Say I Do

by Rachel Hauck

  They drew near the north side of the Hollow. “Would you mind stopping by my parents’ house?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Do you remember Shadow?”

  “The cat?”

  “She still lives at the house. She’s the only resident when my parents are out of town.”

  He quirked a brow at her.

  “I know, it’s weird. When my parents bought the place in Austin we decided that Shadow would move in with me. But she ran away twice—” She had to catch herself from telling Josh where to turn. He turned in the right place without assistance. He remembered the way. “Both times Shadow ran away, I found her back at my parents’ house. So I installed a cat door. I stop by every day to feed her.”

  “It seems like you could leave more than a day’s worth of food. Then you wouldn’t have to come by as often.”

  “But then, you see, Shadow wouldn’t get enough social interaction.”

  He parked in the driveway of her family’s stately 1930s two-story. If Holly did say so herself, the house had been kept up well, its shingles painted a pretty beige, its rock chimney standing proudly straight.

  “How come you don’t live here with Shadow?” he asked.

  “Because I’m not eighteen anymore. It would seem sort of . . . I don’t know. Sorry? To live here alone at this point. I like my apartment.” She gave him a questioning look. “Would you like to come in? It’ll just take a minute.”

  “I’ll stay here. I have some business I need to check.” He motioned toward his phone, sitting in the middle console.

  Holly nodded and let herself inside the house.

  Josh had no doubt that text messages and business emails awaited his attention, but he hadn’t asked to stay outside because of them. For a man who didn’t lie—he preferred blunt, straight-up communication—he’d become quite the liar where Holly was concerned.

  Just sitting in the driveway of this house brought up a storm of old memories. He had no intention of going indoors and seeing the places where he’d held hands with Holly, talked with her parents and siblings, picked her up for prom.

  In case Holly caught sight of him through a window, he set his phone on his leg and looked down at it.

  He was pretty sure he was losing it because he wanted more time with her. She made his mind, body, and senses rush to life in ways they hadn’t in too many months to count. Whenever he met her eyes, attraction snapped like electricity between them. Her smile left him wordless.

  He could buy many things in this world, but he couldn’t buy the way she made him feel.

  He dealt in math and science and computers. If someone had asked him last week whether magic existed, he would have said emphatically that it didn’t. But Holly was like magic to him. Somehow, she was. She made his cynical heart want the one thing he’d be an idiot to pursue. Her.

  When she’d broken up with him, she’d done it over the phone, without warning, in under ten minutes. Kindly cool on her side. Heatedly upset on his side. She’d said the sort of clichés that people always say at breakups. She hadn’t given him any reason that made sense to him, that he could accept. Then, afterward, she’d refused to speak to him or return his emails. She’d betrayed his faith in her, and the last thing he wanted was to make the mistake of caring about her or placing his trust in her again.

  He turned his phone in slow half-circles on his thigh, frowning, his forehead grooved.

  Did anyone in this town have any idea how talented she was? He’d read every one of her novels. He always pre-ordered them, then read them obsessively, not working or sleeping until he’d finished the final page. They were beautifully written, wise, hopeful, filled with adventure and courage. He had no idea how she did it, how she dreamed up worlds and people and plots out of thin air.

  He’d been to Martinsburg’s one bookstore. There’d been no big display about their famous local author. They’d had only one copy of her latest release, on the shelf spine out in the YA section. From what he could tell, the people of Martinsburg had overlooked her entirely.

  Holly returned, sliding into her seat. “Thanks for bringing me by. You saved me from having to make a trip back later today.”

  “How was Shadow?”

  “As entitled as usual.” The afternoon rays pouring into the car from behind Holly turned a section of her hair to glowing honey. She was so achingly pretty that his chest squeezed.

  “Since we didn’t find a site today”—the level tone of his voice hid his steely determination—“I’m thinking we’ll need to try again soon, if you have the time.” He was not a good person.

  “Okay. I . . . have the time.”

  The bond between them pulled and the moment grew heavy. He longed to tell her things he had no business telling her. Namely, the truth about how much she’d hurt him and his frustration with himself regarding the resentment he still harbored toward her because of it.

  He backed down the driveway, silently calling himself stupid, fool, self-destructive, and much, much worse.

  Chapter 4

  Right about now, the Saturday-at-eleven Zumba class Holly sometimes attended was probably merengue marching and shimmying to their heart’s delight. There wouldn’t be any shimmying for her this morning, thanks to a wedding meeting with Amanda, Amanda’s mom, and their professional wedding coordinator.

  Holly crossed her arms and rested her hip against a pew while watching the bride and mother of the bride trail their coordinator around the sanctuary of Trinity Church.

  Mitzi, the woman they’d hired to orchestrate the big day, looked every inch as serious as her name was not. In a sleek gray suit, with earrings as big as doorknobs and an auburn hairstyle a First Lady would have envied, she gave off a chic and able impression. Somewhere in her mid-fifties, Mitzi’s body bore the ruthlessly thin, muscled stamp of someone who pounded the asphalt every morning in a pair of Nike Airs.

  Mitzi had never before toured the church. Since arriving thirty minutes ago, she’d spent a good deal of time whisking her tape measure in and out and looking vaguely displeased. Which had Holly, here on Trinity’s behalf, fighting back a case of defensiveness.

  Trinity Church possessed a tremendous amount of charm, but there was no hiding the fact that the building was old. It had been constructed out of stone in 1890 by Germans who’d brought with them their motherland’s excellent taste in church architecture. The building boasted a soaring steeple and arched front doors crafted of heavy oak. Inside, rectangular stained-glass windows marked the side walls and an understated altar stood on a dais three steps above the level of the pews.

  Holly experienced a rush of fondness and respect every time she entered the place. She’d grown up here. God spoke to her here. Even though the median age of the membership at Trinity probably hovered at ninety, it had never occurred to Holly to switch congregations. Where would she go? That big new box of a church with the thumping music and a bustling marriage mart otherwise known as a singles ministry? Oh my, no. Jumping ship at this point would feel like high treason.

  A year ago, sweet Violetta Mae Gaskins had retired as Trinity’s longtime wedding coordinator and personally asked Holly to take over her duties. Holly had immediately assured her that she would. The truth? She enjoyed her role. It satisfied something within her, to help arrange other people’s happy endings. It made no difference whether those people were real, here at Trinity, or fictional within the pages of her novels.

  So far, Holly had presided over six weddings as the church’s representative in all things nuptial. A few of the brides (those on tighter budgets or planning more intimate weddings) hadn’t brought in professional coordinators. In those cases, the bride, Holly, and sometimes the mother of the bride had managed the big day themselves.

  None of the prior weddings had been nearly as ambitious as Amanda’s would be, however. This wedding, scheduled to take place in just twenty-one days, was destined to test Holly’s skills. It had already begun to test her patience.

  Mitzi
launched into an animated monologue about floral arrangements.

  If Mattel ever decided to roll out a Yellow Rose of Texas Barbie, Amanda could serve as a blueprint. Her long and highlighted blonde hair always looked shampoo-commercial worthy. She wore leather boots and a print dress beneath a fitted jean jacket.

  Amanda Warren had been born with extraordinarily good taste. At one week of age, she’d probably begun selecting her own smocked onesies and coordinating baby caps. Goodness knows, Amanda had sailed through adolescence without an awkward stage. She’d been named Fraternity Sweetheart and Homecoming Queen at SMU before returning to Martinsburg to start her own interior design business.

  In a life of excellent decisions, Amanda’s best by far was her choice of groom. Tall, strapping, ginger-haired Ben Hunt was outgoing, warm, quick to laugh, and genuinely interested in everyone he met.

  Holly picked a tuft of lint off her ivory cable knit sweater. She and Amanda were the same age and their parents had been members here at Trinity in the same era. She and Amanda had been pushed together since toddlerhood with the expectation that they’d play together in a mannerly fashion and become bosom friends.

  They’d certainly played together in a mannerly fashion. In fact, there’d never been a cross word between them. Yet, they’d never become bosom friends. They lacked that mysterious link that leads to confidences and transparent affection. To wit, Amanda had selected ten bridesmaids and a house party of six for her wedding. Holly had not been invited into either camp.

  “Sorry for the long wait, Holly.” Amanda approached, the older women in tow.

  “No problem. Take as long as you like.”

  “I think we’re ready to talk through a few things with you.”

  “Sure. We can sit down here,” Holly indicated the pews, “or we can use one of the meeting rooms.”

  Mitzi opted for a meeting room, so Holly brought them to the nearest one. A table dominated the plain space. Holly sat on one side with her pen and notebook in front of her, and the other ladies took chairs opposite her. Amanda lowered an accordion file as large as a carry-on onto the table. Mitzi propped up an iPad attached to a small keyboard and began typing furiously. Amanda’s mom, Christine, met Holly’s eye.

  Christine resembled her daughter, except thirty years older with a chin-length bob. She presided over the Ladies Golf Association at the country club in Lilly Pulitzer clothing and small-heeled sandals with gems on them. The bulk of her communication consisted of “Mm” and a well-bred smile that could as easily mean I’m thoroughly charmed by you as I hope you rot in your grave. Holly could never tell. She was a little bit afraid of Christine.

  “We’re concerned about how many people the sanctuary can accommodate,” Mitzi stated, glancing at Holly without fully lifting the angle of her face.

  “Mm,” Christine concurred.

  “The sanctuary seats three hundred,” Holly said.

  “We’re expecting at least that many.”

  “You’re welcome to use the choir loft.” It functioned much like a small balcony in a theater.

  Mitzi and the others theorized over how many bodies they could squeeze into the choir loft.

  “Do you have any other suggestions?” Mitzi asked.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t.” Holly understood their concern. Amanda and Christine were going to have a tricky time fitting Martinsburg’s ten thousand residents into Trinity Church. Apart from asking guests to sit on each other’s laps or straddle each other’s shoulders, Holly had no solutions.

  “Do you think the pews could accommodate three hundred and fifty?” Mitzi squinted one eye.

  “Only three hundred,” Holly answered.

  “I’d like to give the ushers some specialized training the night of the rehearsal,” Mitzi informed Christine and Amanda.

  “Sounds good,” Amanda answered, still wrestling with the accordion file.

  “What does the church have in the way of tables?” Mitzi asked Holly, her earrings clunking the sides of her neck.

  “What kind of tables?”

  “We’ll need a table in the foyer for the guest book and another for the wedding programs and a flower arrangement. We’re going to want tables that are suitably special.”

  “Mm,” from Christine, paired with what might have been an I’m-thoroughly-charmed-by-you smile.

  “I’d be happy to show you what we have,” Holly said.

  “If we can’t find what we’re after here,” Mitzi said, “we’ll import our own.”

  “You’re welcome to.”

  “And I do believe we’ve decided to bring in our own musicians and organist as well.”

  Holly’s loyalty pricked. “Our organist, Doreen, is great.” Doreen would hate to miss the opportunity to brag to her friends about playing the organ at Amanda’s wedding.

  “I think Doreen’s great too,” Amanda said. “But my dad’s second cousin’s wife plays the organ professionally in Vienna, so she’s going to play for the wedding, if that’s okay.”

  “Of course.” Doreen, Holly wrote in her notebook, to remind herself to bring Doreen a bucket of caramel corn (Doreen’s favorite) when she broke the bad news.

  “We’re going to want,” Mitzi declared, “to take down all the tacky papers and posters and announcements and such that are currently featured in the public areas of the church.”

  Holly chewed the inside of her lip and wondered if she was too young to start drinking Alka-Seltzer. Thank goodness she had a rehearsal dinner scouting session scheduled for this afternoon with Josh. Otherwise, today might’ve turned into a real pothole.

  Josh. A mental image of him, standing beside her and turning his face to watch her, took shape. That dark hair. The sleekly muscled body. His height and strength. Those unwavering eyes, focused solely on her . . . You can’t let yourself care about him!

  “Holly?” Mitzi asked.

  “Ah . . .” What was the question? Oh, yes. “You can take down the announcements in the public areas at ten on the day of the wedding. We’d just ask that you put them back up after the ceremony.”

  Mitzi’s fingers paused on the mini-keyboard. “We have a large staff coming. A floral designer and her team, a lighting designer, a group of ribbon specialists, a garland expert, a videographer, the photographer, not to mention the musicians.”

  What about a flock of cherubs? No cherubs?

  “It would be extraordinarily helpful,” Mitzi continued, “to have access to the premises at least twenty-four hours prior.”

  Amanda and Ben’s wedding would take place at five o’clock on the Saturday following Thanksgiving. After which, guests would make their way to the reception at a local winery. “I’m sorry, but we have a prayer meeting every Friday night and a lady’s Bible Study every Saturday morning. The church will be available at ten.”

  “Mm.” Christine’s smile took on a I-hope-you-rot-in-your-grave tinge.

  Holly stuck her pen behind her ear and inhaled deeply. This was going to be a long meeting.

  Holly and Josh went location shopping that afternoon, and every other afternoon for the week that followed. With each passing day, the weather turned cooler and crisper. Amber leaves began their downward dance from Martinsburg’s trees. The scent of wood smoke tipped the air. Holly brought out throw blankets from her linen closet. The bakery started carrying their eagerly awaited autumn walnut cake with apricot preserves. And Josh still hadn’t booked a rehearsal dinner venue.

  Twelve days before Amanda and Ben’s wedding, on her way back from her morning coffee run, Holly set Rob’s black coffee at his door, then knocked on Mrs. Chapel’s. “Good morning!” She edged the cup through the gap between the door and the jamb.

  “Thank you, dear. Did you remember to put in one and a half packets of sugar?”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  “Will you be going out again later?”

  “I expect to.”

  “I’m in need of some Efferdent Plus for my dentures.”

  “I see.
Is it an urgent type of thing?”

  “Very urgent.”

  “In that case, I’ll see what I can do.” Holly waved and moved toward her door.

  “Remember to get the Plus. The Efferdent Power Clean Crystals aren’t worth the packaging they’re sold in.”

  “Got it,” Holly assured her. “Efferdent Plus.”

  Inside her apartment, she settled herself and her caramel nutmeg latte at her desk. Between fielding calls from Christine and Amanda, the time she’d spent with Josh in person, and the much larger amount of time she’d spent thinking about Josh, she hadn’t accomplished much work of late. Her deadline had made an appearance on the horizon. She’d need to make steady progress toward it in order to avoid becoming a basket case the month before the manuscript was due. She pushed up the sleeves of her cotton shirt, determined to pound out some genius.

  One minute dragged into five, then ten, while she squinted at the document open on her computer screen.

  Well, it didn’t look like genius would be forthcoming today. She’d settle for mediocre hogwash. Then, at least, she’d have something to work with. Hard to edit and revise blank pages.

  Work, Holly. Focus.

  She ended up sipping her latte instead, her attention sliding toward Main Street while she thought some more about Josh.

  They hadn’t made headway with a rehearsal location, but their friendship had progressed. Whenever they were together, they spent the whole time talking, slowly catching one another up on the events of the past eight years, accustoming themselves to the people they’d become.

  More and more powerfully with every meeting, Holly had grown attuned to Josh’s movements, the timbre of his voice, his expressions, his clothing.

  There were moments, very fleeting, when she suspected her awareness of Josh might not be one-sided. In those moments, her breath would still and her hopes would tangle with her weighty sense of caution. Then the moment would break.

  Afterward, she’d tell herself that he most likely didn’t like her in that way anymore. If by some miracle he did feel the same magnetism toward her that she did for him, she was pretty positive that he’d never act on it. Josh was a very controlled person, private and complex, with a fair amount of pride.