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“It’s not stupid, and I’m not going to…Oops!” Her foot skidded away from the rough bark and feeling the tug of gravity against her well-rounded Irish derriere, Siobhan quickly hugged the tree with both arms.
“Oh, dear lord. Your mother will never forgive me. You scoot back here right this minute!”
Siobhan didn’t have to look down at her friend to know the woman was both spitting mad and terrified. Now that Siobhan was literally out on a limb, there was no point in turning back without the shot. Releasing one arm to move the camera still dangling from her neck, Siobhan shifted her weight more heavily onto the massive branch.
“You’re not listening to me.”
“Just another minute.” Unable to balance both her weight and the camera, Siobhan set her favorite camera on the branch and with a little scooting forward, clicked away. A cloud rolled by, creating partial shade beside the flower and she clicked some more. Mother Nature was wonderful.
The photograph taken, convinced the blue ribbon would be hers with these shots, she just had one thing to figure out. How the heck was she going to get out of this tree without getting herself killed?
All Jack Preston needed was a few hours of shut eye and he’d be able to do more than sleep in his soup tonight. Loosening his bow tie, he shoved it in his pocket and undid the shirt button that had been choking him for hours. When he’d donned this penguin suit last night, he’d expected to be home, or at least in bed, long before sunrise. What he hadn’t expected was an after-party to end all after-parties.
The last two hours felt like he’d been swept back in time to a mid-century musical blockbuster. Seriously, not till last night had he ever seen an entire room of guests singing around a grand piano for hours except for in old movies. Dancing with every able-bodied single female in attendance was nothing unusual, but doing so until the sun sparkled through the penthouse windows and Devlin Baron’s maid served the surviving twenty or thirty guests breakfast was another first.
Somehow between chatting up a stacked blonde he’d hoped to set a few sparks off with, being roped into reliving his and Devlin’s senior year performances in Godspell, and the most ridiculous game of charades that had everyone laughing till they cried, Connie Danner had caught him in a moment of weakness and sweet-talked him into being her last-minute plus-one to a black-tie wedding. Another blasted wedding. Tonight. This last year he’d been to more weddings than he had in the previous decade. When Andrew Baron married, the core group of college buddies who thought nothing of zipping over to Monaco for a good yacht party on a moment’s notice hadn’t been seriously affected. By the time his best party buddy, Kyle, married and hung up his party hat, a domino effect of falling bachelors seemed to have started. The newest crop of most eligible bachelors weren’t the same as his long-time cohorts.
Less than ten minutes on the road and his phone sounded, his mother’s name flashing on his dashboard. With a tap of his steering wheel, he picked up the call. “Hey, Mom.”
“You’re late.”
Glancing quickly at the clock in front of him, he frowned, forcing his mind to run through late for what.
“Margaret is muttering in the kitchen. You know how she hates keeping food warm.”
Brunch. “Sorry, Mom. I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”
“See you then, Son.” The softness returned to her voice. “Love you.”
“Love you too.” No matter how tired he might be, his mom’s routine of saying love you rather than goodbye, always made him smile.
At the next stop light, he rolled up his sleeves, undid another button on his shirt, and made a mental note to grab his loafers from the trunk and ditch the dress shoes. Even though he was no longer a teen needing to sneak around from his parents’ oversight, he could at least try and not make it too obvious that he’d been out all night.
His phone dinged with a message as he pulled onto his family’s property. The dashboard spat out that Connie needed to be at the church an hour early to dress with the girls, but her car was making funny noises on the drive home and would he please pick her up instead of meeting her there. Though he’d rather have had a few extra minutes to nap this afternoon, it looked like he was going to be hanging out at an empty church waiting for another wedding. Parked in front of the house, he tapped out No Problem and slipping the phone into his pocket, darted up the front steps.
Already seated at the table, his father casually let his gaze scan Jack from head to toe and back before familiar deep-set lines formed between his brows. “Late night?”
Jack resisted the urge to make excuses and simply dipped his chin before leaning over his mother’s side for a quick hug and kiss hello. “Still playing bridge this afternoon?”
Smiling sweetly, his mother spread jam on a croissant and nodded. “The McKenzies are in Europe so we’re playing with the Whitehalls. Should be interesting.”
Serving himself from the buffet sideboard, he pulled up an image of the Whitehalls in his mind. “Isn’t she the one who cheats at cards?”
“They both do,” his father muttered over the coffee cup at his lips.
“We have a plan.” His mother’s grin turned sly. “We’re going to insist the men play against the women. Tiffany won’t have a partner to signal.”
Jack smiled at his mother. The woman always had a solution for any problem.
“Speaking of partners.” His father set his coffee cup down on the table. “You’re not getting any younger.”
And here came the familiar song and dance. Ever since Jack’s thirty-fifth birthday, his father had been more insistent that it was time for him to settle down. Ever since Kyle’s wedding, his father had found a way to work the subject into every and any conversation. “None of us are.”
“You know what I mean.” His father reached for a warm croissant and split it open. “Even Kyle Baron smartened up and found a nice wife. At this rate you’re going to be wearing dentures and raising kids at the same time.”
“No need to exaggerate, Dad. I’m not that old.”
“You’re not that young either.”
