Stand-In Groom by Kaye Dacus

Major O’Hara, helped a lot.
    In the car, she turned up the air conditioner and looked at her day planner. They had appointments to visit two additional sites down in the nearby town of Comeaux but weren’t scheduled to see the next one for nearly two more hours.
    She fastened her seat belt and pulled out of the small parking lot. Her stomach clenched, reminding her that breakfast five hours ago had consisted of a banana and a small bowl of dry cereal, as she’d been out of milk.
    Mr. Laurence—George—deserved to be able to stop for lunch, too. Just because she usually worked through lunch didn’t mean shehad to force him to do the same.
    “Do you like seafood, George?” She stopped at the end of Lafitte’s Landing’s long driveway. She waited for his answer, since it would determine which direction she turned.
    “Yes. And I have heard that the seafood in Louisiana is incomparable.”
    “Well, I think it’s pretty wonderful, but I don’t have much to compare it to.” She turned right and headed south instead of back toward her office.
    After a few moments of silence, George asked, “Is planning an outdoor event more difficult than indoor?”
    “Somewhat. There are more variables—more things that can go wrong, more safeguards and alternatives that need to be planned. It’s almost like planning two events in one.” She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. Even though his posture was erect, his body language was relaxed, comfortable. She narrowed her eyes a little as she returned her focus to the road. She wanted to ask him why he’d been watching her Saturday morning, but the words wouldn’t leave her mouth.
    “I’m very pleased with Lafitte’s Landing. I believe we’ve just secured the location for the engagement party. I’ll send my… Courtney a message.”
    She glanced at him again and saw he was reviewing the digital pictures he’d taken of the location on the screen of his PDA. Whenever he spoke of Courtney, he tripped over her name. He never personalized the relationship—and if he ever did say “my,” he always stopped himself as if not wanting to commit to saying “my fiancée.”
    Silence descended on them as she navigated lunch-hour traffic in midtown. Without thinking, she powered on the stereo.
    Beside her, George started visibly when Dean Martin singing “That’s Amore” blasted through the speakers. Embarrassed, she fumbled with the buttons and turned it off again.
    “No, don’t turn it off.” George reached over and turned it onagain but adjusted the volume lower. “Not many people listen to Dean Martin these days.”
    Her cheeks burned. Yet another example of how backward she was—she didn’t even listen to contemporary music.
    “They just don’t make music like this anymore. It’s a shame, really.”
    Was he serious or patronizing her? He’d leaned his head back against the headrest, and he looked fully relaxed. The CD moved to the next track, and he started to hum, then sing along with “Memories Are Made of This.” Same taste in music to add to the ever-growing list of his attractions. He probably liked old movies, too.
    Twenty minutes later, after being treated to George’s perfect imitation of Dean Martin through several of her favorite songs, she slowed and passed an old-fashioned general store and gas station. “This is the town of Comeaux.”
    George craned his neck to take in the sights. “How far outside of Bonneterre have we come?”
    “We’re only about twenty miles from Town Square—about ten miles from the city limits. I know it feels like we’re out in the middle of nowhere.”
    “How beautiful.”
    Anne glanced past George at the enormous, gingerbread Victorian house. “That’s the Plantation Inn Bed and Breakfast. Some of my clients who can’t afford big expensive trips for their honeymoons come down here. I’ve stayed here a couple of times, too, when I just needed to get away.”
    A few blocks down, she pulled into the gravel