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Pallas returned. She’d replaced her jeans and T-shirt with a simple dark green dress that brought out her hazel eyes. Her long brown hair was still in its fancy braid and he didn’t think she was wearing any makeup. Of course she wasn’t the bride—she was here to make the bride’s dreams come true.
She walked up to him and nodded in approval. “You look great. Thank you for doing this. I would be in so much trouble if you hadn’t agreed to help out. Did Alan tell you what was going to happen?”
“We carry in the bride, then quietly leave.”
“Right. Oh, we still have to do our interview. I have no excuse for scheduling it so close to a wedding except to say I must have gotten the days wrong. There’s just so much to do.”
Emotions filled her eyes. He read worry, panic and more than a little determination. An interesting combination.
She squared her shoulders. “One crisis at a time, as Gerald always said. We are ready for the wedding. Gentlemen, if you’ll take your positions, please.”
She led the way downstairs. Nick wasn’t sure what to expect, but quicker than he’d anticipated, they were in a room with a frazzled-looking bride, several bridesmaids dressed in what he would guess were Roman-inspired gowns and an honest-to-God palanquin.
He moved closer to the sedan chair and studied the carving on the sides. They were hand done, then attached to what he guessed was a lightweight metal frame.
Pallas got everyone in position. The bride took her seat. Alan took the front right position, which Nick would guess meant he was in charge.
“On three, gentlemen. We lift slowly, in unison and with our knees.” Alan smiled at the bride. “Not that we have to worry about you, darling. You’re no bigger than a minute and so lovely in your gown. It’s designer, isn’t it? Lucky, lucky you.”
The bride visibly relaxed. “Thank you. I love my dress.”
“It loves you back. Shall we? On three.”
Nick waited for the count, then raised the bride. The crossbar had a padded, curved notch for his shoulder. He found he only had to use his hand to steady it, not support it. As Pallas had promised, the bride was light and the weight easy to bear.
He went with the others down the hall. A photographer snapped pictures. Huge double doors opened for them and they walked into a massive room with at least a twenty-foot ceiling.
Guests lined up on either side of the large aisle and a groom in a fancier version of a toga waited up at the carved altar. Despite the fact that it was the middle of the afternoon, flickering torches provided light.
They reached the end of the aisle. Alan directed them to lower the bride. When she was with her Roman groom, they carried the palanquin back out. Alan ushered them to a huge outdoor courtyard set up for the reception. The palanquin was set down in a corner.
“People love climbing all over it for pictures,” Alan told Nick. “All right, you’re free to go.” He pointed to a door. “Go through there. You’ll find a staircase that will take you up to the second floor. The dressing room is at the end, on the right.”
“Thanks.”
Nick followed his directions. When he went inside, he saw the staircase. Before he reached it, however, he spotted a partially open door.
“No way,” he murmured as he moved closer.
He opened the door wider, swore under his breath and stepped inside.
Several large carved wooden panels hung from tracks where they could slide into place. He stepped to the side and visually followed the track. He would guess it led to the big ballroom he’d just been in.
These panels—easily ten feet tall and twice as wide—were exquisite works of art. The carvings depicted what he would guess was early palace life. There were several tableaux of a royal court and a few outdoor country scenes. Sure, the arrangements were cheesy, but the carving was incredible. Each of the characters in the first relief seemed ready to come to life. He traced the etched lines that created dimension in a few elegant strokes only to feel rough edges. He looked more closely and saw the panels were dinged, dry and in need of some serious TLC. Was this the job Pallas wanted a carpenter for?
He went back out the way he’d come, circling around the now-empty courtyard. He crept into the back of the ballroom and saw the carved Roman panels in place on the walls. They were as brilliant as the other ones and even from a distance, cried out to be restored.
And here he’d thought Pallas was looking for someone to repair windows or build cabinets. To work on something like this... Had Atsuko known about the panels? Was that why she’d suggested Nick apply for the job? Because while he’d grown up working with glass, in the past decade he’d fallen for wood.
Glass was cold and mercurial, but wood was alive. Wood had a soul.
He retreated back the way he’d come and headed up the stairs. The whole carry-a-bride-after-being-fake-tanned thing had put him off the part-time job, but now that he’d seen the panels, he knew he didn’t have a choice. He had to restore them and make sure they were in good enough shape to last for future generations.
Dramatic much, he thought to himself as he entered the dressing room. Except the panels were worth the drama and oddness that was Pallas’s wedding business. They deserved the very best of him and he was determined that they would get it. As much as he might want to deny it, he was, down to his bones, an artist. His father’s blood ran through him and with it came the need to create. Or in this case, restore.
* * *
PALLAS RARELY SCHEDULED more than one wedding on a weekend. It was simply too difficult to set up everything and then break it down in time. The only exception was when a wedding party wanted a Friday event—then she could handle a second one on Sunday. Still, even with that option, and the slightly lower cost for choosing “off hours,” most brides and grooms wanted the traditional Saturday night party. Which meant she had most Sundays off.
Bright and early Monday morning she made her way to Weddings in a Box and walked the property. The main building was three-sided, in a U shape with a courtyard in the middle. At the west end was the small lobby with a fairly traditional facade done with a slight Italian villa flair. The north side was finished with stone and resembled a medieval castle. The south side was covered with wooden siding—giving it a ranch-like, Old West, rustic feel.
One building, three options that could easily be fluffed to fit nearly a dozen wedding themes. Quirky, yes, but she loved every fake brick and nonworking window.
She checked for damage to the building and fence—because there was that one time a groomsman had run his car into the gate—and lost or abandoned property. Celebrations went late, liquor ran freely and more than one shoe, bra or pair of panties had been found on the lawn.
What was it about weddings and irresponsible sex? Sure, the bride and groom were likely to get some but that was tradition. Everyone else should wait until they got home—only they rarely did. Fortunately today all she found was a streamer and a few flower petals. No need for protective gloves to pick up those.
She made her way inside and headed for the business office on the second floor. She’d only moved into what she still thought of as Gerald’s office a few weeks before. For the first month after his death—after learning that he’d left her his business—she’d been in shock. For the next two months, she’d been unwilling to make any changes. Last month she’d realized that running from her desk to his fifty times a day was just plain dumb. Gerald wouldn’t have given her Weddings in a Box if he didn’t want her to keep it going. So she’d moved into his office.
Instead of feeling sad, she’d realized that being where she always pictured him had made her feel closer to him. He’d been like a second father to her, and while she missed him every day, she knew he would be happy with what she was getting done.
Now she checked her calendar while carefully avoiding the pile of bills in her in-box. Weddings in a Box might be a happy, interesting place, but it was also hanging on by a financial thread. One that was constantly in danger of snapping. Theme weddings didn’t come cheap, but neither did the venue and the special touches.
Tomorrow, she promised herself. She would be brave tomorrow. She checked her email and saw that two more brides had sent back signed contracts. That was good news. She would review them before—
“Good morning.”
She looked up and saw a man in the doorway to her office. Not just any man—Nick Mitchell.
Several emotions collided. Gratitude for how he’d rescued her on Saturday, slight embarrassment at how she’d stripped him down and fake-tanned him, major embarrassment after she’d figured out who he was and disappointment that she was still going to have to keep looking for a part-time carpenter. Oh, and confusion as to why he was here.
She rose, ignoring the fact that he was the best-looking man she’d had in her office in oh, forever, and smiled. “Hi. How can I help you?”
He leaned against the door frame. “I thought we could have that interview now.”
Because she’d accidentally scheduled the last one right before a wedding. Only there was no way he would want to work for her now, was there? “I really appreciate how you helped me out on Saturday.”
“You’re welcome. It’s not every day a guy gets to be a Roman soldier.”
“Unless you work here, then it happens way too often.” She hesitated. “I’m sorry about how everything played out.”
“I’m not. It was an experience I can talk about for a long time.”
“I’m relieved you’re not mad. Alan said you were a nice guy. He’s generally a good judge of character.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“You’re not threatened by Alan?” Because a lot of straight guys were.
“Not even close.” He flashed her a grin. “I work with a chainsaw. It takes a lot to threaten me.”
“That certainly puts things in perspective.” She shifted her weight from foot to foot and decided to just say it. “I don’t mean to be rude, but there’s no point in us having an interview. When I set up our appointment I hadn’t done more than pencil in a name on my calendar. I looked you up yesterday.”
One eyebrow rose. “Google or Bing?”
She smiled. “Both, and they said the same thing.” Her smile faded as she remembered everything she’d read. Nick Mitchell wasn’t anything close to an out-of-work carpenter. He was a world-renowned artist who had won awards. Yes, he worked with wood, but on a completely different level. It would be like asking a successful race car driver to teach someone to drive.
“I don’t know what my friend Atsuko was thinking when she gave me your name. You’re some famous artist guy and I’m a small-business owner who needs some repairs done. On the cheap.” She tried not to wince over the last word because someone like Nick Mitchell wouldn’t understand what it was like to scramble for every penny to keep her business open.
“But I appreciate you coming by,” she added. “And you being a good sport about the whole fake tanning thing.”
“It was fun. I enjoyed myself. The tanning was...interesting.”
“Not an experience to be repeated?”
“Um, no.”
She stood by her desk, waiting for him to leave, but he didn’t seem in a hurry to go.
“What did you want done?” he asked.
Why did he care? “Nick, I’m serious. I was going to pay a few dollars above minimum wage. That’s all I can afford.”
“Is it the wood panels?”
“Yes, but—”
He nodded toward the hallway. “Let’s go see them.”
She was more than a little confused, but okay. They went down the stairs and through the large, empty ballroom toward the storage areas on the side. She pulled open the big doors and flipped on the lights, then waited while Nick examined the panels hanging in place.
The rectangles of wood were huge—tall and wide, completely carved on one side. As she watched, Nick moved to the first one and placed his hands on the wood. He half closed his eyes as he traced the carvings with his fingers. Pallas had the oddest sense of watching something intensely personal, which was uncomfortable and more than a little fanciful.
“What do you know about these?” he asked, still studying them.
“Not much. They were here long before I started working for Gerald. To be honest, I never thought much about them except as decorative backdrops. When he died and left me the business, I did an inventory of everything. That was the first time I’d really looked at the panels. I realized they were in rough shape.”
“They are. They’re old, and the dry air is both preserving them and causing them to split. You can see the workmanship. Someone took a long time to create these. Someone with talent.”
“I wish I knew more about them,” she admitted. She should have asked Gerald about them, but it had never come up. She’d never realized what his plans were. In her mind, she’d been an employee and he’d been a great friend. The inheritance, an unexpected and unbelievably generous gift, had caught her off guard.
“My brothers work in glass,” he said without looking at her. “They talk about the beauty, the cleanness of it. The purity. Glass can be anything. It doesn’t exist until we bring it to life. But wood is alive. Wood has a soul—it tells the artist what it’s supposed to be. You can ignore what it says, but if you do, the carving will never turn out right.”
He turned to her, his dark gaze intense. “I want to work on these.”
She stared at him. “What? No, that’s ridiculous. You’ve been in People magazine.”
He chuckled. “Why does that matter?”
“It just does.” She was going to ignore the fact that he’d been in their Sexiest Man Alive issue and that the picture had been impressive. “I’m going to find some carpenter to—”
“No. Not a carpenter. These are incredible, Pallas. They deserve to be revered. I’ll do it for whatever you were planning to pay. I want the job.”
“Why?”
He turned back to the panels and placed his hands on them. “They told me they trusted me.” He dropped his arms to his sides and faced her. “Don’t worry. I’m not going off the deep end. This kind of work is rare. I’ll enjoy it. I’m between projects right now, so I have the time.”
He paused as if considering how much to tell her. “I’m up for a commission in Dubai. I’ll know in the next couple of months if I’m going to get it. I doubt there’s much question, but until I hear, I don’t want to commit to anything big.”
“Dubai?”
“A hotel wants to hire me to create a piece for its lobby. I would be there about two years.”
“That’s a long time.”
“I know, but it would be an interesting experience. These will keep me busy until then.” He smiled. “I promise to take good care of your panels.”
“I don’t doubt your ability,” she admitted. “Or your commitment. But I’m serious about what I could pay.”
“It’s not about the money.”
Right. Because a guy like Nick didn’t necessarily work for the money, she reminded herself. Wouldn’t that be nice?
“Take advantage of me,” he urged. “You’ll like it.”
She knew exactly how he meant the comment but for one brief second, she pretended he was coming on to her. In a boy-girl kind of way. Because it had been forever since anyone had bothered.
She knew the reasons for that were complicated. She was perfectly normal looking with an average body and no habits that were outside of social norms. In theory she should be able to find some nice guy to date and take to bed. But while there had been the occasional man in her life, there hadn’t been anyone close to “the one.” Or even “the right now.”
Part of it was where she lived. Happily Inc was a relatively small town and in her part of it, there weren’t that many single guys. The ones she knew happened to be relatives, so ick. There was also the fact that she had a way of holding herself back, emotionally. She knew why—what she didn’t know was how to change. Which meant being propositioned was rare and something to be treasured. Not that Nick had. He’d been talking about—
“Pallas?”
“Huh?” Oh, right. He wanted an answer. “If you’re willing to accept my sad little hourly paycheck, then I’m happy to offer it,” she told him.
“It’s a deal.” He held out his hand.
She shook it, ignoring how large it was and the brief heat she felt. Nick was so far out of her league as to be an extraterrestrial. Still, he was nice to look at. She would enjoy the show while it lasted.
“You can work whatever hours you want,” she told him. “As long as you’re not interfering with a wedding. I’ll give you a time sheet for you to keep track of your hours. You’ll get paid twice a month. Do you need tools or supplies or anything?”
“I’ll bring my own.”
“Good.” Because she wouldn’t know where to start. “Then I guess I’ll see you around.”
“You can count on it.”
If only that were true, she thought humorously. She wondered how wrong it would be to ask him to work shirtless. Because he’d made a fine Roman soldier.
