Chapter 30
Fat drops of rain fell like tears onto the mourners in the cemetery, there to pay their final respects to Angie Wolfe. Even though the air was still hot, Becca shivered as the pallbearers—Tim Wolfe, Oliver, Matt, Jack, and two other firefighters—carried in the casket. They lowered it onto the metal frame, their faces tight with strain and grief. She had managed to get Jack out of his head the night his mother passed. When she woke up the next morning, he was wrapped around her like she was the only thing keeping him afloat.
But she hadn’t seen much of him in recent days. Her texts to him had garnered only the briefest of acknowledgments. She tried not to take it personally. He was hunkered down with his father and brothers. She couldn’t imagine what they were going through—she just wished she could be of more help.
Her mother seemed to read her mind, and squeezed Becca’s shoulder gently. "Give him time,” she said.
Becca nodded. Not that she had any other choice but to give him time. Maybe it didn’t matter anyway. She knew what she had seen on his face in Matt’s cabin, but he still hadn’t said he was staying in St. Caroline. That wasn’t his original plan. He came home to spend time with his mother. Then he would go back to California and whatever life he had out there. A life she wasn’t part of. As far as she knew, he hadn’t changed his mind about that.
The men stepped back from the casket, their crisp black suits dotted with rain. They all wore matching floral printed ties, apparently one of Angie Wolfe’s requests.
Becca paid little attention to the words of the reverend. Her attention was reserved for Jack, who was so deep inside his head and his grief that she could tell he wasn’t hearing anything either. Or seeing anything. His eyes were trained hard on the wet grass in front of him.
Thunder rumbled in the distance. As a child, she had loved summer thunderstorms—violent and visual, great streaks of lightning splitting the sky over the bay, the noise rolling in like nature’s anger.
She closed her eyes when the reverend began to pray. When she opened them again, Jack was no longer standing with his father and brothers. She glanced around the cemetery as the mourners began to disperse, some stopping to shake hands with Tim Wolfe and then pull him into an awkward embrace. But Jack was nowhere to be seen. He was gone.
Jack stood at the sink in Matt’s small bachelor kitchen. He’d spent the evening cleaning up the cabin, which could charitably be called a disaster. Takeout was all he and Matt were eating lately—and the proof of that was stacked all around the kitchen and on the coffee table. Pizza boxes, white Chinese rice containers, crushed fortune cookies, enough empty soda cans and water bottles to qualify the place as a recycling center. He had bagged up the trash and taken it outside. Loaded Matt’s tiny dishwasher, then filled the sink with soapy water to wash what wouldn’t fit.
Matt was staying at Oliver’s house for the night, watching Cam and Mason. Oliver had driven straight from the cemetery to Baltimore to be with Serena, whose condition had not improved. Jack himself was drained. Mentally, physically, emotionally—he was nothing but a hollowed out shell. He could barely even remember being at the funeral home. Already it felt like something that had happened days ago, instead of just that morning.
He spent the afternoon at the post-funeral reception in the fire station’s community room. The Trevors had organized it, marshaling donations of food and drink. If there was someone in the town of St. Caroline who hadn’t stopped in for at least ten or fifteen minutes, Jack couldn’t think of them. Every time he started to go look for Becca, someone else had waylaid him.
Eventually, he managed to slip away and follow her to the station’s kitchen. He desperately had wanted to kiss her, but didn’t—because how inappropriate would that have been? Now, however, he wished he had. Everything seemed inappropriate now anyway. A smile, a slice of cake, a hot shower. Anything done for pleasure. He couldn’t even imagine experiencing enjoyment again. Ever. He felt utterly defeated.
You won. Happy?
He had apologized to Becca for his inattention in recent days. “I’m not fit company to be with.” It was a lame excuse, but the truth.
And tomorrow she was leaving for the Virginia suburbs of Washington, DC, to meet with some businesswoman who wanted Becca to make quilts for her new office building. So he had missed his chance to spend a little time with her.
The last time had felt so damn good, sleeping next to her, waking up in the middle of the night to find her body snuggled up against his, wrapping his arms around her to hold her tight until dawn. It had felt more intimate than sex.
He scratched his thumbnail against a plate, trying to loosen dried-on something or other. Not that he didn’t want sex with her again. He did. But there wouldn’t be alcohol involved the way it had been seven years ago. The next time he had sex with Becca, they both would be sober.
The next time. Who are you kidding?
There wasn’t going to be a next time.
Why not?
His thumbnail stopped its scratching. That wasn’t his voice.
You can leave me alone now. Thanks.
He wanted a next time. Things had been going great with Becca before he learned about her pregnancy. It was easy being with her, and that was something he’d never been able to say about a woman before. When she was around, everything was clearer. Sharper. Right. That was it.
Being with her just felt right.
And they had a child together. There was that, as well. There were flimsier foundations for a relationship. So they were going about things ass-backwards. They started a family first and then fell in love.
You’re overthinking things, Jackie.
The words were clear as a bell in his mind. But he knew they weren’t his words.
The dish drainer was filling up with cleaned dishes. Two more plates, a saucepan, and a fistful of forks and he was done. But he paused, his hands submerged in the soapy water. Someone was behind him. He felt it as strongly as he’d ever felt anyone’s presence.
The door to the cabin was unlocked, as it always was when he and Matt were home. No need to lock up in St. Caroline. So anyone could have wandered in. Tiny soap bubbles rose from the dishwater and fanned out around his head. He exhaled slowly, then spun around.
No one was there.
He pushed away from the sink and walked down the short hallway to Matt’s bedroom. Empty. Ditto for the bathroom.
He was losing it, clearly. The strain of the past days was getting to him. Hell, the strain of the last few months. He wished Becca were here. She’d make him feel less crazy. Ground him. But she was working at Skipjack’s tonight, and he didn’t want a repeat of the other night—him leaned over the bar, two sheets to the wind. She deserved better behavior than that.
He finished the dishes and dried his hands on a dish towel. He collapsed onto the sofa, too tired to even bother pulling it out into a bed. On the chair in the corner was folded his wedding quilt. He stared at it for a long while. Had his mother known he and Becca would get together? Is that why she asked Becca to finish it?
Just a coincidence.
There was that voice again.
She’s just the finest hand quilter I’ve ever met.
He was holding his breath. I’m losing my mind.
Let go of your mind, Jackie. Reach for your heart.
Chapter 31
At the revolving door, Becca turned and took one last look at the soaring lobby of the office building. Six months from now, four large-scale art quilts would greet employees and clients as they strolled toward the elevators. Her own art quilts! Becca could hardly believe it. Not only did someone want to hang her quilts where hundreds of people would see them every day, that person even wanted to pay for them. Becca had a deposit for the work in her purse, a check for more money than she’d ever had at one time.
She pushed through the revolving door and then stepped aside to send a group text to her mother and sisters. Got the job! Immediately her phone was flooded with congratul
ations and, from her mother, I never doubted you would.
She dropped her phone back into her purse, sneaking another peek at the deposit check—just to make sure she wasn’t dreaming this entire day. Six months ago, the idea of making her big, improvisational quilts for a business wouldn’t have occurred to her. It wouldn’t have occurred to her to even try.
Her phone vibrated again. It was another text from her mother. And all that money is YOURS. You’re going to need it.
That was certainly true. There was so much to do in the coming months to prepare for the adoption. Shari had offered to cover her expenses but Becca had insisted on paying some of them herself. She put the phone in her purse again and zipped the bag shut. She tucked it protectively beneath her arm and started to walk toward the parking lot. The day was classic mid-Atlantic summer weather—hot as Hades and with humidity you could practically wring out of the air. The macadam of the parking lot shimmered in the heat. She couldn’t wait to crank up the air conditioning in her car.
Three rows back, she turned left. It was easy to spot her modest white car parked among the luxury sedans and sports cars. Also, there was a man standing next to her car. A tall man. A very tall man.
Jack.
Her heart began pounding. She missed him and the intensity of that longing slammed into her all at once. She would have broken into a run if it weren’t for the skirt and heels she was wearing. She had to settle for hobbling as fast as she could.
“How did it go?” he asked right as she reached the car.
“What are you doing here?”
“I asked first.”
“It went great. I got the project.”
“Congratulations. Though you probably had the project the minute you set foot in the building.”
She shrugged. “Maybe not. I don’t have a track record doing commissions. She’s taking a leap of faith with me.” Her eyes dropped from Jack’s face to the bundle of fabric in his arms. “Your turn. What are you doing here?”
“Your father told me where you were.”
“And what are you doing with your quilt? Did I miss a section?” She knew she hadn’t though.
“I’m supposed to give it to my bride.”
Becca was quiet, not quite sure where this was going.
“Well, technically,” he went on, “we’re supposed to get married, I give you the wedding quilt, we consummate the marriage, and then we have kids. But we have this all out of order anyway. So I’d like to give you the quilt now, and then we consummate things tonight. Or—” He rolled his eyes toward the street. “—as soon as we can get through this traffic back to the hotel room I took the liberty of booking.”
“You’re spending the night?”
He nodded. “Not alone, I was hoping.”
Yeah, that was an over-the-top hopeful smile on his lips. He was so adorable right now, she’d consummate whatever he wanted. She knew she was grinning like a fool—and she didn’t care.
“And then we maybe consummate it again in the morning, just for good measure,” he added. “Or in case I’m too nervous tonight and end up being more like a fumbling teenage boy than the suave, sexy lover you deserve.”
“Suave, sexy lover?”
“I might have some mad skills these days. You never know.”
Grinning like a fool on steroids now.
“You’ve been living with your brother. I suppose he might have taught you a few things.”
“Please.” He rolled his eyes. “But speaking of living arrangements, we’ll need to get our own place. It’ll make consummating easier in the future. Plus, Matt’s pullout bed is not that comfortable.”
“I noticed. But I think we only need to consummate once and then it’s done.” She bit the inside of her lip to keep from laughing. “Plus, I have another meeting tomorrow. With Sylvia, a child psychologist here. I want all the help I can get.”
“Can I help you?”
“The meeting’s at nine.”
He shrugged. “I can consummate you by nine. Probably even eight-thirty, easy.”
No amount of biting could prevent her from laughing now.
“I love you, Becca.”
She took another step closer to him, until the edge of the quilt brushed up against her arm.
“What are you proposing here?”
“Love. Marriage. Kids. A lifetime of happiness and great sex. Which will lead to more kids.”
“What about Jackie?”
“Our first child. See? We’re already ahead of schedule.” He shifted the quilt into the crook of his left arm. His right hand reached out to caress her cheek. “But more seriously, we’re her parents. She needs us.”
“Are you sure?”
He nodded. “Completely sure. More sure than I’ve ever been about anything.”
She lifted the quilt from his arm and cradled it against her chest. “Then I accept the wedding quilt.”
“And …?”
“And I love you, Jack Wolfe.”
He bent over to kiss her tenderly, his hand snaking around her back to pull her closer. But there was the matter of the quilt, wedged in between them.
“Maybe we should put this in the car,” he murmured.
She dug her keys from her purse and unlocked the car. Jack opened the door, then took the quilt from her and carefully—almost reverently—placed it on the back seat. He touched the headrest on the driver’s side.
“Where’s the sock monkey? Worried someone might break into your car and steal him?”
“No.” She playfully socked him in the stomach. “I always had him in there because it was something familiar. Something to make me feel at home. But now I am home. Finally.” It had only taken twenty-four years for her to feel like St. Caroline was home. Better late than never.
Jack closed the back door to her car. “Now where were we?”
“We were at ‘I love you, Jack Wolfe.’”
He reached around and unsnapped the barrette holding her hair back. He tucked the barrette into the pocket of his shorts. “You can have that back later,” he whispered just before his lips touched hers.
She felt his fingers push gently through her hair, cupping her head and deepening the kiss. She let her body relax into his and returned the kiss. As hot as it was outside, the fire racing through her veins was even hotter.
“If we don’t get inside where it’s cool, I’m going to spontaneously combust.” The words slipped from her mouth into his.
“Not to worry. I know how to put out all kinds of fires.” His lips kissed their way up to her ear. “I’m a Wolfe. I’m endlessly fascinated by fire. But I might let yours burn for awhile. A good long while.”
Epilogue
Behind Jack, the bay sparkled in the crisp spring sunshine, sailboats bobbing on the waves. Before him sat everyone important in his life. His father, in a black tuxedo, sitting next to Michelle Trevor in a pale green mother-of-the-bride dress. Next to her sat Robert and Alice Weber. To his left stood Oliver, Matt, and Mason. Lined up on the right were three of Becca’s sisters—Cassidy, Natalie, and Charlotte. If he weren’t mistaken, Mason was head over heels in love with Charlotte.
In the back, behind the rows of guests in pristine white chairs, Lauren Trevor sat at a white baby grand piano. And all around him, he felt the presence of his mother. His parents had gotten married here at the Chesapeake Inn thirty-two years ago—inside because of rain.
Jack and Becca were getting married beneath clear blue skies, not a cloud to be seen anywhere. All of his mistakes—the graduation party, dropping out of law school—had led him here, to this perfect day. The past eight months had been busy. Crazy, some might say. He and Becca had moved into his parents’ house for now, to keep his father company and to save money for a home of their own. They’d spent one memorable weekend painting Mattie’s old room pink. There were any number of childhood incidents that could be revenge for.
On top of that, his father was keeping him busy with training. His mother had extracted
that promise from Tim Wolfe. Jack would be the best-trained firefighter the town of St. Caroline had ever known. He was already well on his way to being the most popular fire dog mascot in town history, certainly the tallest.
Becca had completed her quilt commission for the business in Virginia and now had several more, in addition to being a popular teacher at Quilt Therapy.
But at the heart of their new life was their daughter. Jacqueline Michelle.
The music Lauren was playing changed into a more lighthearted tune as Jackie and Cam appeared at the top of the aisle. Flower girl and ring bearer, they both took their duties seriously. Jackie wore a dress of pink eyelet that matched Cam’s cummerbund and bowtie. From her hand swung a white wicker basket filled with rose petals. Tucked in among the petals was the small purple sock monkey Jack had won for her at an amusement park in Ohio.
There had been many, many trips to Ohio. But there wouldn’t be many more. When the school year finished, Jackie and the Webers would be moving to St. Caroline.
Three sets of grandparents to spoil her. You’re in so much trouble.
He smiled at her, his daughter, and she smiled back. It was an unusual situation, to say the least, but it was working. Maybe working too well, given Jackie’s not-so-subtle hints about a brother or sister. Not that Jack had any objections to lots of “consummating,” as Becca still jokingly called it.
When Cam and Jackie reached the end of the aisle, they split apart. Cam went to stand with his father, brother, and uncle. Jackie joined her aunts.
Jack’s heart swelled with love for her. And pride. He hadn’t expected that, to be so proud of her. She had been through so much—and more lay ahead—but she was a fighter. She was maybe more like Matt that way. Or Becca.
Lauren’s music changed again, this time slower and weightier. And then she was there, Becca heading toward him on her father’s arm, beautiful and lovely and gorgeous … there weren’t enough words to describe the way Becca looked to him. Her dress was beaded and embroidered from shoulder to waist, where it practically exploded into a full skirt of filmy fabric. Her cinnamon hair was pulled up, with wispy pieces framing her face. He was going to undo that fancy hairstyle later, when they consummated their marriage. Officially this time.
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