How to Make a Wedding

by Cindy Kirk

  Along with the opportunity to prove to herself that she had what it took to resist the wiles of handsome, charming—and unavailable—men.

  “I’m sorry you had to see that.” Will waited until the bakery door swung shut behind Adam and his crazy fiancée before he apologized to Charlotte, who now leaned against the counter as if it were the sole thing keeping her on her feet.

  Not surprising. In the six months since Adam proposed, he had seen Brittany lay out enough emotion for ten brides. Just watching her was completely exhausting. “I warned you a minute ago that you might regret meeting me.”

  Of course, that was when he thought he was simply apologizing in advance for Brittany’s erratic behavior. Now he’d been shanghaied into this wedding cake task for his best friend’s wedding. A wedding he barely had time to even attend, much less perform a starring role in.

  But he and Adam went way back, and if he’d learned one thing from his time in the army, it was that duty ruled. He owed it to his friend to be at his side during his wedding.

  After that, the dude was on his own.

  Will shuddered at the idea of being stuck with someone like Brittany, day in and day out. No thanks. He’d been with his share of selfish, vain girls over the years, living the illusive frat-boy dream, and he was done with that life. Melissa had seen to that. He sobered immediately at the thought of her.

  Charlotte smiled, as sweetly as always, her cheeks a rosy pink. In fact, they were always pink, as if permanently flushed from the warmth of the bakery. The sight of it melted a bit of his stress. “No worries.” She shrugged. “It’s good business.”

  Business. Right. He should remember that’s all it was, too, though something about Charlotte’s electric blue eyes and chestnut-brown hair made him want more snickerdoodles. As in, every day, til death do us part.

  He shook his head as the phrase took hold in his mind. He’d apparently been around Adam and Brittany’s wedding planning way too long. He was not the marrying type. They hadn’t called him Free Willy all through college for nothing.

  It was still true. Just now for an entirely different reason.

  He winced. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

  She shrugged. “I deal with difficult brides all the time, it’s nothing new.”

  Oh. He meant his strong reaction to Charlotte, but yeah, that too. He struggled to clear his head. The scent of cinnamon and sugar was getting to him, making him soft. He didn’t have time for anyone, even someone as sweet as Charlotte. He had more duties than just Adam’s wedding to attend to, and he wouldn’t make the mistake of putting Melissa last—ever again.

  In fact, he should probably get moving. She’d be expecting her cookies.

  “I’d better go.” He took the bakery box from the counter and then held up his left wrist bearing his favorite waterproof watch. “But I’ll be back.”

  “Right. Next Tuesday, at 5:40?” Charlotte stopped, her pink cheeks now a fiery crimson.

  She knew his schedule. Habit from the military—he liked patterns and routine—but he never thought she’d notice. “No, actually, I meant sooner. To discuss the cakes and whatever else Brittany wants for all these wedding parties.” He never understood the point of showers, anyway. Didn’t people just bring gifts to the actual ceremony?

  Melissa had never made it to hers. He tightened his grip on the box.

  “Oh, of course.” Charlotte, still crimson-faced, nodded furiously. “Right. Sooner, then. Tomorrow, maybe?”

  Tomorrow. He’d promised Melissa he’d take her out, but maybe he could come by afterward. It had to get done, like it or not. Brittany would kill him otherwise—and after surviving ten years of service including several year-long deployments, he really didn’t want to go out because of a five-foot-two woman with a grudge.

  Still, the prospect of working with Charlotte made the whole dessert-planning responsibility seem like much less of a chore.

  “Tomorrow sounds good.” Too good, unfortunately. He didn’t have time for this. Didn’t have the right to enjoy it.

  But he did a little bit, anyway.

  “So tell me. How did buying snickerdoodles turn you into a wedding planner?” Melissa shook her head—silky dark hair swinging below her chin—and laughed, that easy, musical laughter that used to come so easily. The laugh reminiscent of a few years ago, before life got so complicated. Before everything changed because of one rainy night and one bad decision on his part.

  Will reached forward and tucked the blanket tighter around Melissa’s feet, covering her toes that peeked out from under the edge of the fringed quilt. Sitting with her here, both of them on the couch, surrounded by pillows and snacks, almost made him forget she was paralyzed.

  Almost.

  The wheelchair by the edge of the sofa was a stark reminder, as was the lower placement of the light switches on the wall and the ramp he’d built to the front door.

  “Not the wedding.” Knock on wood. Just let Adam get that idea next. He definitely didn’t need his best friend getting any crazy matchmaking schemes. “Only the wedding cake.” And the other prewedding events, which apparently involved even more desserts, but he wouldn’t think of all that yet. Charlotte could help figure that out . . .

  “You know the cake is like the secondary star of the show, right? Next to the dress.” Melissa nibbled another bite of her cookie, then pulled it away and studied it. “Are you trying to make me fat, by the way? It’s not like I can go jog this puppy off my hips.”

  She grinned, her bright green eyes twinkling, but Will was reminded once again that her handicap still bothered him a lot more than it bothered her.

  But that’s because she didn’t have the guilt of it weighing on her shoulders, a constant shadow by day and heavy ache by night. He shifted on the couch, simultaneously glad she could joke about it but wishing she wouldn’t. It was awkward. It hurt.

  He couldn’t fix it.

  Growing up, he’d fixed all of Melissa’s problems. That’s what a big brother should do. Broken doll? Superglue. Friend mad at her? Make prank phone calls. Boyfriend trouble? Fistfight in the parking lot. It was always easy.

  But this . . .

  He tried to shake it off. “Whatever. You weigh, what? A hundred and ten pounds? Your weekly snickerdoodles aren’t going to hurt.” His sister was tiny. He’d always been able to throw her over his shoulder whenever he wanted.

  Well, until the last two years, anyway.

  “Will. Come on, now. Stop it.” Melissa’s voice, so much like their late mother’s, softly pulled him back from the brink. “I think this wedding will be good for you. You need to do . . . stuff. Things. Anything, really.” She reached over and squeezed his hand, just like she did that time they went to the state fair when she was five and she was afraid she’d get lost. Like she did during that scary movie he’d talked her into seeing in the theater six Halloweens ago. Like she did at their mother’s funeral.

  Like she’d done when he stood by her hospital bed after the accident.

  “You’re turning into a hermit.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “And it’s not flattering.”

  “Hey now, enough with the insults.” But inside, he was just grateful she still had a sense of humor. She could call him anything she wanted and he’d embroider it on a pillow. What Melissa wanted, Melissa got. It was his job to see that happen.

  Which was precisely why he didn’t have time for this wedding, or anything else that didn’t involve paying the bills and making sure Melissa had everything she needed.

  “Maybe not a hermit. But you’re heading toward antisocial at best. It’s not healthy.” She settled back against her nest of pillows. “You don’t even work anymore. Besides part-time personal training.”

  “I just do that to kill time until I decide what’s next.” Will had cut back to reserves after Melissa’s accident, so he could be around when she needed him. Thankfully, he’d been wise with his finances over the years and had been blessed with some good moves in the stock
market. He could afford to take a breath for right now.

  “It’s time for next, Will.” Her eyes dared him to argue, and he wouldn’t. But inside, he was yelling protests. It wasn’t her decision to make. He wasn’t ready.

  “You’ve given up all your hobbies besides working out too.”

  “No, I haven’t.” Man, when did cookie time turn into lecture time? “I still watch movies with you. And watch you make those crafty thingies you sell online. And I run.” He straightened, shoving his hair back, then smoothing it flat again. He couldn’t get too agitated. This was Melissa. She’d see right through it, anyway.

  “Like I said, besides working out or wasting time being lazy with me.” She tilted her head. “When was the last time you went hunting? Or cooked?”

  “Spaghetti—for you—two nights ago. Was it that forgettable?”

  Melissa snorted. “I mean really cooked. Your famous gumbo recipe, for example. Or that barbeque quiche you made for Mother’s Day a few years ago. Or that awesome fried mac and cheese you used to make on my birthday.”

  It was pretty awesome. He even put bacon in it—and ground venison. But he couldn’t cook anymore. It reminded him of his life before the accident, before everything changed forever. Reminded him of Mom.

  Of how he’d failed them both.

  “I don’t have time right now for any of that.” Straight-up lie. He had nothing but time.

  Thankfully, Melissa got the hint and didn’t push it any further. “Well, who knows? Maybe you’ll meet someone at Adam’s wedding.” She wiggled her eyebrows up and down in anticipation, and Will’s stomach tightened. He’d rather go back to the previous lecture than start this particular new one.

  “You know that’s not going to happen.” An image of Charlotte in her apron flashed through his mind, and he shook his head to clear it. No. It wouldn’t happen. Couldn’t.

  Melissa snorted. “You might be a hermit, but you’re still good-looking. It’ll happen eventually.”

  He smiled to pacify her, but no. He couldn’t take any more time away from his sister. And what woman would understand his responsibility toward her? A girlfriend, or wife, was just a complicated mess waiting to happen. His duty was here.

  Always the baker, never the bride.

  She ought to needlepoint that and hang it on the wall.

  “Mommy?”

  Her five-year-old daughter’s tiny voice barely registered above the electronic beeping of her handheld game. Zoe accompanied her to The Dough Knot every Saturday morning and alternated between “helping” mix batter, playing games, and reading books under the high stainless-steel counter in the kitchen.

  Right now, though, she sat at one of the tables in the vacant dining area, driving Charlotte semicrazy with her endless random questions. The elderly couple who had just left with their weekend brownies had found it adorable.

  Charlotte half wished she could ask them to babysit.

  “Yes, Zoe?” She tried to keep the impatience out of her tone. Usually, Charlotte loved their weekends together, but this particular Saturday was different.

  She turned from putting the last few rose petals on the layered strawberry cake she had baked that morning, already boxed up for delivery. If she had a dime for every fake flower petal she had ever created out of icing or fondant, she could probably fund her own wedding.

  Not that there was a groom in sight.

  Zoe’s voice finally registered through her drifting thoughts. “Mommy, can I have a cookie?”

  “Have you already had one today?” She couldn’t remember in the Saturday rush if she’d given one to Zoe with her ham sandwich for lunch.

  “No.”

  “Look me in the eyes, Zoe.” Charlotte looked up from her piping bag long enough to lock gazes with her daughter across the room. Used to the drill, Zoe stared back, wide-eyed, open, honest. Sincere.

  Eyes didn’t lie.

  “Okay, you may have just one.”

  “Chocolate chip?”

  Charlotte smiled. “What else? It’s your favorite.”

  Zoe scrambled out of her seat and hurried to claim her prize. Charlotte snagged a chocolate-chip cookie from the top rack and handed it over the counter to her.

  “Julie! This cake’s ready for the van.” Charlotte tucked the corners of the lid inside the turquoise folds of the box, trying not to think about her to-do list. Normally, she loved lists. She was almost addicted to the rush that came with productivity and accomplishment, the thrill that came with checking off a completed item. She’d even taught Zoe the principle, and was constantly finding pink sticky notes that read Potty and Play with dolls stuck around their apartment.

  But next on her list was meeting with one Will Martin, and—well, that was going to complicate her afternoon, not streamline it.

  “Mommy?” Zoe said, more persistent this time as her heels kicked against the chair legs. “I’m bored.”

  Of course she was. Charlotte wrestled the last corner fold into the box. “Your books are in the kitchen, sweetie.”

  “Which ones?” Zoe twisted a blonde braid around one finger and narrowed her eyes.

  Charlotte wracked her brain to remember which ones she had grabbed on the way out the door, but she couldn’t concentrate. Could barely remember her own name, much less story titles. “Um. If You Give a Moose a Muffin, I think.”

  Zoe made a face. “I’ve read that one three times.”

  “The two dozen cupcakes for the Lopez birthday party are out of the oven and cooling.” Julie came from the kitchen, cupcake batter smeared across the front of her apron, and tucked a stray strand of red hair behind her ear. “These cakes go to the Sinclair wedding, right?”

  “Yes, and those too. It’s a three layer.” Charlotte pointed to the other two boxes awaiting delivery on the counter behind them. “Keys should be on the ring by the back door.”

  “Mommy? What other books are there?”

  Charlotte closed her eyes. “Zoe. I don’t know, honey. Goodnight Moon?”

  “That’s a baby book.”

  “Two steps ahead of you, Boss.” Julie jingled the keys in her hand. “Why aren’t you taking these, by the way? Normally you like to be the Cake Naz—I mean, you like to set up layered cakes yourself.”

  Charlotte wrinkled her nose at her friend. “I’ve told you not to call me Boss.” Julie was teasing, of course, about the Cake Nazi. She just liked things to be under control. Simple—no messes. And she couldn’t guarantee perfection if she wasn’t there to oversee it for herself.

  But today . . .

  “Remember? I have a three o’clock consultation.” She tried to keep her voice even, but despite the effort, her voice rose half an octave. Why was she so nervous? Will Martin didn’t have the potential to be anything more than a temporary client. She’d met his pretty-boy type before, plenty of times, and had no intention of going down that road again. What she needed was stability. Commitment. A man of honor and loyalty, who kept his promises.

  Unfortunately, most of those men didn’t come in Will-size packages—at least not in Charlotte’s experience. She needed a small, contained bonfire. Smoldering sparks in a fire pit. Will was more like a Colorado wildfire—and she’d been burned enough.

  This time, she refused to let Zoe get caught in the smoke.

  Julie frowned in confusion. “Wait. Is this the consultation for that Bridezilla who is making her best man choose the cake?”

  “Yes.” Charlotte cleared her throat.

  Julie put her hands on her hips, keys jangling. “Then why don’t you let me go through the initial run-through with him, while you take the cakes?”

  “Because.” Flustered, Charlotte tried in vain to think of an excuse that would sound like anything other than what it was. “Just . . . because. Please?”

  “You got it, Boss.” Julie tossed the keys in the air with one hand and caught them deftly in the other. “But when I get back, I expect a better explanation than that.”

  “I want to go!”
Zoe slid down from her chair and danced first on one foot, then the other. “Can I help make the delivery?”

  Julie shrugged. “Sure, kiddo. If it’s okay with your mom.”

  “That’s fine. Her car seat is already in the back.” Charlotte breathed a little easier as Zoe grabbed her for a good-bye hug. Now Zoe would have something to do and wouldn’t interrupt the consultation.

  On second thought, maybe having Zoe nearby wouldn’t have hurt.

  Julie took the cake layers out to the van, then returned and motioned to Zoe. “Let’s go, kiddo—”

  The bakery door swung open, interrupting her sentence. Will strolled inside, a handful of dry burgundy leaves skittering onto the tiled floor in his wake.

  “Sorry about that.” He caught the door with one hand and tried to kick them back out, looking up with a bright, apologetic smile that could have sold toothpaste to millions.

  “Ah, never mind. No better explanation necessary.” Julie winked at Charlotte. “We’ll just be on our way . . . Boss.”

  Then they were gone, leaving Charlotte alone with Will and the kaleidoscope of leaves on the floor.

  For some reason, that particular mess didn’t bother her one bit.

  She braced her arms against the counter between them, briefly wondering if his girlfriend Melissa was typically the mess-intolerant type too. Maybe she and Melissa had things in common. Maybe she’d meet her during one of the wedding events for Adam and Brittany, and they could be friends.

  Surely then she could put a stop to this uncomfortable and unnecessary magnetism toward Will.

  Charlotte took a deep breath and wished for the thousandth time that she had known six years ago what she knew now.

  Well, five years plus nine months, anyway.

  Will leaned against the counter opposite her, bracing on his forearms, and gestured to the swinging door in Julie’s wake. “Is she always that perky?”

  Charlotte started to answer, then met his eyes and hesitated. From this closer vantage point, she could see weary wrinkles lining his eyes, attesting to a false front. He’d apparently had a rough day, or something heavy weighed on his mind.