“I wish I would have thought of setting them up years ago, before I made the mistake of saying yes when Deacon asked me to marry him. Biggest mistake of my life and biggest near-miss of Deacon’s.”
Dahlia sounded genuinely happy, and Sutton hoped she wasn’t misreading her tone. If Dahlia really was happy for them, then maybe she had become more enlightened.
“I want to do something for them, and that’s where you come in,” Dahlia went on, and Sutton got a sinking feeling in her stomach. She knew what was coming. There was only one reason why Dahlia would need Sutton for a wedding present.
“I don’t do weddings anymore.” Sutton steeled herself for the protests she knew were coming.
“I know, but listen. The wedding is in two weeks and the photographer they booked needs a new kidney or something. They can’t find anyone else on such short notice.”
Sutton wasn’t sure why that should concern her, even if Deacon had forgiven her. But Dahlia’s powers of persuasion hadn’t diminished in the whole enlightening process she’d gone through. Sutton had a refusal on the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t have a chance to get it out.
“Jacob will be there.”
“You mean Max?”
“Yeah, him.”
Sutton thought back to the night she’d seen him on the train with the woman. They’d definitely been together, but maybe they’d broken up.
It was stupid to book a flight to Charleston based on that hope. But it was stupider to keep thinking about him, wondering if she’d missed the best chance for love she’d ever have because she hadn’t given him her number.
“All right, I’ll do it,” she said to Dahlia.
As soon as Sutton ended the call she pulled up the pictures of Max she hadn’t looked at since April. Maybe there was still a chance for them, after all.
Chapter Ten
Max’s phone dinged, pulling him out of his stupor. For the past fifteen minutes he’d been staring at the same document he was supposed to be reviewing. Muggy air hung over the city like a wet beach towel, sapping his motivation to do anything other than think about Sutton.
Even with Monica’s help, he still hadn’t found her, and they’d tried. If Max hadn’t seen Sutton on the train that day, he probably would have given up; they weren’t meant to be.
But he had seen Sutton and the look on her face. A look that registered surprise followed quickly by hurt. He could only imagine what Sutton thought when she saw him with his arm resting on Monica’s shoulder. He’d wanted to give the impression to the three potential threats on the train that he and Monica were together. He was pretty sure it had worked a little too well.
He picked up his phone and read the text.
Getting married 10/10. Small wedding on the beach. Can you be there? This one’s for real.
Even though Deacon’s name was very clearly, and boldly, at the top of the text, Max had to read the name and the text again to make sure he’d read it right. Deacon was getting married again? Well, not again, since the first time didn’t actually happen.
What???? To who? Max texted back, not even caring about his grammatical error.
Lily.
Max could have guessed Lily almost a year ago when he’d seen Deacon with her at the reception. He just couldn’t have guessed they’d end up together so soon.
I’ll be there.
He was happy for Deacon. He liked Lily. They would be great together, and Deacon sounded like he was in a good place again. Maybe in a good enough place that Max could talk to him about Sutton.
Max started to type a new message to Deacon when a text came in from Monica.
I found her!!!!! She’s in New York.
Max stared at the words. Ever since seeing Sutton on the subway he’d wondered if she lived in New York. She hadn’t been dressed like a tourist. When he thought about it, even when he’d met her in Charleston she’d looked like a New Yorker; he’d just been thrown by her accent.
Before he could answer Monica, she sent him another message.
Her last name is Harris. Google her. Her photos are in a bunch of galleries in Soho.
He read the text again.
And again.
Then one more time.
There was only one her Monica could mean.
Harris? He texted back.
No wonder he hadn’t been able to find her. He’d been looking with the wrong name in the wrong place. “Sutton Harris.” He said the words aloud, liking the way the letters felt in his mouth. The hard syllables of her first name followed by the soothing sounds of her last name. Strength followed by softness. The name fit her.
How did you find her? Max typed.
As an attorney, it’s better you don’t know. Plausible deniability and all that.
Max laughed, then glanced around his office even though he knew the door was closed and no one without x-ray vision could see his phone.
Thanks. For everything. Looking her up now, he wrote.
You. Must. Tell. Me. Everything. Already working on my Hallmark script.
He laughed again, but then took a deep breath and opened a new window on his computer. With renewed hope in Google’s omniscience, he typed Sutton Harris in the search bar.
The Truitt Gallery popped up first with a link to a page of her photos and information about the opening scheduled for that night.
He stood and walked the length of his office, adrenaline burning through his veins. That’s how he would see her. He’d go to her show. This was happening. The thing he’d been imagining for months. Thanks to Monica, he might actually see Sutton again. And not just on a train moving away from him. She was within his reach.
But ten square feet was about a hundred feet short of what he needed to calm himself down. He sat back at his desk, pulled up Facebook and typed in Sutton’s name. Nothing. He tried Instagram with the same result. He had no way of finding out if she was single or not, other than going to her opening.
Somehow, he survived the day without crawling out of his skin. His bike ride home helped settle his nerves, but by the time he’d showered, changed and walked to the subway station, his entire body hummed with a nervous energy born of excitement and too many cups of coffee. He didn’t worry that she’d forgotten him, but he wondered if they’d feel the same chemistry they had the night they met. He hoped they would. He knew he would.
His biggest fear, the one he pushed to the back of his mind every time it crept out of the shadows, was that she’d found someone else. Why wouldn’t she? Any guy would be crazy not to fall for her. He hadn’t been able to get her out of his head for almost a year, and they’d only spent a few hours together.
He wiped his sweating palms on his pants and stood as the train reached his stop. The doors slid open and he stepped into the bustling crowd whose energy heightened his own and pushed him up the stairs onto the sidewalk. The air smelled musty with impending rain, and he’d only walked a block when he felt the first drop.
The sky started with a sprinkle but didn’t wait long before letting go with heavy drops. The sudden storm reminded Max of the afternoon showers so common on summer days in North Carolina, and he was glad he’d forgotten his umbrella. He loved the rain.
However, he didn’t want to be soaking wet by the time he got to the Sutton’s show, so he pulled his jacket over his head and ran underneath store awnings to shield himself. Despite his best efforts, he was still drenched when he stepped in the door of the gallery.
He shook the water out of his hair, then scanned the room looking for Sutton. People were gathered in pockets talking and looking at Sutton’s photos, but he didn’t see her. Max followed a path around half walls displaying her work, taking time to look at a few pictures, but too nervous to really study them. He kept searching for her, expecting to see her around every corner.
Until finally, he did.
Even with her back to him he recognized her. She was wearing the same black dress she’d worn to Deacon’s un-wedding. At least, he thought it was
the same dress. It fit her like the dress at the wedding had, emphasizing all her strengths, from her posture to the toned curve of her arms.
She was standing in front of a photo large enough he could see part of it. A tree partially blocking a skyscraper. Not groundbreaking, except for the angle from which she’d taken the picture. She’d found something in plain sight and made people see it again.
If Max hadn’t been sure the woman in black was Sutton, the little girl twirling next to her would have given her away. A smile crept to his lips.
He opened his mouth to say Sutton’s name at the same time the man standing next to her took Hadley’s hand. Max closed his mouth as the man moved close enough to Sutton to wrap his arm around her waist. She did the same to him, then laid her head on his shoulder.
Max froze. If he moved she would see him, and suddenly he didn’t want to be part of this picture. Not as an observer, and definitely not as the stalker he suddenly felt like. Shrinking, hiding or running. Those were his options. Saying her name, being seen. Those were not.
Sutton had moved on.
Moved on wasn’t really the right term. There’d never been anything to move on from. They barely knew each other. They’d had one night of talking and dancing, and he’d built it up in his mind to be something amazing.
Max tore his eyes away from Sutton and Hadley and turned to leave, keeping his head down to avoid looking at Sutton’s photos. He wound his way around corners back to the entrance. The rain came down harder as he stepped onto the sidewalk, but he didn’t pull his jacket over his head again.
Before he reached the subway station, rivulets of water ran from his hair down his neck and under his shirt. His leg ached from the damp and the exertion it took to push past the people on the sidewalk. The rain should have cooled him, but the air was too wet to leave him anything but sticky, and the humidity grew more oppressive the further underground he walked.
Things didn’t get better on the crowded train, and he got off a stop early. As soon as he got to street level, his phone pinged, and he ducked under an awning to read the message. Even without seeing it, he knew it would be from Monica.
How’s it going??? He tucked his phone back in his pocket.
He didn’t answer her until after he was home and had showered. The shower helped wash away the stickiness but did nothing for his conflicting emotions. Rehashing everything with Monica sounded about as enjoyable as seeing Sutton with someone else again, but she’d be able to talk him through the embarrassment fixing to set up shop in his chest. Plus, she wouldn’t stop texting until he responded. She’d already sent two more messages just since he’d been home.
Max slumped to the couch and typed, She was with another guy.
A string of texts followed.
After all the work I did to help you find Sutton, you couldn’t even say hello to her? (That beef was legitimate.) Did she have a ring on her finger? (He hadn’t stayed long enough to check.) Maybe that guy was just a friend or a relative. (Maybe . . .) Looking at someone’s back doesn’t tell you anything about a person. (He could tell Monica a lot about Sutton’s back—the curve of it, the way she bent in every direction to get the best shot—Max could study Sutton’s back all day.)
He didn’t answer them, or her phone calls. He sat on his couch feeling small and stupid for spending the better part of a year looking for a woman he’d spent a few hours with and knew next to nothing about.
Except that she had a daughter, and they were both incredible, and meeting them had been the highlight of his year. The highlight of a lot of years. And if he’d asked for her number, maybe he could have been the guy standing next to Sutton, his arm around her, celebrating her talent.
Max didn’t normally dwell on his mistakes, but he kept company with a lot of regret over the following weeks. He tried taking out a couple women from work who’d been sending him some pretty strong signals, but all he could think of was Sutton. He went home both times feeling even worse because he’d ruined their nights along with his.
Finally, on the morning he was leaving town for Deacon’s wedding, he couldn’t take it anymore. He dialed Monica’s number and didn’t have to wait long for her to answer.
“I’m not giving up on her,” he said as soon as she answered.
“Thatta boy!” she cheered. “I knew you’d come around!”
He hadn’t planned on starting his search at Deacon’s wedding. Sutton was a friend of Dahlia’s, and Deacon didn’t like her. Why would she be there? But Dahlia would be, and if anyone would know the deal with Sutton, it was her. Maybe the guy at the gallery really was a relative.
Half an hour before the service was scheduled to start, Max heard music coming from the beach. He recognized Emmett’s voice—they must have been warming up—and decided he had to congratulate him on his single that was getting a lot of buzz. Tucking his hands in his pockets, he walked the path to the beach paying more attention to the landscape than the woman walking toward him.
“Jacob!” she said as he passed her. It took him a second to realize that she was talking to him. When he looked up, he recognized her right away.
“Hi Dahlia.” He didn’t bother telling her his name was Jake, but that she should call him Max. He’d told her that. Told her at least a thousand times.
“I’m so happy to see you,” she squealed and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him tight.
She’d never hugged him before. Ever. But before he could get over his shock, she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the beach. “I know someone else who’s going to be even happier to see you!”
Her long skirt billowed in the wind, and he had a hard time keeping up with her. “She’s been asking about you for months.”
Max slowed their pace. “Dahlia, wait.” He had a feeling he knew who Dahlia was talking about. If he was going to face Sutton, he had to know just how excited he was allowed to be. “I saw Sutton with someone. At her gallery show. A man.”
Dahlia stopped. Her eyebrows knit together, then slowly unwound as her lips spread into a smile. “You mean Seth? That’s her brother!”
Her brother? He’d spent the last six weeks agonizing over seeing Sutton with another man, and it was her brother? He felt equal parts stupid and relieved. Before he could say or feel anything else, Dahlia yanked his hand, and they practically ran the last hundred yards to where the path opened up to the beach.
Chairs lined an aisle leading to a simple wedding arch surrounded by palm trees. Emmett was singing a song Max hadn’t heard before while a cellist accompanied him, but he and Dahlia ran past them. He could see where they were going now.
He could see who they were going to.
Deacon and Lily were on the beach just past the wedding set-up, posing for pictures. Max’s eyes moved from the couple to the photographer, but his view was blocked by palm trees. His feet, in the meantime, threatened to stop, like they wanted to keep him from running into disappointment. He stumbled in the sand, almost falling, at the same time the photographer stepped from behind the tree.
Sutton.
He should have known from his first search that he’d find her in the place he least expected, but he still didn’t trust he was seeing who he’d really, really hoped to see the moment Dahlia grabbed his hand.
“Is that—” Max started to ask, but Dahlia was two steps ahead.
“—Sutton!” she called to the photographer whose irritation at being interrupted quickly turned to surprise, followed by the smile Max had been waiting almost a year to see again.
It sent the same lightning-strike level charge through him he’d felt the first time he’d seen it. Seen her. She waited for him and Dahlia to reach her, grinning and biting the corner of her lip in a way that made it unlikely he’d ever forgive himself for sneaking out of the gallery six weeks before. He should have listened to Monica, and if, by some miracle, he and Sutton ended up together, it’d be worth all the “I told you so’s” Monica would send his way.
“Sutton,”
Dahlia said as she planted Max in front of her, “meet Max.”
She’d finally gotten his name right, and he didn’t care. He looked in Sutton’s eyes and forgot about Dahlia and everything else that wasn’t Sutton.
“I finally found you,” he said, breathless.
Sutton handed her camera to Dahlia and stepped toward Max. She glanced at his hand, then latched one finger around his pinky.
He stepped closer.
When she didn’t pull away, he took her entire hand in his, and she wrapped their hands around her waist. With his other arm, he drew her even closer. Close enough he could feel her breath hitch.
She let go of his hand and her arms went around his neck, her fingers resting lightly on his hairline, and her lips found his.
Their first kiss was tentative and gentle, a toe-dip in the ocean to test the temperature. The second kiss waded into deeper water, exploring new territory, leaving Max with the feeling of trying to stay upright in the Atlantic with waves shifting sand under his feet.
The third kiss was a dive into those sand-shifting waves, a letting go of any attempt to fight the force that had pulled them together, despite everything that had kept them apart.
Sutton paused long enough to press her forehead to his and whispered words he’d never forget.
You don’t know how happy I am to be found.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Brittany Larsen
Brittany Larsen has written, four contemporary novels based Jane Austen classics. The first was self-published, while Pride & Politics, Sense & Second Chances, and The Matchmaker’s Match were released by Covenant Communications. She hopes someday to be the first author ever to come up with a totally original idea. Until then, she’ll be culling the classics for her next story. Visit Brittany’s website HERE.
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Wedding Belles: A Novel in Four Parts Page 26