by Irene Hannon
Brian picked up the screwdriver and weighed it in his hand. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy who would go to church or talk about God stuff.”
One side of Adam’s mouth hitched up. “So I’ve been told.”
“My mom used to take me to church back in Medford, when I was a little kid.”
“Why did you stop going?”
“My dad didn’t like it.”
Another strike against the man.
“Well, he’s gone now. Reverend Baker would be happy to have you both at Grace Christian. Why don’t you mention that to your mom?”
“I might. So what do you want me to work on next?”
The deeper conversation was over for today.
Yet the walls between them continued to fall as Adam showed Brian how to shim one side of the damaged planter and the conversation transitioned to more general topics.
Maybe Lexie’s idea had merit after all.
And barring any major glitches, maybe, just maybe, Brian would weather his ill-advised detour off the straight and narrow without any further complications.
11
He wasn’t going to show.
A glass of soda in each hand, Lexie wove through the crowd under the lawn tent at Seabird Inn and gave the milling reception throng another sweep.
No sign of Adam—and the cocktail hour was winding down. Dinner would be served soon.
Swallowing past her disappointment, she continued toward the table she, her mom, and Matt were sharing with Marci Weber, editor of the Hope Harbor Herald, and an older couple the groom knew from his corporate law days in Portland.
“Here you go.” She set the sodas in front of her mom and Matt and retook her seat.
“When are we gonna eat? I’m hungry.” Matt slurped the sugary drink through his straw.
“Why don’t you try some of the appetizers I got for you?” Lexie tapped the untouched plate in front of him.
He wrinkled his nose at the cocktail shrimp, bruschetta, mini crab cake, and bite-sized quiche. “Yuck. I want real food.”
“Dinner will be served soon.” Thank goodness BJ and Eric had been kind enough to offer a children’s menu for the few young ones in attendance. “You’ll like the chicken strips and fries.”
“Yeah!” He continued to guzzle the soda.
“Better drink slower. We’re switching to water after that’s gone.”
“But it’s a party.”
“One glass of soda. That’s it. We talked about this at home.”
He gave her a disgruntled pout and started to fidget.
Great.
If he was bored after thirty minutes, what would he be like by the end of the dinner and toasts?
This was going to be a long evening.
On Matt’s other side, her mother was engaged in an animated conversation with the only woman at the table close to her age. The two of them were laughing and chatting as if they’d known each other for years.
At least one person in the family was having fun at this wedding.
“It’s a beautiful setting, isn’t it? Very romantic.”
As Marci spoke, she gave the decorations her full attention.
Yeah, it was.
The interior of the tent was lit with muted chandeliers and plenty of soft candlelight. Crisp white linen cloths covered the round tables, burnished silverware gleaming at each place. In the center of each table, arrangements of hydrangeas, roses, and delphiniums spilled from cut-glass bowls onto the pristine linen. Beside the dance floor, a quartet of instrumentalists played classic love songs.
“It is beautiful.”
“And don’t you love BJ’s dress? She told me it belonged to her grandmother—and her great-grandmother also wore it. They don’t make dresses like that anymore, do they?”
Lexie scanned the crowd again, homing in on the bride. She’d noticed the vintage gown at the church, but here, in the evening candlelight, the elaborate beadwork on the bodice, long sleeves that tapered to a point on the back of each hand, and sweeping satin skirt were even more beautiful. For once BJ’s hair wasn’t pulled into its customary ponytail but had been coiffed into an elaborate upsweep featuring a cluster of flowers and a long, trailing wisp of tulle.
The ensemble was nothing like the simple white sundress and barrette of flowers she’d worn for her own impromptu wedding.
“No, they don’t. Are you going to do a write-up in the Herald about the wedding?”
“Of course! It’s the social event of the season next to the cranberry festival.” Marci winked. “Oh, look! They’re getting ready to cut the cake!” She reached for her camera and jumped to her feet. “I’ve already got plenty of pictures, but I can’t resist a cake shot. Be back in a sec.”
The editor dashed off toward the happy couple.
A smile tugged at Lexie’s mouth. Marci was a go-getter for sure. It had been a lucky day for the town when she’d arrived last year after inheriting her great-aunt’s summer cottage. Not only had she revived the newspaper, she’d launched a successful PR firm that was drawing clients from across the state.
Curious that someone so attractive, upbeat, and friendly seemed, in her free time, to be almost as much of a loner as Adam.
Adam.
Lips drooping, she fingered the hem of the silky fabric above her knee. What a waste of money this dress had been.
Flashbulbs went off, followed by laughter, as the bride and groom cut into their wedding cake, creating memories they would carry their whole life.
A pang echoed in her heart. Too bad she didn’t have memories of a beautiful day like this tucked away to sustain her. The simple ceremony that had united her and Joe as man and wife had held none of the elegance or romance or glamor of today’s event. Nor had it been memorable.
But they’d had each other—and absolute confidence they’d have a lifetime together to create special memories.
Who could have predicted that lifetime would be cut so very short?
“What’re they doin’, Mom?” Matt attempted to climb onto the seat of his chair for a better view of the excitement around the cake.
“Whoa! These folding chairs weren’t designed for gymnastics.”
She stood and swept him into her arms, this son she’d cuddled and cradled. He was her best tangible memory of her short but happy marriage—all thirty-nine pounds of him. Yet soon he’d be too heavy to lift . . . and life would change again, no matter how hard she tried to maintain the status quo.
“What’re they doin’?” He craned his neck.
Blinking back the film of moisture in her eyes, she held him tighter. “They’re cutting their wedding cake.”
“Oooh! Do we get a piece?”
“After dinner.”
“Oh.” His face fell. “So when’re we gonna eat?”
“Ladies and gentlemen, if you’ll take your seats, dinner is about to be served.”
As the keyboard player spoke into the microphone, Lexie set Matt down and ruffled his hair. “There’s your answer.”
Her son climbed back into his chair, the combo resumed playing, and waiters began parading through the tent with trays of salads.
Lexie retook her own seat. If the dinner was half as delicious as the appetizers Matt had turned his nose up at, the meal would be memorable. The music was superb too. As soon as BJ and Eric finished their first dance, the portable floor was going to get crowded.
It was a great party.
Nevertheless, Lexie was counting the minutes until she could go home, slip out of her Cinderella dress, and let her life turn back into a pumpkin.
He’d arrived at the perfect time.
Adam surveyed the interior of the tent. With the lights dim and the waiters busy delivering salads to the tables, no one would notice his late entrance—just as no one had noticed him slipping into the church moments before BJ walked down the aisle. And by claiming a seat in the last pew, he’d been able to escape the minute the bridal party paraded out.
Even so, the few
people who’d spotted him had done a double take.
It had not been a comfortable experience.
And it wasn’t likely to get any better.
He peered at the card he’d found at the entrance to the tent with his name and table number written in fancy script. How was he supposed to find his seat in this dim light, short of making a very conspicuous circuit of the room?
Maybe a waiter could point him in the right direction.
He waylaid the first one who came close. The man indicated the general direction of his table, and as he started toward it, Luis stood and motioned to him.
Saved.
Staying at the edge of the tent, he skirted the tables and kept his gaze fixed on his destination.
“You are here.” Luis grasped his hand. “I thought you might have changed your mind.”
“I told BJ I’d come. I always keep my word.”
“You were at the church too?”
“In the back.”
“Front . . . back . . . it does not matter. In God’s house, every seat is equal. I saved you a place. This new image”—he made an all-encompassing gesture—“it suits you.”
Adam fiddled with his tie. “It feels strange. Like I’m pretending to be somebody else.”
“You are somebody else. Now you are dressing the part. Sit.” He pulled out the chair between his own and Eleanor Cooper’s, insulating him from any unwanted social interaction.
Thank you, God, for a friend like Luis.
“Good evening, Stone. You’re very polished tonight.” Eleanor Cooper touched his hand as he sat.
“Thanks.” He managed a smile for the soon-to-turn-eighty-nine-year-old widow who’d given Luis a home when he needed one most—though the living arrangement had ended up being a blessing for both of them.
“You missed some fine hors d’oeuvres . . . but we saved you a few to sample.” She set a small plate in front of him.
As usual, the kindness of this woman who barely knew him tightened his throat. “I appreciate that.”
“Not at all.” She waved his thanks aside and draped her napkin over her lap. “How is your dog doing?”
“Improving every day.”
“Wonderful news. I know how upset I’d be if anyone hurt my dear Methuselah.”
As he scarfed down the appetizers, Adam tried to pay attention to the story Eleanor launched into about her cat—but the food was a huge distraction. Compared to the canned and frozen stuff he subsisted on, this was like state dinner fare.
The waiter whisked away his small plate the instant he finished and replaced it with a salad.
He devoured that as well.
“The food is tasty, yes?” Luis motioned toward his empty plate. Not one speck of lettuce remained.
“Yeah. It’s great.”
He checked out the other guests at the table. Most of them were only halfway through their salad course.
Better put the brakes on. Obviously, the proper behavior at an event like this was to savor the flavors in slow motion.
Now that the edge was off his hunger, he might be able to exercise some restraint.
“The small orchestra is excellent too.” Luis indicated the combo off to the side of the dance floor. “Not like the loud noise that passes for music these days. I imagine many people will be dancing tonight.”
“I guess.” Not on his agenda, though. Dancing, like small talk, hadn’t been among the social niceties he’d learned during his youth. Nor was it a skill easily mimicked—like slowing down his food intake.
The waiter set a plate in front of him, the food arranged like a work of art, a fresh flower tucked beside . . . was that filet mignon?
“My. This is almost too pretty to eat, isn’t it?” Eleanor examined her own entrée.
Since she didn’t seem to expect an answer, he continued to ogle the piece of meat.
“You do not like beef?” Luis leaned closer.
“I like it fine. But my beef is always the ground kind. Is this filet mignon?”
“I believe it is. BJ told me they were having a . . . what did she call it? Ah. A surf and turf dinner. There is salmon too.”
“Wow.”
“It is a very nice meal.”
Like the nicest one he’d ever had.
Although the temptation to chow down at top speed was strong, Adam paced himself by keeping tabs on Luis’s progress. Eating slower did have one benefit—it gave him longer to enjoy the best meal of his life.
He finished a bite or two ahead of the man beside him, and once again the waiter whisked away an empty plate.
“And now it is time for the first dance.” Luis motioned toward the portable floor in front of the head table.
Adam shifted around as Eric swept BJ into his arms and began to sway to an oldie but goodie—“It Had to Be You.” One of his favorite CDs had a striking jazz arrangement of that song.
“They look good together, do they not?” Luis spoke softly, his focus on the newlyweds.
“Yes. BJ cleans up real . . .”
His words trailed off as he caught sight of a stunning, dark-haired woman in his peripheral vision. She was angled away from him, talking to Tracy Hunter, BJ’s matron of honor. Tracy had traded her usual cranberry-farm attire of jeans and baseball cap for a swirly pink dress—but it paled in comparison to the silky blue number the other woman was . . .
The brunette turned, and Adam’s heart skipped a beat.
Lexie?!
“She is very different tonight too, isn’t she?” Luis motioned toward the women.
“Yeah, I . . .” His voice rasped, and he swallowed. “I’ve never seen her in anything but her uniform.”
“Ah. You are talking about our police chief. I was referring to Tracy. But they are both lovely.”
Adam kept his head averted to hide the heat creeping up his neck. Bad faux pas. He didn’t want his friend thinking he had any foolish aspirations. “I didn’t even realize it was her at first. It was kind of a disconnect.”
“Yes. Seeing people out of context can be confusing.”
Tracy’s husband came up beside her and slipped an arm around her waist. After another brief exchange, Lexie lifted two plates of cake he hadn’t noticed she was holding and wove back through the tables while Tracy and Michael moved onto the dance floor. Near as he could tell before he lost sight of her, she was sitting on the far side of the room.
Did she have a date?
Possible. She’d been carrying two plates of cake.
He stretched his neck, but to no avail. It was too dim and there were too many people between them—including the couples on the dance floor. Short of standing up and calling attention to himself, he wasn’t going to find out who her companion was unless the two of them ventured out to dance.
But it was very likely a date. Most people brought one to events like this, and with her beauty and intelligence and numerous other assets, Lexie would have her pick of men.
Though he tried to tamp it down, a foolish surge of disappointment swept over him.
And hanging around to watch Lexie in someone else’s arms held no appeal.
It was time to go.
He’d honored his promise to BJ. Attended the wedding, stayed for all the important parts of the reception. There was no reason to linger.
He pushed his chair back.
“Oh, Stone, if you’re getting up, would you mind bringing me a piece of wedding cake? I believe it’s on that table over there, near the band.” Eleanor smiled at him.
A word not fit for polite company flashed through his mind.
He wanted out. Now.
But refusing the kindly older woman’s request wasn’t an option.
Besides, how long could it take to retrieve and deliver one piece of cake?
“I’d be happy to. It won’t come close to your fudge cake, though. Are you sure you want second best?” His flattery was sincere—but maybe she’d change her mind if she thought about the comparison?
Pink spots
appeared on the older woman’s cheeks, and she touched his hand. “You’re very kind. But wedding cake is special. Call me fanciful, but I can always taste the love inside. You should have some too.”
He was stuck.
“I might do that in a little while. Luis, would you like a piece?”
“Yes. I’ll go with you. It would be hard to juggle three plates.”
“That’s okay, I can . . .”
“Coffee, anyone?” A waiter stopped beside their table and lifted a silver pot.
“Yes. Three here.” Luis indicated their cups. “Let’s go get that cake.”
Apparently he was staying for dessert after all.
Adam trailed after Luis, circling the dance floor in the opposite direction from where Lexie had disappeared. If he stayed among the crowd, there wasn’t much chance she’d notice him.
And once he returned to his seat, he was going to ignore the protocols on speed-eating, wolf down his cake, leave this gracious and elegant world behind, and hightail it back to his rustic cabin.
Where he belonged.
12
“This is good cake, Mom.” With the side of his fork, Matt scraped up the remnants of icing on his plate with the diligence of a miner pulling gold flakes out of a panning sieve. “Are you gonna eat the rest of yours?” He cast a hopeful glance at the piece on her plate, untouched except for one bite.
“I might.”
“Don’t you like it?”
“Yes. I’m letting my dinner settle before I eat any more.”
“If you’re too full, I can help you finish it.”
“I’ll let you know.” After cajoling her into another half glass of soda, he did not need any additional sugar. “You want to look at one of the books I brought?”
“I guess.” He leaned back and swung his legs, watching the swaying couples while she dug a picture book out of her oversized purse. “Are you gonna dance, Mom?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t bring anyone to dance with.” She handed him one of his favorite books and picked up her cup.
“Maybe you could . . . hey!” He sat up straighter. “Is that Mr. Stone?”
The black liquid sloshed close to the edge, and she gripped her cup with both hands to steady it. “Where?”