that one, but she thought she might like it), and shared tastes (Bad Bunny and English bulldogs).

During their second call, he asked her out for Saturday night.

“Wow,” Marlo commented, “he didn’t start with coffee or drinks on a Thursday. He went straight to Saturday night. Those phone calls must have been good.” Marlo was Ranney's peer at Wedding Protectors, an associate who was assigned to weddings as they came in.

“It means he doesn’t have a steady girlfriend,” Nilly interpreted, having been burned on this in the past. Nilly managed the client dossiers and was the epitome of the phrase "detail-oriented." They all were, but when it came to arranging information and managing on the fly, Nilly was their queen.

Archie, their head of security, was sitting by himself, communing with his cheese grits, but at Nilly’s words, his antennae went up. “What do you mean?”

“I mean if he had a girlfriend, he wouldn’t be available on a Saturday night,” Nilly answered. “Duh.”

“What kind of a creep would…” Archie began indignantly, but he trailed off as he registered the six pairs of female eyes staring at him in disbelief. “Right.”

Suddenly he noticed that his coffee mug was empty and went to refill it.

“So anyway,” Carly continued, “we went to this bar downtown called The Alice.”

“I’ve heard of that place,” Candace, their staff photographer, said with amusement in her voice. “They re-enact Alice in Wonderland?”

“Yes! It’s this tiny room in the basement of this bar, and it’s decorated to be all forest-y and mystical.

But it’s so tiny that there are only like five other couples, so it’s awkward.

And you get two drinks with your ticket but the whole thing is so weird that two drinks aren’t really enough, you know? ”

At this point, Ranney began counting her blessings, the first of which was, I give thanks to the universe and the powers that be that I am no longer twenty-five years old.

The second was, And thank you for giving me twenty-five-year-old coworkers to remind me of this regularly.

“Was this his idea?” Marlo asked. “This was his idea of a fun date?”

“But that’s the thing!” Carly sounded uncertain. “It was fun! I mean, it was fun with him –we laughed so hard afterwards. He made it fun.”

“Uh-oh,” Marlo whispered to Ranney. “Laughter is the kiss of death. A man who makes you laugh… you’ll forgive anything.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Ranney whispered back. “Should we warn her?”

“Some things you have to learn for yourself.” They exchanged the looks of battle-hardened veterans.

“What are you two whispering about?” Nessa asked, eyes narrowed.

“Marlo was asking me if I need any help with the Sanderson bachelor weekend,” Ranney answered smoothly.

At these words, Claire’s head snapped around. Claire Gordon was head of Wedding Protectors PR department and, counterintuitively, kept a very low profile personally. At least, it seemed counterintuitive until you considered what public relations meant to Wedding Protectors clients.

It meant the opposite of publicity. It meant zero public relations.

Although they issued many terse announcements containing only names and dates, and could usually be reached to officially neither confirm nor deny a rumor, Claire and her staff spent most of their time delaying, correcting, massaging, and/or squashing press reports.

Erasing was a little bit harder but could sometimes be accomplished.

So while Claire’s intense focus on an upcoming event was to be expected, her words were a complete surprise.

“Do you? Need help? Because I’d be interested in coming with you. I mean, since there’s nothing really pressing here this weekend, and”–she glanced around–“with this client, there could always be media issues. But if there aren’t, I could help you with your stuff…”

This was the most anyone had ever heard Claire say about herself at one time.

“I think I’m all set, but why don’t we see what Kari and Katie think?” Ranney hedged, put on the spot. “It’s really their call.”

“See what we think about what?” Kari asked, striding into the room and heading straight for the coffee.

Katie trailed behind, head down, staring at her phone.

If you’d known them both for more than a few months, you’d think they’d traded personalities.

Business partners through and through, they were the principals at Wedding Protectors, Inc.

Kari liked to work in the field; she was resourceful and could think on her feet, and if circumstances required her to sprint a quarter mile to avert a problem, well, she was up to the task.

A little chaos did not ruin her day. When Kari got married to her high school sweetheart, it was on a deserted beach, and she wore a sheer coverup over a white swimsuit.

When their son, Teddy, was born a year or so later, there was the usual adjustment period but dealing with fussiness and loss of sleep wasn’t all that different from her job. They didn’t knock her for a loop.

Katie was the client-facing partner for a reason.

In any situation, she knew what to say and when to say it, and if things got out of hand for any reason whatsoever, she knew who to call.

Katie got eight solid hours of sleep every night.

She remembered to renew her passport before it expired.

Her closet was organized by color and all of her glassware matched.

There was order in her universe.

Until Miss Annabel Cooper arrived on the scene, seven days late for her due date and not apologetic in the least.

Prior to the birth of her daughter, the only thing that had ever caused Katie to discombobulate was love, but her husband, Patrick, was mature, considerate, and reasonably self-aware. Annabel, of course, was none of these.

Fortunately, Patrick–a widower before he married Katie–had already survived all the stages of parenthood.

His daughter, Mia, was grown and launched.

When it came to newborns, nobody’s perfect, but Patrick did have a pretty good understanding of when to panic and when not to.

Thanks to his experience, they’d only made one trip to the emergency room.

So far.

Katie slumped into a chair, still studying her phone.

“Here, sweetie,” Kari said, setting a mug in front of her. “It’s just the way you like it.”

“ Freaky Friday, ” Nessa murmured. She was remembering the old days, when Katie was the more domestic one of the pair.

“It says here that she should be smiling by now.” Katie looked up and scanned the faces of the known mothers in the room: Kari, Ranney, and Nilly.

“I think she smiles, sometimes, but it’s hard to tell.

Maybe it’s a twitch or maybe gas? I’ve read it could be that.

How do you tell the difference?” Her voice was plaintive.

A moment of general hesitation passed, then Ranney ventured, “There’s no exact timetable for these things, you know.”

Nilly rolled her eyes. “Octavian is sixteen, and I’m starting to think smiling was just a stage he went through. No parenting site prepares you for that.”

Leaning forward, Katie asked intently, “But you already know he’s developmentally on track, right? I mean, he hit all the targets on the checklists?”

“Kate,” Kari said gently, “what does the pediatrician say?”

The office phone rang and Carly picked it up with a press of an earbud, murmuring, “Wedding Protectors, good morning.” After listening for a moment, she said quietly, “I’ll see if she’s available,” and tapped her ear again.

“Katie, it’s your pedia…” she began, but before she could finish the sentence, Katie had bolted for the door.

“Tell her I’ll be right there! Don’t let her hang up!”

“She’s probably going to be gone for a while. I don’t think we should wait,” Kari said, looking around. “Is everyone else here?”