Was that why he was marrying her? To liven things up at his church? Of course not. Don’t be stupid, she told herself. She was more than a checklist to Paul, just as he was more than a checklist to her.
* * *
Henry was in his room, writing away, when she showed up with fresh towels the next day. “So you went and did it,” he said, not looking up from the screen.
“How did you find out?”
“Saw your sister earlier today and she told me. Wanted me to know you made the right choice, I guess.”
She had. “Are you going to wish me well?”
“Wishing won’t make it happen,” he said and kept typing. Clack, clack, clack. “Kind of rushing into things, aren’t you?”
“It’s not rushing when you know it’s right.”
He frowned at that but said nothing.
“This is right,” she insisted.
“If you say so. Too bad you settled.”
“A pastor? That’s settling?”
He stopped typing and looked at her. “It’s just as bad to pick someone because you’re scared of not getting it right as it is to be with someone who’s wrong.”
“And what would you advise me to do?” she demanded.
“To wait and be sure. There are other men out there. Like me,” he added quietly. “You never even gave us chance, Celeste.”
“I told you. I’m done taking chances.”
“Like I said.” He went back to his typing.
There was no point in talking anymore. Nothing left to say. Except, “How’s the book coming?”
“Almost done.”
She nodded. Of course he didn’t see her nodding because he refused to look at her. “I hope it’ll be a big hit,” she ventured.
He still didn’t look up. “All I need is a towel. You don’t have to clean. I’ll be checking out tomorrow.”
“You’re leaving?”
“What do you care? You’re engaged.”
True. “It won’t seem the same without you here, is all.”
His hands stopped and he finally looked at her, almost hopefully. “Will you miss me, Celeste?”
“You know I will.”
“Not enough, though,” he said, and went back to work. “Nice knowing you, Happy Clam Girl. Have a good life.”
So that was that. Their conversation was at an end. Everything was at an end. There wasn’t anything to begin with, she told herself. Some laughs, some conversation. Some sparks. Okay, a lot of sparks.
But sparks died quickly and blew away.
She replaced his dirty towel with a clean one, then shut the door on room twelve and the man in it.
* * *
That was the end of their story. Why had he ever thought it could end differently? Celeste Jones believed she’d chosen the “perfect” man. All lesser models need not apply. He’d been stupid to hope he’d make the cut. They’d had chemistry. They’d had a connection. He’d felt it and she had to have, too. Damn it all, what was wrong with women anyway? More to the point, what was wrong with him?
At the moment, plenty. He was jealous and bitter and ready to relieve his anger by hurling his laptop across the room.
But he wasn’t that stupid. Right now that keyboard and screen were the only comfort he had. And the only instrument of revenge. He went back to his original plot line, smiling as he typed away. Yeah, a man couldn’t control what happened in the real world, but here in the world he’d created, he was God.
He poured himself two fingers of Scotch and fell onto the couch, looking out the window at the dark night. He’d caught the bastard but he couldn’t save her. And that confirmed it. He was meant to be alone. And so it would be. His job would be everything and that would have to be enough. His cell phone rang. Another case.
Henry shut the laptop. The end. The end of everything.
Chapter Twenty
Life at the beach was wonderful, even more so when you were engaged. Between working at the Driftwood, doing things with Paul and helping with various children’s activities at church, Celeste was busy. Now that it was official between her and Paul, she was determined to jump into her new life with both feet and she had. When she did get any spare time, she spent it pawing through the latest issue of Bride, and visiting every wedding website she could find.
“I always thought a summer wedding would be nice,” she said dreamily as the two of them enjoyed afternoon lattes in Books and Beans. Now that September had begun, a summer wedding was no longer an option unless Paul was willing to wait.
“Do you really want to wait until next summer to get married?” he asked, reaching across the table and taking her hand.
She knew there would be no sex until they were married. Her biological clock sprang back to life and announced that she was more than ready to start her new life and a family. There was no reason to wait almost a year.
“No.” Summer weddings were overrated anyway.
“How about Christmas?” she suggested. December weddings were beautiful.
“Well.” He took a thoughtful sip of his drink. “We’ve got the Seaside with Santa festival, and people will be busy with that. Then there are all the things going on at church—food drive, Sunday School program, candlelight service. Weddings are a big deal, and I’d hate to see your special day get lost in the shuffle.”
“Our special day,” she corrected him, making him grin. “Good point, though.” She let go of that idea.
“What do you think about November?” he asked. “Could you plan a wedding that fast?”
She loved all those pretty summer colors. The fall ones, not so much. But getting married was about more than the colors you chose for your wedding.
“Sure,” she said. “What about getting married over Thanksgiving weekend? My mom would already be down here. Then we could go someplace warm for our honeymoon, like the Caribbean. Or Hawaii. We could book one of those cruises that goes to all the islands.”
He looked a little nervous. “I don’t think I can budget for something that big right off. Could we do that for our one-year anniversary?”
“Paul, I have money. I can pay for some of it.” Now that she was only substitute-teaching...maybe not. It would take all her savings just to pay for the wedding.
“No way,” he said. “The groom pays for the honeymoon. I’ve done enough weddings to know that. What do you say to staying local for our honeymoon? Like going to Seattle.”
“Or Icicle Falls. They really dress that town up for the holidays, and it always starts Thanksgiving weekend.” It wouldn’t be warm, but they could create enough heat between the two of them that it wouldn’t matter, and with all the Christmas lights and decorations, it would be almost as good as having had a Christmas wedding.
“Great idea. Icicle Falls for the honeymoon and Hawaii for our anniversary.”
It was a good compromise.
Some of the other compromises—or attempted compromises—not so much. “I thought it would be fun to have Nemo be my ring bearer,” she said.
“If we were doing a summer wedding and were at the beach, that would be fine. I’m not sure how well that would go over with everyone if we had a dog running around the church.”
“Are you sure that’s the reason you don’t want him? I know you don’t like my dog very much.”
“I like him,” Paul insisted. “But he’s still not very well-trained, and we can’t trust what he’d do in the middle of a wedding ceremony or who he’d jump on.”
“He’s getting there,” she said. “He can sit and stay now.”
Thanks to Henry’s help. What was Henry doing these days? Where was he? Funny, in spite of all the time they’d spent together, all the conversations they’d had, she’d never asked him where he lived.
Not that it mattered. She wasn’t with Henry. She didn’t need to know where h
e lived.
Or how he was doing.
“My sister’s got a little girl who’s six and a boy who just turned four,” Paul said. “What do you say we use them for the flower girl and ring bearer?”
“Your sister’s in Africa.”
“She’s coming back for the wedding. So are my parents. They’re all excited to meet you in person.”
They’d had a couple of Skype calls together since Paul and Celeste got engaged, but that was hardly the same thing. Celeste hoped she’d measure up. What if, after spending more time with her, the new in-laws didn’t approve of her?
“So what do you say?”
“Hmm?”
“About using my nephew and niece.”
“I really thought it would be cute to have my dog,” she said. Okay, that sounded petty and immature. “But you’re right. We should use your nephew and niece.”
“My mom’s hoping you’ll wear her wedding dress,” Paul said.
“What?” Celeste had already picked out a gorgeous dress online. “But she’s in Africa.”
“My aunt’s coming down to visit this weekend. She’s bringing it.”
“You talked about this without asking me?”
“Not really. My mom asked. What could I say?”
No. “Paul, a wedding gown is a very personal choice.”
“I understand, but it would mean so much to her if you’d consider wearing hers. You know, that something borrowed thing,” he added with his gorgeous smile.
“I don’t think—” she began.
“At least look at it,” he urged.
“And if I don’t like it?”
“Then you can wear whatever you want.”
Big of him. She frowned.
“I’m not saying you have to. I’m just hoping you’ll want to.”
Very nicely put. But Celeste still felt she was being pushed into doing something she didn’t want to do.
She’d already given up her summer wedding and her second choice of a Christmas wedding, not to mention having her dog as part of the wedding party. That was enough compromise.
Celeste didn’t change her mind when Paul’s aunt came down. They were at his house, enjoying a crab salad Celeste had made when Aunt Martha brought out the dress. The thing was a relic from the seventies, plain and uninspired.
“This dress is special,” said Aunt Martha. “Oh, not because of its design,” she hurried to add, “but because of the woman who wore it. My sister, Angela, is a saint.”
Oh, great. Celeste’s new mother-in-law was a saint. How was she going to follow that act?
“Seeing you in it will bring back such happy memories for her,” Aunt Martha continued.
What about making her own memories? “I’m sure it would,” said Celeste, “but it’s not really my style.”
Aunt Martha cocked an eyebrow. “Oh. What is your style?”
“Something a little...” Less boring. “More sophisticated.”
“Sophisticated,” Aunt Martha repeated as if Celeste had said a dirty word. “Well, of course, it’s your wedding.”
Yes, it was. Although she was beginning to wonder.
“You know, her daughter wore it at her wedding, too,” Aunt Martha persisted.
“Then it’s been well-used and well-loved,” Celeste said. There. Very diplomatic. She smiled.
Aunt Martha didn’t smile back.
Paul looked from one woman to the other. “Let’s give her time to think about it.”
“Good idea,” agreed Aunt Martha.
In your dreams. Celeste managed another polite smile.
They drove Aunt Martha around to see the town, bought her ice cream at Good Times Ice Cream Parlor, and then Celeste had had enough of Aunt Martha. And she’d had enough of her fiancé, too. The wedding dress traitor.
“I’d better get home,” she said as they pulled into Paul’s driveway. “Nice meeting you,” she said to his aunt.
“Nice to meet you, too. I can hardly wait to tell my sister all about the woman Paul’s chosen.”
Celeste wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or some kind of veiled threat that involved tattling on her reluctance to wear Mama’s wedding gown, but she murmured a thank-you and bolted for her car.
“Celeste, wait,” Paul said, catching up with her. “What’s wrong?”
“Wrong? Why do you think something’s wrong?” Just because she’d pretty much stopped talking beyond an obligatory yes or no.
“I can tell by the way you’re acting. Tell me.”
“Maybe it has to do with the fact that you didn’t take my side about the wedding dress. Really, Paul, whose wedding is it, mine or your mom’s?”
“I thought it was ours,” he said, sounding hurt.
Okay, maybe she was being unreasonable. But still... “Darn it all, a woman only gets married once.” Theoretically, anyway. “I’ve been dreaming about my wedding day since I was a little girl. I’d really like to pick out my own wedding dress. I don’t think that’s asking too much.”
“Of course it’s not,” he said. “You’re right. I’ll tell my mom you don’t want to wear it.”
She laid a hand on his arm. “Thank you. Anyway, you don’t want to feel like you’re marrying your mother.”
He chuckled at that. “Point taken. I’ll tell her about the dress when we Skype later.”
But he still looked disappointed. And she drove back home not feeling quite as happy about her wedding as she had earlier.
She hoped his mother wouldn’t be mad at her. In addition to visiting with his sister, she and Paul had also Skyped with his parents, and the woman had been quick to tell Celeste how happy she was that her son had found such a lovely young woman.
Now Celeste wondered if Mrs. Welch had been envisioning that lovely young woman coming down the aisle in her ancient wedding dress. Ugh. Why did women hang on to their bridal gowns anyway? That thing should have been given to Goodwill a generation ago.
“Don’t do it,” Jenna said, confirming Celeste’s decision. Then shook her head. “I can’t believe Paul didn’t jump right in and tell his aunt to take a hike.”
“He didn’t.” Celeste hoped that wasn’t going to become a habit—with him wanting to please everyone but her, and she said as much to Jenna.
“I don’t think so. He’s been single for a long time. He needs to be educated, that’s all.”
“What if he’s a slow learner?”
“Don’t be a goof. He’s crazy about you. Stop worrying. But wear the wedding gown you want.”
She would. So there.
Would his mom be mad?
* * *
Angela wasn’t exactly mad when they all Skyped the next Friday night, but she was disappointed. “I thought it would be a lovely tradition to continue,” she said, making Celeste feel manipulated. “but if it’s not to your liking...”
There was an understatement. “I’m sorry,” said Celeste. And she was. She didn’t want to end up being that difficult daughter-in-law who drove her mother-in-law crazy. “It just isn’t me. But it was sweet of you to offer,” she added, and that seemed to mollify Saint Angela.
Oh, boy, she had to stop calling the woman that. If she didn’t, it would slip out at some point and then she’d really have a problem.
“Well, we want to do whatever we can to make your day special,” said Saint Angela. No, Angela! “And we’re so looking forward to spending time with you before the wedding. My son tells me there’s to be a bridal shower. Julia and I are both planning to get there in time for that.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Celeste lied.
“Sadly, her husband can’t get away. He has too much to do.”
Fine by Celeste. She’d have enough to cope with trying to make the rest of his family like her.
“You’r
e going to love my mom,” Paul told her after they’d all said goodbye. “She’s the most selfless, kindhearted woman I know.”
“Except for me,” Celeste teased, giving him a shoulder bump.
“You’re a close second,” he said and bumped her back.
Close second to a saint. That was a good thing. Wasn’t it?
* * *
In addition to planning a wedding, there was campaigning to be done on her sister’s behalf and a debate at City Hall looming. A new contender had entered the ring since Jenna declared her candidacy—Kiki Strom, who owned the popular tourist shop Something Fishy.
“Well, that was rude,” said an incensed Celeste when Jenna’s committee met to strategize their final push.
“No, it was probably a good idea. She talked to me before she did it and told me she was worried I might not be able to carry the vote. She’s probably right. I should bow out,” Jenna said.
“After all the work we’ve done? Don’t you dare,” Celeste said to her.
“If I don’t, we might each get enough votes to cancel each other out and let Susan win,” Jenna explained.
“I doubt that’ll happen,” Nora said. “We all know Susan isn’t that well-liked. I don’t see her getting many votes.”
“I’d be okay with it if Kiki won,” Jenna said.
“Well, I wouldn’t,” said Celeste, and everyone chuckled. “You’re just what this town needs.”
* * *
Jenna also liked to think she was exactly what Moonlight Harbor needed—fresh blood, a younger perspective, new ideas. But really, in spite of her doorbelling and campaign promises—“I’ll bring more tourists to town, which will boost our economy”—she doubted she was winning over the voters. It seemed that in every other call she made, someone brought up the Seaside with Santa festival and the joke of a parade. She was still the new kid in town, an unknown.
She barely slept the night before the candidates’ debate, and when they entered Moonlight Harbor City Hall and found the room where the city council held its public meetings packed with people, she felt sure she was going to vomit.
The Summer Retreat Page 23