Wedding Belles: A Novel in Four Parts

by Melanie Jacobson

  The first thing she’d done when she came home from Charleston was download Dahlia’s wedding pictures from her camera. She didn’t bother looking at any of the photos guests had uploaded. She had other projects to work on, and she doubted Dahlia or anyone else would be anxiously waiting to see the un-wedding photos. Anyway, she wasn’t interested in other people’s pictures.

  Sutton wanted the pictures she’d taken of Max.

  One in particular. The only one without Hadley in it that she’d taken of him on the dance floor. She used Photoshop to change the shot from color to black and white, and the change sharpened the line of his jaw and the dimple in his cheek when he smiled. She left the photo on her computer—she felt less stalkerish looking at it on a screen a hundred times a day rather than staring at an actual copy.

  The shot she did print was the one she’d taken of him sitting on the steps of the grand staircase handing Hadley her basket of flower petals. That one she’d kept in color to highlight Hadley’s dark curls against her white dress and the bright pink roses in her flower crown. Max’s dimple wasn’t as noticeable in that shot, but he looked as good in color as he did in black and white.

  Hadley tapped her leg as they approached their station. “When will we see Max again?” She’d asked at least a thousand times since they’d come home. Maybe that’s why Sutton couldn’t forget about him, but the fact that Hadley felt a connection to him meant something. Her little girl was a much better judge of character than she was.

  “I don’t know if we will, baby.” She didn’t even know Max’s last name or where he lived. She assumed Charleston, but maybe Columbia since he and Deacon had been roommates at USC.

  The train screeched to a stop, and Sutton gripped Hadley’s hand as they stepped onto the platform. Crowds made Sutton nervous when she had Hadley with her. Her little girl could be lost so easily.

  Brett had never been really invested in raising Hadley, so being her daughter’s only protector wasn’t new to Sutton. But seeing how good Max was with Hadley had her thinking about what parenting would be like with a partner.

  When she’d said good-bye to him, she’d been determined to walk away without making any new attachments. She’d been relieved he hadn’t asked for her number.

  Now, she regretted not asking for his.

  “I liked him, Mama. I think we should visit him.” Hadley’s voice pulled Sutton out of her thoughts but did little to distract her from them. Swinging Sutton’s hand, she prattled on about Max, repeating everything she’d said about him a million times since they’d been back.

  They walked out of the dirty subway station into the bright sunlight that insisted on warming her skin as though November weren’t right around the corner. The leaves in Central Park had turned, so she and Hadley had planned a picnic in the park. Along with a thousand other New Yorkers. Sutton had been raised in the open spaces just outside of Charleston. She should have hated New York, but she loved the community of strangers. If this many people could coexist and appreciate the beauty of a park together, maybe she could find one person to share her life with? Even if the first time she’d tried had been a disaster?

  Sutton and Hadley found a shady spot on a hill with a view of The Metropolitan Museum of Art, one of Sutton’s favorite places. While Hadley gathered fallen leaves that still held their color, Sutton spread an old quilt across the grass and unpacked their lunch basket. Once she’d found enough leaves to satisfy her, Hadley plopped next to Sutton and laid them all out for her.

  “This one is my favorite.” She held up a leaf that looked identical to the others. “I’m saving it for Max.”

  Sutton handed her a sandwich and helped her with the wrapper before uncorking the question that had been bubbling in her brain almost from the moment she’d said good-bye to Max.

  “Should we try to call him?” she asked.

  Hadley wasn’t the most reasonable person for Sutton to ask that question, but Sutton hadn’t made a lot of girlfriends in New York, and her brother was definitely out of the question. Seth would say no. He’d appointed himself her protector and got defensive when any man came close to glancing at her.

  “Yes. Then we should visit him,” Hadley answered, bouncing on her knees.

  “The problem is, I don’t know his phone number or where he lives.” Sutton tucked Hadley’s hair behind her ear. She knew she shouldn’t treat her five-year-old like a confidant, but the fact was, her baby had pretty good advice.

  “You can just type his name into Google and get his number that way.” She wiggled her fingers over an imaginary keyboard. “Let me have your phone.” She reached across Sutton’s lap to pick up the phone beside her. Her little fingers were barely long enough to wrap around the phone, but she had no trouble unlocking the home screen and opening the Google app.

  “How do you know my password?” Sutton asked, tempted to take the phone back but too curious to see what Hadley had planned.

  “I used my fingerprint.”

  “You little sneak.” Sutton poked her side and Hadley giggled and squirmed away, but then frowned.

  “There are too many Maxes.” She turned the phone to Sutton to show her the long list Google had created for the word Max. Sutton reached to take the phone from her, but Hadley pulled it back.

  “I know! I’ll put in New York with his name so Google can find the right Max.”

  Sutton peeked over Hadley’s shoulder to see if she knew how to spell New York, feeling more than a little proud when Hadley got it right.

  “What makes you think he lives in New York?” she asked with a spark of hope that maybe Hadley knew something she didn’t.

  “Everyone lives in New York, Mama,” Hadley said with an exasperated breath.

  Google brought up too many possibilities again, and Hadley’s face fell.

  “Don’t worry. I have an idea that might actually work.” She took her phone back from Hadley and opened her email. “I’m going to ask Aunt Dolly if she knows how to find Max.”

  The problem with that was the solution depended entirely on Dahlia actually checking her email. Sutton hadn’t heard from her since she’d dropped off Dahlia’s passport at the airport and waved good-bye as she went through the security line to catch her flight to Bali. She’d tried texting Dahlia but hadn’t gotten a response. She doubted Dahlia had an international plan or would think to add one if she didn’t.

  She emailed her anyway, asking if she knew Max or how to get ahold of him, then crossed her fingers and said a Hail Mary that Dahlia would check her messages soon. Once the message was on its way, however, Sutton thought of another idea.

  Deacon would know where Max was. She could track him down through work.

  Sutton tucked her phone in her pocket and turned her attention back to her little girl. “Don’t worry, Had, I’ve got a plan. We’ll find Max.”

  They spent the rest of the afternoon in the park eating, feeding ducks, and people watching. Sutton felt at peace for the first time in weeks knowing as soon as she got home she could find a number for Deacon in a matter of minutes, and minutes after that, she’d have a number for Max.

  She waited until Hadley and Seth were absorbed in the World Series before googling Deacon. She found him and his law firm without a problem, but she doubted he’d be in his office on a Sunday night. It wasn’t impossible, but she decided to do a little Facebook and Insta stalking first.

  She had shut down all her social media while going through her divorce to keep Brett from harassing her. Finding Max meant opening new accounts, but she used her given first name and her maiden name: Jessica Harris. She ran the risk of Brett finding her, but she took it anyway.

  In a matter of minutes, she’d found Deacon on Facebook and done a search of his friends for a Max. The closest she’d found was a Jake Maxfield who didn’t have a profile picture or any recent posts and had his privacy settings set so high she couldn’t see any personal info. He could be her Max, but she doubted it. The man she’d met wasn’t shy about ope
ning up to strangers.

  Deacon’s Instagram privacy settings, on the other hand, were non-existent. She could see everything about him, including a picture of the Charleston skyline from a few hours before with the caption, Working on a Sunday, but at least I’ve got a view.

  She took a deep breath. Finding Max was suddenly a real possibility. She stood and paced a circle behind her desk, shaking her hands and pepping herself up with the same words she’d used before a big swim meet.

  Finally, she picked up her phone and dialed Deacon’s work number. Every ring that went unanswered made her heart beat faster, but just before she went to voicemail, Deacon picked up.

  “Hello?” The sharpness in his voice startled her.

  “Deacon? It’s Sutton, Dahlia’s friend.” She knew he knew her, but her nerves were a jumble of live wires all buzzing with electricity.

  “I know who you are.” His voice sounded strange, slurred. “You’re the reason Dahlia left me. You screwed me over worse than she did.”

  Sutton wasn’t sure how to respond, and the more he talked the more she understood the reason he sounded like he had a mouthful of marshmallows. He’d been drinking. A lot. She heard drunk in every s he turned into a sh sound. He reminded her of Brett. She didn’t want to think about Brett when she’d finally worked up the courage to take a chance on a new relationship.

  “I’m so sorry, Deacon. I know she really hurt—”

  “—You knew,” he snapped. “You knew, and you didn’t tell me. You helped her make me look like an idiot.”

  “I had no idea, I promise.” Sutton scrambled to soothe him while at the same time wondering if she had been complicit. Dahlia hadn’t said anything to her, but Sutton had wondered if she’d bolt. Maybe she should have warned Deacon.

  “You knew, and you helped her. You took her passport to her, so don’t pretend like you’re sorry.”

  She couldn’t deny that part. She had helped Dahlia get to Bali without even thinking about how that might hurt Deacon. Before she could think of any way to defend herself, Deacon spoke again.

  “If you’re calling to apologize, don’t bother. I don’t want to see or talk to you or Dahlia again.” He ended by putting a string of words and names together that she’d never been called before and then hanging up.

  Sutton stared at her phone. Of all the scenarios she had come up with for when she asked for Max’s number, that hadn’t been one of them. He’d been her best chance, and he’d shredded that hope into microscopic pieces.

  A few photos and a night of memories might be all she’d ever have of Max.

  No . . . that didn’t feel right.

  She wasn’t ready to give up looking for him yet.

  That thought made the wall she’d built around her heart feel less impenetrable. She could sense the cracks and the imminent exposure they would bring, the certain vulnerability.

  So why did the crumbling feel like freedom?

  Chapter Six

  Max gazed out his apartment window at Central Park. He only had a peek-a-boo view that required a lot of neck craning, but he could see the leaves had changed into their full autumn glory. Their reddish-orange color shone brighter against the green shrubs and grass. He loved this time of year before the weather turned from pleasant to biting cold. Families and couples came out in droves to picnic in the Park; seeing them dot the grass made Max think about Hadley and Sutton.

  Not that he needed much encouragement to think about Sutton. He hadn’t stopped doing that since the moment they’d said good-bye. He’d given her two weeks to find the pictures he’d left for her, but he couldn’t wait any longer. He didn’t want to obsess over her. Either she’d seen the pictures and was ignoring him, or she hadn’t seen them. Whichever one, he had to know.

  He’d tried finding her on Facebook and Instagram. Nothing. Not knowing her last name didn’t help, but with a name like Sutton he’d thought he’d easily find her among Dahlia’s friends. Wrong. Out of 2,500 “friends,” Dahlia had three named Sutton and none of them was the one he wanted to find.

  Deacon was his last hope. He hadn’t talked to him since the wedding—or not-wedding. (There needed to be a word for life’s biggest events that didn’t happen). He’d tried texting, but Deacon hadn’t responded. That wasn’t unusual but it still worried Max and gave him another reason to call besides asking about Sutton.

  He’d seen on Instagram that Deacon was spending his Sunday working, so he wasn’t surprised when Deacon took more than three rings to pick up. But instead of a hello, Max heard a crashing sound, followed by a curse and finally an apology from Deacon.

  “You doing alright, buddy?” Max asked.

  “I’m a little drunk,” he answered.

  “A little?”

  A beat passed before Deacon answered. “A lot. And I’m at work.”

  “It’s Sunday.”

  “It’s the only place that doesn’t remind me of Dahlia.” Deacon sighed. “I can’t get her out of my head. She’s been there so long, I don’t know if I ever will.”

  “You will . . . eventually.”

  Max let Deacon pour out his soul, which took a while. A long while, but it sobered him up. There was a lot in there that Max suspected Deacon had been keeping in for years.

  “It’s good you’re getting this all out, man. Get it out and let it go,” Max said, once he was sure Deacon was done. “And I hate to even ask this right now, but I’m wondering if you know anything about her friend, Sutton. We kind of connected—”

  “Stay away from her,” he growled. “I never want to see her again. She’s poison.”

  “Poison? That’s harsh.”

  “Trust me. She was always getting Dahlia into trouble. I didn’t want her to be our photographer. Dahlia wouldn’t have anybody else. Now I know why. Sutton was all part of the plan to make me look stupid in front of everyone.” A glass clinked in the background while Deacon spoke and when he stopped, Max heard a deep swallow. “She’s married anyway.”

  “Married?” She hadn’t acted married when he met her, and she wasn’t wearing a ring. He’d checked.

  “Maybe she’s divorced now. I don’t remember.” Deacon hiccupped. “Excuse me.”

  “Do you have a ride home?” Max asked.

  “I don’t need one.”

  He definitely needed one. Max didn’t have to be in the same room, or even the same city, to know that. After he ended his call with Deacon, he texted Emmett to give him a heads up that his brother wasn’t fit to drive.

  As he typed his message to Emmett, Max thought about everything Deacon had said about Sutton. None of his descriptions sounded like the Sutton he had met, but Deacon had known her a lot longer. Deacon was also angry, drunk and broken-hearted, making him the worst possible matchmaker. Max would have to find Sutton without his help.

  In the meantime, the Apple Universe conspired to make sure he never forgot about the wedding everyone wanted to forget. A notification from the wedding app popped up reminding him to upload all his wedding shots to Dahlia’s site before the two-week window closed. He shook his head at the absurdity of the whole situation and was about to delete the app when a thought occurred to him.

  He could go back to Deacon and Dahlia’s wedding website where he remembered seeing a list of the vendors who were part of the event. Flipping open his laptop, Max typed DahliaandDeacon.com and whispered a yes when a link for vendors appeared on the home page. He scrolled through the long list—who knew a wedding took so many people?—until he saw her name, Sutton Bradley, with her website address next to it.

  Bradley. Her last name was Bradley.

  Max clicked on the link for her website and Sutton Studios Wedding Photography popped up. He scrolled through the pictures on the home page, admiring her work but also looking for an address or phone number. He found them under the contacts tab, and he unconsciously bounced his leg as he stared at them.

  Her business was located in Charleston, which meant—like he’d thought—she was too. It d
idn’t matter. Having his dream of finding her so close to becoming a reality helped him realize how much he wanted it. If Sutton’s address had been on the moon he’d still be trying to contact her.

  He wished she had an email address listed rather than a contact form. Email would be less threatening to her than a phone call, he felt sure. But a phone call would put him out of his misery sooner. He’d know right away if she’d felt the same spark or not. Then, he’d be able to go forward or move on.

  He dialed her number before he could talk himself out of it. The phone rang once before switching to a robot voice announcing the line had been disconnected.

  That was not what he had expected. He ended the call, double-checking he hadn’t put in the wrong number, then dialed again anyway. He got the same result and was just as disappointed as he’d been the first time.

  He wondered how she stayed in business without a working number, and disappointment threatened to bury his hopes. Fighting the feeling off, he went to Google and typed Sutton Bradley into the search bar, then crossed his fingers. Apparently, old school superstition didn’t work because the only links that popped up were for Sutton’s website and a bunch of five-star reviews of her business.

  The contact form on her website was his last chance. Putting in his info was easy, but when he reached the comment box, Max sat back and thought about what to write. He wanted to tell her everything he’d been feeling since the night they met, but as he started to type, the words didn’t feel right.

  He erased everything and started again.

  And again.

  Two more drafts followed before he was satisfied with his message.

  Dear Sutton,

  I can’t stop thinking about you.

  Max

  He hit send before he could be tempted to repeat his write and erase process. Then the waiting game started all over again.

  Except he only had to wait for as long as it took his form to travel across the ethernet and back again with an automated response that said the site was no longer active.