All Dressed Up In Love: A March Wedding Story: A Year of Weddings Novella

by Ruth Logan Herne

  She passed the pew filled with Elena’s employees. With quiet deliberation she nudged Ethan to pause for just a moment and grasped Kathy’s hand.

  Tears streamed down Kathy’s cheeks. For him? For his mother? For the moment?

  Probably all three, and when Tara bent and kissed Kathy’s cheek, Greg felt like his mother was there, with them, completing the circle.

  She smiled at the rest of the crew, turned, and caught his gaze.

  Her smile grew.

  She and Ethan took those last few steps, and when Ethan reached out to shake his hand, Greg sensed the kinship of family, forever linked.

  His mother was gone. Her father was gone. But in the beauty of the moment and the sanctity of the ceremony, he felt the full circle of family surrounding him.

  And when the final blessing was given, Greg Elizondo turned, lifted Tara’s veil, and kissed his bride, taking his sweet time with the happily-ever-after he hadn’t expected.

  Church bells pealed to announce their exit. Flower petals dusted the sidewalk, and as the bells rang above them, Greg stopped Tara on the steps for one more kiss, a pledge of life, love, and honor, no matter what came their way.

  With God’s help, living in the quaint surroundings of Old City, Pennsylvania, it was a promise they both could keep.

  “She’ll be too cold. It’s not even fifty degrees yet,” Greg fussed. He reached for another blanket and handed it to Tara. “Just in case.”

  “No one’s going to notice her pretty little Easter dress if we have her bundled in seventeen blankets. She’s got the cute pink coat Kathy made her and a hat from my mother. She’s fine, honey.”

  “You think?”

  Tara resisted the urge to laugh at him, because one look at his face said he was sincerely concerned. “Yes. But if you want to carry her over to church for the Easter service, she can snuggle in with her daddy.”

  That thought brightened his eyes and relaxed his jaw. “Come on, Laynie. Daddy will cuddle you all the way to the church.”

  He bent and lifted the six-month-old little girl. She smiled up at him, patted his cheek, then nuzzled into his neck.

  “She’s got your number.” Tara laughed as she tugged her coat on. “Daddy’s little girl.”

  “Daddy’s two best girls,” he corrected her with a lingering kiss. “Who’d have thought two years ago that my life would be like this now?”

  “Knee-deep in diapers and representing women’s shelters and soup kitchens instead of entertaining international clients on Wall Street?” Tara teased. “We are so blessed, Greg. Who’d have thought that saving the Old City Mission would lead to being the contract attorney for an international Christian outreach?”

  “Amazing and good.” He settled Laynie along his hip as he pulled open the door. The baby grabbed his ear, babbling something adorable. “Elena Michelle Elizondo, Daddy can’t close the door if you’re doing that.”

  “Let me.” Tara pulled the door shut, then stepped into the cool, midspring morning as neighbors along the way came out of their homes. “Laynie, look. It’s your first Easter parade.”

  “It is.” Greg kissed the baby’s soft brow. “What do you think, Laynie? Everybody’s all dressed up and going to church together.”

  Folks waved from across the street. Mission clients called greetings to neighbors as they positioned donated flowers along the mission’s steps.

  Another young couple came out of a high-rise at the corner pushing a little boy in a stroller. As the church bells tolled, people filled the streets, walking toward the old brick house of prayer.

  Another church rang in, and then another, a chorus of resurrection and joy, a new day. As Greg’s hand clasped Tara’s, she raised her gaze to his.

  They’d both lost loved ones over the years, but God had given them a brand-new beginning. New jobs, a cozy home, a baby girl, and a strong neighborhood community. Old buildings, vintage stores, rustic stoops, and new love.

  An older woman passed them and smiled. “He is risen!”

  Greg answered the way his mother had no doubt taught him long years ago: “He is risen, indeed!”

  And Tara walked beside him up the broad steps of the historic church, knowing she could never ask for anything more.

  1. Deciding what to do with your life at age 18 . . . or 21 . . . can be a daunting task. The law school statistics bear that out. Fifteen percent of graduates never practice law. Do you know people who bore the brunt of education and then changed their lives or careers abruptly? Is that crazy or wonderful?

  2. Greg Elizondo thinks he’s like his father. Of course he is, in some ways, but as an adult his future lies strictly in his own hands. How often do we blame our pasts or our parents for choices we made on our own?

  3. Tara’s eager-to-please personality is almost her undoing. She wants to help others, but the reality of what her small town lawyer career would be like doesn’t exactly jive with her mental image! Have you ever had a true wake-up call from the Holy Spirit? One of those “what were you thinking?” moments? How did it change or affect your life?

  4. No one said the right person would come along at the most opportune time. Oops. Greg is faced with two dreams . . . the woman God planted before him and his long-awaited goal of a seat in the big house of corporate law in Lower Manhattan. His trip there seemed ill-timed, but it was actually perfect timing. Has that happened to you, where the worst timing ever turns out to be ideal? Oh . . . that God!

  5. Greg has lived in Old City and walked the streets for decades. He grew up here and pursued his education and dreams in Philadelphia, but he never paid much attention to the Old City Mission or the nearby churches until the mission closed down. How did God’s timing play a pivotal role in Greg’s life, his choices, and his perspective?

  6. Greg, Tara, and the bridal crew at Elena’s Bridal had to reinvent a new normal to keep the store running. With the advent of internet shopping and free delivery, have you seen changes in your local shops now that they have worldwide competition? My research trips highlight the difficulty of keeping a shop running in a tight and competitive economy. How important is it to a community to keep those local shops open?

  An Excerpt from IN TUNE WITH LOVE by

  Amy Matayo

  “You really are obsessive, you know that?”

  April stifled a sigh. She was so tired of people saying that same thing to her—from Brenda the waitress to Daniel the night manager and now Jack the bartender—and that was only tonight. She’d heard this line at least a hundred times since she moved from Chattanooga into her sister’s Nashville apartment last month and started working here.

  Besides, who cared if she liked to write? Was it really that strange a hobby?

  True, not everyone wrote lyrics on gum wrappers and bar napkins like she was doing currently. And then maybe there was the occasional roll of toilet paper she pilfered from the men’s room because the women’s room was always out when she needed it most, and what was up with that? And maybe it was a bit weird when she ripped the tags off new bar aprons and used them to jot down notes, but when a girl was out of toilet paper and napkins and gum wrappers, what was she supposed to do?

  But obsessive? That was ridiculous.

  “I am not obsessive. Just thorough.”

  “Last Friday you wrote eight words in Sharpie on my arm.”

  April rolled her eyes. Jack could be so petty with details. “They were the perfect rhyme, and I didn’t want to forget them.”

  “Then next time write on your own arm.”

  “I was wearing a white sweater with really tight sleeves.”

  “I was wearing a white shirt too! I had just gotten in from performing in a wedding!”

  “Who gets married in the morning, anyway?” April sighed. “Besides, you’re a guy, and it washed off so what’s the big deal?”

  “The big deal is I had a date later that night before I had a chance to even attempt to wash it off—which took a mix of rubbing alcohol and baking soda to remov
e, by the way—and no girl likes a guy she just met that shows up with the words I’ll pay you a dime for a good time written on his arm.”

  “Some girls do.” She winked, fully aware it was a lame attempt at flirting. Jack was . . . Jack. Dark hair, well-built, and . . . and . . . okay, sexy. Sexy is the word she would use to describe him. But he would never be interested in her. “Besides, she went out with you again, didn’t she?”

  “After a lot of explaining from me that the words were written by my psycho coworker and weren’t the worst pickup line ever in history.”

  Psycho coworker. More proof that she didn’t stand a—wait. Did he just insult her writing?

  “It wasn’t a pickup line!” As if her songs could be compared to a pickup line. Those sorts of lines were cheesy. Classless. In contrast, her art was high quality, intellectual. Even if no one had signed her yet. April frowned and put her pen down. “I guess my break’s over. What table do you want me to take this to?” she asked.

  Jack set a tray in front of her. “Take this round of drinks to table seven, and then you’re up. Make it a good one. You never know who might be watching.” He smiled at her.

  In only a few weeks, Jack had become a friend. All he would ever be.

  April frowned, grabbed the tray, and headed to the table, not the least bit concerned when she saw Jack pick up the napkin and read what she had written on it. After she dispensed drinks to the waiting customers, she grabbed the microphone and headed toward the stage. This song would be a good one. Her best one yet.

  She felt her confidence level swell, until she glanced over at Jack from his spot behind the bar. He held up the napkin . . . then proceeded to make gagging gestures with his finger and tongue. She actually heard herself laugh mid-note.

  “You’re late,” Jack said, producing a sign-in sheet and a pen while Daniel pulled up a barstool.

  “No, I’m not. I’m not supposed to start work for . . .” Daniel checked his watch, then shrugged. “I guess I’m late.”

  And that was the great thing about Daniel. He never had a problem admitting when he was wrong. In Jack’s opinion, the world would be a better place if more people were like him.

  “No matter,” Jack said. “We’re not that busy tonight. The most pressing thing I need you to do is refill the toilet paper in the men’s bathroom. Looks like we’re out again.”

  “April?”

  Jack drummed his fingers on the counter. “That girl has a problem. Every time I see her she has pieces of it stuffed in her pocket, tucked under her arm, probably even inside her bra.” Both men took a second to reflect on that. Finally, Jack took a breath. “Did you know she even wrote with a Sharpie on my—”

  “Yes, you told me a couple of times. Or twelve, but I think I lost count sometime before closing last Tuesday night.”

  “Point taken. But seriously, that girl . . .” April was a little on the obsessive-compulsive side; still, she was cute. And in his twenty-six-year-old opinion, cute trumped crazy any day of the week. “Where is she, anyway?” Jack looked around but didn’t see her anywhere.

  “Her shift is over. I saw her in the parking lot on my way in. She said she started laughing during her last performance and couldn’t stop. Had to walk off the stage. Can you believe that?”

  Jack couldn’t help the grin that worked its way across his face. “That might have been my fault.”

  Daniel raised an eyebrow. “What did you do?”

  “Made fun of something she wrote right before going onstage. And I might have acted like I was vomiting while she was up there trying to sing.”

  Both men laughed. It was mean, but it was funny.

  “Okay,” Jack said. “Go fix the bathroom problem, and then come take over for me. I’m up in five minutes.” Jack shoved a mug under the Coke dispenser and pulled the lever, mentally reciting upcoming lyrics in his head. He handed the filled glass to a customer.

  “That reminds me,” Daniel said, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Bill Jenkins called after you left last night. He’s coming in tomorrow night, so be ready with something.”

  Jack’s head snapped up at that. Bill Jenkins? Bill Jenkins, who had personally signed every third singer in Nashville this past decade and gotten them all a record deal? Okay, except the ones who shot to fame because of that stupid television singing show. That Bill Jenkins? His face must have registered his thoughts.

  “Yes, that Bill Jenkins,” Daniel said, standing from his seat. “So have something ready.”

  Jack swallowed, because that was the problem. He had nothing ready. Nothing at all. Dread shot down his spine and landed inside his legs. Feeling the weight of a thousand rejections resting on his shoulders, he grabbed a cloth and began wiping down counters, intent on finishing the mundane part of his job before the entire purpose for his existence began. He worked here for one reason and one reason only: because this place was where many of Nashville’s heavy hitters had worked before fame came knocking. Jack figured it was only a matter of time before the same thing happened to him. At least he hoped time would be that kind. Then again, he knew of many who’d spent entire lives waiting tables and passing out beer only to find twenty years had passed without a single nod of encouragement by anyone who mattered.

  Jack often prayed he wouldn’t be relegated to the same fate.

  But now that Bill Jenkins was showing up, he feared he just might be.

  Two hours and three songs later, Jack tossed his apron on a hook by the back entrance and walked into the stale night air. Even outside, the area smelled of cheap alcohol and day-old urine. A sad state of affairs considering this was one of the nicest bars in town, situated in an upscale neighborhood and catering to Nashville’s finest. Then again, a bar’s a bar. Some just didn’t know when to stop. Jack stepped around a particularly disturbing patch of wetness and opened the door to his Honda Accord.

  That’s when he spotted the paper plastered against his windshield.

  He frowned, then leaned forward and grabbed it. He turned the bar napkin over in his hand, studying the way the black words written on it bled through to the other side. He scanned them and scanned them again, his pulse picking up speed as realization dawned.

  Lyrics. They were lyrics. Only four lines, but some of the best four lines he’d ever had the privilege of reading. For a split second he thought of April; wondered if they could be hers. But the words were clever. Engaging. Definitely the start of something that could be a hit. He’d read plenty of April’s lyrics. These definitely weren’t hers.

  Jack looked over his shoulder and stuffed the napkin in his pocket. Have something ready, Daniel had said. And like an answer to prayer, these words practically fell from heaven and landed on his car. Jack wasn’t the kind to reject small favors, so as soon as he got home, he would get started.

  He’d come up with something if it took all night.

  The story continues in In Tune with Love by Amy Matayo . . .

  Award-winning author Ruth Logan Herne is the author of over a dozen novels for Love Inspired and Summerside Press. The mother of seven children, she loves kids and pets. She is married to a very patient man who is seemingly unthreatened by the casts of characters living in her head. Visit her website at ruthloganherne.com, e-mail her at ruthy@ruthloganherne.com, and visit her on Goodreads or at www.seekerville.blogspot.com