Gina Ardito: Romantic Comedy Author

With her own situation so different from all these others, Renata turned away from the excited
soon-to-be-weds and paced in the narrow aisle. Unease crept down her spine on padded paws to dig
sharp talons into her stomach. Her self-control teetered, but Renata clamped down the urge to run her
fingers through her hair in anxiety. Lillian had spent over twenty-five minutes winding the heavy mass
into a French braid interspersed with white silk rosebuds.

"Not quite as bridal as a veil," she'd said with a wink, "but it gives some indication today is a
connubial event."

So did the bouquet of white and peach roses sprinkled with baby's breath Renata had, on impulse,
asked a neighborhood florist to create. Now, in the closeness of the room, the roses she clutched
looked much as she felt, slightly wilted and tired around the edges.

What had possessed her to propose such a scheme? And to Connell, of all people? Oh, he was
good-looking, in a Paul Bunyan rugged kind of way. Curls of golden-red hair tousled over bright blue
eyes. Angular cheekbones and a strong chin routinely coated with a day's growth of beard gave him a
scruffy look she'd normally find irresistible.

"Renata." Connell stood in the doorway to the Marriage Bureau, huffing and puffing as if he'd run a
marathon.

"Sorry I'm late, but I had to stop on Canal Street to buy this." Between his thumb and forefinger, he
held a gold band.

She barely glanced at the ring, her focus more intent on the Prince Charming who displayed it. My
God. In the three years she'd known Connell, he never looked more appealing than he did at this
moment. Perhaps the richness of the black suit framing those mile-wide shoulders distracted her. Or
maybe she'd forgotten that his eyes reflected the pure blue of a perfect June sky. Whatever. Something
about his appearance right now set her nerves floundering in a sea of confusion.

Following her gaze, he looked down at himself, then up into her face. Sweeping his arms out in a wide
arc, he flashed a smug grin. "I know. I clean up pretty, don't I? This is my wedding-slash-funeral suit. I
don't get to wear it too often so it's probably overkill, but it is an Armani."

Using exaggerated motions, he moved like a fashion model for a men's magazine. Holding up a bent
wrist to look at his watch, then segueing into the thoughtful pose of an executive extending a fingertip
toward his temple, before ending the farce by tossing his head back as if mutely laughing at a joke.

Each larger-than-life stance, intended to lighten her mood, had the opposite effect. Until now, Renata
had only seen him at work, in his office or atop a roof, where he wore a full day's worth of stubble on
his cheeks while his mop of curly hair stayed clamped under a Yankees baseball cap or whipped
around in the wind. His normal attire consisted of flannel work shirts in the winters, t-shirts in the
summers, dusty jeans and heavy black boots.

But inside City Hall, Connell the Lumberjack had disappeared, replaced by Connell the Humorous
Sophisticate. With a boyish quality due to freshly shaved cheeks, he exuded enough charm to melt the
hardest New York cabbie's heart.

While she continued to gape, he stopped posing and shook his head. "You've changed your mind
about this, haven't you?"

"N-no," she stammered, unable to tear her eyes away from the broad expanse of shoulders enshrouded
in midnight black wool. One thought ran through her mind, making her sense of logic scatter like
autumn leaves in a November wind.

He looks good enough to eat!

"Thanks." He nodded at her white silk suit and smirked. "So do you."