Stand-In Groom by Kaye Dacus Page A

parking lot in front of a building sided with rough wood planks that featured fishing gear hanging from rusted iron nails as decorations.
    The interior of the Fishin’ Shack was dim and cool compared to the sultry sunshine of a June day in Louisiana. The aroma of sweet seafood and spicy Cajun seasonings hit her full force as she entered. Her stomach growled loudly.
    “Anne, what are you doing here?” Jenn stepped away from atable and met her at the door.
    Anne hugged her cousin. “I’m in the area looking at venues and had to stop somewhere for lunch.” She stepped out of her cousin’s embrace before the younger woman spilled the iced-tea pitcher she held.
    Jenn looked behind Anne, and her eyes widened when she saw George.
    “Jennifer Guidry, this is George Laurence, my client.” Anne stepped back to include George. “Jenn is the owner of this place.”
    “My pleasure, Miss Guidry.” He paused, her hand still clasped in his. “Guidry…let me guess—another one of Anne’s cousins.”
    “Yep, and proud of it.” Jenn led them to a table away from the moderate-sized lunch crowd and placed the large laminated menus on the table as Anne slid into the booth. Jenn turned to George. “Since you’ve never been here, I’ll let you know that our Cajun dishes are very spicy, but we can tone that down if you like. If you don’t see anything on the menu that you like, just let me know, and I’ll talk to the chef.” She winked at him.
    Anne held in her laugh as her cousin turned on all of her Southern charm for the handsome Englishman. When Jenn returned with their beverages, George ordered the traditional fish ’n’ chips basket, while Anne ordered her favorite Cajun grilled shrimp Caesar salad.
    As they waited for their meals, she struggled to think of a neutral topic of conversation but was saved from having to come up with appropriate small talk when George remarked, “Hawthorne isn’t a name one would typically associate with Louisiana.”
    He wasn’t the first person who’d pointed that out to her. “No. My father was from Boston but came here for college, where he met my mother.” She’d explained this so many times over the years it was hard to keep it from sounding rehearsed.
    “I’ve been to Boston. It’s a very interesting city.”
    “So I’ve heard.” Anne traced the ring of moisture her glass of tea left on the table as she took a sip.
    “You’ve never gone there yourself? Not even to visit family?”
    “I…don’t fly.” Anne swallowed hard and raised her left hand to make sure her shirt collar covered the twenty-seven-year-old scar on the side of her neck.
    “Why ever not?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he held up his hand in front of him. “No, wait. I apologize. That question is presumptuous. Please do not feel you have to answer it.”
    “It’s all right.” She took a fortifying breath. “You see, when I was eight—”
    “Here’s your lunch!” Jenn called cheerily as she swooped down upon them. She gave Anne a wink and floated away to visit with other patrons.
    “You were about to tell me why you don’t fly,” he reminded her. Anne lifted her napkin to dab the corners of her mouth and cleared her throat. “The only time I was ever on a plane was with my parents when I was eight. It was a commuter plane that held thirty people. The pilot tried to take off in the middle of a thunderstorm, but…” She took a deep breath to calm her voice and try to settle her stomach. “We crashed, and I was one of only five people who survived.”
    Silence settled over the table. He swallowed a couple of times. “I’m sorry.”
    She shook her head. “Don’t be. It was a very long time ago. I tried to get on a plane when I was fifteen and had such a bad panic attack that they had to take me to the emergency room.” She hadn’t meant to reveal that to him. No one outside of her family—except for the airline and emergency room staff who’d helped—knew about