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“I’m technically an events planner, but most of our business is weddings. And I have to admit, some days are more interesting than others.” She forgot about nonchalant and looked directly at him, which delivered another jolt to her nervous system because he didn’t look away. Inst
ead, those intense eyes—yes, they were hazel—remained locked on hers.
“In my experience, a wedding is a really crappy way to start a marriage,” Eric said.
“This opinion is based on what?” she asked, both amused and a little testy because there was a possibility that he could be right.
“My own wedding,” he said bluntly. “The entire weekend was a nightmare. I think I’m the only one who didn’t cry, and we’re not talking tears of joy, here.”
The bottom dropped out of her stomach. Jaclyn could feel her spine straighten, her unexpected enjoyment of the conversation shutting down. “You’re married?”
“Not anymore. Divorced. Six years, now.” He lifted his beer. “You?”
“Divorced, too.”
Thank God, that little detail was out of the way. They were both divorced and, apparently, available. Not that availability was required for a simple conversation, but it was nice to know.
“Were you a wedding planner when you got married?”
“I was. Mom and I had just started the business.”
“So, does a woman who plans everyone else’s wedding go whole hog with her own? Or were you already tired of the whole deal?”
“To answer in reverse order, I wasn’t, and I did,” she admitted, and added wryly, “The marriage lasted only slightly longer than the ceremony. But, no, I don’t get tired of what I do. When everything turns out just right and everyone has fun, it’s something to remember.…
“And in case you’re wondering, I didn’t cry at my own wedding,” she added, teasing.
“I don’t imagine you did.”
She took another sip of her margarita, and Eric signaled for the waitress. “Let me get you another drink.”
Jaclyn shook her head at the girl who was headed her way, covered the top of her glass to signal that she didn’t want a refill, and turned to Eric. “Only one drink for me. I’m driving.”
“You didn’t come here to get lost in a lime and tequila haze?”
“I never get lost in any kind of haze,” she said.
“What do you get lost in?” he asked, and she could almost feel that intense gaze boring beneath her skin.
“Work,” she answered with honesty, though a part of her, a part that had been dormant for a long while, realized that she could very easily get lost in Eric Wilder. “You?”
“Work.”
“Better a workaholic than an alcoholic,” Jaclyn said, thinking of her father’s struggle with booze. It wasn’t an accident that there was no liquor in her house, that she always limited herself to one single drink. She’d never had a drinking problem, but she was always aware of Jacky Wilde’s weaknesses and the possibility that she might’ve inherited a penchant for obsession. Or, heaven help her, addiction. But she didn’t want to think about her dad—she loved him, but a little of him went a long way—and she’d talked enough about herself. She wanted to know more about him. “How long have you been a cop?”
“Thirteen years. I joined the army straight out of high school, got my degree while I was in, and took my civil service exam as soon as I left Uncle Sam’s employ.”
“Your job is probably way more interesting than mine. At least the people I deal with usually stop short of committing a crime.”
“Usually?” His dark brows rose.
“You don’t want to know.”
He did, though, so she found herself telling him about the time the entire wedding party had been smoking pot before the ceremony, the time the groom had waffled and the bride’s mother had pulled a freaking knife from her purse and threatened to skewer his anatomical pride and joy if he backed out after all the money she’d spent, and other tales from the dark side. He laughed in the right places, a deep sound of genuine amusement that invited more confidences. He told her some of his own war stories, and she was aware that he kept things light, that he didn’t get into the darker, more disturbing details.
Talking to him was easy. Despite the heat of physical chemistry that could completely burn her up if she let it, she was somehow able to push that aside and simply enjoy being with him. There weren’t any of the usual awkward silences between new acquaintances. For the moment there was nothing except the pleasure of talking to him and feeling the heated tingle of attraction. She’d felt it from the instant she’d collided with him that morning, and closer acquaintance hadn’t dulled any of the sharp edges. She’d walked into Sadie’s for no other reason than she’d been driving by and seen it, a parking place had been available, and the idea of some downtime with a nice, soothing drink had been too tempting to resist. She was glad she hadn’t resisted, glad she hadn’t moved on to one of the more fashionable bars.
If she’d been thinking she would have realized that, this close to the police department, the odds were a bunch of cops would be here. She didn’t think her subconscious had led her here, hoping she’d see him. Her day had been so hectic he honestly hadn’t crossed her mind again … but if her subconscious had been at work, then all she could say was, good job. She was glad she’d stopped here, and glad she’d run into him again.
