Once Upon a Wedding, Page 3

  Denver stepped inside. Her little house was just as fun and funky as her shop, with a heavy emphasis on comfort. Her living room had the kind of furniture you could sink into, with lots of girlie pillows and soft fabrics.

  Misty led them through to the kitchen. “I figured you’d be more of a beer drinker.”

  “You’re into carrying the work of local artisans in your shop. I’m into doing the same with local beers, ciders, and wine in my bar.”

  She paused, one hand on the back door, confirming his assessment that she hadn’t known he was the owner. She chuckled. “An in with the boss indeed.”

  They stepped outside. Her patio reminded him of some kind of foreign bazaar—lots of patterned fabrics draped to make a canopy for shade and an explosion of lush plants. A couple of rattan chairs were angled to look out over the yard and the view of the mountains beyond. Wine bottle torches were scattered around the perimeter, already lit and giving off the sharp scent of citronella. Off to one side, a huge gas grill was heating.

  “That right there is a manly grill.”

  Misty threw an arch look over her shoulder. “That right there is a fine piece of cooking equipment that knows no gender. Seems I’m not the only one who made assumptions.”

  “Touché.”

  Once Misty hit the grass, she set Moxie down. Denver unclipped Oscar’s leash. The big dog immediately turned three circles, sneezing all the while, before dropping into a play bow, trembling with excitement. Moxie turned her back on him, then looked over her shoulder with an expression that nearly matched her mistress. With one sharp bark, she took off like a rocket. In a flurry of paws, Oscar raced after her.

  “They’ll be fine out here. C’mon.”

  Denver followed her back into the kitchen and accepted the corkscrew the offered.

  “I bow to your superior skills in this department, as I value not having to fish cork out of my wine.”

  He did his duty, uncorking the sauvignon blanc he’d picked up from Temptation Vineyards, while she got out glasses. His buddy Ford had assured him it was a great summer choice, no matter what she was serving. “What are we having?”

  “Pork kebabs with summer vegetables and fresh chimichurri. And strawberry rhubarb pie for dessert.”

  “Sounds like it’s a good thing I brought my appetite.”

  She opened the box with the gift he’d brought for Moxie and gave a delighted laugh as she extracted the stuffed crown squeaker toy. “Oh, this is so perfect for her.”

  “Oscar would kill something like that inside three minutes, but I thought, being tiny, Moxie might make it last a bit longer.”

  “She’s gonna love it.” Misty snagged the glass of wine he’d poured her and sniffed. “And I’m gonna love this. Thank you.”

  “I wasn’t sure if you would. You generally don’t drink when you come into the tavern.”

  She went brows up. “Been watching me, Denver?”

  Of course he had. How could he not? But saying so could tread perilously close to sounding creepy, and he still wasn’t sure where they stood. “Occupational hazard and a small town. I tend to know who drinks, who doesn’t, and what they prefer.”

  She angled her head in acknowledgment. “Makes sense. I know the same thing about people and flowers. To answer the question you’re very politely not asking, I never drink if I’m going to be driving. So, unless I’m home or out with my girlfriends and one of them is driving, I don’t indulge.”

  “Sensible.”

  They carried the wine outside, and once she’d put the kebabs on the grill, they settled into the chairs with their wine.

  Misty curled her feet beneath her skirt. “So where exactly are you from, Denver? Not here. There’s not a trace of southern to that accent.”

  “Lake Tahoe. Though I had a grandmother from Georgia.”

  “You’re a long, long way from home.”

  He sipped at his wine. “It hasn’t been home for a number of years.”

  “So how’d you end up here?”

  Being a bartender, Denver was used to hearing other people’s stories, not sharing his own. He didn’t like revealing much of himself. But he could give her a piece without getting into the whole sorry mess. “From the time I was a little kid, my dad and I planned to take a big ass road trip around the country. We mapped the entire route, all the best motorcycle roads.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  “It would’ve been.” Denver’s throat went thick, so he drank more wine. “He died before we could take it.”

  Sympathy flashed across her face. “I’m so sorry.”

  Twitching his shoulders, he tried to shrug off the haze of grief. “After he was—after, I set out on my own. Roxanne got a flat just outside town here, and I had to order a new tire. Picked up a few shifts at the tavern, while I was waiting. I liked the look of the place—the bar and the town—so I stayed.”

  “Simple as that?”

  “Is your story more complicated?”

  Something flickered over her face as she considered the question. “Not so much. I finally left a shitty job, and I wanted a real change. A friend of mine gave me a gift—this blown glass globe—I have it hanging in the living room, actually—a gorgeous piece. It seemed like there was a different world contained in this thin shell of glass, colors and shapes, maybe like a better world, waiting to be born.” A light laugh and a wave of her hand wiped away the dreamy look that had settled on her face. “The piece always fascinated me, so I tracked own the artist—Hale Copeland, maybe you know him—here in Eden’s Ridge. I came. I saw. I decided to stay and open my shop. It was about as far from where I was before as I could get.”

  “And where was said shitty job?”

  “Kansas City.” That cloud of…something…flickered in her eyes again. “I like to keep my distance from that time and place.”

  “Fair enough.” God knew, Denver understood that sentiment. He sipped his wine and met her gaze. “I’m more interested in the now anyway.”

  The moment caught and held, drawing out until neither of them could mistake his meaning. Then she smiled into her glass. “Now’s looking pretty good to me, too.”

  ~*~

  Two weeks, three lunches, a breakfast, two dinners/playdates for Moxie and Oscar, and a handful of random stop-ins on both sides were more than enough to link Misty’s name with Denver’s in the local gossip pool. Just that morning, Essie Vaughn, sniffer outer of all brewing romances in Eden’s Ridge, had been in Moonbeams and Sweet Dreams asking for confirmation that they were dating. Misty hadn’t known what to say because Denver hadn’t made a single move. She knew she hadn’t misinterpreted things that first night at dinner. The man was interested. But he hadn’t acted on it, and she couldn’t figure out why. This was not a friend thing they had going on here. Well, they were becoming friends, certainly. She now knew he’d played in a rock band in college, that he was a closet Star Trek fan, and that he had as big a sweet tooth for chocolate as she did. But that wasn’t the only thing between them. So what was the holdup?

  At least she’d finally wrangled an invitation to see his workshop. They’d finished dinner—pizza from the tavern—and after a romp in the backyard, Oscar had curled up on his dog bed, and Moxie had curled up on Oscar’s outstretched front legs. They were sound asleep.

  “I think we have a bit of a May-December romance going on here,” Misty observed.

  “A what now?”

  “A romance where there’s a big age gap between the couple. Oscar and Moxie are smitten.”

  He kicked back against the counter and looked over at the dogs. “I figure he appreciates the value of a woman who knows her own mind.” Something glimmered in those gray eyes as he turned back to her.

  Were they still talking about the dog? “Moxie can never be accused of being indecisive.” Misty passed him the last plate to load into the dishwasher. “So, the furkids are konked out. Are you finally going to let me into the inner sanctum so I can see your progress on the arbor?”


  “It’s not put together yet.”

  “I didn’t figure it would be. But I’d love to see what you’ve done so far. Unless you’re one of those stubborn artists who doesn’t want anybody to see anything but the final product.”

  “I’m not an artist. Just a guy who likes making stuff out of wood.” Denver shoved away from the counter and headed down the short hall. “I ended up making a few changes. It’s a lot of work, so I figured I might as well make something they could use beyond just the wedding.” He opened a door into what she presumed was the garage and flipped a light.

  Misty followed him into the room. Long work benches lined three of the walls, and the air was scented with sawdust and a faint scent of old varnish. Sawhorses with 4x4 posts took up much of the floor space in front of the closed garage door. Various and sundry other pieces were stacked neatly or in various stages of carving. She could see the knotwork design drawn out in pencil on some. She ran her fingers over the pattern already carved in one arched piece. “Denver, I’m gonna argue with you. You are an artist. This is gorgeous.” So are you. She watched his muscles flex as he easily he picked up one of the 4x4s, taller than he was, and showed her the design he’d put in.

  “I decided it would work best as a small pergola. They can set it up over a bench and create a little seating area or something. The interior crosspieces will be plain, since they mostly won’t be seen. But these, the struts, and the lintel that will face the audience will all have this pattern of knotwork and vines. And there will be plenty of space for you to train actual vines or attach whatever other flowers you decide on.”

  “Where did you learn how to do this?”

  “My dad taught me. He was a cabinetmaker by trade. Mostly plain and simple stuff, but every now and again, he’d get a client who’d want something really special. Then he got to play.”

  “You two were really close.” That much was obvious in the warmth of his tone.

  “Yeah. It was just us for a long time. My mom split when I was little, and he raised me on his own, with his mom’s help. My Nana Jean was from Georgia, but she came all the way out to Nevada and lived with us until she died.”

  “Sounds like a good grandmother. How old were you when she died?”

  “Senior in high school. Wasn’t the same after she was gone, but Dad and I managed.”

  It was the implied tone of until that had her pressing for more. “How did he die?” she asked softly.

  Denver leaned absently against the post. “He had kidney disease.” She thought he was going to stop there, but he kept going. “At first it didn’t slow him down much. He kept working, kept training me. Dialysis was just another part of the routine. Then he started getting weaker, having dizzy spells, pain. The dialysis wasn’t cutting anymore. He needed a new kidney. I wasn’t a match, so he got on the transplant list. But that’s a bit like hoping to win the lottery. He ran out of time.”

  Misty’s throat went thick. The story was so familiar, it made her ache in ways he couldn’t understand. “I’m so sorry.”

  Denver twitched his shoulders. “It sucked. After he died, I couldn’t stay. So I sold everything we had left, except for Roxanne and his carving tools, and I hit the road for that trip we’d planned.”

  Feeling the need to steer them away from this conversational precipice, Misty offered up a smile. “I’m glad you ended up here.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Answer me this, though. If you can do all this—” She gestured at the workshop and the pieces of the arbor. “—why the bar? Why not make a career out of woodworking or carving?”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I like building things. Using those tools, designing stuff, that all makes me feel closer to my dad. But doing it as a career, I wouldn’t get the choice to do what I wanted, when I wanted. I’d get boxed in to those simple, humdrum designs, and that’s not the part I love. Keeping it like this means it stays fun and never becomes work.”

  “I get that. And I respect it. But there’s still a part of me—the part that showcases artisans and craftsmen—that feels like it’s a damned shame.”

  Misty traced the pattern again, admiring the design and the hands that had created it as he put the post back in place. She just generally admired the man himself. His gaze came back to her before dropping to where her fingers were still stroking over the smoothness of the wood. Those gray eyes darkened, and she made her decision. She’d made the first move by inviting him to dinner. That had worked out fine. It was time to up the ante again.

  She walked toward him, trailing her hands over the neatly stacked pieces, around the edges of the tools he so prized. “You seem to be a very thorough guy.”

  One brow arched up. “No point in doing a thing if it’s not done properly and well. Take your time and get it right the first time.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” She rose to her toes and laid her lips over his.

  For an endless second, she wondered if she’d made a mistake. He stood, still as the proverbial statue, as her heart began to hammer with the first tinges of mortification. Then a growl rumbled from his chest. His hands gripped her hips and dragged her against that big, strong body. He might have needed a nudge off the starting line, but he wasted no time in devouring her mouth. And, yeah, he was every bit as thorough as she’d expected him to be.

  She didn’t know which of them broke the kiss. They were both breathing hard. Her arms were clamped around his shoulders, and she felt positively boneless. As first kisses went, that had been off the charts. She blew out a shaky breath. “I’d call that a properly executed first attempt.”

  One corner of his mouth quirked. “I don’t know, I might need more data to make that call.”

  Misty grinned at him. “It’s all for science,” she agreed, and lifted her mouth back to his.

  ~*~

  “I had a to-go order.”

  Across the counter, Crystal Blue, proprietress of Crystal’s Diner and current pain in Denver’s ass, pursed her lips. “I’m not handing over those sandwiches until you confirm or deny the rumors.”

  “Holding takeout hostage in the name of gossip is a low move, even for you, Crystal.”

  “What is the big deal, Denver? Everybody knows you and Misty have been spending loads of time together this past month. And don’t even try to tell me it’s just for the sake of Kennedy and Xander’s wedding. I want to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth. Are you and Misty Pennebaker together?” She fisted her hands on ample hips and stared him down.

  When Denver just stared back, Crystal stamped her foot. “Is she your girlfriend?”

  “If I say yes, will you give me my sandwiches, while they’re still hot?”

  “As long as it’s not a lie.”

  “Then yes.” Not that he had any idea how Crystal would be able to verify the accuracy of the statement one way or another.

  “I knew it!” she crowed.

  “Then why did you have to harass me about it?” Denver muttered.

  “Oh, shut up and take some pie to your sweetheart.” Crystal boxed up a slice of cherry and added it to the bag before handing it across the counter.

  “How do you know that’s where I’m going?”

  “Because you ordered the grilled mac and cheese sandwich with curly fries, which is what she always orders.”

  “So does half the town. It’s your best-selling sandwich.”

  “Yeah, but the rest of the town doesn’t make you smile.”

  Realizing he was grinning like the damned Cheshire Cat, Denver pokered up. Crystal just smirked at him. Time to go.

  “Tell Misty I said hi!”

  “You wanted to live here,” he reminded himself as he hit the sidewalk. But this was the first time he’d been the center of attention since the year he’d moved to The Ridge. He kept to himself, kept off their radar, and he liked that way. So did Misty. Well, they were in it now. He’d probably best confirm the status of their relationship himself before it got back to her that he’
d up and made a public announcement in the diner.

  Denver was still pondering how to broach that subject as he opened the door to Moonbeams and Sweet Dreams. He knew instantly that something was off. Pausing just in the threshold, he scanned the shop. Nothing seemed out of place. Then he realized there was no music. Maybe she was picking a new playlist. He headed for the back.

  “Misty?”

  “In the back.” Her voice lacked its usual cheerful enthusiasm.

  Oh God. What if something had happened to Moxie? Braced for the worst, Denver quickened his pace. As soon as he rounded the counter, the little dog leapt up from her bed and rushed over, demanding attention. He loosed a breath and scooped her up, giving her an automatic cuddle as he continued into Misty’s workroom.

  She sat at a table. Beside her was an open wooden crate, spilling packing material onto the floor. On the table itself was an enormous glass…something or other. It was obviously art of some kind, but that was as much as he could tell.

  She swiveled on her stool and mustered up a smile. But it was a weak facsimile of her norm. “Hi.” She seemed dimmer somehow, not at all herself.

  Denver set the food on a shelf. “I brought lunch.”

  “That was sweet. Thanks.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Are you saying that because you don’t want to tell me or because you’re trying to convince yourself you’re not upset about something?”

  The pale smile flashed again. “Maybe a little of both.”

  He set Moxie down and fished out the dog biscuit from his pocket. She snatched it from his grasp and went trotting back to her bed. Hands free, Denver framed Misty’s face, brushing a gentle kiss over her lips before combing her hair back with his fingers. “Talk to me.”

  She turned to look at the glass thing on the table. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Hale’s work. He always sends me something truly exquisite on this day.”

  “Why today?”

  “Trying to cheer me up, I suppose.” She sighed. “You remember I told you that I ended up here because a friend had given me one of Hale’s pieces, and I tracked him down?”