“Oh, hello girlie. Glad you could come by. What’d you think of that demonstration? I bet you were real glad you had that tequila with you when they started talking about taking yarn bombing up a notch. We have some whiskey here if you need more fortification.”
“I see you’ve met my grandmother,” Ryder says from his spot on the ground. “Gran, this is Phoebe”—he points as best he can with his nose—“and I see you already know her friend. Ladies, this is my Gran, Delores, and her friend Gladys.”
“Oh, yes, now I remember. I recognize you ladies from the media coverage after the incident with Denise’s ex.” I cringe, realizing too late that Ryder probably doesn’t want to talk about Denise’s crazy ex-boyfriend. “Sorry, Ryder. This is my sister, Charlie. She was at work the day you and Denise came over with Cole.”
“But I heard all about your daughter’s excellent head butting skills, so kudos for that,” Charlie says with a laugh. “I still catch Gavin rubbing his nose when he thinks no one is watching. It’s hilarious.”
Ryder laughs. “Glad we could be of service.”
“So, uh…why are you tied up on the floor?”
“Oh, that’s easy,” the woman Ryder introduced as Gladys answers. “He’s our hunk of man-meat for demonstration purposes. You know what they say: sex sells. Ryder is our sex. We couldn’t find any volunteers for some strange reason.”
I choke on a laugh when I see Ryder roll his eyes. “Gladys, I’m not your sex. I’m here to help you demonstrate some Shibari techniques and that’s it. I won’t be taking my clothes off, no matter how many times you say sex sells.”
Gladys puts her fists on her hips and sticks her bottom lip out. “Oh, pooh. You’re no fun. I told you I’d buy you a banana hammock from the lingerie booth two rows over.” She leans toward me and whispers behind her hand, “It’s made of Angora, so it’s sure to be soft on the man-bits.”
Ryder shakes his head, having heard every word she said. “No banana hammock, Gladys. Not a chance.” He shakes his head and purposely changes the subject. “So, what are you two doing here?”
“Oh, my…Lincoln’s dad gave me tickets to check out the festival because I like macrame and weaving. He thought I’d like to see all the different textile arts.”
“He must not have known about the yarn bumming.” Ryder’s Gran chuckles. “That’s probably not the kind of art he was thinking of when he sent you here.”
I laugh. “No, probably not.”
“Well, it was nice to meet you all, but we should get back to the festival.” Charlie segues into our departure with all the finesse of a stampeding goat. “I don’t think Phoebe is going to last much longer without checking on Lincoln.”
I nod in agreement. “She’s right. It’s a miracle that I haven’t texted his dad a hundred times by now. Time’s running out.”
We say our goodbyes, but no sooner do I let Charlie pull me into the aisle than she’s pulling me to the side of a booth and pointing out two women arguing near one of the lace maker’s booths I’d wanted to look at earlier.
“Look,” she hisses in my ear. “That’s the future mother-in-law of the bride from the stripper cop bachelorette party. The one who brought champagne for her alcoholic daughter-in-law who was trying to quit drinking. Oh, and the mother is there, too.”
I surreptitiously sneak a look, taking in the two well-dressed women arguing in front of the booth. They appear to be in a heated discussion over which lace is better. One is holding a traditional looking, cream-colored swatch, and the other has a shimmery, modern-looking piece.
“I don’t know what they’re arguing for,” I whisper to Charlie. “They’re both pretty, but the traditional one is clearly the better choice for a bride.”
“Are you insane?” She whispers back. “The other one is way more magical. If I ever get married, I want to look like an otherworldly goddess, and that shimmery lace has ethereal fairy princess written all over it.”
The women look off to the side and call someone over, saying something about letting her decide since she’s the one getting married.
“Let’s make a bet.” I say. “If the bride picks the traditional lace, I’ll buy lunch. If she picks the modern one, you buy. Deal?” I stick my hand out and Charlie grabs it in a firm handshake.
“You’re on.”
As the bride steps into view, my stomach drops to my feet and I’m struck with the sudden surety that I won’t need lunch today at all. Because I’ve seen that gorgeous face, beautiful blonde hair, and supple dancer’s body before.
That’s the woman who interrupted me that night I found Archer. The one who called him babe while I was working up the courage to tell him about his son.
The one he said wasn’t his girlfriend.
That lying fucker.
Wait. I guess he didn’t technically lie. She isn’t his girlfriend. She’s his fiancé.
And I guess that makes me Santa’s side chick.
Chapter 38
