“That might help calm you!”
“I'm calm.”
“Should I take you outside for—for fresh air? Will that help? Or should I call an ambulance? Both?”
“None of the above.”
“Anaphylactic shock is serious business! That gel hascitronellain it. I can't believe it made contact with your skin! This is all my fault. But also somewhat your fault because the ingredients are clearly listed on the back label.” She resumed scrubbing his neck with the paper towels. “And two days before your wedding, no less! I'm so terribly sorry. There. I think I got it all.” She paused for a split second to bite her lip, then physically turned him toward the door and gave him a push.
He took one step forward, then resisted going farther.
She continued to exert pressure against his back. “If you won't lie down, I'm going to insist you go outside. Getting away from your allergens can only help matters, surely. If you have a red, swollen face for your wedding, Amber is never going to forgive me. Outside! Please!”
Just then the door swung open to admit a blond man around Jude's age wearing the sort of heavy-duty face mask that came with a built-in vent.
Gemma's hands abruptly fell away from Jude, then she came to a stop next to him. She faced the newcomer with an expression of blank incomprehension.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
“I'm here to pick up an order for Amber,” the newcomer said.
Gemma clicked her teeth closed, eyebrows lifting high. Another awkward pause. “You'reBrent?”
“Yes.”
She winced, cutting a guilty look at Jude.
He'd been the victim of a case of mistaken identity. Laughter threatened to burst upward and out of him. He called on his steely control to keep it down. If he laughed at her, Gemma might dislike him for it, and he was here to gain her cooperation. Amused, he reached down for the gift basket. “I believe this is yours.” He handed it to Brent. “Congratulations on your wedding.”
“Thanks, man.”
“Yes,huge congrats,” Gemma said. “Have a happy, allergic-reaction-free wedding!”
“Just making sure.” Brent angled his chin toward the basket. “There's no citronella in these products?”
“None at all,” she assured him. “No worries on that front.”
“Have a good day.”
“You too,” Gemma said as he let himself out.
As soon as Jude was alone again with Gemma, she faced him. Now that he was seeing her straight-on and she was no longer a blur of panicked motion, he was able to get his first good look at her.
The numerous photos he'd seen of Gemma had revealed that she was beautiful. Yet, somehow, they'd failed to prepare him for the strength of her beauty in three dimensions.
She was much more vivid than a regular person. Her skin was luminous white, dotted with pale freckles. The bright green cardigan, white top, and jeans she wore showed off impressive curves. Her dainty nose, pink lips, and pretty chin gave her the appearance of sweetness. But her eyes told the rest of the story. They were the color of liquid silver. Bold, intelligent eyes that currently communicated self-deprecation.
Her looks stunned him a little, making it hard to think clearly—
“I'm guessing,” Gemma said, “that you, sir, are not a soon-to-be groom with an allergy to citronella.”
“I am not.”
“And yet I accosted you with my hands, sweater, and paper towels.” She smiled, shaking her head. “When a blond man showed up at my shop exactly when I expected a blond man to pick up an order, I assumed you were Brent.”
“Understandable.”
“Amber is one of my regulars. She's told me a lot about Brent and the wedding, but I've never met him.”
