Stand-In Groom by Kaye Dacus Page B

reputation that way. “When do you expect to return?”
    “In about three weeks.”
    “Three—” His mouth went dry.
    “Yeah. Sorry to leave at such a crucial point in the planning, but this is the only time his schedule will allow—probably the only time we’ll be able to see each other much before the wedding.” She kissed his cheek. “Well, I’m off to bed. I rinsed my plates and cup and put them on the counter by the sink.”
    “That’s fine.” His mind reeled. Three weeks. The three most critical weeks for planning the engagement party—scouting out a location, securing a band, selecting invitations, creating the list…
    And he’d have to do it alone with the most attractive woman he’d ever met.

C HAPTER 5
    L eft on his own after Courtney’s departure, George found getting out and about in Bonneterre eye-opening. The mental image he’d created of a midsized city in central Louisiana had been built solely on anecdotes of his employer’s childhood and a few films he’d seen supposedly set in the area.
    He hadn’t quite believed he’d hear Cajun-French spoken in the stores and zydeco music on the radio or see alligators swimming around in swamps, but he also hadn’t expected a teeming, modern minimetropolis, either.
    Using his need for furniture as an excuse for leaving the house early each morning and not returning until late in the evening, he explored the city on his own. Although Mama Ketty fed him well, he discovered Beignets S’il Vous Plait, a chain of cafés around town that only served the powdered sugar–dusted, fried french puff pastries and the best coffee he’d ever tasted. The last three mornings, he’d started out his jaunt with a tall chicory coffee and a plate of three beignets.
    He really wanted to explore Old Towne, Town Square, and the Riverwalk, but being in the vicinity of Anne Hawthorne’s office with the possibility of running into her stopped him.
    Slipping into the café’s men’s room, he washed the stickiness from his hands and checked his shirt for any signs of white dust from his morning snack. He’d have to go back to the house and changeclothes before meeting with Anne this afternoon. Khaki pants and a navy polo shirt weren’t his idea of a professional appearance.
    He turned the air conditioner up to high when he got back in the car. Ten in the morning, and the Mercedes’ external temperature gauge registered eighty-eight degrees. If only Bonneterre were located farther north—
much
farther north—he could call it ideal.
    His cell phone began to play Nat King Cole’s “Mona Lisa.” Smiling, he turned down the radio to answer the call.
    “Good morning, Miss Landry. How may I assist you?”
    “George, I just got off the phone with Anne. She’s going to make some changes to the contract and have you sign it. Can you pull together the address book so we can get a mailing list to her for the engagement party?”
    “I believe it would be better if I handled the invitations. Since Miss Hawthorne is supposed to believe I am your fiancé, she would find it rather odd when my name isn’t on the announcement, wouldn’t she?”
    Courtney giggled. He’d come to enjoy that sound so much. “Okay. Well, can you tell her that when you see her?”
    “Yes, miss.” She never demanded. She always requested. “Have you settled into the apartment?”
    “Oh, it’s so cool—I have the best view of Central Park from my window. And I’m in walking distance of all of the fabulous designer stores in Manhattan.” She giggled again. “Oh, and George, thank you.”
    Heat rose in his cheeks. “What for?”
    “For the pink and the lace and the ribbons. I know you had to be the one who had my room decorated for me.”
    “You’re welcome, Miss Courtney.”
    “Speaking of decorating—how is your furniture shopping going?”
    “The stores you recommended were wonderful. I think you’ll approve when you return.”
    “I can’t wait to see it. Oh, the car’s here.