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“It was a good decision to set up another bar by the dance floor. The key is sensing the vibe of the families from the couple,” Aria murmured to me.
“Hmm. I didn’t even know that was a thing.” When I met with a couple, I knew which one was more interested in the designs—usually the bride. But I didn’t delve too deeply. It wasn’t necessary to do my job, but after listening to Harrison and Aria today, I wondered if diving a little deeper wouldn’t make my creations even better. It was something worth considering. Especially if I ever wanted to quit the day job.
Harrison strode toward us in a white button-down shirt, rolled to his elbows, and slacks. “You want to dance?”
“I’m working,” I said as my heart pounded at his appearance. Was he here to see me?
Aria waved me off. “There’s no need for you to help. I’ve got this.”
“Are you sure?” I asked her, almost desperate to avoid being alone with Harrison. When he was like this, it was difficult to resist him.
“Go. Have fun.” Aria shooed us away.
Harrison spun me and I slid easily into his arms. “Why are you here?”
“I wanted to make sure everything went okay.” He was quiet for a bit, and then he said, “It’s a little lonely at the house.”
My face screwed up. “It sucks when Wren is at her mother’s.”
“Tell me about it.”
I sensed that Harrison wanted my company, and I loved that he’d sought me out instead of grabbing a beer with friends.
Harrison held me close, his lips close to my temple but not kissing me. My heart beat a steady rhythm under my rib cage as I reveled in the feel of his arms around me and his chest pressed against mine. If I could bottle up this feeling of safety and security, I would, and I’d return to it again and again.
That was what I’d lost when my dad left, a sense of security. Was that something I could ever get back?
Eleven
HARRISON
I’d been talking to Wren all week during our nightly calls, trying to come up with a good name for the fairy-tale plan. Every time I heard one of her suggestions, I couldn’t help but think that Everly living here with me was my fairy tale.
I saw her in a different way. The only issue was her reluctance to believe in love and relationships. But I was confident, between Wren and me, we could find a way to chip away at her defenses.
“You ready for this?” I asked Wren when I picked her up for our Wednesday night visitation. Tonight, Everly insisted on cooking dinner together and eating on the fancy dishes my mom gave me when I bought the house. Taking Wren’s advice, I brought two bouquets of fresh flowers home and lit candles.
She nodded solemnly. “I made a list of my favorite movies.”
“Good girl,” I praised her, meeting her gaze in the rearview mirror.
Wren gripped the loose-leaf sheet of paper. “We’ll start withCinderellaand move on from there.”
I nodded solemnly, picking up on her cues. “Sounds like a good plan.”
She sighed long and hard. “I don’t like our name for it.Fairy Tale Planis so blah.”
“Tell me about it,” I said, amused that she was taking this so seriously.
“What if we call itOur Fairy Tale?” I asked.
Wren rolled her eyes. “Dad.”
“Was that lame?” Whenever she called me “Dad” with a heavy dose of disgust, I figured I was being too cheesy for her.
“Ya think?” she asked flippantly.
“Okay,tweenager,” I teased.
