Always The Wedding Planner, Never The Bride Part 1

Always the Wedding Planner, Never the Bride.

Sandra D Bricker.

In memory of my mom, Jess Bricker, the original redhead who expressed affection through her kitchen, and who left a legacy of love . . . and three boxes of recipes . . . to the daughter who couldn't boil water without burning it.

Acknowledgments.

Special thanks to Team Sandie: Jemelle and Marian, for always reading it; Ramona and Barbara, for always appreciating it; Maegan, for always cheering for it; and especially Rach.e.l.le, for always picking it up, dusting it off, and mopping up the spill.

Prologue.

I hate you."

"You do not hate me."

"Oh no, you're wrong. I do."

"Not possible. And besides, Emma, hate? That's such a powerful, terrible word. You really shouldn't-"

"Okay, know-it-all. I strongly dislike you right now."

"Nope. You don't dislike me at all."

Sherilyn grinned at Emma, which just seemed to infuriate her friend even more. After a long moment of Stare-down/ Smack-down, a little technique the two college roommates had perfected over their year and three months of sharing an apartment, Emma blinked first. With a growl, she tossed back the last of her coffee, plunked the cup down on the counter, spun around, and stalked away.

Sherilyn glanced down at her plate. Three warm pancakes seemed to smile up at her, burgeoning with plump chocolate chips, swimming in maple syrup, and punctuated with a huge dollop of whipped cream. She sliced a triangular bite with the side of her fork, swooning as she placed it on her waiting tongue.

"Ohh," she purred.

"Shut. Up," Emma hurled at her before slamming the front door.

"Can I help it if I can eat anything I want?" Sherilyn called out toward the closed door.

On the other side of it, from the general proximity of the elevator, Emma shouted back, "Careful not to choke on it!"

"Have a nice day, Emma Rae," Sherilyn sang.

The only reply came in the form of a distant grunt. Truth told, Sherilyn couldn't even imagine what it must be like for her friend. Diabetes! What a horrible fate. Personally, Sherilyn had to have something sweet at every meal. She craved it; and the more sugary the treat, the better she liked it. In her view, a life without sweets took the hopeless, joyless shape of no life at all.

"One day your metabolism will betray you," Emma had once promised her. But if that day really hovered on the horizon, Sherilyn Caine wasn't planning for it. She ate whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted it, always maintaining a consistent weight between 120 and 125 pounds. And on her twenty-year-old, five-feet-five-and-a-half-inch frame, that landed her right into a perfect size six.

She knew it wasn't really about her metabolism or size six jeans for Emma anyway. It was about those luscious pancakes heaped on the end of Sherilyn's fork, t.i.tillating Emma's taste buds with the fragrance of chocolate melting into warm maple syrup. Her friend was studying to be a pastry chef, yet her condition prevented her from fully knowing the joy of one of her own creations!

I'd find another way to make a living! Sherilyn had often declared. Why spend every day of your life facing down your biggest temptations? But still- Sherilyn had become Emma Rae's official "taster" in recent months, a role she absolutely relished. While Emma per fected pecan pastries, sour cream cupcakes, latte cookies, and fondant-draped cakes, her roommate had lucked into culinary nirvana. They were a perfect match, Sherilyn Caine and Emma Rae Travis! And really, how ridiculous could it be to find the ideal situation your first day out on RoommateScreeners.com?

Sherilyn glanced at the counter and noticed Emma's brown suede clutch; she'd left without it. She couldn't go all day at school without her glucose meter and supply of insulin.

Sherilyn plucked two packages of string cheese from the shelf inside the refrigerator and tucked them into the pouch before grabbing her purse and trotting out the front door. She'd have just enough time to drop it off to Emma at Le Cordon Bleu before rus.h.i.+ng out to the Emory University campus for her own cla.s.ses.

The Top 5 Skills Every Wedding Planner.

Should Have.

1. Outstanding Communication.

Planning a wedding is a balancing act. It is important to keep the lines of communication open at all times. Not just with the bride, but with the groom, the family, the vendors, the bakers, the caterers, the venue, the bridal party, and even the hair and makeup people.

2. Appreciation for Details.

Put fifty wedding guests in a room together and ask them to determine the difference between ecru and eggsh.e.l.l.

One of the three people able to do it is the wedding planner.

3. Ingenuity.

When the buckle on the bride's satin sling-back breaks, or the flower girl gets grape bubblegum in her perfect golden ringlets, the wedding planner is able to MacGyver a solution while overseeing the placement of the cake, using a safety pin to secure the bridesmaid's bouquet, and removing a scuff mark from the dance floor with a lemon rind and an eraser.

4. Peace That Pa.s.ses All Understanding.

No matter what happens-whether the groom gets cold feet or the mothers are at war-it is the wedding planner's responsibility to create a calm and peaceful sh.e.l.l around the bride until the very last slice of cake has been eaten and the final guest has gone home.

5. Always Expect the Best- And Plan for the Worst!.

1.

Sherilyn hadn't been to Roswell in years, but its rustic southern charm hadn't waned in the least.

Barrington Hall stood proudly at the highest point in the small town, on the south side of the town square, looking every bit the plantation home with its stately white columns. The shops at Roswell Mill bustled with people, and the crisp scent of fall clung to the sweet breeze wafting over the nearby Chattahoochee River. Leaves had only begun to turn with glimpses of what was to come. Sherilyn knew that, by next month this time, the greens and golds and burnt reds of Georgia autumn would be welcoming her home in color at full mast.

Not that Georgia was technically her home. She'd lived there for five years while attending Emory University and carving out the beginnings of her career, but it hadn't taken long for her to make her way back to Chicago. What were the odds that she'd meet the man of her dreams there, and that he would hail from Atlanta, Georgia?

Her ties to the place, albeit temporary, had been strong ones just the same, and something had always whispered that she would return one day. But to marry, rebuild a career, and settle in for the rest of her life? That, she never could have imagined.

However, if there was one sure thing in Sherilyn's future, Andrew Drummond IV was certainly it. She'd known him just seven weeks when Andy proposed, and Sherilyn couldn't have accepted any faster.

Sherilyn Caine-Drummond.

Mrs. Andrew John Drummond, the Fourth.

The prediction of their marriage had likely been inscribed on her heart long ago; it was only a matter of time before she caught up with it. She'd slipped on the ring and into Andy's life in one fell swoop. In fact, it wasn't until she'd crossed the border into Georgia that very morning that she turned back for a quick glance over her shoulder and asked herself, What am I doing?

The Tanglewood Inn.

She spotted the sign and made a hard left into the large circular drive. Enormous gla.s.s doors glistened, and an inviting lobby filled with greenery and sunlight beckoned from the other side.

Sherilyn swallowed around the lump in her throat, and she drew in a long, deep breath. While she did want to fling open those doors and run inside to find her old friend, the angst that held her to the seat of the Explorer won out. She closed her eyes and tilted back against the headrest.

Forty-eight pounds.

That's how much weight she'd gained since the last time she saw Emma.

And if the photograph she'd found online, taken the night of The Tanglewood's grand opening, was any indication, Emma Rae Travis had stopped aging the very day she graduated from culinary school.

"You practically have the job before you even arrive!" Emma had gushed over the telephone the week prior. "Oh, Sher, I'm so happy you're coming back to Atlanta. And the timing couldn't be more perfect. We're just days away from placing an ad for a wedding planner to join the staff. All you have to do is impress Jackson and Madeline, and I predict you have that in the bag."

Sherilyn pulled the keys from the ignition, dropped them into her bag, and drummed her fingers on the door handle. She swallowed past the clump of anxiety one more time, took the bull by the horns-Well. The door by the handle!-and yanked it open.

One foot on the ground and the other on its way, and Emma's voice sang in her ears like church bells. "Sher! You're here! Sher!"

Emma slammed into her and enveloped Sherilyn in her arms, kissing her several times hard on the cheek.

"It's so good to see you! How was the trip?"

"Long."

"Any trouble finding us?"

She shook her head and smiled as Emma turned toward the uniformed boy emerging from the lobby. "This is Sherilyn Caine, Bobby. She'll be staying with us for a while. I have her booked in room two-ten." Turning back toward Sherilyn, she added, "It has the sweetest little balcony that overlooks the courtyard." And before Sherilyn could reply, Emma had spun back to the bellman again, producing a key from the pocket of her navy blue pleated trousers. "Take her bags up for her?"

"Yes, ma'am."

He reached for the laptop case slung across Sherilyn's shoulder-pale pink with a bright neon orange, yellow and pink flower emblazoned across the front- but she braced it close and shook her head. "I'll keep this with me."

"And return the key to my office?" Emma asked him.

"Will do."

Emma looped her arm through Sherilyn's and grinned at her. "If he calls me ma'am again, there's going to be trouble." Sherilyn giggled. "I have tea and snacks set up for us. Then I'll take you on a little tour of the hotel on our way up to Jackson's office."

"I'm not supposed to meet with him until tomorrow morning."

"Not for a meet. Just a greet."

"Oh. All right. I don't look too-"

"You look beautiful, just like always."

"Liar."

"Sher!"

"Come on," she said with a chuckle as they crossed the entry and sailed through the doors leading to a beautiful courtyard. "You can say it. I look like you-know-what."

"Yes, I know what. Like my college roommate with the peaches-and-cream skin, silky strawberry-blonde hair and those great big turquoise-blue eyes."

"Accent on big?"

"Sher. Cut it out."

"You still look like you did the last time we were together, Emma. And I look like I ate the girl you knew."

"Sherilyn! Stop that."

Emma pointed at a wrought-iron bistro table set with china and linens, and the two of them took their places on either side of it.

"You always warned me that my metabolism would catch up with me," Sherilyn said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "And did it ever overtake me!"

Emma tilted her head to one side and smiled. "You've always been the prettiest girl I've ever seen close up. That hasn't changed, Sher."

She sighed. "It's so good to see you, Em."

Emma reached across the table and squeezed Sherilyn's hand. "Tell me everything. Start with Andy."

The corners of her mouth were suddenly attached to invisible wires like a marionette, and Andy controlled the crossbar. Just the mention of his name, and the grin bubbled up from somewhere deep inside of her, plastering itself across her face.

"He's spectacular."

Emma laughed. "Well, he must be. I owe him a huge debt of thanks when I finally meet him. I've always wished you'd stayed in Atlanta."

Sherilyn pulled her bright pink laptop from the sleeve of its case and slid it open. In a matter of a couple of clicks, a screen-sized photo of Andy smiled at her. She s.h.i.+fted the laptop toward Emma and waited for her reaction.

"That's him?"

"Yep," she beamed. "That's my Andy."