How to Make a Wedding

by Cindy Kirk

  The pieces had started to fall into place the moment Ethan had told her about Connor. The short engagement. The private ceremony with only family and a few close friends.

  Hollis had said, “I told him that I was afraid of the future too.”

  Not afraid of commitment—afraid of the future.

  Had Connor been reluctant to marry Hollis because he was afraid his cancer would return?

  “Mac!” Grant snapped his fingers. “I need the story by two o’clock this afternoon.”

  “Okay.” Mac knew the deadline.

  But something was changing. The teenage Ethan of the charming smile and confident swagger, the Ethan who’d broken countless hearts and at least one promise, wasn’t the one Mac saw when she looked at him. Now she saw a man with a charming smile who wanted to make sure his little sister’s wedding day was everything she dreamed it would be.

  A man who had chosen to return to his hometown to practice medicine because he hadn’t liked the person he was becoming.

  The man she was falling for all over again.

  Mac’s cell phone buzzed, letting her know she had a new text message from Hollis. She was almost afraid to look at it.

  7 tonight. Don’t be late. List almost complete.

  Whatever was happening at Channing House that evening, Mac wouldn’t be able to include it in this week’s issue of the newspaper.

  She considered her options. Ignore Hollis’s text? Delete it? Pretend she hadn’t received it?

  Guilt nicked Mac’s conscience. It occurred to her that Hollis, a girl Mac had once regarded as shallow, had more courage than she did.

  The house was quiet when Mac unlocked the door. Snap didn’t even twitch when Mac stepped over him to read the note that Coach had left on the coffee table, telling her his men’s group had gone out for pizza.

  Her last and best excuse—cooking dinner for her dad—disappeared as quickly as the miniature cherry pies that filled Mrs. Sweet’s display case on Washington’s Birthday.

  Fine. She would go over to Channing House at 7 p.m. and be home by 7:15.

  Mac changed into jeans and a sweatshirt and grabbed her camera. When she reached the Channing property, she followed a ribbon of smoke to the fire pit.

  Hollis and Connor sat shoulder to shoulder on stumps from a dead tree Ethan had cut down, feeding pinecones and tiny sticks to the crackling fire.

  Had she made a mistake? Wrong time? Wrong place? Mac was just about to pull out her phone and read the message again when Hollis spotted her.

  “There you are!”

  “Hey, Mackenzie.” Connor waved her over. “Pull up a stump.”

  “Mom left for Chicago a few hours ago.” Hollis rested her cheek against Connor’s shoulder. “There were a few last-minute things she wanted to do before the wedding.”

  Mac was afraid to ask if Ethan had accompanied her.

  “I got your text.” She held up her camera. “What’s left on the wedding checklist?”

  “You thought . . .” Hollis chuckled. “Sorry. I guess I wasn’t very clear. I wasn’t talking about the wedding checklist. I was talking about ours. My fiancé is going to learn the art of roasting the perfect marshmallow tonight.”

  Connor looped his arm around Hollis’s slim shoulders. “It’s number nine.”

  The list. Mac had overheard Lilah complaining about Hollis and Connor spending more time “gallivanting around” than on the details of the wedding, but after Ethan’s stunning disclosure, the couple’s other list made sense too.

  “But . . .” Mac didn’t know another way to say it. “What do you need me for?”

  “You’ve been working so hard, we thought you might like a break,” Hollis said. “Have some fun. You can even take part in our marshmallow roasting competition.”

  Connor looked at Hollis in mock dismay. “You didn’t say anything about a competition.”

  “You’re marrying a Channing. It’s kind of a given.” A husky, masculine voice raised goose bumps on Mac’s arms.

  Without turning around, she knew which wedding guest hadn’t left town.

  “Now that we know who the champion marshmallow roaster is”—Hollis waved her marshmallow stick in the air and performed a little victory dance—“Connor and I are going for a walk.”

  Over the campfire, Ethan saw Mac’s deer-in-the-headlights look as his sister dragged her fiancé to his feet.

  “But—”

  “You and Ethan can keep the fire going!”

  Uh-huh. Ethan had suspected Hollis was up to something.

  He’d mentioned earlier that he was going to drive into town and take a quick walk-through at the clinic, but Hollis had complained he would miss out on their last chance to have a campfire. She hadn’t told him that Mac would be there too.

  Not that he was complaining. With all the prewedding commotion, it had been impossible to get Mac alone over the past few days.

  “Number ten.” Connor slipped his arm around Hollis’s waist. “Kissing the woman I love under a full moon.”

  Ethan looked up at the overcast sky. “You can’t see the moon tonight.”

  “I’ll settle for one out of two.”

  The look that passed between the couple could have roasted another marshmallow.

  When they were out of sight, Ethan tossed another log on the fire, sending a shower of sparks into the air.

  A warm breeze drifted across the lake, and Mac seemed pensive as she fanned out her fingers over the flames. “Connor . . . what kind of cancer was it?”

  “Non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma.” The words unfurled with Ethan’s sigh. “His last round of chemo was two years ago.”

  “You didn’t recognize Connor when he came into the ER?”

  “I’m not exactly up on that kind of stuff . . . and the trailers for his movie were just starting to come out. Hollis knew who Connor was when I introduced them at the hospital fund-raiser, but no one else did. I’d invited Connor as a friend, not a celebrity guest.”

  “Had the cancer returned?”

  Ethan’s hesitation sent a prickle of fear skating down Mac’s spine. “No, it turned out to be a virus. But he’s been feeling tired lately so his oncologist at Mayo scheduled some tests last week.”

  “That’s why you offered to help with the wedding plans.”

  Ethan nodded. “Connor’s numbers look good . . . but there’s always a chance the cancer will come back. He tried to talk Hollis into waiting another year, until he was officially in remission, but she agreed to a compromise.”

  “What was that?”

  “Two weeks.”

  “Hollis mentioned it was a short engagement.”

  “I think they might have set some kind of record.” Ethan ground out a stray spark that landed in the grass.

  “Are you . . . worried?”

  “I’m envious,” Ethan said. “And, to be honest, slightly nauseated.”

  Mac laughed. “I know what you mean. When they look at each other, it’s like everything else disappears.”

  Caught up in the magic that was Mackenzie’s laugh, Ethan met her eyes across the fire and everything . . . disappeared.

  A log shifted, breaking the spell, and Mac stumbled to her feet. “I should go home.”

  “I’ll walk with you.”

  “I know the way.”

  “Coach would order a hundred crunches if he knew I let you walk home in the dark.” Ethan ignored the exasperated look Mac cast in his direction and fell into step beside her.

  “The yard is going to look beautiful on Saturday.” Mac stopped along the path to admire one of the newly transplanted rosebushes.

  “Mom declared war against beetles in her garden. She’s also pulling weeds before they come out of the ground.”

  “She did all this?”

  “I think it was therapeutic. Beetles and weeds can’t talk back.”

  “Your mom hasn’t been too demanding.” Mac nudged his ribs. “I think she’s catching the vision of a rustic outdoor wedding.”<
br />
  “Because of you.”

  “Me?” Mac turned to stare at him.

  “You can’t deny it was pure genius,” Ethan mused. “Using the words rustic chic to describe the decorations.”

  But the way Mac was staring at him—as if he’d lost his mind—told Ethan that she didn’t realize what she’d done.

  Nature, left alone, was unpredictable and messy, but if it was incorporated into a theme, well, his mother could work with that. It had made the last few days go much more smoothly for Hollis and Connor.

  “You’re amazing, Mackenzie.” And Ethan had a feeling that everyone knew it but her.

  “I’m just . . . me.”

  The clouds suddenly parted, and Ethan laughed as a band of moonlight illuminated the gazebo on the hill. Mac was ten feet away before Ethan realized she’d thought the laughter was directed at her.

  “Wait!” He caught up to Mac before she reached the trees. “Look up.”

  Mac tipped her face toward the sky and Ethan’s eyes skimmed over the smooth contour of her brow, down her straight little nose with its dusting of freckles, and lingered on the plush curve of her lower lip.

  “Connor and Hollis’s full moon,” she said, laughing.

  “I’m sure we saw it first.”

  Mac’s laughter died when Ethan drew her slowly into the circle of his arms.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured.

  Looking into Mac’s velvet-brown eyes, Ethan could see she didn’t believe that, either.

  He’d just have to show her.

  Ethan tugged her closer and Mac’s breath rushed out, mingling with Ethan’s as he captured her lips.

  The night Ethan had taught her how to dance he’d kept a respectable distance between them. But now Mac could feel the rapid beat of his heart, the warmth of his hands on the small of her back.

  The kisses Mac had dared to imagine when she was fifteen were nothing compared to the reality of being held in Ethan’s arms.

  Over the past few days, Mac had tried to convince herself that what she felt for Ethan was nothing more than nostalgia. The embers of a schoolgirl crush she’d had on the boy next door.

  But as Ethan deepened the kiss, Mac wasn’t thinking about the past. She wasn’t thinking about dances and football games and all the times she’d been tongue-tied and blushing in Ethan’s presence.

  She was thinking this was a man she could spend the rest of her life with . . .

  Lost in the kiss, Mac didn’t hear Hollis calling Ethan’s name until she stumbled out of the shadows. The panic in Hollis’s voice split them apart.

  Ethan was at her side in an instant. “What’s wrong?”

  “Brenda, Connor’s agent, called a few minutes ago.” Hollis sagged against him. “Someone from a newspaper contacted her and asked if she could confirm that the reason we decided to get married so quickly was because Connor . . . Connor isn’t expected to live very long.”

  “What? How did that get out?”

  “I don’t know, but Brenda told Connor not to talk to the media until she figures out the best way to handle the situation.”

  “It’ll be okay, Hollis.”

  “This is why Connor wants to keep his professional and personal lives separate. He knows the media is always looking for a story that will grab people’s attention. They don’t necessarily care if it’s the truth.”

  Ethan was no longer looking at Hollis . . . He was looking at her.

  He didn’t think . . .

  Mac instinctively took a step backward. “I should go.” Her throat started to close. “So you can talk to Connor.”

  “Mac—”

  Mac didn’t wait to hear what Ethan had to say. Because his expression had said it all.

  Mac caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror as she finished getting ready for work the next morning and winced. Now she understood why most women took the time to apply makeup. Right now she could have used something to hide the lavender shadows under her eyes.

  She could call Grant and tell him that she was sick. Under the circumstances, it wouldn’t be a lie . . .

  “Sweetheart?” Coach’s voice floated up the stairs. “You have company.”

  Mac’s stomach turned a slow cartwheel. “I’ll be right down.”

  She wove her hair into a loose braid and padded downstairs. Cast a longing look at the door before she followed her dad’s cheerful baritone to the kitchen.

  Hollis sat at the table, sipping hot chocolate from the lopsided cup Mac had made at summer camp when she was in fifth grade. Connor stood at her shoulder, the smile absent from his eyes.

  The fact that Ethan wasn’t with them added to the weight pressing down on Mac’s chest.

  “I’m going to take Snap for his morning walk.” Coach set a cup of hot chocolate on the table across from Hollis before he left the room.

  Mac didn’t know whether to sit or stand. And for someone who made her living stringing words together, she had no idea what to say.

  Connor’s ragged sigh broke the silence as he pulled out a chair and sat down next to Hollis. “Ethan told you how we met—”

  “Yes, but I wasn’t the one who leaked the story,” Mac interrupted. “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “What . . . of course you wouldn’t.” Hollis looked stunned by the suggestion. “Why do you think I was so happy you were doing the interview? When you were on the high school newspaper, you had a reputation for being honest but fair”—she smiled—“even if you didn’t particularly like the person you had to interview.”

  Mac managed to smile back.

  “We came to ask for your help,” Connor said.

  “My help?”

  “I told my agent about the cancer when I signed with her, but the opportunity to audition for the movie came up a few months after I’d finished treatment.

  “Maybe it was pride, but I didn’t want anyone to know about it because I was afraid it would become my identity. That’s Connor Blake. He’s the actor who had cancer. Brenda was more afraid that it might jeopardize future contracts. I could be considered a risk because I’m not technically in remission yet.”

  “The media has a way of twisting things, so we want to shut the rumors down as soon as possible,” Hollis said. “And the only way to do that is to let people know the truth.”

  Mac realized they were both looking at her expectantly. “You want me to write the story?”

  Connor flashed a smile that Mac knew would be on the cover of every entertainment magazine in a few months. “Mackenzie Davis is the only person I would consider sitting down with for an interview.”

  An exclusive.

  Mac swallowed hard. “I’m honored—”

  “Great.” Connor folded his hands behind his head. “Then let’s get started.”

  “You want me to interview you now?” Forget the hot chocolate. Mac needed a cup of coffee.

  “I’ve got other things on my mind. In two days we’ll be getting married.” Connor waggled his eyebrows at Hollis. “And leaving for our honeymoon.”

  “Men.” Hollis rolled her eyes. “Where do we start, Mac?”

  “We start by deciding what social media outlet you want to use.”

  “You decide.” Connor shrugged. “Make it count, though. I only want to do this once.”

  “And I get to see the photographs first.” Hollis lifted her chin. “Just to make sure you got my best side.”

  Mac could feel the tension slipping away. “I will.”

  “Speaking of best sides . . .” Hollis leaned forward. “You don’t look so good. Your eyes are all red-rimmed and puffy.”

  “So are yours.”

  “Betty at the Clip and Curl can work miracles.” Mischief lit Hollis’s eyes. “She’ll even do your nails.”

  “I’d rather eat a minnow.”

  They burst out laughing.

  Connor’s gaze bounced between them. “Should I even ask?”

  Hollis rested her cheek against his shoulder. “In
side joke, honey.”

  “Got it.” Connor smiled at Mac. “So . . . what’s your first question?”

  Mac asked the first one that popped into her head. “Does Ethan know you asked me to write the story?”

  “Know?” Connor repeated. “It was his idea.”

  By Saturday morning, Hollis’s wedding day, Ethan was convinced that suggesting Mac write Connor’s story was the most idiotic idea he’d ever come up with.

  “The media is always looking for a story that will grab people’s attention,” Hollis had said. “They don’t necessarily care if it’s the truth.”

  Ethan realized they could have both. Mac could help his sister and future brother-in-law—and have a shot at her dream job.

  He’d had a long conversation with Connor and Hollis after Mac had disappeared, but it hadn’t taken long for them to see the wisdom of choosing who would tell Connor’s story. The fact they’d immediately agreed it should be Mac was a testimony to her character, not his powers of persuasion.

  Because what Ethan really wanted to do was persuade Mac to stay in Red Leaf.

  His mother breezed into the study, wearing the designer dress she’d purchased for the wedding. “The idea is to pin the boutonniere to your lapel, not your thumb. Now give me that poor flower before you turn it into potpourri.”

  Ethan handed it over. “How’s Hollis doing?”

  “She’s crying,” she said matter-of-factly as she anchored the single red rosebud in place. “But that’s normal for a bride on her wedding day.”

  “And the bride’s mother?” Ethan saw the telltale sheen in his mother’s eyes.

  “The pollen is absolutely wretched this time of year.” She stepped back to survey her handiwork. “You’re as handsome as your father . . . and just as stubborn, I might add. I—”

  “Mom.” Ethan didn’t want to revisit his decision to move to Red Leaf. Not on Hollis’s wedding day. “Can we talk about this later?”

  “Ethan Monroe Channing, please don’t interrupt me when I’m speaking.”

  “Sorry,” Ethan muttered.

  “I was going to say it was one of the things I loved about your father,” his mom said softly. “When he accepted the job in Red Leaf after medical school, I thought it would be temporary, just a few years until he got some experience. But your father loved Red Leaf. He loved the people and the slower pace of life in a small town. I think he even liked the snow. To ask him to give it up . . . it would have been like asking him to cut off a limb.”