Anything but Vanilla: Ice Cream, #4

By Laney Smith

The Best Man. 
The Maid of Honor. 

An explosive love story only dreams could compare to – at least until the nightmare set in.

In spite of his reputation for being a heartbreaker who lives life in the fast lane, when commercial pilot, Owen Quinn, finally got a chance to date the sweet, innocent, ice cream shop girl, Emma Welby, he found himself on unfamiliar ground. This wild, life-of-the-party guy had finally found something he knew he wanted to hold onto. With a passionate, budding romance in full swing, Owen knows he has finally found the one woman he wants to spend the rest of his life with. 

With marriage on his mind, Owen promised Emma he would never break her heart. 

He lied!

In the worst possible way, he lied. 
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Samantha Clingenpeel
• Release date: Jul 4, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393795155

Book preview

Anything but Vanilla

By Laney Smith

Special Thanks

To my mother and my two boys – the three people who’ve listened to me promise for the eleventeenth time, I just need to focus. I’ve just gotta finish this one story. Those three people deserve everything in this world! I love you all, with all my heart! Thank you for your unwavering patience. 

CHAPTER ONE

I was quickly approaching my thirtieth birthday. My last single friend, Jordan, had just married the king of her dream, Eric. Eric was thirty-five, so he was about five years her senior. He was the vice president of operations for some law firm – whatever that meant. All I knew is he was successful doing whatever it was he did. He was friendly and he made Jordan happy. That made the bitter pill of her wedded bliss a little easier to swallow.

When Jordan and Eric married, I was the maid of honor. For the first time in my life, of all the weddings I had been part of, I actually liked the dress Jordan picked for me and the other bridesmaids. Sometimes, a dress can give a woman a racy sass. She transforms into something out of her norm and becomes this wild, tempting vixen. This was not that dress, however. This dress made me feel more like the woman who walks by and every head turns. I was the woman who was oblivious to the attention – only not really. Yeah! That was this dress!

Yellow and Navy.

That was Jordan’s colors. My dress was the yellow one. The thin spaghetti straps sat atop my shoulders and the color popped against my tanned flesh. There was a dainty, yellow, silk slip that hid beneath a layer of yellow chiffon. That slip dress was the most gracefully, elegant style I had ever put on my body. The fabric was semi-flowy and moved against my skin like kissed whispers. No alterations needed, though it fit as if it had been tailor-made, just for me. With my brunette, highlighted hair swept up in a messy bun, the careless-looking wisps – though strategically styled – gave me a look of effortless beauty, at least for one day.

Owen Quinn.

That was Eric’s best man. That was my escort down the aisle. Like Eric, Owen was about thirty-five – Eric’s old college buddy. The two were best friends and inseparable. Owen seemed cool, but he was one of those guys who should’ve come with warning labels. Sure, he was fun. He was the guy who always came up with plans for the weekend – and he liked involving everyone he knew. This guy had a habit of stealing my best friend because he was always hell bent on involving Eric in his little schemes, which meant Jordan was also involved.

Maybe there was a certain part of me that was jealous. I wanted to be involved in fun, lively weekend activities. Boating. Camping. Hiking. Amusement parks. Concerts. Sporting events. Horse races. This guy left no stone of adventure unturned. I didn’t know him well enough to involve myself. Seeing as how I was single, Jordan rarely thought to invite me, seeing as how most of the group were couples.

The night before the wedding, the night of rehearsals, Owen was late getting back to town from some business venture, I assume. Supposedly, his flight was delayed in Denver, due to a blizzard. So, I had to pretend he was there, walking me down the aisle.

While it was annoying, I was also relieved, in a way. I hadn’t been around Owen that much. I had learned a lot about him from listening to Jordan talk about him. She never mentioned anything about his love interest. The names I did happen to catch, in terms of relationships, were different names, by the following weekend. I decided maybe he wasn’t anyone’s Mister Right. At least that was the impression I got from listening to Jordan’s stories. So, the point I’m trying to make is that I was sort of nervous about walking the aisle with Owen. So, while I could snarl and complain about this guy failing to make an appearance for the wedding rehearsals, I could also buy myself a little comfort. So, what if I looked like an idiot, pretending to be walking with someone who wasn’t there! Everything in life is temporary, including humiliation and foolishness. Besides, my best friend was worth it.

Anyway, on the big day, Owen had returned from his trip. Apparently, he was to wear navy to off-set my yellow. Navy suit, white shirt, yellow accents. I couldn’t picture it. However, with Jordan’s drive for grace and elegance, I trusted that this would all just work.

And, it did!

As we began lining up to begin the wedding march, Owen had only half-acknowledged me. He was busy clowning around with the other groomsmen. When it was time to be serious, Owen stepped up beside me and offered his arm. For the first time, I felt like he actually saw me.

His eyes met mine and a playful smile began to sneak across his lips. Something about the way he looked at me made me feel even more beautiful than I already did. It was as though he could not take his eyes off me.

Hi, he said. You’re Emma, right?

I am, I answered. And, you’re . . .

Owen.

Right! Owen. Sorry. I don’t know why I can’t remember your name, I lied from beneath a quick laugh.

He gently bumped his shoulder against mine as he cut his eyes out at the gathering, we were about to parade through. I’m sorry she did this to you, he said as he tilted his head toward me.

Oh, it’s OK. I don’t mind walking down with you.

No. I meant I’m sorry she made you dress up like a big stick of margarine.

Every ounce of beauty I felt melted right then and there.

Margarine? I muttered.

He glanced back over at me as his chin swayed over his shoulder. The things we do for friends, huh?

I look like margarine? I flatly asked from behind my contorted