Always The Wedding Planner, Never The Bride Part 23

Andy's attention jerked to the sofa where Russell was sprawled. They stared at one another for several seconds, Andy in confusion and Russell with a wise grin across his face.

"Russell, what are you doing in my home?"

"Now that's a funny story, mate."

Confusion morphed into irritation as Andy steeled himself in preparation for an explanation. "Entertain me."

Russell took a breath and opened his mouth to begin speaking, but instead Sherilyn's higher voice originated from behind Andy.

"Okay. I've made up the bed in the guest room. I can't reach Andy, but I'm going to keep trying him until-" When she looked up to find Andy in front of her, she squealed slightly and veered to a sudden stop before him. "Hi."

"h.e.l.lo." He waited expectantly for a few seconds before adding, "Do you want to tell me what's going on here?"

"I've been trying to reach you."

"And here I am."

A warm blush rose over her chest and throat, blowing over her face. "Russell left rehab."

She tucked her hair behind her ear and sidestepped him, heading for the kitchen.

"I can see that."

"Coffee?"

"No, thank you."

"Russell, black? Or cream and sugar?"

"Straight up, love," he replied, and Andy took note that the guy hadn't moved one square inch since he'd discovered him on the sofa looking for all the world like he belonged there.

"Sherilyn?"

"Oh," she breathed as she pressed the b.u.t.ton on the top of the Keurig and filled a tall mug. "Right. Well. He didn't feel like the place was helping him much, Andy. So he called on his friend, J.R., who is on his way here right now to get him."

Andy glared at Russell who chuckled as he raised both hands in surrender.

"What made you think you could involve me or my fiancee in your game of dodgeball with your life, Russell?"

Russell's expression turned quite serious. "I just had a feeling about the two of you," he answered. "Like I could count on you to help me out."

"I don't know what either of us did to give you that impression, but-"

"Andy," Sherilyn said softly, pressing her hand on his arm as she pa.s.sed. She handed Russell the cup of coffee, and he whispered a thank-you.

"-you are not going to park your troubles in my driveway. I'm sorry. If you've somehow managed to charm Sherilyn, you are out of luck because I don't find you the least bit charming. Or amusing. I'm not starstruck or interested in the least whether you are inconvenienced with nowhere to hide."

Sherilyn sighed, standing to the side of the sofa, looking at her shoes for a moment while Henry crawled up on the sofa and flopped into Russell's lap.

Traitor.

"Andy, it's not like we're adopting him and putting him through college," Sherilyn pointed out. "He just needs somewhere private to stay until his friend can get here. Then the two of them are going on a cross-country motorcycle trip together."

"How nice for you."

Andy regretted the sarcasm aimed at Russell, but he was br.i.m.m.i.n.g toward overflow. He'd had just about enough of this guy.

Poor, pitiful movie star with too much money and too much time on his hands.

Again, his sarcastic bite nipped back at him, and he found himself wrestling with his own conscience. He'd treated his wounds, after all, hadn't he? He made sure he was all right until he could get into the rehab center. But this- He glared at Russell, his hand entwined in Henry's fur, Sherilyn standing by him like some sort of adorable armed sentry.

Come ON!

Andy stalked over and took Sherilyn gently by the arm, leading her toward the kitchen. "Sherilyn. You seriously want him to move in here with us?"

"Not with us," she corrected, and her perfect lips twitched as she grinned. "With you."

Andy groaned.

"And I'll bet we could get Sean to stay here with him whenever you're not around," she suggested. "Just to make sure he doesn't get into any trouble."

"I don't think anyone on the planet can make that kind of promise," he told her. "Not even Sean."

Sherilyn reached out for his hand, and she held it between both of hers. She lifted her eyes and tilted her head, and Andy felt fairly certain he was done for in that moment.

"I can't tell you why," she whispered, "but my heart goes out to him, Andy. And it's only for a day or two. He's not drinking, and he wants to get away with his buddy to find a fresh perspective." She ran her thumb over the top of his hand and smiled at him. "Isn't that kind of why we left Chicago? To start a new life together? Can't we try to give him that too?"

"Look," Russell said from the sofa, Henry all the way in his lap now and curled into a large s.h.a.ggy ball, "I'm sorry, you two. I didn't mean for it to be a wedge, honestly."

Sherilyn shot Andy a glance; one last stab at dragging him over to the dark side.

"Maybe I can rent a car and drive south to meet him. Or-"

"No, no," Andy surrendered, and Sherilyn pushed herself toward him and slid her arms around his neck.

"Thank you!"

"You'll call Sean."

"I will."

"And you!" he said, pointing at Russell. "There's no return to the bottle. There are no parties, no inappropriate or offensive behavior."

"None," he vowed with a nod.

"And you'll wear clothes at all times."

"I'll shower in them."

"I'm serious," Andy warned him. "I'm not messing around here."

"I got it, mate. And I'm mighty grateful."

Andy produced his cell phone and handed it to Sherilyn. "Call Fee. She'll know where to find Sean."

She looked him in the eye with meaningful intensity and smiled. "Thank you, Andy."

"Yeah," he said with a sigh as she took the phone from him. "Whatever."

Mario Lopez, live from The Grove, told Extra viewers about Russell Walker's stint at rehab and how it had ended abruptly when the star disappeared from the thirty-acre facility outside of Atlanta. Speculation had him "hiding in plain sight" in Manhattan, or possibly in seclusion at the Atlanta home of longtime friend Elton John.

"I've never even met Elton John," Russell declared, shaking his head at the 52-inch screen. "Longtime mates. Bunk!"

Sherilyn giggled from the other side of the long counter, looking up from chopping onions for only a moment.

"Does Elton John even still live in Atlanta?" Sean asked, towering over her as he set a plate lined with sliced tomatoes next to her.

"I have no idea."

He shrugged and asked, "What next?"

"How about pickles?"

"You got it."

"In the door of the refrigerator."

Sean retrieved the jar of dill pickles and set about slicing them into spears on the cutting board while Sherilyn transferred the chopped onions to the plate next to the tomatoes.

"Sean, are you listening to this?" Russell called out from the living room.

Sean simply nodded, and Russell hopped up from the sofa and lumbered up to the counter and sat on a bar stool across from them.

"You look quite domestic, the two of you there." Sean grimaced, and Sherilyn smiled.

"Where's the good doctor?"

"He should be home any time," she replied.

"Fiona's due in about thirty minutes," Sean informed them.

"I think Emma and Jackson may stop over too."

Russell clicked his tongue and shook his head. "The doc clearly said there were no parties allowed. You two rabblerousers will have some explainin' to do."

"No parties hosted by you," Sherilyn clarified. "This is a barbecue with our friends. That's different."

Russell walked over to the gla.s.s overlooking the backyard and laughed. "It's gotta be forty degrees out there. You're going to fire up the barbie?"

"Unless it's raining or snowing-and even sometimes then, come to think of it-Andy is a grilling maniac."

"You don't say. We have something in common. Think he'll let me lend a hand?"

"Maybe. Now I have a crock of baked beans going, and hamburger patties all made up for The Grillmaster. Fee is bringing potato salad."

"Burger buns at the ready," Sean added, holding up several packages.

"Sodas chilling in the garage," she said, looking around the kitchen. "Coffee made. You've got the grill fired up. What am I forgetting?"

"Dessert!" Russell called out to them.

"Emma has that handled. She's bringing Pavlova in your honor."

"Sweet!"

The thud of the front door closing sent b.u.t.terflies into flight in Sherilyn's stomach. She grabbed the ap.r.o.n from the back of the dining chair, rounded the kitchen counter and hurried down the hall, reaching Andy just as he unb.u.t.toned his coat.

"You might want to keep that on."

"Oh?"

"We have a hungry crowd on the way."

Andy grinned, reb.u.t.toning his coat. "I'm grilling?"

"I've got everything all ready for you."

Sherilyn unfolded the dark green ap.r.o.n and placed it around Andy's neck, smiling at the bold white letters on the front spelling out The Master. As she reached around him and fastened the ties at the back of his waist, Andy kissed her on the lips.

"Has he gotten into any trouble?"

"No," she replied happily. "I am pleased to tell you he's been a perfect houseguest."

"We can probably thank Sean for that."

"No doubt." Just as Andy started down the hall, Sherilyn tugged on his arm and softly added, "He wants to grill with you."

Andy's face curled up into the frown of a teenaged boy who couldn't get the car keys from his parents. "Oh, man, does he have to?"

"I think it would be nice if you let him." Andy thought it over and whispered, "I don't want to be nice."

"I know. But I'll bet you will be anyway, won't you?"

She thought he might just stomp his foot when he said, "Yeah. All right. Fine."

Sherilyn grinned and rubbed the elbow of Andy's suede coat. "You're a very nice man."

"But he's not flipping anything. That's my job."