How to Make a Wedding

by Cindy Kirk

  Greg stood, reached out, and caught her attention. “Take my seat. Please.”

  Her expression said the offer was tempting, but she shrank back. “I couldn’t, no. But thank you.”

  He moved into the aisle, reached up and grabbed his carry-on, and smiled. “I insist.”

  Someone behind Greg cleared his throat.

  Greg motioned to the seat and then the little one in her arms. “He’ll like this better. Not as noisy.”

  She slipped into the seat, sat back, and smiled. “Thank you.”

  “No problem. Where’s your seat?”

  She grimaced. “Sixty-four B, I’m afraid.”

  He made his way to the back as the aisle cleared, remembering the soft words he’d heard in church last Sunday. Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.

  The reverend had probably chosen the quote to honor their unexpected mission guests, but the verse spoke directly to Greg. He was paying it forward, and for the first time in years, he not only loved what he was doing, he respected it.

  Tara scrolled down her checklist Thursday evening. “Food and beverages are set. Decorations, done. The servers are arriving at six to help arrange the grazing tables. Name tags are made, the theme-specific business cards have arrived, Kathy’s got her fairy godmother gown all set . . .”

  “Medieval queen,” Kathy corrected. “It just looks like a cartoon fairy godmother’s getup.”

  A round of laughter greeted her remark.

  “And with all of us and Greg, we should have about fifty people here tomorrow night.”

  “Except that Greg’s in New York,” Kathy announced.

  Tara’s heart thumped to a stop. “Now? With the grand opening tomorrow night?”

  “When New York says jump . . .” Donna shrugged. Clearly Greg had little say in the matter.

  “They had him board a plane about three hours ago,” Kathy went on. “Part of the job when you’re at Tatelbaum, Schicker, and Knapf.”

  It took every ounce of reserve to keep her face placid, but Tara gritted her teeth and did it. He’d called her, late afternoon, and instead of answering the phone, she let it go to voice mail. What would he have said if she’d answered? She might never know.

  “I’m glad he got the tuxedo area done before his trip,” Donna added. “He’s footing a sizable bill for tomorrow night’s party, and it’s nice that he didn’t have to hire out too much of the remodeling.”

  “I was surprised at how well he did,” Tara admitted. “I didn’t peg Greg as the handyman type.”

  Kathy sent her a curious look. “He wasn’t born in a high-rise office.”

  “He worked summer construction during undergrad to offset room and board,” Jean explained. “The store was doing well, but not well enough to handle an Ivy League education out of pocket.”

  Tara considered Jean’s comment as she gathered the dresses needed for the gala. Former brides would showcase the newest looks, letting the quality of the designer gowns speak for itself.

  They closed the store, and as Tara walked to the bus stop, her phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID. Michelle Simonetti. “Hey, Mom. What’s up?”

  “Just checking in,” her mother answered. “I wanted you to know that life has settled back into its typical low-drama existence.”

  They used to laugh together about the lack of news in Kenneville, but the calm, cozy town held its own brand of charm.

  “Mostly I wanted to make sure you’re okay,” her mother added.

  Tara breathed softly. “I’m fine.”

  “Well, I’m not so sure about that,” her mother replied in a voice she employed when making a point. “I know my daughter, and I know you’ve got a lot on your plate right now, but when I talk to you about working at the bridal store, I hear excitement in your voice. That makes me happy.”

  “And your point is?”

  “I don’t hear that same girl when we talk about law, so my question is this: Why don’t you stay and work at the bridal store if that’s what makes you happy? Because if you’re happy, I’m happy.”

  Quick tears smarted in Tara’s eyes. She dashed them away, avoiding eye contact with the other people waiting for the bus. “Three years of law school and mega loans, for starters.”

  “But if you had a choice,” Michelle pressed, and Tara was too tired and too bummed about Greg to argue. “If you were to choose, which would it be? To stay in Philly and help run the store? Or come north and represent crotchety neighbors and grumpy wives whose husbands forgot their fortieth anniversary?”

  Tara knew which she’d pick, but she also knew there was no real choice. She’d made her decision three years before when she accepted the terms of entrance into Beasley School of Law. Now she had to pay the price, even if her heart was firmly tucked into Elena’s Bridal. “Moot point, Mom.”

  Her mother laughed, then sighed. “It’s not. You’re stubborn, and you think you owe the world a good, honest lawyer. But the truth is you need to be true to yourself, honey. Leave the past in the past and forge ahead. Grab your own dreams, new dreams, and run with them.”

  Tara longed to do just that. If she were to chart her dreams, they’d start with Greg Elizondo and end with living in Old City, raising some cute kids and running Elena’s Bridal with Kathy and the gang. But that wasn’t on the list of possibilities, so she kept her true wishes quiet. “I know what you’re saying, Mom, but it’s not that easy.”

  “Easy has nothing to do with it,” Michelle declared. “Life’s too short to saddle yourself with a job you don’t like based on a decision you made when you were eleven. Did you know that over 15 percent of law school grads never practice law?”

  “Is the tough job market supposed to make me feel better?”

  Her mother laughed. “It’s supposed to make you see you’re not alone. Lots of people change career paths as they mature. Your bend in the road is just a little pricier than others.”

  Tara started to reply, but her mother interrupted. “Don’t say anything now. It’s better to take some time, take it to God, and see what happens. You’ve got months before graduation, but if this isn’t what you thought it would be, if someplace or someone has drawn your focus in a new direction, then go for it, Tara. No one wants you unhappy. Just think about it, okay?”

  “I will,” Tara promised. The bus pulled up, and she drew a breath and added, “And, Mom? Thank you.”

  Her mother’s voice softened. “You’re welcome, honey. Love you.”

  “Love you too.” She climbed onto the bus feeling lighter. Could she walk away from three years of rigorous education? Was that the height of stupidity or the common sense of growing maturity?

  She wasn’t sure, but the thought that she might have a viable choice lightened her steps.

  The lower Manhattan financial district surrounded Greg like an overgrown architectural maze. Tall, imposing buildings bracketed narrow streets. Coffee shops dotted the landscape like trees in a park. Wind-tunneled air bathed his face, the night chilling as dark descended.

  The antiquated structure of Trinity Church rose before him on his walk, a blend of history and majesty. The historic graveyard lay tucked between the buildings, surrounded by a wrought-iron fence.

  Weathered tombstones dotted the small plot, the dark night making the old dates indiscernible. At one point, this had been a neighborhood of people, places, and dreams, folks who worked together, worshipped together, and waited for their loved ones’ ships to come into the harbor below.

  There was no neighborhood feel now.

  Gorgeous, yes, in its own way. But when he envisioned life, a life so close he could almost reach out and grab it, it wasn’t here, in Manhattan’s cool, calm collection of high-rises.

  It was in Old City, a niche where history was celebrated, not relegated. It was with Tara by his side, working, playing, shaping his mother’s store into a new millennium showcase. A place where their kids—two, he hoped, but maybe she coul
d be talked into three—could romp and play among the other young families, rich in the past, alive in the present.

  As he approached the hotel, bells from the church began to ring. He tried the church door. It opened under his hand. He stepped inside and slipped into a back pew.

  He’d walked into the middle of a candlelit evening prayer service. Attendance was minimal but heartfelt. A couple of homeless people had claimed pews on the far side and were curled up, sound asleep, away from the cold city night.

  When I was hungry you fed me. Naked, you clothed me.

  The image of the two sleepers stirred his heart. God had already given him so much. What need did he have for more?

  None, he decided. He had more than enough already.

  The Serenity Prayer came back to him, his mother’s counsel: “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”

  When the service drew to a quiet close, he slipped across the back of the church, left a contribution in the church’s offering box, and did the same for the two sleepers down on their luck.

  When I was hungry you fed me . . .

  An opportunity for change dangled before him, if only he had the courage to reach out and take it.

  With God’s help and Tara’s love, he did.

  The following morning he met with Marc Mitchum, withdrew his name from consideration, and headed back to Philly. He’d make it just in time for the gala, and hopefully in time to see Tara before the event started.

  But if not?

  Well, they’d have the rest of their lives to work things out. He’d make sure of it.

  Tara and Jean scanned the list late Friday afternoon to ensure they hadn’t missed anything.

  Displays? Done.

  Models? Ready!

  Food? Being catered by a nearby culinary academy, reasonably priced and proud to show their stuff.

  Greg’s flowers and floral displays from friends of the Elizondos decked the sales areas. The soft scent of spring blossoms filled the air.

  A dream come true. A night that would have been perfect if Greg were there, but he wasn’t, and most likely he would be following his own dreams in New York before long.

  Tara’s conscience jumped in with a mental scolding. What if Ruth had abandoned Naomi? What if she’d followed her mother-in-law’s direction and returned to Moab? Where would her happy ending be now? Be patient. Trust. And by the way, that dress looks marvelous!

  “Tara, does this look right?” Meghan interrupted her thoughts. She was retucking the Maid Marian–style gown display for the tenth time that afternoon.

  “Touch it again and I’ll lock you in an alterations room, Meghan. I know where they keep the keys, so don’t test me.”

  Meghan burst out laughing and stepped away, hands up. “I’m going to get changed. Can you handle this customer?” She nodded toward the front.

  “Absolutely.” Tara draped the organza bunting over her shoulder and moved forward. “Hi, I’m Tara. Can I help you?”

  The woman glanced around. A wide smile split her broad, bronzed face. “This is just plain beautiful inside here, Miss Tara. I can see why Elena’s has been a cornerstone in Old City for so long! I am Nettie Johnson from a few blocks over, and I am here on a mission.”

  “For a dress?”

  She laughed and shook her head quickly. “For Mr. Greg. Is he here?”

  Tara shook her head regretfully. “He’s in Manhattan until later tonight. Can I help you?”

  “Oh, no need!” The woman’s smile deepened. She reached out and grasped Tara’s hands in hers. “We are flyin’ high at this moment, and I just wanted to come by and give Gregory a big hug and a public thank-you for what he’s done. We not only get to keep our mission right here in Old City, but the landlord has agreed to fix an abundance of things he has been puttin’ off for years! And all because Greg did battle for us. He is a special man, and our staff and clients are deeply indebted to him. He will be in our daily prayers, for certain.”

  “Greg helped your mission?” Tara tried to do the math and failed. “When?”

  “These past two weeks, once he saw we’d been closed down. Oh, he is tireless, that one! They’ve got a big write-up in the paper today, but I didn’t want him just to read about savin’ us. I wanted to tell him myself. I’ll come by again once he’s back home.”

  Awareness flooded Tara.

  Greg hadn’t been working night and day to impress New York. He’d been working to save a homeless shelter and food kitchen. Shame bit deep. She had jumped to conclusions and never given Greg a minute to explain himself, or his work. “Yes, please. Do that. I’m sure he’d love to hear this from you. You know, Ms. Johnson—”

  “Oh, now, I’m just Nettie to everyone. It’s simpler that way.”

  “Nettie, we’re having a party tonight to celebrate the reopening of Elena’s Bridal,” Tara told her. “Why don’t you stay and eat with us? Meet some other people with shops here in Old City?”

  “I’m not dressed for partyin’.” Her round, brown eyes glanced down. “Though I am right partial to this dress.”

  Tara scanned Nettie’s polka-dot dress and broad-brimmed hat, then smiled. “I think you look perfect for partying, and we’d love to have you.”

  Kathy glided by wearing her ridiculous and endearing medieval gown with the matching high, cone-shaped hat. “Do stay. I’m Kathy, and I just heard on the news what Greg did. I have to say I’m absolutely delighted, proud, and not one bit surprised.” She let her gaze rest on Tara, but she spoke to Nettie. “Things started changing around here the first weekend of January, and they’ve just gotten better every week. Come with me, Nettie. We can hang your coat back here.”

  Kathy guided Nettie to the coatrack they’d tucked at the back of the media room, an area staged to showcase the bridal store’s ideas. Soon this would be a prom room, but for tonight, Truly had put together rolling media presentations on Donna’s big-screen TV to show aspiring business partners the potential of linking to the newly renovated and renamed Elena’s Weddings and Bridal, Inc.

  Tara watched Kathy take Nettie under her wing while she tried to digest this new information about Greg, but the arrival of the first guests took precedence. Smiling bridal servers emerged to take coats and offer refreshments to the local business partners.

  Compliments flowed. Conversation buzzed. And about thirty minutes in, Tara turned and spotted Greg, talking with a tall man in an expensive gray suit.

  Her heart fluttered, then sank.

  He’d made it. He’d come back in time for the gala. And there he was, talking to another suit without even saying hello to her.

  As I recall, you’ve given him the cold shoulder lately. Kind of rude, cupcake.

  Quick happiness turned into quicker self-recrimination. She turned when the wedding planner from a line of distinctive hotels asked about the newness of their program and projected success ratios.

  “While the specifics of this wedding program are new . . .”

  Tara’s heart went into overdrive as Greg answered the question from directly behind her. And when he put a firm hand on her waist?

  Total heart-spin.

  “Elena’s Bridal is steeped in a history of tradition and service. That was my mother’s goal from the beginning, and now?” He took a step forward, smiled down at Tara, and reached out to shake the hotel executive’s hand. “It’s ours.” He gave Tara and the scattered staff a look of approval. “I’m Greg Elizondo, the owner of Elena’s Weddings and Bridal.”

  “Good to meet you.” Several other industry professionals stepped up to meet Greg.

  Tara tried to slip away.

  His hand on her waist said he wasn’t letting go.

  She kept her smile in place and tried to wriggle free once more.

  Nope.

  Finally Greg held up a hand for Kathy’s attention. She raised an eyebrow. “Kathy, can we pause the music for just a moment?�
��

  “Of course.” She moved to the front desk and hit a switch.

  An expectant quiet descended over the crowded bridal room.

  Greg grabbed Tara’s hand and moved to one of the short, wide bridal stools in front of a triple mirror, designed to show the bride all aspects of her gown. “Ladies and gentlemen, forgive the interruption. I’ve just returned from New York. I arrived late, and I’m hoping to meet with every one of you this evening. But it seems I have some pressing business at hand, so if you’d indulge me a moment.” He went down on one knee and gazed up at Tara.

  Heat flooded her cheeks.

  Emotions roiled within her. And seeing Greg like this, ready to declare his love in front of all these people when he should have been courting their business and not her heart . . .

  It made Tara realize she would love him no matter where he lived.

  “Tara, this isn’t exactly how I envisioned this, but given the last two months, it’s most likely what we should get used to.”

  The truth of that made her smile.

  “Will you marry me, Tara Simonetti? Will you run my mother’s store with Kathy and the gang and live with me and grow old with me? And if God sends us a few cute kids, I’d be the happiest man on earth.”

  Marry him.

  Run Elena’s.

  Babies.

  The heat in her cheeks grew, but the warmth in her heart overflowed. “Yes, yes, and yes! But what about New York?” she whispered as he stood and withdrew a stunning marquise diamond from a velvet box.

  “We’ll visit there,” he promised, smiling. “But this is home. And if I have my way, it always will be.” He slipped the diamond onto her finger, gave her one last lingering kiss, then smiled. “And with all of these nice people counting on our new corporate enterprise”—he turned and gave the gathered professionals watching a wave of acknowledgment—“can I talk you into a quick wedding? Because while wedding planning is our business, I’m hoping we won’t have a whole lot of time to plan our own.”