The Wedding that Wasn't

by Lori Wilde

  “Excuse me,” Tom said. “I forgot to wash my hands after the yard work.”

  “Surely,” she mumbled.

  The second Tom left, Aunt Molly abandoned her friends and made a beeline to Felicity’s table.

  “What are you up to, missy?” Aunt Molly asked, plunking down in the seat Tom had vacated.

  “Having dinner with Tom Loving.”

  “I can see that.... But why?” Her aunt’s voice and eyes were full of curiosity and innuendo.

  Felicity shrugged. “Why not? I’m entitled to have dinner as much as the next person.”

  “Why are you with him?”

  “Because he asked. What’s wrong with that?”

  Aunt Molly tapped her chin with two fingers. “There’s nothing wrong with him. In fact, he’s quite yummy. It’s just that, well, he’s not going to stick around for long, and I hate to see you get hurt.”

  “Steve stuck around, and I still got hurt.”

  “That’s not the kind of hurt I’m talking about.”

  “You’ve already told me I’m jinxed either way—”

  “That was a mistake. I should have kept my mouth shut. Your mother would be so mad if she knew I told you. It’s a silly myth.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “You deserve all the happiness in the world, but I’m not sure Tom Loving can give you what you need.”

  “Auntie, I appreciate your looking out for me, but it’s just dinner.” And a dynamite kiss.

  “Ada Millstone saw Tom mowing your lawn.” The way Aunt Molly said mowing your lawn made it sound like a euphemism for sex.

  “Tom feels responsible for Savannah’s running away from the wedding, and he’s trying to make it up to me.”

  “You’re a grown woman,” Aunt Molly said. “You can do whatever you want. Just be careful.” She patted Felicity’s shoulder, hopped up as Tom appeared across the restaurant, leaned down, and whispered, “And use protection. I know you can’t get pregnant, but he’s a military man, and you don’t know where he’s been.”

  “Auntie!”

  Tom strolled up to the table. Aunt Molly sent him a look over the top of her glasses and said to him, “Behave,” before she zoomed back to her friends.

  “What was that all about?” Tom asked, an amused expression cutting a deep dimple into his right cheek. He had the best smile. “Did you tell her I kissed you?”

  “Heavens no! I’d never hear the end of it. You’ve been in town for three days, and they’re already making up stories.”

  “About us?” His eyes twinkled.

  “Don’t let it go to your head. The gossips have nothing better to do than speculate about people’s love lives.”

  “That bothers you?”

  “No,” she said. “Well, okay, yes, I’m a people-pleaser by nature, but I’ve decided I’m over it.”

  “Good for you.” He settled back in his seat just as the waitress returned to take their order.

  The meal was delicious, the conversation light and fun. They talked about books, art, music, sports, casual interests. Nothing serious or weighted with any kind of significance. Certainly no mention of The Kiss.

  Thank God.

  She learned that Tom loved Banksy, silent movies, and kayaking. He was a fan of John Grisham novels, preferred waffles to pancakes, enjoyed ghost stories told around a campfire and college baseball. He wasn’t enthusiastic about white chocolate, reality TV, people who wore their caps backward, or cookie-cutter housing developments. His idol was his father, which she thought was very sweet. He was a Libra to her Aquarius, and, when she commented that two air signs could stir up a storm, he laughed like it was the most amusing thing he’d ever heard.

  It was one of the nicest dinners she’d had in ages, and it was something of a surprise when the waitress announced, “We close at nine.”

  “What time is it?” Felicity asked.

  “Eight forty-five.”

  Wow. She couldn’t believe how they’d lost track of time.

  “Forgive us,” Tom said. “We got carried away.”

  “We are air signs after all.” Felicity giggled.

  The waitress looked at her strangely. Tom paid the bill, left a large tip, and they walked out of the restaurant laughing.

  “You’re a great conversationalist,” Tom said, opening the driver’s side door of her Prius so she could get in. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had this much fun.”

  “I feel the same way.” She hesitated before sliding behind the wheel. He was standing close, and, for a moment, she was absolutely certain he was going to kiss her again.

  She held her breath. Waited. Thrilled and equally terrified. Dammit, she wanted him to kiss her again. But not here. Not in public.

  Their eyes locked, held.

  How could they be feeling so connected when they barely knew each other? Felicity had been through enough sorrow in her life to be skeptical of feelings that burned hot and fast, but there was something undeniable passing between them. Something much stronger than simple physical attraction. If she were being fanciful, she might say their souls were calling to each other. But if she were being honest? Maybe it was just loneliness.

  His mouth was so tempting.

  She leaned in, closed her eyes, parted her lips, thought, kiss me. Oh yes, she did. What was wrong with her? How could she want something so badly when she knew it was not right for her? Boundaries. She’d set boundaries, and she wanted him to honor them, but when he did, she was disappointed.

  A cell phone dinged.

  Not hers.

  She opened her eyes. Tom sheepishly pulled his cell phone from his pocket, glanced at the screen.

  “It’s from Savannah,” he said. “She’s brought my Ducati back. It’s at your place.”

  “Where is she? How is she?”

  “I’ll ask.” Tom texted his niece.

  Felicity hugged herself against the evening breeze and gazed up at the stars. Breathed deeply, tried to resolve the emotional conflict churning inside her with regard to Tom Loving. It wasn’t fair to keep sending him mixed messages. Telling him to back off and then closing her eyes and leaning in when she sensed he wanted to kiss her.

  His phone pinged again. “She’s fine. She’s back at her condo now.”

  “Did she contact her parents?”

  Tom winced. “Yes.”

  “How do you feel about that?”

  “I still feel guilty that she took off on my bike, but I figure she must have had a good reason. I’m staying out of it.”

  “I hope she’s doing okay emotionally,” Felicity fretted. “Running away couldn’t have been easy on her.”

  “I’m guessing it wasn’t so easy on Chance either,” Tom said.

  “Or her parents.” Felicity paused. “Or you.”

  “Or you,” Tom added.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “She ruined your business.”

  “I’ll bounce back. She took your most prized possession,” Felicity pointed out.

  “Gotta admit, it might be shallow of me, but I was worried about the Ducati.” He chuckled. “I’ve had the bike for twenty years.”

  “But still, you cared enough about your niece’s happiness to put your beloved motorcycle at her disposal.”

  “I’m glad to have it back.”

  “Now you’re free again. You can ride away any time you want.” She was appalled to hear a wistfulness in her voice. “You’re no longer stuck here in Serendipity.” With me, she added silently.

  “I don’t want to ride away,” he said, his voice low and deep. His eyes dark and enigmatic in the shadows from the restaurant’s neon light. “I’m committed to bringing those bluebirds back. That is unless you want me to ride away.”

  “No,” she said, inhaling when she should have been exhaling, her chest growing tight beneath the added pressure. “I don’t want that at all.”

  * * *

  Once they were back at the Bluebird Inn, Tom couldn’t resis
t going over every inch of the Ducati, on a search for dents and dings. He knew he was inordinately attached to the machine, but he’d bought it with the first money he’d earned in the military. Heidi had accused him of loving the motorcycle more than he’d loved her.

  Maybe he had.

  Didn’t say much for their relationship.

  “How is the bike?” Felicity snuggled deeper into the folds of her thick knitted sweater as she stood underneath the carport watching him examine the Ducati.

  “Looks good.” He bobbed his head.

  “Where did Savannah leave the keys?” Felicity asked.

  “Good question.” Tom searched the saddlebags, found the ignition key tucked inside.

  “Luckily, Serendipity has a low crime rate.”

  Tom straightened, stuck the keys into his pocket, caught Felicity studying him intently. “What?”

  “Just now, in this light, you looked all of eighteen.” She smiled. “I wish I could have known you when you were eighteen.”

  “Good thing you didn’t,” he said devilishly. “I would have gotten you into so much trouble.”

  “Bad boy, were you?” She took a step closer, laughter in her eyes.

  “Not bad so much as mischievous.” His gaze hung on her lips, and he remembered exactly what they tasted like. He wanted to kiss her again, but he’d promised to keep his hands to himself. When he’d made that promise he hadn’t realized how hard it was going to be.

  He ran a hand over the motorcycle’s handlebars, thought about the open road and freedom. Maybe he should go. Bringing bluebirds back to Bluebird Way was just an excuse to be near her, and they both knew it.

  Clearly, Felicity wasn’t ready for a relationship. She was still mourning her dead husband. How could he ever hope to compete with a dead guy?

  “I’m calling it a night.” Felicity suppressed a yawn. “Are you coming in?”

  “In a bit,” he said, needing to be alone with his thoughts.

  “All right.” She turned toward the door that led from the carport into the house.

  “Felicity,” he called.

  She stopped, turned back. “Yes?”

  “Are you happy?”

  Her eyes widened, fringed by those lush lashes. “What do you mean?”

  “Does this”—he waved a hand at the house—“fulfill you?”

  The corner of her mouth twitched. “I like what I do. I enjoy running the inn and looking after people and the gardens. I’m a nurturer. It’s in my blood. I—”

  “It’s okay,” he said. “You don’t owe me any excuses.”

  She pulled her spine up straight, frowned a little, and her voice sharpened. “I’m not making excuses.”

  They’d had such a nice night together, why was he pushing her?

  “Sometimes people end up on a path not of their own choosing. Are you one of them?” he asked, hoping she’d tell him she was a secret vagabond and wanted nothing more than to go riding on the back of his Ducati with him into the sunset.

  She smiled a lost Madonna sort of smile, and he couldn’t help thinking of that sonogram picture that had fallen out of the reservation book. It was a smile that said she’d suffered much, but was still quite content with her lot in life.

  “Good night,” she murmured, and went inside.

  He watched her walk away, jealous of her bravery and resilience. Humbled and ashamed that he could not measure up to her example. She was a fine human being. Bold in a quiet way. Continuing to live a productive life even though she’d lost so much. Shining her lovely light out into the world.

  Tom went back to his motorcycle. Straddled it. Wondered if he should just pull up stakes and go. His cell phone dinged in his pocket.

  A text from Joe. Savannah brought your bike back?

  Yes, Tom texted.

  Joe: She came to see us.

  Tom: What did she say?

  Joe: It’s complicated.

  Tom: How did you know about the bike?

  Joe: Felicity texted me.

  Tom raised his head, looked toward the door. Felicity couldn’t leave well enough alone. She knew Joe and Marion had to have been worried sick about Savannah. She must have felt compelled to pass along what she knew. He didn’t blame her. He should have been the one to do it.

  Joe: She likes U.

  Tom: Savannah?

  Joe: Felicity.

  Tom: How do U know?

  Joe: She told me.

  Tom: Just now? In a text?

  Joe: No. Last night. She called to see how Marion and I were doing. She told me UR staying to help her bring the bluebirds back.

  Tom: Why did she tell U that?

  Joe: Because U won’t. I have to find out from someone else you’re staying in Serendipity.

  Tom: What’s the deal with everyone in this town? People can’t wait to crawl up in your business.

  Joe: Get used 2 it. That’s how it is when people care about U. But you’re getting itchy to leave now, huh?

  Tom sucked in his breath, felt the old anger creep in.

  Then Joe surprised the hell out of him by texting: I love you, little brother.

  Chapter Seven

  Two weeks flew by without a single other guest checking in, and there were no new bookings either.

  But Felicity wasn’t too upset. She was having a grand time just hanging out with Tom. No kisses involved.

  They ate every meal together. Worked side by side in the gardens. Went to the movies a couple of times. Took long rides on his Ducati. Swam in the pool most evenings. They sat outside and listened to the tree frogs and the crickets and the chuck-will’s-widow calling in the night. They talked and talked and talked underneath the stars. Shared their innermost dreams and fears, doubts, and plans.

  They even got invited to the Loving mansion for dinner with Tom’s brother, Joe, and his wife, Marion, and their son, Joshua.

  Joshua was studying to be a veterinarian, and he and Tom bonded over the idea of bringing the bluebirds back to Serendipity.

  Savannah’s name was never mentioned, and it turned out to be a surprisingly pleasant evening. At the end of the night, Marion drew Felicity aside and apologized for how the failed wedding had ruined Felicity’s business and promised to do her best to squash the rampant rumors that the Bluebird Inn was jinxed.

  But Felicity knew it was going to take a brave soul from the Serendipity social registry to book a wedding at the Bluebird to banish those rumors. She didn’t see that happening anytime soon.

  Tom and Joe had some private time together too, and Tom came away from the evening with a renewed spring in his step. The Loving brothers, it seemed, were starting to make peace.

  Her time with Tom was a glorious vacation from her daily life, and she cherished every minute they spent together, because Felicity knew it could not last.

  Which worried her a bit, because she should have been more concerned about the future of the inn. If the lack of bookings kept up, she wouldn’t be able to make the payments on the loan she’d taken out to renovate the B&B.

  Maybe you could just sell the house, whispered a voice at the back of her mind. She’d never traveled. Never lived anywhere but Serendipity, except for when she was in college. Those questions Tom had asked her that night Savannah arranged to have the Ducati brought back had stirred up things.

  Immediately, Felicity felt disloyal to Steve, his family, her community, for such thoughts. She loved her hometown and the Bluebird Inn. Aunt Molly was here. All her friends. Where would she go? What would she do if she left?

  The truth of it was, she’d been having silly romantic fantasies of taking off with Tom Loving. Foolish. Yes, she knew that, but she’d been having them nonetheless.

  He was just a Band-Aid. He was fun and handsome and paying her attention, and he distracted her from the fact that her business was going down the tubes at lightning speed. Her daydreams wouldn’t withstand the harsh light of reality.

  Nothing wrong with enjoying the moment. It wouldn’t last, but th
at was okay. Nothing ever did.

  Several times she thought Tom might kiss her again, but he never crossed that line. He wanted her, she could see it in his eyes, just as much as she wanted him, but he didn’t make a move. He’d promised her that he would respect her boundaries, although she couldn’t help thinking there was more to his hesitation than that.

  Maybe he was afraid of starting something he couldn’t stick around for. He’d made it clear he was a wanderer by nature, and she accepted that. Respected him for his honesty. He was not a man who toyed with a woman’s affections. He could control himself.

  It felt like an old-fashioned courtship, but she couldn’t afford to let herself think along those lines. He was not courting her. He’d be leaving when the bluebirds came back or when he got the job offer he was holding out for. Hopefully, they could remain friends.

  Long-distance friendship would be enough.

  Or so she told herself.

  On Monday, sixteen days after Savannah Loving ran away from her wedding, Felicity and Tom fell into step as they headed to the back of the peach orchard where they’d set up the bluebird houses. In that short time, it had become a comfortable routine. The two of them walking together in the silence of the early morning. Dew gathering on their shoes as the morning birds sang.

  Tom kept the grass clipped short here, mowing it every three days. As they had every day since they’d started this project, they put mealworms and bright red berries into the small, blue plastic open containers they’d tacked onto the top of the birdhouses. The blue flags they’d staked out in hopes of attracting the bluebirds’ attention fluttered in the breeze, sending the message: Free meal! Stop here!

  The mealworms were pricey, especially since, so far, other birds had been dining on them, but Tom had assured her they were worth the investment. Mealworms were filet mignon to bluebirds. Tom promised as soon as the bluebirds found the mealworms, they would be hooked.

  Unfortunately, that had not yet happened.

  “What are the odds we can bring the bluebirds back this spring?” Felicity asked, wondering how much longer she could go without wedding bookings.