Falling for the Best Man

by Amanda Ashby

  He turned his attention back to the map of Lana’i he’d been studying. It had been two weeks since he’d arrived in Hawaii, and despite his lack of a home-grown girlfriend, the meeting with the production company had been extremely successful. At least I was right about something.

  Nothing had been confirmed, but Trent was in the final development stages of the contract with them, leaving Christopher free to scout the outer islands as a possible location for the pilot show. Which was why he’d hooked up with Patrick, an adrenaline junkie on a mission to jump, climb, and swim everything he came across.

  He also found the more time he spent around his friend’s non-stop energy, the less time he had to think about Emmy Watson. That was the theory. Truth was it was impossible to think of anything but the smell of her skin after a shower, how her teeth clamped down on her lower lip when she was concentrating, and the fearless way she tackled her problems.

  This is what hell must be like.

  He longed to call and hear her voice, but so far, between the time difference and his sense of fairness, he’d resisted. After all, what good could it do either of them? They’d both tried to make it work, but their core personalities were just two different. Now my body just needs to get the update.

  Maybe a surf would do him good. He stood up to get changed just as his cell phone rang. It was Trent, but for once Christopher was pleased for the distraction.

  “Hey, buddy. We’re so close now. Just a couple of small rights issues to clear up, and then it’s all systems go. How’s the scouting? Did you get to the summit of the mountain?” Trent said referring to Christopher’s plans to go to Lana’ihale.

  “Not exactly. Rain stopped play,” Christopher said as he began to pace the room, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “It should clear tomorrow.”

  “Since when do you care about a little bit of rain? One of your best articles was about when you were trapped in the Cambodian forest for three days, and you got those pictures of that crazy frog. You always say that weather creates its own opportunities.”

  Christopher winced as his own words came back to haunt him. While it was true that in the past he’d always judged travelers who put their plans on hold just because the weather wasn’t perfect, lately he’d started to think sometimes a storm was really just a storm. No point trying to spin it. Not that he was going to tell Trent any of that. He shrugged and began to pace again.

  “I guess I’m getting old.”

  “Well, you’ll need to get young again soon, because as soon as this contract’s signed you’ll be going into development, and once filming starts it will be sixteen-hour days. This is going to be huge, so you’d better say good-bye to your creature comforts and hello to adventure.”

  “The weather’s meant to break tomorrow,” Christopher said by way of an answer.

  “Good. And in the meantime, don’t forget the article you promised me on your trip to Seattle. It’s due in three days, and it’s not like you to miss a deadline.”

  “Connecticut,” Christopher corrected once again. “Don’t worry. You’ll have it by tomorrow.”

  Once the call was finished, Christopher turned away from the howling storm still whipping the coast. He flicked on his laptop, but despite staring at the screen for the rest of the day, the article refused to write itself. Patrick put in a brief appearance before heading back out to a storm party, and by ten at night, all Christopher had was a headache and a blank screen.

  Seriously? What’s wrong with me?

  He trudged to the bedroom, where he spent another sleepless night. The only consolation was sometime around five, the weather broke, and the pounding energy of the storm was replaced by the faint buzz of insects and domestic life. With his morning coffee in hand, he walked out onto the long veranda to see shafts of soft light beaming down onto the sodden, broken foliage now covering the landscape.

  He yawned and sat down to check his messages.

  Normally, he was happy to be disconnected from the rest of the world, but he’d turned into one of those people he hated, checking his cell every few minutes in case Emmy changed her mind and contacted him.

  Which was stupid.

  He deleted each message as he came to it, until he reached an email from Lewis. It was a quick summary of their honeymoon in Paris, along with the obligatory photograph of the Eiffel Tower taken from the Trocadero, which looked like every other honeymoon shot Christopher had ever seen.

  The travel writer in him frowned.

  It wasn’t his place to judge what they did, and no one loved going to Paris more than him. But as he scanned through the photographs Lewis had attached, he couldn’t help but feel they were all boring and vanilla. His friend would’ve been better off staying in Sunshine and spending a week exploring the wineries and the numerous lush orchards that dotted the pale yellow hills.

  Hell, they could’ve just stayed in their room the entire time, getting the amazing local food delivered to them. After all, why travel so far just to have five days on the tourist circuit, just because that’s what everyone else did?

  He strode back into the apartment to get his laptop. Honeymoon travel wasn’t really his forte, but at least he finally had an angle for the article. In a fortnight of failures, it suddenly felt like a win.

  He grinned as his fingers flew across the keyboard.

  Put Some Sunshine in Your Life

  To the outside world, the small town of Sunshine isn’t much more than a dot on the map as you pass by to some of the better-known Connecticut locations. But on closer inspection, the quaint, tree-lined streets are filled with hidden wonders. From a bar that sells cupcakes to a golf club that gives its winners pre-loved gymnastics medals, all surrounded by a collection of vineyards, orchards, and microbreweries, Sunshine is designed to show travelers just how much a little bit of love can make.

  The gem in the middle of this otherworldly town is Wishing Bridge Farm, which has recently started running vintage weddings, complete with an old covered bridge locals swear has been granting wishes for over one hundred and fifty years. Now, I’m not normally one for white picket fences, but they say a change is a good as a holiday, and for this seasoned traveler, the comforts of Sunshine were like a breath of fresh air. Another thing to remember when you’re planning your trip is to…

  Christopher smiled as he continued to write, and it wasn’t until Patrick wandered up behind him and peered over his shoulder that he looked up.

  “Chris, my man. The sun’s up, which means we have some adventuring to do.” Patrick studied him more closely and frowned. “Hey, are you okay? You look like you were miles away.”

  “Actually, I was,” Christopher admitted. “Approximately five thousand miles away. I’m just finishing an article on an old covered bridge in Connecticut.”

  “Connecticut?” Patrick rubbed his eyes as if to check he was properly awake. Catching sight of one of the photographs Christopher had printed out, he picked it up and looked at it in disgust. “That’s not a bridge. I could climb up that in two seconds flat. Why would you want to write about somewhere grandparents go and visit? Dude, you’re about to go climb a freaking volcano rim.”

  “I guess I’ve changed,” Christopher said, then stopped. His spine straightened at what he’d just written. A change was a good as a holiday. He’d been traveling for ten years and hadn’t changed at all until he went to Wishing Bridge Farm.

  Christ.

  The irony caught in his throat.

  He’d spent his life moving forward, not being like the old man, only to discover he was exactly like his father—inflexible. Right until the end, the old man had been unbending. It wasn’t about the going or the staying, it was about the willingness to do both.

  His mind exploded with understanding and the lethargy that had been hanging around his shoulders fell away.

  Patrick blinked. “So, are we still on for today?”

  Christopher nodded as he raced for his cell phone. “Yup, but first I just need to make a coup
le of calls. There are some things that need to change.”

  …

  “Emmy Watson. I swear I could throttle you.” Bec marched up to where Emmy was sitting on the porch searching the internet in hopes of finding an old-fashioned cash register for one of her brides. It had been four weeks since the accident, and while the brace was gone from Bec’s arm, the twinkle had definitely returned to her eyes. Problem was, when her sister sparkled, trouble followed.

  “I’m sorry Bec, but there’s no way we can get a Ferris wheel up the drive for the Turner Wedding. Besides, I thought we agreed it would be fun for you to take the entire party out to the Sunshine Carnival the night before,” Emmy said as she went through the list of tasks they’d agreed to work on. Bec, with her outgoing personality, was going to organize all of the entertainment for the groups, while Emmy did logistics.

  “What?” Bec frowned before giving a dismissive wave. “No, that’s fine. The carnival’s going to be fun. I’m arranging a haunted house tour and everything. If I don’t get those wedding guests screaming with fright, then my name’s not Bec Watson. Anyway, where was I? Ah, yes. It’s the article. You still haven’t called him, have you?”

  Oh, that.

  Emmy closed her laptop and her eyes. Last time she’d walked away from Christopher, she’d found the best thing to do was to work so hard she didn’t have a single minute to think about how much she missed him. This time around it was proving more difficult. Not just because everyone she knew kept talking about him, but because he’d written that damn article about Sunshine and Wishing Bridge Farm. And what an article it was.

  “Put Some Sunshine in Your Life,” by Christopher Henderson.

  It had appeared last week, and Emmy’s heart had pounded against her ribs as she’d read it. His words stepped off the page, bringing Sunshine to life. It was accompanied by some of the stunning photographs he’d taken, showing her he really had understood how she felt about the place. No one reading his words could fail to see it. It had also been responsible for the onslaught of inquires and bookings the business had since received, not to mention causing Emmy even more sleepless nights.

  The fact he understands doesn’t make it easier.

  “What’s all the racket?” Pepper emerged from the kitchen, still looking like a lawyer despite the fact she was dressed in some of Bec’s denim cut-offs and Emmy’s blue and white striped T-shirt.

  “She hasn’t called Christopher yet.” Bec’s lips twitched. “Even though she promised last night she would.”

  “I only promised so you’d stop bouncing on my bed and I could get some sleep. And for the record, I’m not sure bouncing on beds is good for you or the baby.” Emmy braced herself for the combined front of her two sisters. Not that she was even sure what Pepper was still doing at the farm, considering her life was in Seattle, but her sister had been evasive about it, just declaring that family came first. Normally that would be a red flag, since Pepper wasn’t known for her sentimentality—or for taking a month off from work. But right now it seemed like the least of Emmy’s problems.

  “Look.” Pepper carefully moved the laptop and sat down next to her. “Bec might not have the best approach—”

  “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with my approach,” Bec said. “Bed-bouncing is a time-honored tradition.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s juvenile,” Pepper said before her lawyer mask slipped back into place. “But she has a point. You should call him. Not only did that article result directly in fifteen bookings, plus numerous other inquiries, but he obviously wrote it as a love letter to you. Why are you ignoring him?”

  If I let myself think about him, my head will explode.

  The swirl of anxiety that seemed to be constantly living just below her skin rushed up. What her sisters didn’t understand was that she wasn’t ignoring Christopher, she was just accepting the truth. Yes, he loved Wishing Bridge farm, and he might even love her. But it wasn’t enough.

  If it was, then why wasn’t he here?

  Why hadn’t he turned up on her doorstep with flowers and a goofy smile and dragged her into the cottage and ripped her clothing off? Because no matter how hard he tried, he was always going to be a traveler. He’d told her himself—staying in one spot wasn’t his style. And in a way, the article just made it harder. It showed her that love wasn’t enough.

  Even worse, she’d promised herself she wouldn’t judge him for his decision. And she wasn’t judging. Well, she was trying very hard not to.

  “It’s complicated.” She ran a hand through her hair and willed herself not to cry again.

  “It doesn’t have to be,” Bec said. “You have a real chance here, so why won’t you at least try?”

  Pepper’s face went pale. “Because if he wanted to come back, then he’d be here. That’s what the problem is, isn’t it?”

  Emmy didn’t trust herself to speak, so she just nodded.

  “Crap, Emmy. I’m such a douche.” Bec leaned over and gave her a tight hug. “I guess I just really liked the idea of you two together, and that article…well, it really was something.”

  Yes, it was.

  Emmy scrunched her eyes to stop the tears from flowing. Surely having four weeks’ practice should’ve helped her, but it didn’t, and in the end she had to reach up and wipe her damp cheeks while Bec untangled herself.

  “Come on, Bec,” said Pepper. We should leave Emmy alone. Plus, I’ve been looking at some prenatal vitamins I think we should order. They’re meant to help the baby.”

  “Prenatal vitamins? Why would I—” Bec began to protest before seeming to catch Pepper’s stern expression. “Right. You know me. All about the vitamins.”

  Once they were gone, Emmy sighed and turned her attention back to her laptop.

  She thought having her sisters understand how painful the article was might make her feel better. She was wrong, and if anything it was worse. She’d been forced to say the truth out loud. That Christopher was never coming back. That she’d never see him again unless she tuned in to watch his travel show when it finally aired.

  Hopefully she wouldn’t be so masochistic, but she didn’t want to bet on it.

  Disappointment caught in her throat. It was familiar now, like an old pair of shoes, but before she could wallow, Stan’s taxi rolled into the yard and he jumped out.

  “Hey, Emmy!” He waved her over. “Rachel asked me to drop off some wine samples for that couple who’s coming to do an inspection next week, and while I was getting lunch, Vera asked if I could deliver some handmade chocolates to see what you think. Oh, and I’ve also got the brochures Bec designed. They were ready when I was going past the printers so I figured I might as well bring them up. And, of course, the chalkboard paint Charlie asked me to collect the other day.”

  A small smile tugged at her mouth as she hurried over to help him unload. It really did take a village to raise a vintage wedding business. Not that she was complaining. Between Bec’s help, and the town of Sunshine, it had been surprisingly easy to follow up on all of the inquiries and commit to so many bookings.

  “Thanks, Stan,” she said, once everything was stacked up on the porch. “Did you want to come in?”

  “Can’t, sorry. I’m due to take Miss Violet to the doctor’s, and you know what happens when she’s late for something.”

  Another reluctant smile came to her. Miss Violet had lived in the town for over eighty years, and even Charlie was a bit scared of her. Speaking of Charlie—he’d wanted to get started repainting the old chalkboards, and so she hoisted up the paint and walked across to the barn, where he could normally be found this time of day. Sure enough, he was in the far corner carrying two of the large dove cages up the ladder to be stored in the loft.

  “I think we’ve had enough ladder tragedies for one year.” Emmy frowned as she hurried over. “You should’ve come and ask me for help.”

  He snorted. “Pah. The day I can’t carry a couple of cages is the day I might as well hang my boots up.” Reaching th
e top, he carefully put the cages up before climbing down and wiping his hands on his overalls.

  “You’ll be hanging those boots up a lot quicker if you don’t start taking it easy,” Emmy said and was rewarded by a slow smile.

  “You sound just like your aunt,” he said, then frowned as he studied her face. “Let me guess—you still haven’t called him. You should, you know. That best man of yours loves you.”

  Emmy groaned. “You know about the article?”

  “Of course I do. I’m not dead. Vera showed it to me. And Bec mentions it at least every twenty minutes. Between you and me, I think you should call him just to stop your sister bouncing around so much. I’m sure it can’t be good for the baby.”

  “Right? Thank you,” Emmy said, pleased someone agreed with her about the bouncing. Then she realized Charlie wasn’t smiling, and she let out a small sigh as she sat down on an upturned crate. “Like I’ve told my sisters on numerous occasions, there’s no point calling Christopher. We both want different things.”

  “Really?” Charlie eased himself into the nearby rocking chair that doubled as his afternoon nap spot. “Because right now it seems like you both want the same thing—to be miserable.”

  Emmy winced. So much for thinking she’d been putting on a brave front. Then again, hiding things from Charlie had never been easy. While he didn’t have Ivy’s shrewd eyes, he always seemed to have his own way of knowing things.

  “You know it’s not like that.” Emmy studied her fingers as the familiar pang of loss filled her chest. “I have to stay here and make sure Bec and the baby are okay. And the business. It’s what’s Ivy would’ve wanted. More importantly, it’s what Ivy would’ve done.”