“I’ve been here eight years now.” She lifted the handpiece and began rubbing it in a circular motion around his elbow area. “Now I have a question for you …” she hedged.
“Okay.”
“How did you hurt your elbow?”
“You mean the first time? Or the other night?”
“Let’s start with the most recent incident,” she suggested.
“Fair enough …” Plus, he imagined she’d already heard about his prior car accident. Hadn’t everyone? A person had to be living in a cave not to.
“You said you fell?”
He nodded. “I couldn’t sleep the other night. So I got up, grabbed a flashlight, and went outside looking for something and fell into a ditch. Pretty much hit elbow-first.”
Megan stopped rubbing. “Excuse me, say that again. You were doing what?”
He sighed. Apparently, vague wasn’t going to cut it with her. “I’ve been living out at my uncle’s farm for the past few months. He passed away last year, but I’d already bought—well, that doesn’t matter. The fact is, my uncle used to whittle. He whittled canes mostly, dozens of them. Like I said, I couldn’t sleep. I started thinking about my uncle Jake and his whittling. So I got up.” He shrugged. “And I went searching for a good piece of wood I could use.”
“To whittle?” She sounded shocked, still holding the handpiece upright. “You whittle?”
“I, uh, I’m just getting started,” he admitted.
Her forehead crinkled slightly. “Was your uncle crippled?” She cued in on the fact about the canes.
“No, he wasn’t. Not physically. He just thought most everyone was spiritually.”
He thought for sure she’d press him for clarification about that statement, but instead as she went back to work on his arm, her questions turned back to whittling, as if she just couldn’t get over the fact he was attempting to try it.
“I like to do stuff with my hands,” he explained. “Especially now that I’m not pitching.”
“You’re probably used to working out a lot, I imagine.”
“Yeah. It’s been quite a change all around. My body misses the practices, the workouts. I can’t do everything to the degree I did prior to the accident, but it’s getting better. I’m getting there.” He paused. “It’s all good. Good it happened. I guess that sounds a little crazy to you?”
“Honestly, I’ve heard it before.”
He chuckled, feeling a little chagrined he’d exposed himself like that only to hear such a nonchalant response. “So I’m kind of like ‘same old, same old’?”
“I’m sorry.” She paused, looking up at him in a way that made her eyes collaborate with the words coming from her lips. “I apologize if I made it sound like that. I’m just saying I’ve had a lot of mangled people come in the door saying they think their accidents were good things. That they were out of control, and the accident saved their lives.”
“It not only saved my life. It saved my soul.”
He didn’t know why he was telling her all this. Except for the fact he’d asked God for a chance to see her again, to makes amends with her, and here was that chance. It wasn’t like he was trying to win her over—Megan O’Donnell wasn’t a game to him. Not like so many other women had been in the past. It wasn’t the way he wanted to operate anymore. But she didn’t know that. And somehow he wanted her to. Which was crazy. They were only going to be working together on a sports day event, and then beyond that …
Why did his mind keep going there?
“So what are you doing tonight?” The question slipped out of his mouth just as she placed the handpiece back in its spot and grabbed for a cloth to wipe the goo from his arm. It surprised him almost as much as he could see it surprised her.
“What?” Her hands stilled. Her eyes grew wide. “Tonight?”
“What I meant to say is, I need to repay you for the doughnuts. Do you and Sammy have dinner plans?”
“No …” She swiped his arm quickly, deftly, tossing the cloth in a receptacle on the cart. “No,” she repeated.
“Do you want some? Plans, I mean?”
He watched her body almost twitch in response to the question. Standing there, biting her lip, he wondered what all was going through her mind.
Or did he really want to know?
All he knew for sure is that hesitation was rarely a good sign. At least on the field it never had been. He doubted it was in this case either.
“I should say no,” she said finally.
“Should?” He stuck his neck forward. “Or are you saying no?” He wasn’t sure how much to push. This was definitely unfamiliar territory to him. When had a woman ever said anything but yes to him?
“I guess … yes.”
Yes? Dear Lord in heaven, she was killing him with her ambiguity. “Yes, dinner? You and Sammy?”
She shook her head. “I mean yes—I’m saying no.”
“Oh.” His head lolled back on his shoulders as if he’d deflected an imaginary blow. “Yeah, okay. That’s okay.” He gathered his bearings and nodded.
He thought he’d been tired after his run! But asking a simple question and getting a not-so-simple answer had taken another kind of toll on him. One he wasn’t accustomed to.
“But thank you anyway,” she added politely.
“Sure.” He shrugged, trying hard to sound indifferent. “No problem.” He slid down from the table. “Thank you for the treatment. I’m sure my elbow will be feeling a whole lot better.” He started to make his way toward the door. “Really appreciate it. Hey, and tell that son of yours—tell Sammy, I said good-bye, okay?”
“Sure.” She nodded. “Unless, if you’re going past the bakery, you could tell him yourself.”
“Naw, I’m sure he’s doing fine. Plus, it’s about time I get home and shower.” He glanced down at his sweatshirt. “You know, get the day started.”
“Yeah, me, too.” To his ears, she sounded almost relieved. “Thank you for helping out Sammy today. That was nice of you.”
“Not a problem.” He grabbed the doorknob to let himself out before they could politely thank each other for one more thing one more time. “I guess I’ll be seeing you around …”
“At the meeting on Wednesday.”
“Right. Wednesday. Meeting. Wouldn’t want to miss it,” he said easily, tipping his hand good-bye.
Closing the door behind him, he walked down the sidewalk through Loveland, making his way toward his car. Until a thought stopped him in his tracks. A startling realization. One he couldn’t totally grasp.
He really had meant it, hadn’t he? What he’d said back there?
He really didn’t want to miss the meeting on Wednesday. More than that, he didn’t want to miss the chance to see Megan O’Donnell again.
Chapter 7
Na-naw! You pretty!”
Sammy spotted his nana’s reflection across the shop the moment Megan pushed his wheelchair through the handicap entrance of We Do! Wedding Planners.
As Laura O’Donnell turned from an oval antique wall mirror, the pearl-trimmed, shoulder-length wedding veil donning her head turned with her, its rustle as hushed as a whisper.
Megan had to agree with Sammy. Her mom did look pretty, almost glowing in fact.
But then everything in the We Do! Wedding Planners shop always seemed to have an ethereal quality about it. Almost as elusive and otherworldly as love itself, Megan had always thought—and still did, as she glanced around the establishment.
The evening sun shone through the storefront windows, its shimmering beams bringing out the lively amber luster in the giant oak armoire that stood behind the petite Louis XIV reception desk.
Nearly tall enough for castle decor, the armoire’s doors were flung wide open like welcoming arms, white satin and lace spilling out from the formidable piece of furniture from sample wedding dresses stuffed inside.
Two overstuffed upholstered love seats the same color as pink candy hearts sat in a room to the right of the
entry, cozily arced around a diminutive coffee table. On top of the table sat a delicately-painted floral china tea setting that looked fit for a princess, no less, with photo albums of exquisite We Do! brides who had already taken their walk down the aisle. And on this late spring day, instead of burning logs, the fireplace was filled with a huge pot of late-blooming tulips in a variety of corals, pinks, and yellows.
To the left of that sitting area, a staircase with a banister wrapped in eucalyptus garland accented with baby-cheek pink bows led to the upstairs workroom and computers. But as a young girl, Megan imagined more than once it looked like winding steps that just might lead to heaven.
In the middle of all that fluffiness, Sammy had a practical question. “You getting married, Na-naw?” He frowned.
Megan unzipped his light windbreaker and removed the baseball cap from his head. Ruffling his smooshed-down hair, she noted the confused look on his face. She would’ve been baffled as well if she hadn’t caught her mom on numerous occasions doing the very same thing—trying on wedding veils.
The “veil thing” was, after all, how her mom and best friend Pam had gotten their start as wedding planners. Once upon a time, many summers ago as little girls, the two of them had organized pretend weddings in their backyards, attended by all their favorite stuffed animals of course. The bride’s main prop for those special occasions had been a lacy half-slip—size 6x—that they’d used as a wedding veil. Tattered from many summers of use, and yellowed from time, that same half-slip hung in a shadowbox frame on the wall at We Do! Wedding Planners, displayed like a well-earned diploma.
“Getting married?” Her mom giggled at Sammy’s inquiry. “I’m already married, Sammy, you know that. To the most wonderful man in the world.”
“Pap-ee?”
“Yes, your pappy. But”—she slid the veil from her head—”I think there’s someone else I know who may be getting married soon.” She smiled broadly in Megan’s direction.
“Why—why are you looking at me like that?” Megan suddenly felt her shoulders stiffen. But then maybe it was the surroundings. For the past several years, she hadn’t been all that comfortable in her mom’s shop. The place was so different from Megan’s work environment. And her mom so different than her, she realized.
Every hour of her mother’s work day appeared to be wrapped in love and romance and frills. While Megan, well, she just didn’t have time or energy or even the interest to fuss with those sorts of things.
“I’m not looking at you like anything, honey. I’m thinking about Sylvia Pruitt.”
“Sylvia Pruitt? The old maid who lived in the Victorian on the riverbanks?”
“She still lives there, and she isn’t an old maid, Meg. She’s been unlucky in love, that’s all. But that’s behind her now. Thanks to Pam.”
“A little Pamela Matthews matchmaking, huh?”
Her mom nodded. “Both of us were involved to some degree, but I suppose most of the credit goes to Pam.” She reached for a hanger. “I was just trying on veils thinking about which one might suit Sylvia best if she—”
“Decides to marry?” Megan stuffed Sammy’s baseball hat in his backpack.
“Oh no. If she decides to buy her veil and gown through us. No doubt, she’ll be getting married. And soon.”
“To whom?” Megan knew her voice sounded incredulous, and she didn’t mean to be mean, but she couldn’t fathom it. Sylvia Pruitt? Getting married? As kids they used to dare each other to run across Old Maid Pruitt’s yard, hoping not to get caught in case she really had gone crazy without love and might cast some sort of weird spell on them.
“Martin Chandler.” Her mom’s eyes flashed bright. “Sylvia and Martin, together at last. Isn’t it perfect?”
Megan would’ve never thought of pairing up the spinster and funeral home director together. But now that her mom mentioned it, in an odd way the two did conjure up a likely match. “I guess it could work.” She shrugged.
Watching as her mom tucked the veils she’d been trying on back into the armoire, Megan noted how gently she nudged the satiny puffs of pristine white dresses into their places before shutting the cabinet doors for the day. Once again she couldn’t help thinking how farfetched it was that her mom, along with her We Do! business partner, spent their days—their lives actually—in such a way. Treating love like it was something palpable.
“So!” Her mom turned to Sammy. “Are you ready to have some fun with me and your pappy tonight while your mommy’s at her meeting?” She bent over and gave Sammy a kiss on the top of his head.
He nodded excitedly. “You an’ Pap-ee wach me?”
“We sure are.”
“Miss Biddle can’t. She hurt. She like her flowers though.”
“You took flowers to Mrs. Biddle? That’s sweet.”
Sammy nodded again while Megan filled in the blanks. “We went to see her last night after work. She’s still at the assisted living facility recovering from the surgery and doing rehab.”
“Miss Biddle give me a kiss, too,” Sammy spoke up.
“Well, how could she resist?” Her mom chuckled softly. “You’re such a handsome guy, you,” she said, giving Sammy reason to beam. “So it sounds like poor Mrs. Biddle has a ways to go yet in her recovery.”
“I’m looking for another sitter though. I have a few leads,” Megan stressed. Of course, she didn’t know how successful any of them would be. It wasn’t easy finding someone reliable and trustworthy who was also comfortable with a special-needs child. “I’ll find someone soon. You don’t have to worry.”
“Worry?” Her mom looked more crushed by Megan’s words than fretful.
“I mean if you have other things you have to—”
“Nothing is more important than our Sammy.” She shot Megan a stern look.
Oh, they’d covered this ground before. Round and round so many times. And it didn’t matter what her mother said, or what her father said either, Megan simply hated to ask them for help. Point blank.
“You try to do too much yourself.” They’d pleaded. “We’re not meant to do life alone.” They’d lecture. Which just wasn’t true in the first place. She wasn’t doing life alone. She was doing it with Sammy. And there were plenty of single moms out there doing even more than she was. All by themselves.
“I hear what you’re saying, Mom,” she appeased, not having time to rehash it all again. “I just meant—well, you and Dad work all day and—”
“Speaking of which,” her mom interrupted, turning her attention to Sammy, “your pappy is so excited that you’ll be there tonight to watch the baseball game with him.”
“Baseball game?” Sammy’s eyes grew wide. Her mom was definitely speaking his language. “To-nigh?”
“Oh yes.” Megan’s mom nodded. “The Hawks are playing the Cubs.”
“MaaNil buy me doughnuts.”
“What did you say?” Her mom gave a little chuckle. “Doughnuts? MacNeill? MacNeill Hattaway bought you doughnuts? Did I just hear that right?” She glanced back and forth between Sammy and Megan, the smile on her face growing so wide Megan thought her face might crack in two.
“Well, Hattaway didn’t really—” Megan started to explain the entire story, but she couldn’t burst Sammy’s bubble that way. “Well, he didn’t really have to,” she repeated, switching gears. “But yes, it was his idea to buy doughnuts for some of the boys.”
Her mom shook her head. “I don’t get it. Where? When?”
“Saturday morning, down on the bike path.” Megan checked her watch. “But really, Mom, I don’t have time to go into it.”
Yet that didn’t stop Laura O’Donnell, matchmaker extraordinaire—and curious mom.
“You mean you’re seeing MacNeill? Besides when you’re at the meetings?”
And that’s when her mom got that funny look on her face. The one with the slightly raised eyebrows, the faint smile, and dreamy eyes. The one that spoke of romantic possibilities and happily-ever-afters.
Oh, tha
nk goodness she hadn’t accepted Mac’s dinner invitation. Neither her son nor her mother would’ve ever gotten their heads out of the clouds again!
As it was, Sammy hadn’t stopped talking about Mac and the doughnuts for a second over the past five days, telling everyone they ran into all about his special morning at the bike path. Not only did he repeat the tale to whoever would listen, but he woke up talking about it and went to sleep with MacNeill Hattaway’s name on his lips, too.
No wonder it had been so hard for her to get her mind off Mac since Saturday. The scene on the basketball court … eating doughnuts outside Janey’s shop … the time they’d spent alone at the clinic together. If Sammy hadn’t kept mentioning his name, surely she wouldn’t still be thinking about Mac. Stewing over all he had confided to her. Wondering who he really was—what he was all about. Remembering how he’d looked at her while they were sharing time on the rock ledge together. A look that had definitely unnerved her. And surprised her. Although she shouldn’t have been surprised at all since … hadn’t he had as much practice with women as he had with pitching a baseball?
Suddenly her cheeks warmed again as they’d been doing the past several days. Spring allergies possibly? Hopefully her mom wouldn’t notice. Knowing her, she’d read more into it than was true.
“No, Mom, I’m not seeing MacNeill,” Megan answered flatly. “Not besides the meetings,” she added, emphatically.
“But Sammy just said—”
“Well, yeah. I mean, we bumped into him on Saturday but—”
“Maw-mee and MaaNil go ‘way together,” Sammy piped up. Unfortunately.
“Ya’ll went away together?” her mom asked breathily.
Now her mom’s eyes didn’t just look dreamy, they were wide with amazement. Approval and amazement. No doubt her mother could twist her and Mac’s trip to the clinic into a romantic rendezvous. Which it wasn’t. At all.
She let go of a sigh. She was so tired of all the MacNeill Hattaway jibber-jabber. And it sure didn’t help quell the uneasiness she felt thinking about seeing him again in just a matter of minutes.
Wedding Homerun in Loveland, Ohio Page 7