Picture Perfect (Weddings by Design Book #1): A Novel

  “Only my hairdresser knows for sure.” He wiggled his brows. “But he’s not tellin’.”

  “Tell me it’s temporary.”

  “Spray on.” Drew narrowed his gaze. “But since when do you care about the color of my hair?” An arched eyebrow indicated his humorous surprise.

  “Oh, I . . . well . . .” My heart did that weird flip-flop thing. I’d noticed the irregular heartbeat before—usually whenever Drew came around.

  He gave me an interested look. “By the way, you look . . .” He took me by the hand and turned me around in a full circle. “Amazing. Just like Grace Kelly.”

  My father happened by. “That’s my girl. Hannah Grace.”

  Drew gripped my hand. “Wait, your middle name is Grace?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you really are Grace.”

  “Full of grace and truth,” Mama said with a wink as she joined us. “That’s always been our little family phrase for Hannah.”

  “And that’s the real reason why you decided to come to the party dressed as Grace Kelly?” Drew asked.

  “Yeah.” I couldn’t help the smile that followed.

  “Very cool.” The expression on his face told me that he really did find it cool.

  Behind Drew, in the doorway, a middle-aged woman appeared, holding tight to a Crock-Pot. “Whew. Want to help me with this, Drew?” She pressed the Crock-Pot into his hands, then flashed a shy smile at me.

  Drew gripped the Crock-Pot and squared his shoulders. “Hannah, I’d like you to meet my date.”

  Date?

  “My mom, Corinne Kincaid.”

  The woman with the delightful smile extended her hand. “Hannah, I’m happy to meet you at last. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  You have?

  “Drew sings your praises all the time. Glad to finally meet you in person so I can put a face with the name.”

  “Glad you could come, Mrs. Kincaid.”

  “Kincaid?” My father’s voice rang out from behind me, and I cringed, wondering what he would say next. “Well, at least they’re Irish,” he said after a pause. “Might as well let ’em in. We need the aid of our countrymen to fight off the outsiders.”

  He went on to mutter something about how the Kincaids weren’t exactly our countrymen, what with them being our mortal enemies and all, but I prayed Drew and his mom wouldn’t hear it over the noise as the Irishmen got to singing again.

  “There once was an old man of Lyme

  Who married three wives at a time.

  When asked, ‘Why a third?’

  He replied, ‘One’s absurd!

  And bigamy, sir, is a crime.’”

  I looked at Drew and sighed. “You can see that you’ve arrived just in time.”

  Mama drew near and whispered in my ear, “Do something, Hannah. I have a feeling that’s not decaf your father’s lodge buddies are drinking.”

  “If they get too rowdy, I’m sure Dad will usher them out,” I responded.

  Or not. Minutes later the “Good health to you!” cheer—“Sláinte chugat!”—sounded across the room, and I knew we were in trouble. Whenever an Irishman wished another good health, he was usually swallowing down something other than coffee or tea.

  I opted for a distraction by introducing Corinne to my mother. The two women dove into a lengthy conversation about the amazing scent emanating from the Crock-Pot in Drew’s hands.

  Corinne’s gaze traveled to the ground. “I hope you don’t mind that I came without a proper invitation, but I’ve always been a Bing Crosby fan and just couldn’t resist once Drew told me about it.” She glanced at the Splendora trio and grinned. “Sure looks like you folks are having a lot of fun.”

  “We are, and you’re in the right place if you’re a Bing fan,” Mama said with a nod. “Say no more. And just so you know, you’re always welcome. I’m accustomed to having a houseful, but with all of my girls married now . . .” She looked my way. “Well, all but Hannah here, anyway, it gets really lonely around here.”

  Before I could help it, a sigh escaped.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I brought our stew,” Mrs. Kincaid said. “It was Drew’s idea. He even helped make it. Then again, he’s always been a great help in the kitchen. Gotta love a man who cooks.”

  Yes. You. Do.

  “Smells delicious.” Mama took her by the hand. “C’mon and help me. I need to bring more of the food out to the table.”

  I tagged along behind Drew, who followed our mothers to the tables on the Bing Crosby side of the room.

  “You helped your mom make the stew?” I asked.

  “Don’t tell anyone, but I actually made it.” He paused. “Well, mostly. She peeled the potatoes, cut up the lamb, chopped the onions, and threw in the Canadian bacon. But I stirred it. And added the spices. And it was my suggestion, of course.” A jovial laugh followed his words, along with a tip of his hat.

  “Well, your mom is lucky to have you. I’m glad you brought her along.”

  My mother gestured for Drew to put the Crock-Pot on the table on the west side of the room. She and Mrs. Kincaid then busied themselves going back and forth to the kitchen to fetch the English foods for the Bob Hope table on the east side of the room. Before long we were all drooling over Jammie Dodgers and potatoes as well as fish and chips. The combination of tantalizing aromas nearly took my breath away. I could hardly wait to dive in.

  Mama paused from her work long enough to ask for my assistance. “Hannah, would you go into the kitchen to get those scones you made?”

  “Sure.” I nodded and took a few steps toward the kitchen, surprised to find Drew right behind me.

  I gave him a curious glance, and he shrugged. “Just thought you might need some help.”

  “My scones are as light as a feather.”

  “Oh, I’m sure they are.” Drew leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Okay, so I used the line about helping you just to follow you to the kitchen. Truth is, I’m still trying to figure out that whole Jacquie Goldfarb thing. It’s a mystery, but I plan to solve it before the night’s over.”

  “Ah.”

  Well, in the meantime, could you lean a little closer? That cologne you’re wearing is yummy.

  Though I hated to admit it even to myself, nearly everything about Drew Kincaid was yummy. Not just his cologne. Not just his Bing Crosby getup. Not just his kindhearted manner. Truth be told, there was little I didn’t like about the guy, apart from him being my competition. And the less I found to criticize, the more I found to admire.

  And that fact was just about to drive me over the edge. Then again, with such a handsome fella following on my heels, who needed to hang on? Might as well let go and see where the road would take us.

  16

  Count Your Blessings Instead of Sheep

  May the lilt of Irish laughter

  Lighten every load.

  May the mist of Irish magic

  Shorten every road . . .

  And may all your friends remember

  All the favors you are owed!

  Irish saying

  The Bing and Bob party forged ahead, noisier than ever. Now, I’d seen my father in his element before, but never in a crowd of this size. He took to sharing stories about Bing Crosby—after his “Irish Lullaby” solo, of course. His best friends, especially Sean, got along famously with the men from Bella’s family. Who knew? Laughter rang out across the room as everyone enjoyed the evening.

  And the food! I’d never seen so many people consume so much food in one sitting before. Mama, Rosa, and Corinne scurried back and forth from the kitchen to the serving tables to keep the tantalizing stuff coming.

  And speaking of tantalizing, I found my thoughts continually drifting back to Drew Kincaid. When I went to the kitchen to fetch more ice, he joined me. My heart rate skipped to double time.

  Good gravy. What’s wrong with you, Hannah? There you go again, falling for a handsome guy just because he’s . . .

  Okay, this on
e was gazing into my eyes with such intensity that I felt the butterflies in my stomach take to flight. And all the more when he leaned in close to whisper something in my ear.

  “I can’t take it anymore,” he said. “What in the world did you mean when you called me Jacquie Goldfarb?”

  “Ah.” I reached for the ice, then paused to think through my response. “It’s sort of a code name that I use when I’m talking about my competition.”

  “Wait . . . I’m your competition?” Drew looked confused.

  “Well, yeah.” I headed out to the living room with the ice, hoping he wouldn’t carry the conversation further.

  “So, why Jacquie Goldfarb? What’s the significance of the name?”

  I emptied the ice into the appropriate bucket and turned back to face him. “She’s a girl I knew in school. Very pretty. Cheerleader type. Pretended to be my friend but turned on me every chance she got. Dated the hottest guy in the school. You know. Jacquie Goldfarb. Every school has one.”

  “And I’m Jacquie Goldfarb?” His brow wrinkled. “You’re sure?”

  “Yep.”

  “I’ll admit, I give off the cheerleader vibe.” He quirked a brow. “But I can absolutely assure you I’ve never been one to date the hottest guy in the school.”

  “Well, thank God for small favors.” I managed a weak chuckle.

  “Besides . . .” He leaned in to whisper, “I don’t plan to turn on you. And I’m no Goldfarb. I’m a Kincaid through and through.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he stared at me. “A good Irish boy, to quote your father.”

  “True.”

  “So you’ve settled that issue in your mind, then?” he asked. “You’re ready to admit that I’m 100 percent Irish, in spite of being adopted?”

  “Of course.”

  “All right. Well, while we’re casting shadows of doubt, I must confess that I’m not 100 percent sure you are.”

  This statement almost shocked the breath out of me. Was the boy deaf, dumb, and blind? “Are you serious? I’m a McDermott.” After dropping the empty ice tray onto the table, I raised my chin with a cool stare in his direction. “What other proof do you need?”

  “I can’t argue with that. McDermott is an Irish name. I’ve been researching it, by the way. You know what McDermott means, don’t you?”

  “I’m sorry, what?” You’ve been researching my name?

  “Your name. McDermott. It means ‘free from envy.’” He shared a story about the etymology of the name, but he lost me after a moment. Only one thing stuck with me from his twisted tale.

  “W-wait. You’re telling me that my name really means ‘free from envy’?”

  “Yep.” He grinned. “Crazy what you learn when you do a little research.”

  “So, what makes you think I’m not Irish?”

  “Totally kidding about that. I figured if you got riled up when I made the accusation, it would be all the proof I needed that you really are. Get it?”

  “Very funny.”

  “My pleasure. And by the way, just in case you didn’t know, the McDermotts came to live in America during the potato famine. My mom helped me with this part. She’d done a lot of historical research for our clan over the years, so she knew just where to look.”

  “And in all that research, did you somehow miss the part about how the McDermotts and the Kincaids were fierce foes back in the day?”

  “Huh?” He shrugged. “Never heard her mention it. Weird.”

  “Well, it’s true. My dad says it was like the Hatfields and McCoys all over again, only worse.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Across the room, “Oh Danny Boy” rang out as my father raised his voice in song.

  “Do your family research.” I turned back to Drew, lowering my voice. “The McDermotts and the Kincaids never got along. They feuded from the get-go. That explains why the two of us—”

  “Are a match made in heaven?” The twinkle in his eye threw me.

  “W-what?”

  “Nothing. You were saying?”

  “I was just saying that, according to my father’s research—”

  “Our people don’t get along?” Drew’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Honestly, Hannah, I don’t care what our ancestors did. We’re living in the twenty-first century, not medieval times.”

  “True. But my father says that his father—and his grandfather, and his grandfather’s father—all swapped war stories about the infamous Kincaids.”

  “So what started this feud, if you don’t mind my asking.”

  “My dad said it had something to do with land. I’m not sure.”

  “Kind of odd that I’ve never heard this story.” He shook his head. “My parents told me all of the tall tales from days gone by. Never heard the one about the feud with the McDermotts. Strange.”

  “Stranger still that we’re here, hundreds of years later, still feuding.”

  He put his hands up, as if under arrest. “Speak for yourself, little missy. There’s not a feuding bone in my body.”

  “Well, not feuding, exactly. We’re just major competitors. Don’t you find that ironic?”

  “Ironic that we’re both in the same line of work, or ironic that you see me as your competitor?” The worry lines on his forehead deepened. “Because, to be honest, I’ve never really thought about you as the competition.”

  “O-oh?” This totally caught me off guard. “You haven’t?” What, you don’t think I’m as good as you? Is that it? I’m not worthy of being called a competitor?

  Drew’s face took on a pained expression. “I guess I just don’t think like that. We have the same interests, sure. But I see that as a good thing, not something to divide us.”

  I sighed. “It’s the only way I think, to be honest. I’m just so . . . so . . . competitive.”

  “Why is that?”

  I shrugged. “Because I’m a McDermott, of course. Haven’t you heard? The McDermotts don’t go down without a fight.”

  “You fight to the finish, no matter what?”

  “Always have. My grandpa Aengus used to tell a story about his great-great-grandfather and some war he fought. He wouldn’t give up his sword, even after being captured by the enemy. Held on to it until they took his life.”

  “Stubborn.” Drew quirked a brow.

  “That’s one way to say it.”

  “Don’t you think—and I’m not trying to be sarcastic here—that some circumstances would call for dropping the sword and saving your life? What’s the problem with admitting defeat when it’s staring you in the face?”

  His words stung far more than he could’ve known. I thought about that unsigned addendum and felt sick inside. Not that he knew about all of that. Still, I couldn’t give up on the idea that I could somehow salvage the situation with Sierra Caswell, despite all opposition. I was a McDermott, after all.

  I closed my eyes and could almost see my great-great-great-great-grandfather clinging to that sword, face taut. Strange, he looked a little like me as I clung to my dying business.

  A deep sigh followed. I couldn’t help it.

  I’d just started to open up and share more of my heart with Drew when Bonnie Sue approached, nibbling on a scone. “This is the yummiest thing I’ve ever eaten in my life. Might have to have a couple more when I’m done with this one.”

  “Thanks. I made those myself.”

  “That’s what your mama said.” Bonnie Sue finished the scone and licked the powdered sugar off her fingers. “And by the way, I just love your mama. She’s precious, honey.”

  “Thank you.” I cringed, mostly because she’d called me honey in front of Drew. Something about the word made me feel young. Too young.

  The other two Splendora sisters started harmonizing “Thanks for the Memories,” with my dad’s Irish buddies chiming in. Bonnie Sue took off to the other side of the room and added her voice to the fray. I deliberately took a few steps away from Drew, hoping he wouldn’t follow me. I needed time—and space—to qui
et the voices in my head.

  Somehow I landed at the Bob Hope table, where Bella and D.J. stood, filling plates with food. D.J. headed across the room to talk to Mr. Rossi, but Bella lingered behind. She glanced my way and put her plate down. “Hannah,” she whispered. “We need to talk.”

  “Oh?”

  Please, God, not here. I do not want this fiasco with Sierra to ruin a perfectly good night.

  “Yes. You’re not a very good actress, just so you know.”

  “What?” I felt my hands tremble as I looked her way. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m just saying . . . when Drew walks in the room, you try so hard to act like you don’t notice him, but your acting skills stink. Why don’t you just let your guard down and enjoy being with him?” She stared at me with such intensity that I felt exposed. “Or is there something I need to know here?”

  “Nothing. Nope. Nada. I got nothin’.”

  “Oh, you’ve got something all right.” She leaned in to have a closer look at my face. “And for the record, you’re blushing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you blush before. If I didn’t know any better, I would say you’re twitterpated.”

  “Twitter?” I shook my head. “I’m a Facebook girl all the way. Don’t twitter. Or tweet. Or whatever it’s called.”

  “Hannah, I’m not talking about the internet. I’m talking about your heart. I think you’re twitterpated. That’s what the Splendora sisters call it when you’re falling for someone. You’re falling for Drew Kincaid.”

  I felt the breath go out of me as she said the words. While I’d voiced the idea to myself, no one else on the planet—to my way of thinking, anyway—had a clue.

  Till now. How in the world had she guessed my dark little secret? I hadn’t even convinced myself. Yet. Sure, the guy captivated my thoughts, my imagination, my curiosity. But he was my competition . . . right?

  “You can go on pretending you don’t see him. You can even act like you’re mad at him because he’s your competitor. But I think we both know what’s really going on here. You see him and your insides turn to mush.”