A Very Perry Wedding Page 3

  “What are your plans for tonight, my love?” she asks, steering me toward the kitchen. Maybe she’s going to feed me after all.

  For a moment, I contemplate telling her about Jasper, but then I reconsider. She, like Gwen, thinks it’s time I start dating again. Even though they love me and they mean well, it starts to wear on my nerves after a while. If Mom knew a handsome man was spending the night on my couch, she’d likely suggest I light candles, put on mood music, and pour some wine.

  “Oh, you know, the usual,” I say with a shrug.

  “Sherlock or Doctor Who?”

  Her deadpan question makes me laugh. I don’t know whether to appreciate the fact she knows me so well or hate that I’ve become so predictable. “Neither. I thought I’d watch a fall movie like Runaway Bride or You’ve Got Mail to get in the spirit for Gwen’s pre-wedding festivities.”

  “Both great choices. Let’s have dinner together some night next week so you can tell me all about work and wedding prep, okay?” She glances at her watch and smoothes the skirt of her dark purple dress. “Emilio is picking me up in about ten minutes. Are you all set for dinner?”

  “Yep, I’ve got leftovers from the café.”

  Mom is always dropping hints about helping me financially, and she often ‘accidentally’ buys too many groceries and sends the surplus home with me. Like now, apparently, because she’s grabbing one of the cloth bags she keeps in a drawer, and filling it with things from the fridge. When I called her on it a few weeks ago, she asserted it’s a mother’s job to take care of her children, no matter how old or how independent those children are. It makes her happy and it keeps me from starving, so who am I to complain?

  She disappears into the pantry and returns a minute later, setting the bag on the counter with a loud thunk.

  “There’s a bottle of wine in there. You look like you could use it.”

  “Thanks?” I say with an uncertain laugh. I peer into the bag. A few containers of leftovers, half a block of cheese, an assortment of canned soups and beans, and a bottle of pinot grigio. It’s like the adult version of trick-or-treating. I know where I’m coming next month on Halloween.

  “You work too much, Willow.” Mom must sense me gearing up to argue—we’ve been over this: Cravings opened less than four months ago, of course I work too much—because she throws her arms around me and squeezes. “I know, I know, the café is your dream. I’m so proud of you I could absolutely burst. I hope you don’t doubt that. I just want to make sure you’re taking care of yourself and taking time for yourself.”

  “I am. Or I will be, anyway. I’m taking time off for Gwen and Evan’s fall festivities over the next few weeks, plus the wedding itself. And the Village closes for Thanksgiving weekend, which is only a few weeks away. You don’t need to worry about me.”

  Her scoff ruffles my hair as she pulls away, keeping hold of me with her hands on my shoulders. “I’ve been worrying about you since the day the plus sign appeared on the home pregnancy test thirty-five years ago.” She releases me, pressing a lingering kiss on my cheek. “I still can’t believe little Gwenny is getting married next month. I’m so glad you moved back in time to be part of all the celebrations. I’m so glad you moved back, period.”

  Cloth bag in hand, I let Mom walk me to the front door, where we embrace again and I wish her luck with Emilio. As I head to my car, I turn back to see her standing in the doorway, date-ready in her dress and heels, her eyes alight with happiness and hope. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that way myself, at least where a man was concerned. Sometimes I think TJ broke that part of me. And sometimes I wonder if I’m better off leaving it broken.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  My phone rings just before nine o’clock that night. An unknown number with a Toronto area code flashes on my screen, so I let it go to voicemail. Anyone who has my private phone number knows better than to call me—I’m strictly a texting person other than necessary business calls.

  When a voicemail notification pops up, I tap in my code and put it on speaker.

  “Hello, Willow, this is Jasper Perry. Evan’s brother. We met today at Bellevue Family Village. Which…you already know.” At the sound of his throat clearing, I swallow a laugh. “I was thinking of making my way to your apartment for the night if that’s satisfactory with you. Please call me back at your earliest convenience.” He rattles off his number and the line goes dead.

  At the thought of texting him a reply, I have a vision of him giving his phone a completely perplexed look, much the way I did a minute ago. Because of this, I hit the call back button.

  “Hi, Jasper, it’s Willow,” I say when he answers.

  “Oh, hello, Willow. Thank you for getting back to me so promptly.”

  My lips twitch despite my best efforts. I wonder if he ever relaxes his formal way of speech. He sounds like he should have a British accent and an 1800s birth date. “Just FYI, for future reference, I’m more of a text person,” I tell him.

  “Gwen mentioned that when she gave me your phone number, but I thought it would be quicker to simply call you.”

  And yet if he’d texted, he’d already be on his way here. I keep that little tidbit to myself. “Do you still have a landline at home, Jasper?”

  There’s a pause, likely because he’s taken aback by the odd, mostly-off-topic question. “As a matter of fact, I do,” he says slowly. “I don’t use it as often as I once did, but I find it convenient. Modern technology is a wonderful thing, but much of it still baffles me, so I’m a bit of a hold-out on some things.”

  That’s not hard to imagine. Even my mom got rid of her landline two years ago. She said she was paying for a cell phone with all the bells and whistles, plus she was out more than she was home anyway, so there was no need to keep the landline. The only reason she held out as long as she did was because we’d had the same phone number for two decades and she’s sentimental.

  Not entirely sure how to respond to that, I say, “Well, I’m ready for you whenever you want to come over.” When I ask if he needs directions, he says Gwen already gave them to him, so I tell him where he can park and then we hang up.

  I do one last visual sweep of my apartment. The space is so small, it’s easy to keep it tidy. My bedroom is another story; the laundry hamper is overflowing, along with most of the dresser drawers since the closet isn’t big enough to hold all my clothes. There’s no reason for Jasper to go in there, though.

  As I move restlessly through my apartment, I realize what I thought was indigestion after scarfing down a plate of Mom’s veggie lasagna is actually a case of nerves bubbling away in my sternum. The thought of having a strange man spend the night on your couch would likely set most people on edge, but that’s not the cause of my nervousness. I think it’s Jasper himself.

  Working in the hospitality industry, I’m accustomed to all types of people, yet a man like Jasper is a rarity. He’s like someone from another time. I’m suddenly wondering what we’ll talk about, especially since I doubt we have much in common. It doesn’t help that I find him attractive. I can’t remember the last time I was drawn to anyone in more than a passing way. There’s also the fact I haven’t had a man in my apartment other than Evan, who doesn’t count because he’s become a brother figure to me. I’m not feeling brotherly toward Jasper, though.

  The buzzer goes off from downstairs. When I press it and say hello, Jasper’s tinny voice says, “Hello, Willow, it’s Jasper Perry.”

  The way he always says his full name makes me wonder if he’s truly that formal or if he’s afraid I’ve somehow forgotten who he is, despite meeting him twice today and talking to him on the phone literally ten minutes ago. I buzz him in and open the apartment door to wait for him to emerge from the stairwell.

  When he appears, the first thing I notice is his suitcase. I initially mistake it for a large briefcase until I realize it’s one of those old-fashioned handheld suitcases. The brown leather is worn and faded in spots, which surprises me since Jasper
seems so fastidious about things. I bet everything inside is meticulously sorted and folded, and likely even stored in packing cubes. I wonder if he has an iron in there to keep the crease on his jeans sharp.

  When he spots me in the doorway, he gives me what I’m guessing is as close to a smile as Jasper gets. His lips barely move, but his eyes brighten and crinkle ever so slightly around the corners. “Good evening.”

  “Hi. Come on in.” I step aside to let him enter the apartment. Once I’ve closed and locked the door, I turn to find him looking curiously at the locks. There are three of them on my door: the standard one that came with the apartment, plus a bolt lock underneath, and a latch lock where a chain used to be, both of which Evan installed for me when I moved in. Heat creeps into my face, but I laugh lightly and shrug as I say, “You can never be too cautious, right?”

  He doesn’t miss a beat before saying, “Indeed,” and holding up a bouquet of flowers that must have been hidden behind his suitcase. “A small token of appreciation for opening your home to me for the night. And an apology of sorts if I came across as rude in the café earlier. I received distressing work-related news this week and I’ve been in a fog ever since. That’s no excuse, and yet I thought perhaps these might make up for disparaging your autumnal decorations.”

  By the time he finishes speaking, I realize my mouth is hanging open. I snap it closed as I reach for the flowers. They’re a similar color scheme to the ones TJ sent to the café this morning, but they’re simpler and less flashy. For that reason, and the intent behind them, I like them far better than the ones from my ex.

  “These are beautiful. Thank you.” I admire the red and orange blossoms as Jasper takes off his shoes and lines them up neatly next to mine by the door. “And don’t worry about earlier. I didn’t think you were rude. I…” I’m about to say I actually found the interaction amusing, but I’m not sure Jasper would understand or even appreciate that. Instead, I say, “I’m grateful for the gesture. I wasn’t kidding about not having any fall decor at home, so these will really brighten the place up.”

  I step further into the apartment and wave a hand around. “I’d offer to give you a tour, but this is pretty much it. The bathroom is on the other side of the living room wall and my room is off to the left there behind the kitchen.”

  Jasper nods as he looks around, taking in the space. “This is charming. Very cozy.”

  “It’s okay, you can say it.”

  “I’m not sure I know what you mean.” He doesn’t look at me as speaks. His eyes are trained across the room in the direction of my bookcase.

  “Despite thinking of it as cozy, like you said, it’s tiny. You can’t comfortably fit more than a couple of people in here at a time. It works for me, though, at least for now. Gwen and Evan invite me over to their place a lot, and so do Ivy and Hugh. You’ve met them, right?”

  “Yes, a few times,” Jasper says absently. He’s still staring at my bookcase. “Lovely couple.”

  “They are. And, lucky for you, they’ll be back tomorrow, so you’ll be able to sleep in a proper bed in their fancy guest room.”

  “I hope you don’t think I’m ungrateful,” Jasper says, finally turning his attention to me. “I truly did mean cozy in a complimentary way. I don’t know you well, but I expect the decor reflects much of who you are as a person. I have to ask, though: what on earth are those dolls and why are there so many of them?”

  With a laugh, I move past him into the living room and make a sweeping gesture toward the rows of small vinyl figurines lining my shelves, standing guard over my vast book collection. “They’re called Funko Pops. They’re collectibles from different fandoms. Do you…know what fandom is?” I ask this hesitantly, not wanting to sound patronizing.

  “Hadley has explained it to me,” he says, referring to his youngest sister, who currently lives with him in Toronto. “I’m still not quite up on all the lingo—fandom and shipping and canon and whatnot—there’s just so much of it. I’m trying, though.”

  “I’m sure she appreciates you taking an interest,” I tell him, trying hard not to laugh. He’s just so adorably earnest. “So these are fandom collectibles. I started collecting them when I lived in Toronto. The café I worked at had a pop culture theme, so I would create drinks and baked goods based on fictional characters and pair them with Funkos for social media posts.”

  He gives me a curious look, so I elaborate. “For instance, this Pop is from the TV show Sherlock.” I pick up the figure dressed in a long coat and black gloves with a dark blue scarf wound around its neck. “I made a line of traditional British jam-filled donuts and used icing and fondant to decorate them with things like a deerstalker hat, a blue scarf, a magnifying glass, the wallpaper in Sherlock’s apartment. I switched out the theme every week, and the most popular ones made it onto our permanent menu. People eventually started donating Funkos to the café, and there were so many duplicates I was able to take my favorites home to keep. Hence the huge collection.”

  “What a clever idea. Very creative.” He leans in to inspect the Funkos closer. “Do you do something similar at Cravings?”

  “No.” When I set the Sherlock Pop back on the shelf, I realize how close Jasper and I are. My living room is so small that standing beside each other puts us shoulder to shoulder. Or, more accurately, shoulder to nose since Jasper is several inches taller than my five-foot-five. I’m guessing he doesn’t notice our proximity, otherwise I’m sure Mr. Prim and Proper would move away and put a respectable distance between us, like in some historical romance novel. “I wanted a fresh start with Cravings. I left a list of my ideas with the woman who took over for me, and she’s doing a great job adding her own spin to things.”

  “I’ll have to get the information about that café from you for Hadley. It sounds like something she’d enjoy.” His gaze meets mine and he gives me another of those barely-there smiles before looking back at the shelf. If the way his head tilts is any indication, I’m guessing he’s moved on to perusing the books. His lips lift a little more as he taps the spine of one. “You have my sister’s book.”

  Jasper and Evan’s sister, Lina—or Laurelina Peregrine as she’s known in the literary world—gained massive success by self-publishing her first novel last year. “I do. When I found out she was Evan’s sister, I went to one of her signings in Toronto and bought a copy there to have it signed. I’m looking forward to officially meeting her soon. You must be so proud of her.”

  “Extremely proud. Writing wasn’t always a dream of Lina’s, but once she set her mind to it, she dove in with her whole heart. From my experience, it’s not often one gets to live their dream.”

  “That’s very true,” I say, knowing I’m one of those lucky few. “Does that mean banking isn’t your dream job?”

  He gives me a wry look. “I’m content with my job. I’ve always enjoyed working with numbers, and it’s something I’m good at. I’m not passionate about it, certainly not the way my sisters are about their careers, but not every job is meant to evoke passion.”

  His proximity and his use of the word ‘passion’—as innocent as it is—makes me all tingly. It’s been ages since I’ve been this aware of a man, and it’s like sensory overload: the heat from Jasper’s body, the subtle scent of his cologne, the way his deep voice draws me in and makes me want to listen to whatever he has to say. Maybe Gwen and my mom are right about me needing to get out more.

  Putting some space between us by heading for the kitchen, I ask, “Can I get you a glass of wine?”

  “Oh.” Jasper glances at his watch, the skin around his eyes tightening. “I hate to put you out further when you’re already allowing me to spend the night, but it’s been a long day and I’m quite tired. I was hoping I might head to bed. Or couch, as it were.”

  “Of course. Let me get you settled and then I’ll go to my room.” He looks like he’s going to apologize again, so I smile and turn for the linen closet. “Did you want to have a shower?” I ask over my shoulder.
When he says no, I pull out a washcloth and hand towel for him. He approaches with his neatly folded pajamas and a toiletry bag in hand, and accepts the towels with a murmured thank you.

  After the bathroom door clicks shut, I zip into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of wine and grab a sleeve of the crackers Mom sent home with me. I had a feeling Jasper would be an early-to-bed sort of guy and, while I know I should take this opportunity to get some extra shut-eye myself, it’s a bit early for me. After depositing my bedtime snack in my room, I take a sheet, blanket, and a couple of pillows to the couch.

  I set everything down and peer at Jasper’s closed suitcase, smiling to myself when I notice the JP monogram pressed into the leather in one corner. Jasper must travel a lot for the suitcase to be so worn. Without thinking, I run my fingers over his initials.

  When a throat clears from behind me, I jump back as if the suitcase bit me.

  “Sorry,” I say, whipping around. “I was just admiring the monogram.”

  He crosses the room and opens the suitcase, setting his folded clothes into…yep, a packing cube. I narrow my eyes, trying to spot an iron before he flips the lid closed again. He’s wearing blue plaid pajama pants and a loose long-sleeved shirt. If I’d thought about it, I likely would have pictured him wearing old-fashioned matching pajamas with a button-down top. Or maybe a nightshirt like Johnny Rose in Schitt’s Creek.

  “This was my father’s suitcase. My mother gave it to him as a wedding gift.” I’m not sure if he’s purposely avoiding my eyes or if he’s lost in thought as he gently traces the JP on the leather. “I let my siblings have most of our parents’ belongings after they died. I kept this for myself since my father and I shared the same initials.”

  I swallow past the lump forming in my throat. Jasper and Evan’s parents died when Evan was a teenager. As the oldest Perry sibling, Jasper moved home to step into the role of guardian for Evan and Hadley. After spending last Christmas with the Perrys, Gwen confided in me that Jasper told her he had buried his own feelings over his parents’ death in order to care for his youngest siblings, and was just realizing that fact all these years later.