The Perfect Wedding. Arlene James
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Название: The Perfect Wedding
Автор: Arlene James
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
isbn: 9781472064080
isbn:
“I’ll get another chair,” she said, skirting the table and heading toward the workroom.
“Let me help,” he insisted, tossing his hat onto the table, and though she opened her mouth to tell him not to bother, she found herself smiling instead of talking. Heather in tow, he followed her down the corridor to that place where she felt most at home, the workroom, the creative heart of her whole operation. It was here that every young woman’s dream gown was “sculpted” to fit her personal form or, better yet, designed and sewn especially for her, a true one-of-a-kind garment.
Layne knew all too well that she was very small potatoes indeed compared to the world-famous couturiers of New York, London or Rome, but she still took pride in her designs and special adaptations. Ethics forbade her “knocking off” another’s dress, but she had found over the years that she could take a basic pattern or a significant feature and build a garment around it that was both unique and pleasing to the client. It was very satisfying to see the joy in the eyes of a happy bride when her own special wedding gown met her hopeful expectations. There were disappointments, of course, such as clients who couldn’t be pleased or didn’t know their own minds, but one of the other kind was worth two such as these, and so Layne considered herself blessed to be doing what she did. Some of that pride must have communicated itself to Rod, for he took one look around the room when they got there and lifted his free hand to the back of his neck.
“Wow. I didn’t know. I mean, I thought you only sold dresses and bows and stuff.” He walked over to a fitting double and looked at the unfinished dress pinned to the carefully measured contours of the adjustable mannequin. “You start from scratch, don’t you?”
“Sometimes.”
“What do you begin with? A bolt of material and…”
“An idea,” she said. “It always starts with an idea.” She went to the drawing table and carefully peeled up a large sheet of paper.
Rod joined her, holding Heather to one side so that her tiny feet had no opportunity to kick at the drawing, and peered down over Layne’s shoulder to study the detailed rendition of an elaborate gown of medieval design. She heard the slow intake of his breath and the low whistle that followed it. He turned his head to look again at the mannequin. “Is that this?”
“No. We haven’t cut this one yet. That dress goes with the drawing pinned to the bulletin board over there.”
He strolled over to take a look, capturing Heather’s little hand in time to prevent her ripping down a bright pink invoice of some sort. He studied the drawing that hung beside it, then backed away, shaking his head. “You’re a woman of extraordinary talents, Layne,” he said, turning a look of more than mere approval upon her.
“Thank you.” She felt as if she were glowing. Her heart tripped like a jackhammer in double time, and the pleasure was almost too wonderful to bear. She dropped her head and angled it to the side, spying the chair for which they’d come. At the same moment, Heather popped the bottle nipple out of her mouth and filled the room with a soft gurgling sound, lending a touch of her own brand of baby normalcy to the situation. “We ought to get back,” Layne said with a smile.
“Oh, right. Is that the chair you want, the folding one?”
“Yes, but as you see, it’s very light. I can get it.”
“No, no. I’ll manage.”
Their hands collided against the smooth, cool metal of the chair back. Her immediate impulse was to withdraw, but his hand settled warmly over hers, his palm replacing the two smallest fingers that had initially made contact. Warmth spread up her arm and into her chest. Her heart swelled to the point of pain. For a moment she could neither speak nor breathe, but she looked away and the moment passed.
“This is silly,” she said, willing her hand to remain still beneath his. “You have the baby. I should carry the chair.”
“Or…” he suggested, and her gaze zipped up to the baby cradled in the crook of his arm.
Her own eagerness surprised and amused her. Sensing that she was suddenly the center of attention again, Heather snapped her bottle free and gave off a broad, wet smile that displayed all ten of her tiny teeth. Rod chuckled and wiped her mouth with the flat of his hand, drying his hand on his pants leg.
“She might get apple juice on that pretty outfit of yours,” he said.
Layne didn’t even bother to tell him how little that mattered. Instead, she asked, “Do you think she’d let me hold her?” Heather stuck the nipple back in her mouth and drew on it strongly.
“This kid is so secure,” Rod said, smoothing down her hair, “that she isn’t afraid of anyone, and we can credit her mama with that.” Suddenly Heather decided to change positions. Her bottle dangling from her mouth, she used her little hands to claw her way upright. Laughing, Rod allowed her momentum to carry her into Layne’s waiting arms.
The baby was surprisingly heavy, but it was love at first cuddle. “Hi, peach,” Layne said softly, using her father’s pet name for all three of his daughters. Heather dug a chubby finger into the center of a tiny crocheted flower on the tip of Layne’s collar. “You like my rose?” Layne crooned. “Pretty rose.”
To her surprise, Heather reached up a hand to unplug the bottle from her mouth and said, “Roe.”
Layne laughed with delight. Rod grinned, folding up the chair. “Another day, another conquest,” he said, sighing. “Must be nice to have all that charm.”
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