It was a puppy. “Oh! Oh, Caleb!” Lauren cried, utterly charmed. “That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen!” She bent down and picked up the puppy, who grunted contentedly as she cradled his little pot belly. He was soft as silk. She held him up to her face, and he covered her cheeks with eager puppy kisses.
“He’s a golden retriever,” explained Caleb proudly. “Do you like him?”
“Oh, I love him!” she said with a sigh, holding the puppy close. “I haven’t had a puppy since I was a little child. With my lifestyle, I just couldn’t have a dog.”
“Well, you’re lifestyle is different now. You’ve just signed on. And I didn’t want you to be up here all alone. You need a dog.”
“Does he have a name?”
“His name is Brady.”
“Ooo, that’s a wonderful name,” said Lauren, setting the puppy down in the grass. He immediately pounced on her foot and began to chew her sneaker.
They walked around the yard, hand in hand. The puppy muddled around after them, digging and chewing and making them nearly choke on their beers with laughter.
Caleb said, “I called Joan today and had her list my house.”
Lauren stopped mid-stride. Brady pulled at her sneaker, but she was unaware. “Caleb, is this really what you want to do?”
He looked at her, his soul shining in his eyes. “Yes,” he said. “I thought we would live here. It’s bigger, and you’ve done so much work on it. And it’s your house, Lauren. I want to live here with you, in your house.”
She was silent, letting his words sink in. He squeezed her hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed her fingertips.
“There’s no competition between you,” he said, knowing what she was thinking. “I loved Julie very dearly, but we were children together. Lauren, to you, I pledge my love as a man.”
“Oh, Caleb!” she whispered. She clasped her arms around his neck and kissed him. “I love you so much!”
Then she did something she hadn’t done for too long a time. She brought her cell phone out of her pocket and punched in her mother’s number. She smiled at Caleb as she heard her mother’s voice.
“Mother! It’s me,” she said. “How are you?”
“Well, I’m just fine, baby, and so is your father. How are you?”
“Mother, I am better than I have ever been in my life!”
“Really! Are the wedding plans proceeding nicely, then?”
“That’s why I called, Mother. The wedding plans are proceeding wonderfully! I want to tell you about them.”
The evening was warm for early June in New England. The sky was deep purple velvet studded with the first twinkling stars. A crescent moon hung in the sky like a chandelier, and the errant petals of the last apple blossoms floated fragrantly at the slightest puff of the crystalline air. Throughout the large lawn and flower gardens, white clothed tables, alight with candles, had been set amongst the thickets of young birches, lilac bushes, and old maples trees. Small groups of candles and torches were glowing in the small orchard and lit the aisle between rows of white folding chairs where the guests sat, patiently waiting. The night was fragrant with the perfume of the June roses.
At the head of the garden, underneath a backdrop of old lilacs, two massive arrangements of white flowers cascaded from stone urns. Kelly, dressed in a long, midnight blue gown, stood beside one of the urns. All day she had been shouting orders and moving tables, directing caterers, and pruning the occasional rebellious lilac branch, making sure this day would be unparalleled. Now, she stood quietly smiling, holding a large bouquet of white and yellow roses, freesia, and lilies, and looking as fresh and sweet as a dew-bejeweled flower. Bob Cochran stood beside the other urn, dressed in a blue blazer, red striped tie, and gray slacks. He was smiling from ear to ear. Between them was a young man in a white collar and black robe, peering into the deepening evening.
A single, invisible musician began to play a violin from somewhere in the garden. Caleb, also dressed in a blue blazer, gray slacks, and red striped tie, with a rose boutonniere, walked up and stood beside his father. The guests turned as one in their seats and looked down into the orchard.
Lauren pierced the evening darkness with radiant bridal splendor. She walked up the grassy path between the apple trees, dressed in an elegant satin dress with tiny spaghetti straps that set off her figure to perfection and trailed out, sweeping the ground behind her for six feet. Her hair was swept up in a simple twist and held with a large rhinestone barrette. She wore diamond studs in her ears. Her bouquet, of the same roses, lilies, and freesias as Kelly’s, was larger as befitted the bride and filled out with variegated ivy, cascading down to her knees. Lauren walked to meet her love on the arm of her father, a tall, thin man. His long hair was gathered back in a neat pony tail, and although he was unaccustomed to the jacket, tie, and gray flannel slacks he wore, his big white teeth showed in a wide grin from beneath his handlebar mustache. Brady, nearly grown and decked out in a large white bow, padded alongside his mistress, looking up at her with a newfound dignity.
Lauren’s blood pounded in her ears. Through the gathering darkness and candlelight, her eyes met Caleb’s. They reached out and caught each other’s fingertips. Lauren’s father released her arm from his, and she stood, clasping hands with Caleb. The young man in the white collar began to speak. Lauren could barely hear him, but her eyes never left Caleb’s as she repeated her vows, and he, his.
Caleb slipped the circle of diamonds that was her wedding ring onto her finger. Lauren took the gold band from Kelly and put it on Caleb’s finger, smiling all the while.
“Lauren Smith, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
“I do.”
“And Caleb Cochran, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do.”
“Then I pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Their kiss was warm, full, romantic. Then they turned and faced the laughing, applauding guests, and Brady began to bark. All the noise faded into the background, though, as Lauren felt Caleb turn her around to face him. Once again their lips met, but this time it was that passionate kiss they had always shared.
This is what I want, she thought contentedly.
The End
Corporate Affair
Will opening the door for business close the door to love?
A Small Town Girl novel by Linda Cunningham
AIDEN STEWART STOOD WITH his head bent, letting the pulsating hot water of the shower beat down on the back of his neck. He remained there, motionless, for a minute or two before he reluctantly turned the water off and stepped out onto the soft, white bath mat. He grabbed one of the fluffy towels and began to dry himself.
Aiden was just vain enough to catch his own reflection in the mirrored wall surrounding the free-standing bathtub opposite the shower. He took pride in the tall, lean body he saw reflected there. His muscles were not bulky, like a man who spent too much time trying to outdo his last bench press. Instead, they were the long, supple muscles of a true athlete, the muscles of a healthy, thirty-two-year-old man who was comfortable in his own skin, who was used to doing anything physical with ease and grace. He was pleased with how his dark brown hair, even damp and tousled after his shower, dipped attractively over his forehead. He liked how his slightly bushy brows accented his black-lashed, clear brown eyes. He smiled at his own image and saw how his long nose and high cheekbones were softened by the curve of his full lips and the flash of white teeth.
Aiden was just vain enough to take pleasure in his own physical attributes and, whenever he had the opportunity, use them to get what he wanted. Especially from women. He thought about this as he picked up his toothbrush. He was juggling four girls at the moment, and it seemed like overload, even for him.
A bold knock on the bedroom door jolted him out of his self-serving reverie.
“Yes?” Aiden called out, wrapping the towel around his waist and going to the door.
>
“You in there, son?” It was his father. Aiden loved visiting his parents’ gracious home outside of Portland, Maine. The house was welcoming, soothing, and beautiful, much like his mother herself, and a visit always made Aiden feel secure and comforted.
“I’m here.”
“Well, open the door and let me in!” A visit with his mother, however, also meant a visit with his father. The cantankerous old Yankee had built his life from the ground up and was careful not to let anybody forget it. Aiden rolled his eyes, sighed, and opened the door.
“You’re not dressed yet!”
“It’ll take me two seconds,” said Aiden calmly as he began to pull on his clothes. “What’s the big hurry?”
“Are you all prepared for this meeting?”
“Ah, yes, I guess so.”
“Now, Aiden, you’ve got to be prepared. I need to acquire this company to keep us on top. Trade Winds is still the biggest communications company in northern New England, and I want to keep it that way! Acquiring Chat Dot Com will give us a greater range and a jump on where the growth will take place over the next twenty years. I want Trade Winds customers to know our company offers more choices than our competitors.”
“Dad, I know all this. We talked about it last night.”
“You’ve got a three-hour drive ahead of you. Why did you stay out so late last night? Was it that Webb girl?”
“I was out with Jennifer Webb, yes.”
“Well, you stayed out too late.”
“Dad, I’m thirty-two.”
“Is it serious between you? You’ve been seeing her off and on since high school.”
“That’s just it, Dad, off and on.”
“Well, I’m not that impressed with her. Never was. She thinks she’s entitled, like so many kids your age. She thinks because her father is head of the finance committee and she went to Harvard she’s better than everybody. I’m not that impressed with her father, either, if you ask me.”
“I didn’t ask, Dad,” Aiden muttered as he threaded his belt through the loops of his gray slacks. He picked up a blue and yellow striped tie and turned toward the mirror over the dresser.
“When are you going to find yourself a real woman and grow up?”
“Dad —”
But his father was not listening. The older man sputtered as he changed the subject back to business. “Now this Fenton creep is going to make a move. He’s going to make a move to undercut us and try to snatch Chat Dot Com. He knows we don’t have a lot of cash right now and we’re expanding.”
“Now, Dad, you don’t know that.”
“Trust me, I know the type. Fenton is smooth and cagey. Just a little older than you. Clawing his way up. And he’s not a spoiled rich kid, either. That makes a difference. Aiden, you’re a grown man now. It’s your job to make sure Trade Winds acquires Chat before Fenton gets wind of it. If he found out we were going after it, he’d try to steamroll us right under. And believe me, that guy will stop at nothing!” Aiden glanced at his father as he straightened the knot of his tie. The old man’s eyes bored into his. “Trust me,” he repeated, “I know the type.”
Aiden sighed. It was pointless to argue with his father. It was like trying to drown fish. Instead, he slipped on his sport coat, a dark blue linen and silk blend appropriate for the warm spring day. He said, “Hey, Dad, what do you know about this Fitzgerald guy? Is it mandatory that he come with company? What if we don’t want him?”
Aiden’s father shook his head vigorously. “I don’t know anything about him,” he said, “except that Gene Palmer, who owns Chat, won’t consider a sale unless we take Fitzgerald too, and in full capacity as CEO, and for five years.”
“So that means he’s in control of Chat Dot Com for the next five years, even as part of Trade Winds?”
“Yes, unless we find a loophole. Now, if the guy’s doing his job, then we leave him right where he is. It’s your job to find out what’s going on.”
A female voice called up the winding staircase. “Gordon, are you up there bothering your son?”
It was Aiden’s mother, Eleanor. Immediately, Aiden saw the old man soften. “We’ll be right down, Nellie. Hurry up, Aiden, your mother’s waiting breakfast on us.”
Aiden followed his father down the stairs and into the large kitchen at the back of the house. They sat down at the big antique farm table in front of steaming mugs of coffee, and Nell Stewart set their breakfasts of sausage, scrambled eggs, and English muffins in front of them as she had been doing since Aiden could remember. Then she took her own seat opposite her son.
Nell Stewart was seventy-six years old, still lithe and active. Her few gray hairs softened the color of her thick wavy hair from its original dark brown to a lighter, tan color. She wore it caught back in an elastic at the back of her neck. Her face bore the wrinkles of her age, but it was easy to see the beauty she had been. Gordon Stewart reached over and squeezed his wife’s hand. It was a gesture of affection familiar to Aiden. He watched them in silence for a minute as they all started to eat, and his mind wandered.
Aiden was the youngest child. His two older sisters were nearly grown when he was born. They had been raised during the lean times. He had heard the stories of how his father’s business dealings had nearly failed several times, threatening the family with bankruptcy. His sisters had told him how they’d had to move into this beautiful, gracious home when it had been an old, decrepit, and neglected house with a leaky roof and no insulation against the Maine winters. It sat on a spit of cliff, so close to the Atlantic’s waters that the salt spray coated the windows during the autumn storms. The family had lived downstairs in the house for the first ten years, heating it with wood stoves, but both Gordon and Nell knew the value of ocean view land and the potential of the house itself. They just had to stay afloat until that became a reality.
Aiden’s sisters had lived through the lean times, but Aiden was the child of his parents’ success. Born right after his father’s first real profitable business coup, Aiden had been raised in the lap of luxury. He had foggy memories of the house being renovated and his mother’s careful planning and execution of those renovations. He also remembered his father asking her repeatedly if she might want to move and build a new house. Aiden was glad his mother had wanted to stay where they were. It always impressed people, especially the women he brought home, to see the place with its magnificent views of Casco Bay. Aiden liked to bring them down the steep path that ran across the face of the cliff to the small pristine and private beach. He enjoyed watching how obviously impressed they were when he opened the boathouse door and revealed the sleek and shining Eleanor, his father’s prized sailing yacht.
“What are you thinking about, Aiden?” asked his mother. “You’re staring into space.”
“Oh, oh, I was just looking out the window. It looks like spring is finally here. The lilacs are blooming. They weren’t even budded the last time I was here.”
“Yes! And about time. It’s been a long winter. I’ll open the windows today and let the smell of lilacs fill the house. Are you coming back tonight, Aiden, or going back to Boston?”
“I think I’ll just go back to Boston. I have a date.”
Gordon snorted. “You had a date last night.”
Aiden laughed. “Well, I have another date tonight.”
“You should date less and tend to business more.”
Aiden cut the conversation short. “I better get going,” he said, rising from his chair. His parents stood and, hand in hand, followed him to the door. Aiden kissed his mother on the cheek. “Love you, Mom,” he said.
Gordon caught him in a great bear hug. “Do your best, Aiden! Get this thing in the bag!”
An hour later, Aiden found himself driving through New Hampshire on the old Route 4, headed for central Vermont. His mind wandered. He thought about his date the previous night with Jennifer Webb. They had gone to Grace, one of Portland’s finest restaurants in a city of fine restaurants. He didn’t know why
he couldn’t work up any enthusiasm for Jennifer. He genuinely liked her. They had known each other a long time and had dated on and off, sometimes seriously, sometimes not, throughout the last five years. Jennifer was a tall, attractive girl, Harvard educated in economics, a broker for the upper echelon clientele at Greater Bank of Maine in Portland. Her family, although not close friends with his, was a familiar entity. She had an abundance of energy, and they shared similar interests in sailing, skiing, and hiking, but the relationship would not progress beyond a certain point. Last night they’d had sex, which Aiden could only remember as being rather clinical, on the sofa of her condo. She had not invited him to stay the night, and he had been relieved because he had not wanted to stay.
Then there was Alexis, the cool blonde with whom he would sleep tonight. They had only been on two dates, but Aiden knew she was ready. She had a body most men would salivate over, and he tried to entertain himself thinking about the physical pleasures he was looking forward to. He had even called his cleaning lady to ask her to be sure to put fresh flowers on the dining room table and in the bedroom and to make the bed up crisp and fresh. He was that sure of himself.
Aiden’s thoughts drifted to his parents. Perhaps they were part of the reason he went from woman to woman, or juggled two or three at once. Where, he thought somewhat sardonically, would he ever find a woman who made him feel the way his mother obviously made his father feel? Where could he possibly find a woman who loved him as completely as his mother loved his father? It was hard, especially these days, to live up to such an example. Every time Aiden thought of marriage, he thought of his parents. That was what marriage was. It was love, respect, sticking together through all the ups and downs of everyday life. It was someone who squeezed your hand at breakfast. It was being kissed on the top of head as you sat brooding over your books.
Aiden stared at the ribbon of road stretching out ahead of him. He heaved a deep sigh and dismissed his idea of marriage like the one shared by his parents as unattainable.
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