A November Bride (A Year of Weddings Novella Book 12)

by Beth Vogt

“Yes. Yes. I love Erik. I do. But it doesn’t matter. I’m not going to put my heart on the line and have him walk away from me in three or four months.”

  “He’s stayed with you longer than any other woman.”

  “As my friend, Mel. F-r-i-e-n-d.”

  “That’s what you tell each other—but we all stopped believing you a long time ago.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve known you were in love with Erik for years. I thought you’d figure it out—not that I’d have to tell you over a bowl of soup and a loaf of homemade bread.”

  “If he loves me, Mel, why is he telling me to leave?”

  “Have you ever thought that he’s just as scared of falling in love as you are?”

  “Erik?”

  “Yes, Erik.” Mel threw her hands up in the air. “Women like to talk about how they’ve been hurt by guys. Guess what? Guys get hurt too—by their families. By women. Maybe Erik’s afraid you don’t want him. Asking him out to the Sadie Hawkins Dance when you were thirteen doesn’t say you love him now, you know.”

  “But what if—”

  “What if you two end up madly in love with one another—and get married? Then I get to cater your wedding, got it?”

  So how’s it going with Sadie?”

  Erik ignored Phillip’s question. He could see the batting cages. Hear the metallic tink of bats colliding with the baseballs. The rattle of the chain-link fences when the balls collided with them.

  Phillip raised his voice. “I asked you a question. You going to answer me?”

  Erik faced Phillip, who stood in the middle of the parking lot. Were they really going to have this conversation here?

  “Things aren’t going with Sadie.”

  “Are you kidding me? After what I saw on Skype the other weekend? Did you all have a fight?”

  “No.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “Sadie’s taking the job in Oregon.”

  “What job?”

  “One of the families she cooks for—they’re moving to Oregon and they asked her to go with them—as their private chef.”

  “And she picked them over you? I find that hard to believe.”

  “There was no picking.”

  “You asked her to stay, right? Told her that you love her?”

  Erik turned around and started walking toward the batting cages again.

  “You’re an idiot, Davis.”

  Erik did an about-face. “Hey! Is that something a pastor should say?”

  “I’m talking to you guy-to-guy. You love this woman—why are you letting her leave?”

  “I don’t have any right to ask Sadie to stay here if she wants to go to Oregon.”

  “Now you’re going all noble on me?” When Phillip settled onto one of the park benches, Erik followed, slumping against the back of the seat. “You’re dressing up fear in some sort of misguided attempt at being heroic.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  “Nothing . . . that hasn’t already happened. My father abandoned the family when I was twelve years old. He’s wandered in and out whenever he felt like it. I remember begging him not to leave—but nothing I said made any difference. Sadie’s been my best friend. Do you know when we were in high school that she used to make extra sandwiches, pretend she couldn’t eat all of them, and offer one to me? I knew what she was doing. She’d seen my pitiful lunches . . . but she wasn’t feeling sorry for me. She was being my friend. Soon she started adding cookies. And brownies. Even at fourteen that girl could love on you with food.”

  “You guys loved each other all the way back then, huh?”

  “We were friends. I know what it’s like to ask someone to stay—and then watch them leave. I’m not doing it again—not even for Sadie. If she wants to go, well, then she can go. I’m happy for her.”

  “And how do you feel?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’ll get over it.”

  “Just like you got over your dad leaving?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Have you forgiven him?”

  “Do you think that man’s ever asked for forgiveness?” Erik tried to swallow the bitter taste that seemed lodged in his throat. “As far as he’s concerned, he’s never done anything wrong. He didn’t want to be married anymore, so he left. If my mom wants to be there when he comes around, well, that’s her choice.”

  “Can I share a different view of forgiveness?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  Phillip was silent.

  “Sure. Go ahead,” Erik said.

  “I see forgiveness as both horizontal and vertical.” Phillip formed his hands so that they looked like a cross, one up and down, one side to side. “So you and your dad? That’s the horizontal aspect of forgiveness. If you went to him and said, ‘Dad, I forgive you,’ he would look at you like you were crazy, right?”

  “Yep. He’d probably say, ‘What are you talking about? I didn’t do anything to hurt you. My choice was between me and your mother.’ ”

  “So, for now, unless your father changes, unless your father acknowledges that he hurt you by abandoning you, there’s nothing you can do about this aspect of forgiveness. Nothing.” Phillip waited until Erik looked at him. “You can’t say ‘I forgive you’ because your father doesn’t realize any injury has been done.”

  “Okay. What’s your point?”

  “But this”—his friend pressed the hand pointing upward against his other hand—“this you are responsible for. The vertical aspect of forgiveness is between you and God. It happens at the foot of the cross. This is where you have to get on your knees before God and work things out with him. Are you willing to forgive your father? Are you willing to admit that maybe, just maybe, you don’t want to forgive him? And then tell God that ugly truth? Because he knows it anyway.”

  “And then what? God’s going to remind me of all those verses about how I’m supposed to forgive. Yeah. I know that. So then I feel guilty because I can’t do it.”

  “No. It’s not about condemnation, Erik. It’s about staying at the foot of the cross. Telling God you can’t do it . . . you can’t forgive your dad.”

  Erik buried his face in his hands. He did not want to do this here, hemmed in by batting cages and a parking lot filled with cars. He didn’t want to do this at all. Phillip just let him sit as he inhaled, long and slow. He spoke without looking at his friend. “I hate what my father did. It’s even affected how I see God. I’m fine with Jesus, you know? The Son. And the Holy Spirit. But God the Father? No, thank you.”

  “Then talk to Jesus. Or the Spirit. Ask him to help you . . . one minute, one hour, one day at a time. Ask him to fill you up to overflowing with his forgiveness for your father. You can’t forgive your father—yet. But he already has.”

  Erik stared off into the distance. “I thought we were talking about me and Sadie.”

  “We were.”

  “How did we get here?”

  “You need to tackle one lie before you can tackle another.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean, oh wise one?”

  “Your father abandoned you—even when you asked him not to leave. You’re not that child anymore. And Sadie is not abandoning you. You haven’t even told her that you love her. You haven’t asked her to stay.”

  “So . . . you’re saying it’s time for me to grow up.”

  “It’s time for you to tell your best friend you don’t want to be friends anymore.”

  “But what if I tell her I love her and she still leaves me?”

  “Then you ask God how you love someone and let them go.”

  Sadie had burned a bridge.

  The bridge leading to Oregon was nothing more than a pile of ashes. Come January, the Hartnetts would be gone and she’d still be in Colorado. Adjusting to the culinary likes and dislikes of a new family. And maybe, just maybe, still dating Erik.


  But by then they’d be hitting four months. Erik’s commitment meter would be set off—unless God calmed Erik’s heart. Unless Erik began to realize he loved her as more than a friend.

  Or God changed her heart—and taught her to be content with their friendship again.

  “God, I’m staying. Not because Erik asked me to. Not because he loves me—or because you promised me that he would love me.” Sadie settled into the seat and closed her eyes, praying her heartbeat would slow. “I’m staying because I know you haven’t told me to leave. And if all Erik and I ever are is friends . . . help me be satisfied with that. It’s been enough until now.”

  The breeze ruffled Erik’s hair, the late afternoon sun casting him in shadow.

  “Interesting to find you here.” He lowered himself onto the swing next to Sadie, his feet anchored into the crater of sand worn down after only a year of children playing at this park. He pushed off, matching the motion of his swing to hers.

  “True. I’ve never been a fan of playgrounds.” Sadie leaned back, her arms bent at the elbows, watching the horizon sway up and down with the motion of her swing. “Of course, when you spend your time hiding at the top of the slide, hoping the other kids don’t find you and call you a bad pirate and force you to walk the plank . . . well, it loses its appeal at an early age.”

  “I wish I’d known you back then.” His voice fought against the pull of the wind.

  “What would you have done, Erik?” Sadie kept her face turned to the sky so that Erik didn’t see the grimace that twisted her mouth. “Kids can be mean. And having an eye patch for a good part of elementary school and a pair of glasses made me an easy target. Pirate.”

  “I would have defended you. Maybe beat up a couple of bullies.”

  They swung side by side. Funny, how with almost no effort at all, they fell into an easy rhythm with one another. As he slowed down, his shoes scuffing the earth, Sadie slowed too. Erik gripped the chain links that suspended the swing and pivoted to face her.

  “Why’d you ask me to the Sadie Hawkins Dance, Sadie J?”

  Really? He wants to know that now?

  “You were the new kid in school. You didn’t know anybody . . . and sometimes, sometimes you looked lonely.” Sadie let her body relax. “And the truth is, even though we were lab partners in science class, you didn’t know me—the girl who used to wear an eye patch and get teased. So you were safe.”

  Erik watched her. “Safe, huh?”

  “And cute, in a thirteen-year-old-boy kind of way.”

  He grabbed the chains of her swing and pulled her closer. “You still think I’m cute?”

  “Puh-leeze, Erik.”

  “Come on. This is an important question. We men have fragile egos.”

  “I think you’re cuter without a beard.”

  “Oh, thank you very much.” Erik held their swings still, anchored together. “Sadie, if I asked you to the dance today, would you say yes?”

  “If you asked me . . . to the dance? That’s a ridiculous question, Erik. It’s not even realistic.”

  “What if I asked you something else? Would you say yes?”

  “Depends on what you asked me.”

  Erik knew the rules.

  When you propose to a woman, you’re supposed to be somewhere romantic, not in the middle of a playground. You’re supposed to get down on one knee, and deliver a well-practiced speech. Not meander around and ask the woman “Will you say yes” before you even ask her to marry you.

  He was getting this wrong in so many ways.

  Erik gripped the metal links tighter. “Sadie, would you be my best friend . . . and my wife, for now and always?”

  And then, before she could answer, he pulled her close and kissed her.

  He didn’t know if Sadie would say yes or not . . . but she hadn’t pushed him off the swing and run away.

  Not even close.

  Her hands covered his as she leaned forward into his kiss. If this wasn’t a yes, it was the sweetest torture of a no.

  Sadie moved back so that mere inches separated them, the hint of vanilla lingering in the air. “Did you just ask me to marry you?”

  “Was that a yes?”

  He brushed her bangs back from her forehead, cradling her face between his hands. “Yes. I asked you to marry me.” He pressed a kiss to her lips as they curved into a smile. “Please tell me you said yes.”

  “I’m saying yes now. You didn’t give me a chance to say anything before. You just kissed me.”

  “Sorry about that.” Erik ran his thumb along the back of her hand. “No, I’m not. There’s going to be a lot more of that from here on out.”

  He stood, pulling her into his arms, moving them away from the swing set. “Looks like you need to tell the Hartnetts you’re not going to Oregon.”

  “No need for that.”

  “There most certainly is. I have no interest in one of those commuter marriages.”

  “I already turned down the job.” Sadie pressed her hand against his chest. “I couldn’t leave Colorado—even if we were just friends. This is home. And God was going to teach me how to be content with our relationship, whatever it was.”

  “Are you content?”

  “I am.” Sadie gasped, moving away just as he bent to kiss her again. “Oh my gosh. We’ve got to plan a wedding!” She tugged at his arm, pulling him toward her house. “I need to start making lists. We have to decide on a cake. A photographer. The wedding party. Guests. When do you want to get married? I always thought a summer wedding would be nice—”

  Erik dug his heels into the ground. “Stop.”

  “What?”

  “Sadie, I waited twelve years between our first kiss and the next time I kissed you. I’m not willing to wait even a month to marry you.”

  “But it takes time to plan a wedding—”

  “You’re going to make yourself crazy, you know. And you’re going to make me crazy too. You, Miss Plan Everything Down to the Last Detail, are going to take all the fun and joy out of this wedding.”

  “You’re right.” Sadie linked her arms around his neck.

  “I am?”

  “Yes. You are. What do you suggest?”

  “Leave it all to me.”

  “Leave it . . . all to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “The cake?”

  “Yes.”

  “The photographer?”

  “Yes.”

  “The wedding party?”

  “Yes.”

  “The location?”

  “Yes.”

  “The date?”

  “You already know the date.”

  “I do?”

  “Yes, you do. It’s the only day we could get married.”

  “Erik—”

  “You keep trying to figure it out . . . and I promise, I won’t let you miss our wedding.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t be more serious, Sadie J. You and I are going to get married very, very soon.”

  It was her wedding day—not that the assembled guests realized that yet.

  Sadie paced her loft, waiting for Erik to sneak upstairs and announce, “It’s time.” Downstairs, thirty-three people—including her parents and Erik’s mom—mingled in her living and dining rooms, indulging in a bogus engagement party catered by Mel’s business.

  Sadie refused to sit down—where? On her bed?—and wrinkle the lace gown she’d found during a whirlwind shopping weekend with Mel and Ashley. Those two women knew how to throw a girl in a dressing room and toss dresses at her until Sadie feared she’d get lost under a pile of ivory and white satin and sashes.

  But when she’d slipped on this gown, with its fitted silhouette and sheer lace three-quarter sleeves, Sadie had almost not recognized herself when she’d faced her reflection in the mirror.

  “Stop.”

  “Is everything okay?” The heavy black curtain muffled Ashley’s voice.

  “Just . . . wait.”


  Sadie reenacted the moment, holding her breath and positioning herself in front of the full-length mirror. Would she catch a glimpse of what she’d seen that morning?

  Beautiful.

  Warmth flowed through her veins, suffusing her body. How had this happened? Was she beautiful because Erik chose her? Because Erik loved her?

  Yes . . . and no. There was more to it than that.

  She was being true to herself. She’d chosen her life. Chosen the man she’d love forever and happily ever after.

  Footsteps thudded up the wooden stairs and a moment later, Erik’s head and shoulders appeared above the railing—a clean-shaven Erik.

  “Are you ready?”

  “Absolutely! Did my parents see you come up here?”

  “I don’t think so. I told them I was checking on things in the kitchen.” His embrace was a sweet moment of sanctuary. “You look gorgeous.”

  She ran her hand across the soft skin of his jaw. “I still can’t believe you shaved off your beard for me.”

  “You did say you preferred me without it.”

  “But that didn’t mean you had to shave it off.”

  “I intend to keep my wife happy.”

  Sadie adjusted his tie, the blue a perfect match to his eyes. “You know we’re breaking a major tradition, letting you see me before the ceremony.”

  “We’re breaking so many traditions, what does one more matter? I planned the wedding, not you. We’ve known each other seventeen years, had three official dates, and are getting married seventeen days after I proposed.” Erik paused, cupping his chin in his hand. “Huh. Seventeen years. Seventeen days. Hadn’t realized that before.”

  “It’s a numerical coincidence. A good sign.”

  “I agree. We’re also throwing ourselves a surprise wedding on Sadie Hawkins Day, no less.” He reached out his hand and tugged her to him. “And if you recall, I saw you earlier when we did the ‘reveal’ photo. You were gorgeous then too.”

  “Thank you. For . . . all of this.”

  “You know, you never told me your full name. I guess I’m going to finally find out, huh?”

  She matched his whisper. “It’s Sadie J. Just ‘J.’ My parents couldn’t agree on my middle name, so they let the initial stand.”