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‘That’s not a blush, is it? Have we slipped into an alternative reality?’
‘Hardly. I just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night—as you so correctly assumed.’ Gina pressed the cool glass to her cheeks to get the stupid blush under control as they entered a small, intimate salon.
The remains of bagels, take-out coffee mugs and a fruit plate littered the low table in the centre of the room beside a half-full bottle of champagne and a large jug of iced orange juice.
‘Gina, you’re here!’ Cassie sent a slightly desperate smile from her seat on one of the soft leather sofas that framed the table. ‘Nearly an hour late, as usual.’ She frowned. ‘I wonder if you can have a genetic compulsion to inefficient time-keeping?’ Dressed in her geek’s uniform of battered jeans and a shapeless T with the proclamation ‘Soil Scientists Know All the Dirt’ printed on it in bold pink lettering, she had that rabbit-in-the-headlights look she always got when forced to make fashion choices.
‘There you go, Reese,’ Gina chimed in, grateful for the change of subject. ‘It’s a genetic compulsion. I can’t help being late.’
‘Given what you were up to last night,’ Reese chirped in, dragging the subject back to where Gina didn’t want it, ‘inefficient time-keeping’s not your only genetic compulsion.’
‘Hey, Gina.’ Marnie caught her gaze in one of the salon’s mirrored walls as she modelled a stunning off-the-shoulder chiffon gown for Reese’s petite friend Amber—who looked like an industrious pixie buzzing around Marnie with a row of pins held between pursed lips. Amber threw a quick wave of greeting, which Gina returned, before getting back to the business of popping the pins into the gown’s hem. The deep aquamarine of the material intensified the blue of Marnie’s eyes—and gave Gina an uncomfortable memory flash of another penetrating gaze. She broke eye contact and shrugged off the guilt.
None of her friends would ever know who she’d been with last night. Least of all Marnie. It had been a one-off. A steamy swansong to that night ten years ago brought on by chemistry and curiosity. Well, they’d both satisfied that curiosity now. Maybe not completely satisfied it, because the chemistry was still super hot, but satisfied it enough. So there would be no need for a replay and nothing to feel guilty about.
Reese leaned in and whispered theatrically, ‘I’ll want the full story on your coffee morning later. But Marnie says you booked an awesome venue for you know what.’
Gina gulped down the last of the mimosa and sent Reese a bland stare. ‘Be aware, I still haven’t forgiven you for setting me and Marnie up with your little disappearing act.’
Reese’s grin only widened. ‘What are you talking about?’ she said, not even attempting to look innocent. ‘I was unavoidably detained.’
‘Where exactly? In Mason’s boudoir?’
‘Possibly.’ Reese wiggled her eyebrows, the grin taking on a cheeky quality.
‘What are you two whispering about?’ Cassie came over to join them, popping a piece of melon in her mouth.
‘Mason’s bondage techniques,’ Gina said dryly. ‘What else?’
Cassie rolled her eyes, comically. ‘What? Again?’
Reese laughed. ‘Excuse me, but who was it who was just regaling us with Tuck’s amazing powers of recuperation?’
Cassie frowned, nonplussed. ‘I was simply trying to contribute to the apocryphal data being accrued. I never mentioned Tuck’s name.’
Reese patted Cassie’s cheek with loving condescension. ‘Let’s just say we all made an informed decision about who your subject matter was based on the factual data you logged in the discussion. And the fact that my cousin is the only guy you’re sleeping with now and for ever. Unlike our friend Gina.’ She sent a sly glance Gina’s way. ‘Maybe you’d like to contribute to Cassie’s research on the performance capacity of the adult American male with a contribution of recorded data from last night’s mystery man? Assuming of course he was another Yank.’
‘Actually, he’s not a...’ Gina cut off the wry quip—before she blurted out far too much recordable data about her mystery man, who’d once explained to her on a moonlit night in Hillbrook that calling a Southerner a Yankee ranked right up in the league table of unforgivable national slurs with calling an Irishman English.
‘So not a Yank?’ Reese’s brows rose with interest. ‘How very cosmopolitan of you.’
‘Why don’t those who are getting regular sex stop boasting about it?’ Marnie cut in from across the room. ‘So Amber can get the rest of these glorious bridesmaids’ gowns fitted and we can get down to the important business of finishing the mimosas.’
‘I’ll second that.’ Gina rushed to re-direct the conversation, again, and avoid any more out-of-character blushes. ‘Amber, you’ve outdone yourself. That design is absolutely stunning. And the colour looks fabulous on you, Marnie.’
‘Thanks, that’s real sweet of you.’ Marnie nodded, acknowledging the compliment, the smile on her face less reserved than their last meeting. ‘It’s like wearing a work of art.’
Amber smiled brightly as she stood to stretch her back and admire her own handiwork. ‘Reese and I wanted a design that would flatter you all without being too overblown. I’ve done yours in emerald. You want to strip off and I’ll go get it?’
‘Absolutely,’ Gina replied, sending up a silent prayer of thanks for Carter’s knicker gift as she stripped down to her underwear—and the conversation lapsed into a debate about styles and fabrics and colours, and the brilliance of Amber’s designs, and sashayed comfortably away from the subject of her mystery man.
She didn’t miss the irony though as the morning wore on in companionable girl talk, the five women enjoying some serious bonding time together in preparation for Reese’s big day at the end of next month, and—while Cassie was firmly out-of-earshot in the dressing room forced to try on some push-up bras—in the whispered preparations for Cassie’s impromptu wedding to Tuck. Who would have predicted ten years ago the once hopelessly romantic Marnie would be the only one of the Awesome Foursome—apart from her—not to find the man of her dreams?
Gina wondered if Marnie still harboured any of those fanciful hopes about finding Mr Right—that she had once sneered at.
It was pretty ironic that the only wobble she’d ever had in that regard had been Marnie’s big brother. After ten years and the roller coaster she’d been forced to ride after that long ago summer, she doubted she would make that mistake again—but given her history with Carter, steering clear of him for the rest of the week until he was safely back in Savannah made sense. What made it imperative though was a morning spent observing Amber and Reese and Cassie. Because the evidence of how far gone the three of them were over the men in their lives was both irrefutable, and pretty damn scary.
Take Amber and her insane decision to sublet her apartment above the shop and move into Parker’s place located near his job in the fifty-seventh precinct—thus giving herself an hour-long commute into work every day—just because her taciturn cop had said he’d rather be shot in the head than live above a bridal boutique. Or Reese and her equally insane decision to set up a non-profit organisation with Mason to utilise the skills of military veterans in disaster zones. Second Chance, First Response sounded like a worthwhile concept, but also like a lot of hard work, something she wasn’t convinced Reese had considered before she’d committed to the project. Because it was pretty obvious when Reese had explained how tough it was for veterans to adjust to civilian life, using Mason’s ongoing struggle since his honourable discharge as an example, that Reese had made the decision to commit to the non-profit with her heart first and her head a distant second.
