the chance to talk sunsets instead siblings. âI think thatâd be ideal for a wedding. And, if thereâs rain on the day of the wedding, we have the great room as an alternative.â
âIt wonât rain. I donât allow rain on my weddings.â
He bet the weather didnât have the balls to rain on any of her weddings.
They both studied the skyline again, Roark keenly aware of the woman next to him. She was a beautiful contradiction.
Stern and serious one moment, a teasing playfulness trying to break free the next.
He didnât want to think too much about her, or over analyze, like he was prone to do, but this time of day was always so quiet in the mountains. Like nature conspiring to make you sit and over think everything.
The air was thicker, heavy, muffled. A shower could pop up at any minute, lasting all of five minutes before disappearing.
Silence settled over the veranda as they both stood there, studying the cloud-dabbled sky. A combination of shadows and rays danced across the lake. The moment was oddly intimate, sharing serenity with a stranger.
Madison sniffed. âIs that the kitchen I smell or is it still you?â
Roark studied the dried stain on his sleeve closest to her. The sweet smell was definitely him, but he played along anyway. He sidestepped away about five or six paces. âDo you still smell it?â
She sniffed the air again. âItâs gone. Thatâs good though. You smell delicious, but I donât want other kitchen scents to travel all the way outside. No one wants eau de catfish while listening to Mendelssohn on harp.â
Madison thought he smelled delicious. That was going to be his takeaway. âYou wonât smell any catfish. Nothing but fresh mountain air, maybe the scent of roses or whatever arrangements you use. It wonât rain, the sun will be perfectly scheduled to set, on cue, and you will have the wedding of the year.â
A quick laugh escaped. âI expect a lot. I know. What can you do about a cloudless sky, soft breeze, happy clients, and guests who are awed by the whole event?â
Roark saw the opportunity and jumped at it. He checked off an invisible list with his finger in the air. âDone. What about a flock of doves to fly by at precisely the right time? A migration of butterflies?â
âNo, thank you. Iâve used doves before.â
He tilted his head back. âOf course you have.â
âReleased upon the announcement of the new couple. All I could do was pray none of the birds . . . you know?â
âLessened their load midflight?â
Madison laughed. Finally, with the quickest flash of white teeth before she covered her mouth, she let herself laugh. âYes. Everything worked out, but I prefer to stay away from live animals at my events.â
âI donât blame you. But I bet somebody, some day, will want to ride in on a horse. Or off on a horse. There will be something involving a horse in your future.â He was teasing her, but she was laughing. He sure as hell wasnât going to squash it now.
Madison gave him a stern look that was nothing but playful. âBite your tongue. I like a challenge, but you could curse me with some kind of cowboy-themed ceremony and horses all over the place.â
He shook his head. âPotentially a lot worse than doves . . . if you know what I mean.â
This time her burst of laughter echoed around the veranda. She clamped a hand over her mouth again. âDonât say that. Donât even put that out into the universe.â She spoke from behind her fingers, but it sounded like she was smiling.
âI should take it back?â Roark grinned too.
She dropped her hand. âYes, definitely.â
âI take it back. No horse weddings. No doves. Butterflies will be the extent of any living props at your weddings.â
âButterflies I can handle. Thank you.â
Madison was definitely smiling. No tight