The Matchmaker's Apprentice. Karen Toller Whittenburg

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СКАЧАТЬ at times, but proportionally, your mouth is the perfect size for your face.”

      She nudged him with her elbow. “This is serious, Andrew. Don’t make jokes.”

      “I can’t help myself, Ainsley. The bride eloped with Mad Mack. That’s a little difficult to take seriously.”

      “Try,” she urged him, although truthfully, she wished she could see the humor in the situation. Any humor at all.

      “Okay,” he said, “but I can’t promise a non-serious remark won’t slip out from time to time.”

      “Just so it doesn’t happen here and now or any time Scott is around.”

      He nodded, rested his forearms on his knees, clasped his hands together and let the resulting loose knot of fingers rock up and down, up and down, as he contemplated the here and now. “Do you think we’ll still get to have the wedding feast?”

      She lifted an eyebrow. “I imagine dinner will be canceled.” He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “And, please, don’t ask Uncle Edward if you can make yourself a plate for later.”

      “Seems a shame to waste all that food. And the wedding cake. Maybe I should take the cake to the studio, take a few pictures for the old Danville scrapbook.”

      She lifted the other eyebrow and he went back to contemplating. “No, you’re wrong, Ainsley. Uncle Edward won’t cancel dinner. He’ll want to finish the day on an up note.”

      “As opposed to a sour note?”

      “As opposed to letting a part-man, part-machine superhero triumph over a Danville. You know, I always thought there was a hint of Bad Belle in Molly.”

      “Bad Belle? Let me guess. She’s Mad Mack’s girlfriend?”

      “Good guess. Imagine a bosomy brunette with super powers and a big black motorcycle.”

      “I’m never letting my kids watch cartoons,” Ainsley said.

      “Too bad we can’t put Scott in front of the television now. A little time with Bad Belle and he’d feel a lot better.”

      “That’s not funny. And even if a stupid cartoon could make him feel better, it won’t make me feel one bit less guilty.”

      “Oh, come on, Ains. This isn’t your fault. You can never really know the truth of what’s inside another person. There’s no way you could have guessed Molly would rather take a ride in the Mackmobile than get married today.”

      Ainsley caught the advice in his teasing, knew he was telling her she couldn’t take the blame for today’s events. Her siblings, and especially her twin, had always been right there when something in her life went awry, ready with assurances that she—the angelically cute baby of the family—wasn’t at fault, shouldn’t feel guilty, couldn’t truly be to blame for whatever had happened.

      But she wasn’t a baby anymore. Despite her family’s reluctance to allow her to grow up, she had. She was, whether they wanted to believe it or not, an adult. And she had no intention of absolving herself from the guilt she rightfully felt. She hadn’t wanted Scott and Molly to marry. She still thought she was right about their chances of finding true happiness together. But she hadn’t wanted her beliefs to cause them unhappiness, either.

      She deserved a hefty chunk of responsibility for today’s fiasco and she deserved to feel gloomy that her first attempt at matchmaking had been a complete and utter disaster.

      Andrew, however, would never allow her to admit her guilt to him, so she tapped his arm with her bridesmaid’s bouquet. “Let’s talk about something else. Tell me about your date.”

      “What date?”

      “Your date to the wedding. Jocelyn? A petite brunette? In a pink dress? Where did you put her?” She glanced out at the pool of somber faces, looking for the young woman Andrew had introduced earlier as his date.

      “Fifth row, left. In the middle.” He glanced in the general vicinity of the brunette and smiled. “I’d go sit with her, but she’s wearing pink and you know how that clashes with my hair.”

      He was the only redhead in their branch of the family and his hair was, in Ainsley’s prejudiced opinion, his second-best feature. It was strawberry-blond, a rich reddish-gold, and thick, with just enough curl to give it great body and texture, and just enough length to identify him as a nonconformist. He didn’t have freckles or the pale, ivory skin of most redheads, either, and his athletic, outdoor tan was a perfect foil for the blue, Danville eyes…Andrew’s best feature of all. He was better looking than Matt, although not technically as handsome. Ainsley, being his twin, might have been slightly prejudiced in his favor, but as she adored both of her brothers, she couldn’t imagine it made much difference either way.

      “Do you ever think about getting married, Drew?” she asked, his pet name giving the question a serious lilt and the expectation of a truthful answer.

      “Good grief, no,” he said, sounding at least seventy-five percent honest. “I’m planning to live a long, happy life.”

      She laughed under her breath. “Marriage increases a man’s lifespan by a good ten or fifteen years. Didn’t you know that?”

      “I said ‘long, happy life.’ There’s a difference. Besides, even if I was inclined toward a monogamous, committed relationship, where would I find a woman who’d willingly put up with my nomadic schedule?”

      “Maybe if you dated someone more than once or twice, you’d come closer to finding someone who keeps as weird a schedule as you do.” He was always off chasing photographs, leaving on the spur of the moment, staying gone until he was ready to come home, getting up at dawn to catch the perfect angle of light, camping out for a month, waiting for the full moon or no moon or a sliver of moon or some distant star—whatever he needed in the picture he’d visualized in his head. “Maybe you ought to try dating another photographer.”

      He grinned. “Not interested. It’s all I can do to get along with my photography assistants, and you and I both know they only tolerate my artistic temperament because I pay them big bucks to do it. I’m looking for a new assistant, by the way.”

      “I thought you just hired one.”

      He shrugged. “She left before lunch on her first day of work.”

      “Maybe you should hire male assistants.”

      “I have. I’m an equal opportunity employer, but it’s mostly females who answer my ads. Consequently, I usually have a female assistant.”

      “Do you want me to find someone for you?”

      “I don’t think so, Miss Matchmaker.”

      “Apprentice,” she corrected. “I’m only the matchmaker’s apprentice.” Obviously not a very good one, either.

      “All the more reason for me to advertise for an assistant in the newspaper. No offense, Ains, but you’d hook me up with some romantically inclined Cinderella and I’d have to fire her for mooning over me instead of doing what needs to be done. Don’t give my lack of an assistant another thought. Please.”

      She’d СКАЧАТЬ