by Becky Wade
Then his out-of-the-blue text had ended the separation between them. The text after that, the one informing her that he and Allie had broken up, had turned Nora’s world from black and white into Technicolor.
Never could she remember anticipating something as keenly as she’d been looking forward to seeing John tonight. Not even when she’d counted down the days until Christmas as a child or when she and her sisters had packed for their long-planned trip to Bali or when she and Harrison had set a date for their wedding.
All day today she’d been swinging between hoping that John might be interested in dating her to firmly reminding herself that she shouldn’t place any unrealistic expectations on him. He’d never told her he felt romantically toward her. . . . But that could be because he’d had a girlfriend. Nothing in his recent text messages had indicated he felt romantically toward her, either. . . . But that could be because he wanted to see her first, let things progress slowly, then tell her himself.
Arrgh!
After spending a few minutes with Willow, doing her best to put out the unexpected fire that Corbin’s appearance had lit, Nora made her way toward the house. Self-consciously, she adjusted one of her sleeves.
She loved this dress with unreasonable fervor. Its lines were understated, yet the decoration at the neck and hem was so lavish that she’d never have chosen it for herself no matter how enchanting. What? So fancy? I’ll call too much attention to myself!
Willow had talked her into buying it, and once again, Willow had been right. This dress was all whimsy and beauty. It made her think of galloping horses and secret gardens and great loves.
She paused inside the French doors. Nervousness and anticipation coursed through her bloodstream as she scanned the den full of people for—
There.
John stood at the bar, his attention on Corbin as the two men talked.
He wasn’t made of fairy-tale stuff and her imagination; he was real and he was actually here. Flesh and blood John was standing inside her childhood home, bounded by people and surroundings she knew very, very well. Emotion—elation and wonder and worry and gratitude—clutched so hard within her, she almost wanted to cry.
Almost. She wouldn’t let herself because goodness, what would he think if he looked over and saw her crying?
He wore a sleek charcoal suit, a simple white shirt, and a pale gray tie. His cheeks were clean shaven. His hair gleamed with a trace of dampness. He projected his trademark dragon-slaying confidence.
Nora started toward him. When she was about halfway there, he turned and their gazes met.
She smiled, fireworks of joy detonating inside.
He walked toward her and when they were a few feet apart, opened his arms to her. She stepped immediately into his embrace.
It was a friendly hug, the kind of hug people often share when greeting one another after time apart. Only she’d never hugged John before. In a friendly manner or in any other manner. Sensations flooded her mind. His strong hold. His warmth. The smell of his soap. A feeling of destiny.
Longing suffused her and . . . oh no. The moisture she’d contained moments before pooled in her eyes.
“It’s really good to see you,” he said, his voice slightly gravelly.
“It’s really good to see you, too.”
Go away, tears! Oh, dear.
They stepped apart. Nora instantly bent and made a show of adjusting the strap on her shoe in order to give herself a moment to regain full control. She would not be caught crying during their reunion as if she were a child who’d been handed a long-lost stuffed animal. So here I am, John, correcting the fit of my shoe. No biggie. This is completely normal of me.
Her skirt swished into place as she rose.
He regarded her with an uneven smile, as if entertained by her, as if glad to see that she was still as quirky as ever.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
“I do?”
“Yes.”
She knotted her hands at her waist. “Thank you. So do you.”
“I don’t wear a suit that often these days.”
“That’s an unpardonable shame.”
His brows lifted. “Did you just say unpardonable?”
“I did.” They held each other’s eye contact. Pleasure at being together again flowed between them.
He gestured in Corbin’s direction. “Did your sister tell you that I brought her ex-boyfriend?”
Nora nodded.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know.”
“I know you didn’t. Don’t worry about it.”
“We can leave—”
“No.” Gracious, no. “It’s all right. Willow is the most well-mannered person I know. She’ll be able to handle having Corbin here.”
John introduced Nora to Corbin, and the two of them exchanged small talk. Nora wasn’t a football fan. Who had time to watch football when there were so many fantastic books in the world yet unread? Nonetheless, Corbin’s face was familiar to her both because of his fame and because Willow had sent pictures of the two of them to the family, back when they’d been dating.
It had always been easy for Nora to dislike the men who’d broken up with Willow or Britt. Especially if they’d done so in a hurtful way. She’d been actively disliking Corbin for years on Willow’s behalf. Now that he’d shown up at Bradfordwood as John’s friend, though, she decided to suspend her disapproval until after the party.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” Britt said, taking up a position behind the bar next to the overworked bartender Willow had hired. Britt’s dark hair hung free in loose waves. She wore an Indian-print maxi dress in jewel tones.
“This is my younger sister, Britt,” Nora said to John and Corbin.
“I was there with Nora the day of the emergency drill,” Britt told John. “I got soaked right along with her, thanks to your office sprinklers.”
John’s features registered recognition. “That’s right. You were the one who had the sense to leave when I opened the office door.”
She grinned. “That was me.”
“I’d like you to meet Corbin Stewart,” John said, indicating his friend.
Britt’s lips parted. She stared at Corbin. “No kidding.”
“No,” Corbin said wryly.
“This is who you brought to the party?” Britt asked John. “Corbin Stewart?”
“This is who I brought,” he confirmed.
Britt laughed. “Awesome. Every party needs at least one good villain.”
“Hey,” Corbin protested.
“Have you seen Willow?” Britt asked Corbin.
“Yeah. She . . . met us at the door.”
“And she let you stay?”
“Yes.”
“I underestimated her abilities as a hostess. I knew she was good. But to let you stay?” Britt whistled. “She’s better than I thought.”
Corbin narrowed his eyes and cut a disgruntled look in John’s direction. He was one of the greatest players in the history of the NFL. No doubt he was usually adored by everyone.
“What can I get you?” Britt asked. “Despite that Jesus himself turned water into wine, my grandmother believes that alcohol is unchristian. So we have virgin sangria, Arnold Palmers, and virgin peach daiquiri punch.”
“An Arnold Palmer, please,” Corbin said.
Britt went to work fixing Corbin’s drink and simultaneously peppering him with questions.
“Meet you at the table?” John murmured to Corbin.
“If I survive her inquisition,” Corbin murmured back.
John motioned for Nora to precede him outside.
———
This past month, John’s memory of Nora had been powerfully clear. So it surprised him that the real Nora was much prettier, even, than his memory of her.
When he’d seen her across the room just now, the sight of her had struck him like a crashing wave. He still felt dazed.
She led him outside toward one of the short, cement-topped brick walls t
hat ran outward along both edges of the terrace, forming makeshift benches. They sat, and she angled her crossed knees toward him.
This was the first time John had ever seen her with her hair down. Her hair was darker, maybe, than it had been before and much softer looking. The old styles had been tight and hair-sprayed. Now the strands brushed against the tips of her shoulders, distracting him, making him want to run a finger along the upper line of her shoulder.
Long, dark lashes framed her brown eyes, and she must be wearing pale pink lip gloss, because every time it caught the light it sparkled.
What was the matter with him? Quit staring at her lips, John.
He’d come to this party for just one reason.
Her.
Being here with her made every minute of the past month worthwhile. The pull between the two of them hadn’t lessened. It was still there, mysterious and forceful, and it steadied him. For the first time in weeks, it was as if the earth had found its level beneath his feet. He wasn’t home alone with his depressing future. He was here, with Nora.
Problem was, she was gazing at him as if she believed him to be a hero, which filled him with a guilty sense of his own selfishness. She didn’t know the full truth. He needed to tell her about his vision.
“Catch me up on what’s been going on with you,” she said.
“I’d rather hear what’s been going on with you.”
“I asked you first.”
He told her about New York and Maine and some of the things they’d been working on at Lawson Training. She told him about her sisters and her parents in Africa and her efforts to prepare for the upcoming Summer Antique Fair.
“What about Sherry?” she asked. “Have you written to her yet?”
“I’ve written to her, but the letter’s still sitting on my kitchen counter. I don’t know why I haven’t mailed it yet. I guess I just haven’t felt ready.”
“I get that. Contacting her is a big step.”
“Would you be willing to look over the letter sometime and tell me if it sounds okay?”
“I’d love to.”
Beyond the patio, an awesome view of the Hood Canal spread out like a painting. He’d known that Nora had come from a wealthy family, because she’d told him that her father had given her the historical village as a graduation gift. Still, he hadn’t expected her to have grown up in the sort of mansion that the Vanderbilts could have owned.
“What happened between you and Allie?” she asked.
He tried to decide what to tell her.
“If I’m being too nosy, just say so,” she said.
“No, it’s all right. Allie and I have always gotten along really well, but things were never very”—he knit his brow—“serious between us. Lately, it became clear to me that we weren’t meant to stay together. I guess it’s as simple and complicated as that.”
“When did you break up?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“Are you all right about it? The breakup?”
“Yes. It was the right decision.”
She studied him. “What about Allie? Is she all right about it?”
“Allie will be fine. She and I are still friends.”
“That’s good,” she said softly.
Just then the clinking sound made by a fork striking the side of a glass carried to them. John looked over and saw that Willow was the one who’d called for everyone’s attention. “Dinner is about to be served,” she announced. “We invite you to take your seats. Once everyone is in place, Pastor William has graciously agreed to offer a word of prayer. Enjoy your meal.”
The guests moved to the tables.
“Listen,” John said just as Nora had been about to rise. “I’d like to . . .”
She stilled, waiting.
“I’d like to talk with you later. . . .” About my diagnosis.
“We can talk now if you’d like.”
People were taking seats nearby. “Later’s fine.”
Grandma’s birthday dinner was, for Nora, like a dream. In part because of the twinkling lanterns. In part because of the exquisite table settings and delicious food. In part because of her fanciful dress. But most of all, and it really wasn’t even close, because of John.
He sat next to her, talking and laughing with both her and Britt, who was seated on his other side. Whenever he looked at Nora, which he did constantly, there was both a heat and a tenderness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. It had her thinking crazy things. Did he like her like her?
She drank in the details of him. His hands. The cords of muscle running down his neck. The button on the outside of his suit sleeve’s cuff.
A princess didn’t technically need a prince to make her big night out at the ball complete. Even without a prince, that ball meant a break from a difficult past and the drudgery of everyday life. This party meant the same to Nora. That, alone, was something to celebrate.
Thing was, even if the presence of a man you cared about wasn’t integral, it had the ability to improve things incredibly. John made her buzz with happiness and sigh with longing and tingle with awareness. So, definitely yes. If a woman had a chance to be a princess at a ball, she should opt for the package that included a prince.
The only fly in the wine of Nora’s delightful night was the palpable hostility between Willow and Corbin.
Evan of the ferrets sat next to Willow. Corbin sat next to their cousin Rachel, who’d been peering at him like a toddler with separation anxiety. Corbin and Willow were seated directly across from one another, as far apart at they could possibly be at a round eight-top. Both of them were trying so hard to act as if they were having a great time and as if the other didn’t exist that they were proving the opposite to be true.
When the meal concluded, the sisters, Valentina, and Zander gathered at the cake table. In keeping with the ivory-on-white theme, Britt had coated her chocolate cake’s two circular tiers with white frosting as smooth as fresh snow. She’d dotted tiny edible candies that looked like pearls here and there and added one artful mound of hydrangea blossoms to the cake’s top.
Grandma tottered in their direction, and Nora saw that she’d donned her mink coat. Silently, Nora groaned.
Grandma had owned the mink for thirty-five years. Whenever she wore it, Nora feared she’d be doused in red paint by protestors. Also, it smelled dank and boasted massive shoulder pads. Willow, Nora, and Britt had nicknamed it Old Musty. Grandma didn’t care that they loathed it. She wore it relentlessly, even in mild weather.
“Thank you for coming this evening,” Grandma said in her lemony voice once the crowd had hushed. “I’m sure you all have many more important things to do tonight.”
Her guests responded in the negative with murmured “No, nos” and shaking heads.
Grandma sniffed. “When my granddaughters told me of their intention to plan a party on my behalf, I asked them not to bother. But they held firm, so I asked them to plan something modest. It says in the Bible, ‘Sell your possessions and give to the poor.’”
An interesting sentiment coming from a woman in a mink coat.
Britt leaned near Grandma and whispered, “It also says that if you give all your possessions to the poor, but do not have love, you gain nothing.”
Nora’s lips warbled as she struggled not to laugh.
Grandma looked down her nose at everyone. “As I’m sure you’ve all noticed, this party is very grand.”
Nora and Britt didn’t have the money to pay for this kind of party. But Willow did, and she’d been in charge.
“So,” Grandma continued, “I don’t know whether to sit my granddaughters down for a Bible lesson or thank them.”
“Thank us!” Nora and Willow answered in unison, both smiling.
“How about we sing ‘Happy Birthday’?” Britt asked the guests.
The happy birthday song rose into the night air.
Nora glanced at John. He gave her a grin as slow as honey. It was a private smile just for her, complet
e with a flash of white teeth, relaxed humor, and crinkly eyes.
Great Scott.
The song wound down. Britt went to work slicing cake, and Zander helped plate.
“Anything we can do?” Nora asked, Willow at her side.
“Would you mind grabbing another cake server?” Britt lifted Zander’s wrist to show them the utensil he held. It looked like a spatula, except angled to a point. “And more napkins, please. This pile looks too small to me.”
“We’re on it,” Nora said.
She and Willow made their way to the formal dining room and located the cake server in one of the china cabinet’s drawers. “Ah ha!” Nora lifted it free.
“I’d like to take that thing and stab it into Corbin’s chest,” Willow said. “Repeatedly.”
“Willow, I . . .” Nora’s attention caught on the driveway outside. A dark sedan idled there, headlights lit. A man exited the back seat, and another man—the driver?—came around to pop the trunk and hand the first man his suitcase.
The cake server fell from Nora’s hands and hit the floor with a clatter.
Willow startled. “Oh! You okay? What . . .”
Shock raced over Nora’s skin. She couldn’t be seeing what she was seeing. Right? Stunned, she moved toward Bradfordwood’s front door.
“Nora?” Willow’s voice seemed very far away.
Nora let herself onto the porch, then stepped down the first step.
She could hardly believe it. Her mighty imagination had not conjured him. She was seeing what she was seeing.
Duncan Bartholomew walked toward her wearing a European-looking knit scarf and a crooked smile.
Post from one of the co-moderators of the Devotees of Adolphus Brook Facebook Group:
I’ve been as busy as one of Santa’s elves, creating new memes of Adolphus for us to share. And, of course, for us to enjoy personally. I’ve uploaded them to our shared files. I’m partial to the photo of him in his study, wearing the muslin shirt with the ruffles at the neck and his spectacles. Those ink-stained fingers! I die! A thousand salutes to jolly old England for creating such a fine specimen of a man.
If you haven’t mailed your letters to Northamptonshire’s producers on Adolphus’s behalf, now’s the time. We want more screen time for our favorite character!