How to Make a Wedding

by Cindy Kirk

  “Maybe,” Ash said. “Or maybe not.”

  Amber stuck out her tongue at him. “I’m trying to help. I still feel awful for what I did.”

  “Don’t. This is nobody’s fault but mine. Jenna and I were in no position to make a marriage work two years ago. Not the way God intended.” He kissed Amber’s forehead. “Go find Toby so you can start your honeymoon.”

  She walked away. Her gown swooshed with each step. His little sister was a married woman, a wife.

  Ash should get used to being a confirmed bachelor. The only woman he wanted didn’t want him.

  He saw Jenna standing on the other side of the room and joined her. “Toby was correct. You are the right photographer for this wedding.”

  Jenna fiddled with her camera. “Thanks.”

  Ash wanted so much more than her gratitude. He wanted a second—make that third—chance. “Jenna—”

  “I’ll e-mail a link when the proofs are ready.” Her tone was polite, measured. “Amber and Toby are getting ready to leave. I need to photograph their exit.”

  Always the professional. Ash wouldn’t stand in her way. “Go.”

  What was he going to say, anyway? I’m sorry? Forgive me again? He hadn’t a clue what to do. But maybe God would know. Ash closed his eyes, and for the first time in a long while he prayed, a heartfelt prayer of thanksgiving and gratitude for all he had, and a petition for what he didn’t have. But he realized that wasn’t right, and instead he prayed that God’s will be done for him, for his family, and for Jenna.

  The sun dipped below the horizon. White lights twinkled in the darkness, illuminating trees and the gazebo at the Sweetwater Country Club. Jenna stood off to the side where she had a panoramic view of the bride and groom’s exit.

  A lively song played over the speakers. Amber and Toby danced their way to a waiting limousine. Laughing guests blew bubbles at the happy couple.

  Jenna captured the departure with more pictures than she could count. Her job was finished, and she couldn’t be happier with the photographs she’d taken or more relieved to know she could finally go home. She’d negotiated a tightrope of emotions today. Each time she saw Ash she thought she might fall, but she hadn’t.

  Thank you, Lord.

  In the hallway outside the ballroom, Jenna packed up her gear, everything from lighting to the photo booth props she’d set out during the reception.

  Guests exited the ballroom with their favors—white boxes containing lavender-infused jam, lavender-infused honey, and a lavender satchel. All three items were made by Toby’s mother, a woman who reminded Jenna of her own mom.

  She wanted to hear a friendly voice, but with the threehour time difference she’d have to wait until tomorrow. Maybe she could still catch Colton.

  “Long day.”

  Ash. The one voice Jenna didn’t want to hear. Friendly, yes, but the sound made her nerve endings twitch. She placed the lens in its protective case. “Weddings usually are.”

  “I see why your parents suggested eloping.”

  Her fingers trembled. She tightened her grip on the lens case. She didn’t want to look at him. “Makes sense for certain situations, but if every couple eloped I’d be out of a job.”

  He handed her a small, square, gold box. “This is for you.”

  “You’re paying me. You didn’t have to buy a gift too.”

  “Open it.”

  His firm tone surprised her. She lifted off the top, then removed a small piece of white padding. A silver charm—a frame similar to the ones she used with her photo booth props—was inside.

  His thoughtfulness tugged at her heart. “So pretty. Thanks.”

  “The back is engraved.”

  She looked up at him, noticed his intense gaze. “You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble. I’m just doing my job.”

  “I wanted you to have this.”

  She flipped over the frame. Words were etched into the sides: Jenna and Ashton on the top, June 22, 2013, on the right side, A Picture Perfect Love on the bottom, and 1 Cor. 13:4–7 on the left side.

  She reread the date. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. She tried again. “That was going to be our wedding date.”

  “This was your wedding present.”

  “You kept it?”

  “Every time I thought about throwing away the box, I couldn’t. I want you to have it. To see that even if I wasn’t completely solid in my intentions, I did care two years ago. I still care about you.”

  Air rushed out of her lungs. Nerve endings tingled. She prayed for strength.

  “A picture perfect love says it all,” he continued. “That’s what I thought we had the first time around, but I was wrong. The only perfect things are the photographs you take and hang on your studio walls, but whether the poses are orchestrated or candid, they aren’t real. Real love can be messy. Mistakes are made. But no matter what, the love remains. As His does with us. Mine has with you.”

  His sincerity brought tears to her eyes. “Ash . . .”

  He held her hand. “You want someone to believe in you and trust you. I’ve failed you twice when it counted most. Pride blinded me to the truth. But that doesn’t change the love I feel for you. It’s far from perfect, like me, but if you’ll give me another chance, I’m committed to you and a future together. What we have is special. I won’t let my pride or my father or anything else get in the way. I will stand by you, no matter what. You’re the woman I want next to me at the altar because I can’t imagine life without you in it.”

  Jenna wanted to believe. She forced herself to breathe.

  He continued, “Whether you forgive me or not, keep this frame to remind you that love is the most important thing. I realize that, thanks to you. Real love, mind you, not the glossy wedding-day love. You deserve unconditional love. An everlasting love, not one that just looks good in a frame.”

  Her trembling hand clutched the charm against her heart. “Thank you for the present and your words. You made mistakes, but so did I. Seems like both our hearts needed to refocus. I may have forgiven you, but it wasn’t sincere. I hadn’t forgotten what happened. I kept dwelling on what could go wrong. But I’m letting all that go. God has humbled me with your gift. I forgive you. I hope you forgive me.”

  “Always.” Ash’s gaze locked on hers. “I love you, Jenna. Truly love you. That much I have learned from all of this.”

  Joy overflowed from her heart. “I love you.”

  He lowered his mouth to hers. She gave in to the kiss, feeling as if she’d come home. The gentle kiss spoke of possibilities and the future.

  Their future.

  She backed away. “We have to go slow. Do it right.”

  “I agree. We have the rest of our lives to be together. Let’s build a solid foundation that will last for the next fifty or sixty years.”

  Jenna sighed. “I like the sound of that.”

  “Me too. And I know what should come first.” He pulled out his cell phone and held it out in front of them. “Smile.”

  “A selfie?”

  “You’ll see.” The phone clicked, capturing the photo. He typed on his screen.

  She peered over his shoulder, but he wouldn’t let her see. “What are you doing?”

  “Just a minute.” He showed her his phone. “What do you think?”

  He’d uploaded the selfie to a social media account with the following caption: Back together again. This time for good.

  Love swelled inside Jenna. Her patience to see what God had planned had paid off. She brushed her lips across Ash’s. “That’s about as perfect as it gets.”

  THE END

  Melissa McClone has always been a fan of fairy tales and “happily ever afters.” She holds a degree in mechanical engineering from Stanford University but eventually decided to follow her dream and write full-time. She lives in Washington with her real-life hero husband, two daughters, indoor cats, and a forty-eight-pound Norwegian Elkhound who thinks she's a lap dog. She also loves to ski, rock cl
imb, and read.

  VISIT HER ONLINE AT WWW.MELISSAMCCLONE.COM.

  TWITTER: @MELISSAMCCLONE

  FACEBOOK: MELISSA MCCLONE

  To the One who causes His children to take up their tambourines and go forth to the dances of the merrymakers.

  —JEREMIAH 31:4

  Summers were made for weddings. Skye Foster had believed that for the past twenty years—ever since she was six and a guest at a distant cousin’s wedding. This July she would have a small part to play in the wedding of Charity Anderson and Buck Malone. A wedding Skye knew would be the most beautiful and romantic ever held in Kings Meadow.

  When she closed her eyes, she could imagine it perfectly. The couple, standing in the gazebo with pastor, bridesmaids, and groomsmen, repeating their vows in the golden glow of an Idaho summer morning. The bride in white satin and lace, and the groom in a coat and tails. White folding chairs set up in the park, filled with friends and family. Women dabbing their eyes with tissues. The cutting of the many-layered cake. The music. The dancing.

  Ah, yes. As far as she was concerned, no wedding was complete without dancing.

  She imagined the band playing a romantic country waltz. She imagined herself stepping into the arms of a tall, lanky cowboy, feeling the warmth of his hand as it closed around hers. She imagined moving around the dance floor, the fluttering of her heart in time with their steps.

  It was all so romantic.

  Taking a deep breath, she tilted her head back and mentally tried to see the face of the cowboy who turned her around the floor with such expertise. But here, at last, her imagination failed her. In her daydream, there was nothing but shadows beneath the brim of his Stetson.

  She released a sigh and opened her eyes again. It was hard to envision a romance when she didn’t even have a boyfriend. At the rate she was going, she would never get to plan a wedding of her own. But that didn’t stop her from wishing for it. Only now was not the time.

  With another sigh, she set aside the latest issue of Brides magazine that had come in the mail, grabbed the keys to her truck, and left the house.

  First stop on her agenda was the Clippity Do-Da Hair Salon. It was time for a trim. Her mother, Midge—the owner of the salon—would plead with Skye, as usual, to let her try something different. And Skye would, as usual, refuse her. Long and straight was her style. She liked it and wasn’t about to change it.

  Next up she had an appointment to meet the vet at the pasture where she kept her two horses, Snickers and Milky Way. Snickers had started limping a few days ago and didn’t seem to be improving, even with rest and the use of liniment. Skye hoped it wasn’t serious. The gelding was the best barrel-racing horse she’d ever owned—there’d been five over the years. He’d made her the queen of more than one rodeo by the time she turned twenty. Snickers had more heart than stamina these days, but that didn’t matter to Skye. She loved him to pieces.

  It took only minutes to drive to the east edge of town. On a Wednesday afternoon Skye was able to park on the street right in front of the salon. As she got out of the pickup, high-pitched voices called her name. She looked toward the corner and saw two teenage girls, books in their arms, apparently headed for the library. She knew them, of course, just as she knew almost everyone else in Kings Meadow. Krista and Sharon Malone, daughters of the high school principal.

  “Hey!” she called back with a wave of her hand.

  The girls moved on out of sight, and Skye pushed open the door to the salon, a tiny bell ringing above her head. The main room—smelling of perm solution and fruity shampoo—was completely empty. No stylists. No customers.

  Her mom looked out from the stockroom. “Skye! Is it that time already? Gracious. I thought I would have my inventory done before you got here.”

  “Where is everybody?”

  “Slow day. Lori doesn’t work most Wednesdays, and Becca finished with her last client an hour ago, so she went home. When I’m done with you, I’m doing the same thing.” She took a cape from a drawer and snapped it in the air, draping it around Skye as soon as she was in the chair. “What are we doing today?”

  “Just trim the ends and shape my bangs.”

  “How much off?” Her mom lifted a segment of hair.

  Skye swallowed a smile, knowing what was about to come. “An inch. No more.”

  “Are you sure?” Her mom placed her fingers, like a pair of scissors, up a good six inches from the ends. “Because I think if we—”

  “I don’t want short hair, Mom, and you aren’t going to change my mind.”

  Her mom met her gaze in the mirror. “Don’t you get tired of it always looking the same? You’ve had the same look since you were twelve, when you wouldn’t let me braid it anymore.”

  “I haven’t always had bangs.”

  Her mom groaned in frustration. “I give up.”

  Skye laughed. “I wish I believed that.”

  “Can I at least wash it for you?”

  “I’m kinda in a hurry. I’ve got to meet Dr. Parry at the pasture. He’s taking a look at Snickers’s leg, and then I have to get home to shower and change and have a bite to eat before it’s time for my adult class. I’m teaching them the two-step tonight.”

  “How many couples have you got coming?” Her mom picked up the scissors and began trimming away the split ends.

  “Four couples. They’ve been a great group. I’m having a lot of fun with them.” She drew in a deep breath. “And next week I begin giving private lessons to the Anderson-Malone wedding-party members.”

  “Already?” Her mom’s eyes widened as she met Skye’s gaze in the mirror again.

  “It’s less than two months until the wedding. That’s hardly any time at all.”

  “Seems like yesterday when you wondered if Buck Malone might be interested in you.”

  Skye almost shook her head, but remembered in time to stay still. “That was last summer. Almost a year. Besides, he’d already fallen hard for Charity, so I was way wrong.”

  “You never minded, did you?”

  “Not even a little. And when you see Charity and Buck together, you know they were meant for each other.”

  Her mom gave her a smile of encouragement. “You’ll meet somebody too. You’re still young, honey. You’ve got lots of time.”

  Skye didn’t say so, but she’d begun to feel her biological clock ticking. If she only wanted one or two kids, it wouldn’t matter so much, but she had her heart set on a half dozen babies. Minimum. She’d always wanted to be part of a big family. Since her parents had chosen not to give her lots of siblings—only an older brother and sister—she intended to create that large family for herself. With the help of that still-elusive husband.

  “Close your eyes,” her mom said. As soon as Skye obeyed, her mom took the scissors to her bangs, leaving them long but giving them shape. Snip. Snip. Snip. “All right. You’re done. Hardly worth the time of coming into the salon, far as I can tell.”

  Skye laughed. “You wouldn’t want me cutting my own hair, would you?”

  “Heaven forbid! Remember what you did when you were five?”

  “Yeah, but like you said, I was five.” As soon as the cape was off, Skye stood and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek. “Love you, Mom.”

  “I love you, too, baby girl. I hope Snickers is all right.”

  “Thanks. I’ll let you know.”

  She stepped outside a few moments later, intent on getting over to the pasture before the vet. So intent was she that she almost mowed down an unexpected passerby on the sidewalk.

  “Whoa, there,” a deep voice said. Strong hands gripped her upper arms and steadied her.

  Skye looked up into the face of a stranger. He was rugged looking with a bit of mischief in his blue-green eyes and one of those I-haven’t-shaved-for-a-few-days beards that she liked on cowboys. He wasn’t movie-star handsome, but there was something about his looks that made her heart behave erratically.

  Who is this guy?

  “Sorry,
miss.” Grant Nichols released his hold on the young woman’s arms and took a step back. “Hope I didn’t hurt you.”

  She shook her head, and her straight black hair waved across her narrow shoulders.

  “Maybe you can help me. Is there a dance studio around here?”

  Her eyes widened. Big, brown, doe-like eyes. “Yes.” She pointed. “Around that corner and to the right.”

  “Thanks.”

  “But it’s closed now.”

  He almost said a curse word but managed to swallow it. The BC Grant—the Before Christ version—had cursed all the time. Breaking himself of that habit had been tough. It was just one of the reasons he’d kept to himself most of the time since arriving in Kings Meadow. God had delivered him of other bad habits, but the impulse to swear had hung on for dear life for the past four years.

  “Maybe I can help you,” she added, watching him closely. “I’m the owner of the studio.”

  Every other thought fled. “You’re Skye Foster? Just the gal I’m supposed to see. I’m Grant Nichols. One of Buck Malone’s groomsmen. He told me to talk to you about those lessons you’re giving the wedding party.”

  “Oh. Of course. I recognize your name, but we’ve never actually met. Have we?”

  “No, we haven’t.” And I’m sure sorry about that.

  “Well, it’s nice to meet you now. As for the lessons, they’ll start next week. We’ll meet every Tuesday night until the wedding.”

  “That’s my first problem. I work on Tuesday nights. Buck thought you and I might be able to work out a different schedule for me.”

  “I suppose I could do that.” She tipped her head slightly to one side. “But if that’s your first problem, what’s your second?”

  “Miss Foster, I’ve got two left feet.”

  She laughed.

  Man, what a smile. Perhaps he’d been too successful at keeping himself separate from the general population if her smile was what he’d been missing.

  “I’m sure that’s not true, Mr. Nichols. Anybody can learn to dance.”