One Hot Summer

by Melissa Cutler

  Barbara gasped. “Oh my, that’s incredibly generous. I can’t believe how this whole town is coming together. Delinda, look!”

  An elderly woman hobbled over and hooked arms with Barbara. “Gracious.”

  “And, um, after she handed me the champagne to give to you, I realized you’d probably need champagne flutes, so I scrounged some up,” Remedy said.

  Her mouth agape, Barbara lifted one of the flutes out and admired it. “You have all these glasses at your house?”

  “Well, I’d rather not say where they came from, if it’s all the same to you. I’ll just need to have them back where they belong by tomorrow morning.”

  Barbara squeezed Remedy’s hand. “Thank you. And please tell that anonymous donor thank you, too. Whoever she is, she’s a mighty generous woman.”

  The way Barbara said it let Remedy know she wasn’t pulling any wool over anybody’s eyes about who had donated the supplies, but it would guarantee the focus remained on the bride and groom and not shift any spotlight to Remedy.

  “The flutes will need a rinsing, but I’ll take care of that after I find room in the refrigerator for the champagne,” Remedy said.

  While she was on her knees transferring bottles to chill, a pair of stockinged legs shuffled to her side. Delinda, the woman Barbara had called over.

  “I’m Tabby’s grandma, Delinda. Ain’t nobody done something so nice for us before as everybody in Dulcet is doing today. Thank you.” Delinda’s voice hitched twice as she spoke.

  Remedy slid the last bottle into the refrigerator and stood.

  Delinda threw her arms around Remedy’s shoulders and wept. It wasn’t the first time the mother- or grandmother-of-the-bride had shed tears on Remedy’s shoulder, though it usually wasn’t out of gratitude but because of some element of family drama or the memory of a loved one who’d passed and wouldn’t get to witness the wedding.

  Remedy walked Delinda into the hall and pulled a chair out for each of them. Remedy held her hand and listened to tales of the hard road her daughter had chosen, her early death, and Delinda’s choice to raise Tabby on her own. She talked about how grateful she was for Albert and Albert’s family because she didn’t think she had much more time left, but she could die at peace because Tabby wouldn’t be alone, especially since Delinda had moved to an assisted-living facility.

  Around them, wedding prep continued at a frenetic pace. Every so often, Remedy caught sight of Micah out of the corner of her eye, but she kept her attention fixed on the woman before her. If there was one thing she’d learned from years of putting on weddings, it was that they dredged up all manners of vulnerabilities for the people involved—family secrets, old hurts, memories long suppressed, and a sentimentality that the grind of everyday life suppressed. Because of that, listening was often the most important aspect of Remedy’s job. Not that it was easy to slow down and take the time to sit when she was being pulled in a million different directions, but that was why she had assistants.

  Speaking of assistants, the next time Litzy appeared Remedy waved her over. “Would you make sure the bride has everything she needs in the prep room and bring her some champagne, like you do at Briscoe Ranch? You’re so good at that.”

  “I’m on the job.”

  But before Litzy had crossed the room, the bride herself appeared in the fellowship hall, an older woman trailing behind her and fussing over her dress.

  Tabby was a freckled, fair-skinned redhead who was young enough that she didn’t quite seem to belong in the slightly wrinkled lacy long-sleeved wedding gown that almost fit her, though not quite.

  She spotted Delinda and walked with heavy steps to their table and sank into a chair on a sob. “Tabby, baby. Why the tears?” Delinda said.

  “I miss him already.”

  The women in the room flocked around her, cooing and offering words of support.

  “What am I going to do with myself when Albert leaves? How am I going to bear being in the apartment every night alone?”

  “Oh, honey, we’ll make sure you’re not alone,” Barbara said.

  Litzy took her hand. “You could come work with us at the resort. Evenings, weekends, that’s when we’re busiest.”

  Tabby dabbed at her tears with a tissue. “It’d be fun to work with you. And at least I wouldn’t be home.”

  Litzy had no business offering Tabby a job, but it wasn’t a bad idea. Remedy needed more help, and she’d already checked with Alex to make sure there was room in the budget for another wedding assistant or two.

  Remedy touched Tabby’s shoulder. “If you came to work at the resort, would it be difficult for you to be around so many happy couples, since Albert won’t be here?”

  Pain shadowed Tabby’s face. She drew a shaky breath. Remedy felt like a heel for reminding her of the painful times ahead, but Tabby would be better off realizing now that being a wedding assistant might be too emotionally difficult than once she was on the job.

  “I think I’d be okay,” Tabby said with a sniff, reaching for another tissue from the box. “It might help me stay strong to focus on what matters most and remind me of what’ll be waiting for me at the end of Albert’s deployment.”

  Remedy squeezed Tabby’s hand. “Your true love will be waiting for you.”

  “Yes. My beautiful husband, my true love.” Her eyes welled with tears.

  It was enough to put some cracks in the shield of cynicism guarding Remedy’s heart. It was enough to almost make her believe in true love as more than hocus-pocus—more than a corporate motto or a celebrity’s publicity stunt. Remedy had always thought deep, abiding love was a relic of a bygone era. But what if it wasn’t? What if it’d been hiding out in modest church fellowship halls and small towns in Texas all along?

  Chapter Twelve

  The reception was in full swing by the time Micah finished serving the brisket, tidying the kitchen, and having his ear bent by a continuous stream of townsfolk who wanted his attention. He stepped into the fellowship hall with a plate of food and a beer, his eyes scanning the crowd for a head of blond hair and a California tan, along with one of the prettiest faces he’d ever laid eyes on.

  He had yet to get Remedy alone all night. His hope of sitting next to her during the ceremony was dashed when he was flanked by members of his fire crew who were giving off weird, aggressive vibes, though he couldn’t imagine why they’d be tense and out of sorts, and they hadn’t been interested in explaining to him the cause. After the ceremony, he’d been the one to disappear on kitchen duty. The next time he’d located her, she’d been busy assisting with wedding photos by fluffing the bride’s gown and suggesting camera angles.

  But now the eating was done, the cake had been cut, and all that was left was the socializing and dancing. He wasn’t going to let anything or anyone stop him from getting close to the woman he’d had his eye on all day.

  He found Remedy near the punch bowl, cradling a punch cup in her hands and talking to Litzy Evansburg and Skye Martinez. Remedy definitely looked out of her element, but he had to give her credit. She’d borrowed from the hotel, surely at the risk of her job, and she’d worked tirelessly all afternoon and evening—and all without taking over the wedding planning in an overbearing way or looking down her nose at the humble event or its working-class crowd.

  Micah had taken a step in her direction when Chet passed him, thumping his shoulder against Micah’s, a cold, distant look in his eye as though he didn’t recognize Micah. What the hell was going on with these guys?

  “Chet!” Micah called, walking after him. “The brisket was a huge hit. Good call on adding brown sugar to the barbecue sauce.”

  Chet held up his hands in a shrug and backed away.

  “Hey, what’s up with you, man? You pissed at me about something?”

  Chet’s expression turned even harder. “Nope.”

  So then, that was a yes. Well, that was just tough shit, because Micah didn’t feel like dealing with Chet’s or anyone else’s immature drama tha
t night. If none of them were man enough to spit out what was bothering them, then Micah wasn’t going to beg for answers.

  He turned his attention to Remedy again. Though Skye and Litzy were busy in an animated conversation, Remedy frowned into her cup of punch. She had a faraway look on her face. Wistful. Good thing he knew just the way to cheer her up.

  Micah snagged two flutes of champagne from the drink table. As he walked to Remedy, he got busy brainstorming places he could steal her away to and have his way with her. A Sunday schoolroom? The church library near the main office? Then again, he could get her in his truck and take her someplace private. Like his house, only a few blocks away. Didn’t matter to him as long as he got his hands and mouth on that hot body of hers, pronto.

  When she saw him coming she smiled, but it didn’t quite touch her eyes, as though she couldn’t get past whatever deep thoughts she’d been engrossed in.

  “Great barbecue, Chief,” Skye said when he joined them.

  Several years back, Micah had entertained the idea of asking Skye out, because she was a looker with a fiery personality, but her family had a lot of clout and a long history at Briscoe Ranch, so he’d shied away. As attractive as Skye was, the fact that he’d so easily decided against getting involved with her romantically because of his fraternization rule told him all he needed to know about their compatibility, especially given how Remedy had wrapped him around her little finger the moment he laid eyes on her.

  “Thank you. It was a team effort. How’s your dad doing these days?” To Remedy, he added, “Skye’s dad suffered a minor heart attack a year or so ago. Chet and I were the first on the scene.”

  “You got him to the hospital in time to save him. Thanks to you, he’s made a full recovery,” Skye said.

  Remedy bit her lip against a smile. “Chief Garrity is pretty good at saving the day.”

  He squared up to her, painting a look of indignation on his face. “Only pretty good?”

  Shaking her hair away from her face, she held his gaze, her eyes glittering with wicked playfulness.

  Skye cleared her throat. She linked arms with Litzy. “Excuse us. We’ve got to … uh, go over there.”

  Litzy’s face scrunched with confusion, but she allowed Skye to drag her away, which was right kind of Skye. Thank goodness for her womanly intuition to sense how badly Micah wanted to get Remedy all to himself.

  He set the extra glass of champagne on the table behind her, then clinked his champagne flute against her paper cup. “You’re a tough one to get alone tonight. And I can’t even blame a bunch of delusional groomsmen who want to corrupt you.”

  She opened her arms. “Thank goodness a red top and black skinny jeans don’t exude any virgin librarian vibes.”

  “But they do give off an onslaught of sexy-as-hell wedding planner vibes.” The urge to wrap his arms around her and lay a big old kiss on her was a strong one. But there were still too many eager eyes around them for any public displays of affection, not if they didn’t want the whole town to talk. “What were you thinking about before I got over here? You looked lost.”

  Her expression shifted to the dance floor where Albert and Tabby were cutting a rug amid a circle of friends. “I was thinking about how I’m going to talk to Alex about giving active-duty soldiers and local Ravel County couples a discount on weddings at the resort. And maybe I can set up some low-budget wedding packages. I don’t think it would’ve helped Albert and Tabby, but it’s a start in the right direction. The resort has a lot of resources to help the town, but it’s not taking the opportunity, as far as I can tell.”

  “I agree, one hundred percent, but why do I get the feeling that wasn’t what was actually bothering you? What’s really on your mind?”

  That melancholy smile returned. She set her punch cup down and held her index fingers against the sides of her head, rotating them like antennae. “I am an alien on a foreign planet tonight. I’m not fitting in well, despite my best efforts.”

  He grabbed her closest antenna and brought it down so he could hold her hand, threading their fingers together. He’d be damned if he just stood there and let her feel alone. “I’m sorry you’re feeling out of place again.”

  “That’s okay. I’m used to it.”

  She didn’t sound used to it. She sounded weary. It had to be draining to never feel like you belonged. Suddenly he wasn’t in a hurry to get physical. It was nice to stand next to her and hold her hand and talk, help her feel more like she belonged in Dulcet. “You didn’t look like you were enjoying the punch.”

  She shrugged. “It’s interesting, but too sweet for my taste.”

  “Haven’t you ever had wedding punch before?”

  Grimacing, she shook her head. “Can I confess something to you?”

  “Of course.”

  “You’re going to snicker,” she said.

  “The suspense is killing me.”

  She drew a deep breath, then lifted the extra champagne flute he’d brought and drank. “That’s good and cold.”

  “Out with it. What am I going to snicker about?”

  Her mouth contorted, as though she was either building up the courage to say something more or trying to find the right words. “I’ve never been to a wedding reception at a church hall before. It’s … nice. Sweet.”

  She had to be joking. Even so, he tamped the urge to snicker, as she’d predicted he’d be apt to do. “Are you serious? But you’re a wedding planner.”

  She sipped more champagne, and he could tell she was winding up for a big speech as she was apt to give. “The big, expensive weddings I plan, they’re seldom about the bride and groom’s love for each other, or about family in any real sense of the word. They’re about showing off. You know what I ask every bride before I start working with her? ‘Why are we doing this? What’s the goal of this wedding?’ They never say love. Never. It’s either so their parents can show off, or it’s to show up their friends, or about sibling rivalry. Sometimes it’s about revenge on an ex or a publicity stunt to help the bride’s or groom’s career.”

  “That’s genuinely sad,” he said, meaning it. Not just about all those couples with screwed-up values but also for their friends and the people who worked at the weddings. For Remedy.

  She continued, “This wedding tonight might have been for Albert’s mother’s benefit, but it really is about true love. You can see it written in every detail of the wedding and on Albert’s and Tabby’s faces. This is what love looks like. It’s … wonderful. It really is.”

  “I’ve been noticing how jaded you are for a wedding planner. There’ve been a few times I’ve wondered at what point in your career you’d gotten that cynical.”

  “Early. Weddings aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.”

  A bark of laughter escaped him, but he couldn’t help it. That was the last thing he would’ve expected her to say. “The wedding planner is anti-marriage?”

  “Not anti-marriage. Just anti–big weddings. If I ever get married, it will be exactly the kind of wedding Albert’s mom didn’t want for him,” Remedy said.

  “You want to be married by a justice of the peace at the courthouse?” What a depressing thought.

  “Yup. Fast, simple, and stress-free.”

  “That’s the most unromantic thing I’ve ever heard,” he said.

  “Yeah, well, big weddings aren’t all that romantic, either. And before you clutch your pearls at that,” she said, drawing an imaginary strand of pearls on his chest, “you should know I’m not the only planner who feels that way. You can ask any one of us and we’ll all say the same thing—at least, those of us who want to get married. Most wedding planners are divorced.”

  This conversation was getting crazier and more depressing by the moment. “You’re kidding.”

  “Dead serious. I’m a romantic fool compared to my colleagues. There’s something about planning wedding after wedding that sucks all the magic out of it.”

  He rubbed his chin, considering. It was
n’t a surprise that she was jaded about weddings—he’d sensed that when they’d talked in the parking lot that afternoon with her true love corporate motto—but it still rubbed him wrong. “Not here tonight. You were right about all the love in the air. I feel it, too. Albert and Tabby are the real deal.”

  Remedy held up her champagne flute. “To the happy couple.”

  He clinked his glass against hers. Acting on a hunch, he said, “The champagne was a big hit.”

  “Yeah, it seemed to be.”

  “The label on the champagne bottles looked suspiciously familiar.” He took another sip. “Tastes familiar, too.”

  Her baby blue eyes met his. “Albert’s father mentioned in his speech that it came from an anonymous donor,” she said.

  Uh-huh. “That’s one bighearted donor. Probably a hopeless romantic.”

  She nudged his ribs with her elbow, a bona fide genuine smile playing on her lips now. “Albert and Tabby deserve the best for their special day.”

  The first strains of a disco-era golden oldie started from the speakers. The makeshift dance floor in the center of the room was only half-full, mostly the newlyweds and their pals. But Micah wasn’t going to let that intimidate him. He wiggled their joined hands. “Let’s dance.”

  “What happened to ‘It’s on. Tonight. Mark my words’ now that you’ve got me alone? Shouldn’t we be sneaking off together?”

  “The night is young and I’ve got the sudden urge to show a certain sexy alien that she might fit in with the earthling town she crash-landed in better than she thinks.”

  Her smile brightened.

  He led the way to the dance floor. “A word of warning: I’m a terrible dancer.”

  “Then why do you want to dance?”

  “Because the good people of Dulcet love to see their very important fire chief make a fool out of himself and I love to make them happy. You’re wearing closed-toe shoes, so at least your feet aren’t in too much danger.”

  Her laughter did a funny thing to his heart.