Kerri Carpenter - The Dating Arrangement

But Emerson didn’t know what to say. What could she say really? The truth? Jack might be nice, and he had provided her with some much-needed alcohol during a trying moment, but he was still a stranger. Did she dare tell him that, as soon as she’d taken one look at herself wearing the wedding dress, in the three-way mirror, the air had whooshed out of her lungs? Her heart had begun beating so fast and so hard that she could practically hear it. The room had started to spin.

She played with the straw in her glass of water.

“Emerson?” Jack asked. “What happened? You seem...upset.”

She sighed. “It’s stupid, really. I saw myself dressed like this and I freaked. I was being dramatic and unnecessarily emotional.” She attempted a smile and shrugged, trying to make light of the situation.

The reality was the last time she’d been wearing a wedding dress, she’d been standing in the back of a church, waiting for her fiancé. But he hadn’t shown. Only the note had arrived.

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Climbing out of a window is a bit drastic. But something must have made you feel that way to need to escape so badly.”

“Like I said, I overreacted. I’m just not that into weddings.”

Jack nodded. “You don’t want to get married?”

I did. He didn’t.

Not being into weddings and not being into her marriage were two very different things. Emerson nodded. She agreed with Jack’s presumption because it seemed a lot simpler than going into the whole mess. Let him think she didn’t want to get married. It’s not like she’d see him again after today.

“That must be hard, since your mom owns a bridal shop.”

“Understatement.” She sat up straight and put on her best impression of a Southern accent. “Why, Beatrice Dewitt will have both of her daughters married faster than you can say mint julep .”

Behind the bar, Jack grinned. Emerson felt lucky to already be sitting down. She was a sucker for a good smile on a handsome face.

“Mama is from Spartanburg, South Carolina.”

He met this information with a blank stare.

“She was a deb. You know, a debutante?”

His facial expression didn’t change. She was going to have to spell this out.

“Southern women live for weddings. My mama’s chosen profession only adds to her wedding-mania. Being surrounded by silk organza gowns, lacy veils and sparkly accessories on a daily basis does nothing to suppress her desire to see me married.”

“But you’re not engaged right now?”

“I’m not even dating anyone at the moment. But that doesn’t stop Mama. My younger and incredibly perfect sister, Amelia, isn’t helping matters. She got married six months ago. I’d had a bit of a reprieve while Mama was busy planning her wedding.”

She clasped her hands in her lap and studied the bright coral nail polish that was chipping. Her mother had been harping on it earlier.

“So now that your sister’s married, your mother is trying to get you married off, even though you’re not interested.”

Again, she didn’t correct his assumption. Mainly because she didn’t want to tell him that she had been engaged. She had done the whole song and dance.

“This year is my parents’ thirtieth wedding anniversary. They’re having a huge party in a month. I think she’d like me to have a date. Or a fiancé. Or a husband.” Emerson threw her hands into the air. “It would complete the perfect family image. Amelia did her part.”

“Is your sister as pretty as you?”

Emerson sat back and swallowed, feeling her cheeks heat up. “Um, no—I mean yes—I mean... Thank you.” She bit her lip. “My sister is gorgeous. But we don’t look alike. Except for the hair color.” She ran a hand over her curly auburn hair until her fingers tangled with the floor-length veil.

“Amelia is tall and thin and beautiful. She looks like a model. I’m short and curvy and definitely not.”

Jack took her in. His gaze swept from the top of her head, over her body, all the way down to the ground. Slowly. Surely. “I think you look just fine.”

Emerson fought the urge to fidget. “Again, thank you. You’ve made me feel a lot better. You must be a really amazing bartender.”

Jack’s face fell. “I wouldn’t exactly call myself a bartender.”

She took in the various taps of beer, bottles of liquor stacked neatly on the far wall and rows of pristine glassware. “No?”

“I mean, I own this bar. Now. Recently, that is. My father passed away and left it to me.”

The emotions on her new friend’s face tugged at her heart. “I’m so sorry. About your father, I mean.” She could only imagine if something happened to her mother and she had to take over the bridal shop.

Cosmo made his way to Emerson’s chair. Then he let out a sound that sounded very close to a sigh. She picked him up again and placed him on her lap. He snuggled closer to Emerson.

“Poor thing.” Emerson rubbed her hands up and down the dog’s back, enjoying his soft fur. “I bet you miss your dad, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

She’d asked the question of the dog, but Jack answered. His word came out so softly, she wondered if he knew he’d said it. By the distant look on his face, she imagined not. She let it go.

“As you can see for yourself, The Wright Drink doesn’t exactly have the right appeal.”

Emerson took a moment to glance around the space. It needed some light—natural light, preferably. And one hell of a cleaning crew would do wonders. But all in all, she found it charming. Like an old English pub.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Seems like it just needs some tender loving care. A fresh coat of paint wouldn’t hurt either.”

“But would new paint bring customers in?”

She wasn’t sure if he was really asking her, but she decided to answer anyway. “Probably not. But if you zhuzhed up the inside, spent some time on a social media campaign and planned a couple of enticing events, you could turn things around. I’m an event planner and I’ve done plenty of grand openings for bars and restaurants, not to mention specialized events like themed nights, New Year’s Eve parties, birthday parties, you name it. You’d be surprised what attracts people.”

The air hung heavily between them. They locked eyes and it took everything in her power not to squirm from the intensity pouring out of those serious eyes.

She could feel the heat returning to her face and decided to lighten things up. “I mean, there are several ways to get customers interested in a business. I just organized the food truck festival last weekend and I know there—”

“You put that together?” He whistled long and low. “That was amazing. I heard there were two dozen trucks and they maxed out on ticket sales.”

She nodded. “The city wanted to focus on local businesses. Every food truck was owned by an Alexandria resident. To be honest, the publicity budget wasn’t very large. But word of mouth is a powerful tool. People were excited to support the trucks.”

“I got food from at least five or six places,” Jack said. “There was such great diversity.”

“Fifteen different ethnicities represented,” she said proudly. She’d worked extra hard to make sure a variety of diverse foods and cultures were included when she’d begun organizing the festival.

“Sadly, it almost didn’t happen. The organizers had wanted to do it for years, but the city kept pushing back. Said it wouldn’t bring any interest. There were a lot of things we did to make sure we would pack the festival.” She gestured around the bar. “Wouldn’t be hard to do the same kind of thing here.”

He seemed interested. “Really?”

“Off the top of my head, I would suggest a grand opening. Or a reopening, as the situation would warrant. There are several events you could begin hosting that would help garner interest.”