Lori laughed. “Wait until you have a baby, Chelsea. You’ll be acting just as crazy as I am.”
“I don’t think that’s going to be any time soon.” She looked at her sister wistfully. “Maybe I shouldn’t have broken things off with Stuart.”
“Don’t even think that way! I’ve told you all along, as wonderful as Stuart is, he’s not the right guy for you to marry.”
“I guess I have to admit you were right, for once.”
“For once! Chels, you know God made me your big sister for a darn good reason: to keep you out of trouble.”
Both women were giggling hysterically by the time Chelsea left for the airport to pick up Holly.
Holly’s flight was right on time, but at first Chelsea thought her friend had missed the flight. It wasn’t until the sleek, stylishly-dressed dark-haired woman took off her sunglasses that Chelsea identified her.
“Holly!” she squealed. “I didn’t even recognize you!
The two women embraced warmly. “I brought Martin,” Holly announced, pulling away and motioning to a short, balding man with a dark mustache who came toward them, grinning broadly. Chelsea shook his hand happily and was amused to note Holly’s insistence on sitting in the backseat with him while Chelsea drove back to her apartment. Their conversation was intense, almost urgent, as they tried to catch up on the past year and a half since they’d seen each other. At the apartment, Chelsea settled them into the spare bedroom, then took them downstairs to the shop and put them to work.
She was pleased with how easily Martin adapted to the Strawberry Lace kitchen, and gratified by his many compliments on the recipes they would be using. She drew Holly aside to congratulate her on her good fortune.
“He’s wonderful!” she said. “Don’t let him get away, whatever you do!”
“Don’t worry, I don’t intend to.” Holly grinned broadly. “What seems so weird to me now is that I ever thought I was in love with Brandon Winter. Martin’s an absolute prince compared to Brandon!”
“That reminds, me: I’ve still got Brandon’s ring. Don’t let me forget to give it to you. You can probably sell it to finance a new car or something.”
Holly laughed. “That’s not a bad idea. How are things going with you, manwise?”
“Same as always. You know me.”
Holly’s face sobered. “Yes, I do know you, Chelsea. And I don’t think you’re telling me the whole truth. There’s something about you that’s different, that’s more radiant than I’ve ever seen you before. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were in love.”
Chelsea felt the color rush to her cheeks.
“Come on,” Holly said. “Tell me who he is.”
“You’re not going to believe me if I do.”
“Try me.”
“His name’s Jeff Blaine. He’s Brandon’s half brother.”
Holly’s eyes widened. “Jeff? You’re kidding! I remember Brandon talking about him. Jeff was the black sheep of the family—he ran off to Africa and drove Muriel crazy. I always wished Brandon had his spirit. He came back?”
Chelsea nodded.
“So how long have you two been seeing each other?”
“We haven’t. I mean, we’ve seen each other, but that’s about all. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Muriel’s dead set against me, so nothing’s going to come of it.”
Holly nodded sympathetically. “You don’t have to tell me how Muriel Winter operates. She’s probably getting a couple of Boston debutantes lined up right now for her sons. You’re smart to put him out of your mind.”
But despite all her assertions, Chelsea found that she couldn’t stop thinking about Jeff. All afternoon, as she worked industriously, making crabmeat stuffing for the mushrooms, mixing liver and chicken paté, creating vats of spreads and dips, she felt her cheeks glowing with a sweet, heady mixture of excitement and desire.
Sunday’s weather was perfect. Chelsea went out to Stuart’s place early to set up and make sure everything would be ready by two, when the guests were due to arrive. Holly and Martin were going to church before they joined her at Stuart’s, but they assured her they would be there well before the party began.
Stuart gave her a doubtful look when she got out of the van.
“You can’t wear the Strawberry Lace outfit to this!” he complained. “You’re a guest today too.”
“Well, what do you suggest?”
“I don’t know-Don’t you have a new summer dress or something?”
“Only the white one I bought for the wedding.”
“Wear that,” he said. “You look great in it.”
“Won’t it hurt your feelings?”
“Of course not.” He squeezed her shoulder. “To be honest, once I started thinking about it, I realized you were right. I’ve always just assumed we’d get married, so I never even looked around until now.” She was startled to see a slight blush mount his neck.
“You’re seeing somebody, aren’t you?”
He shrugged. “Sort of. I’ve taken Melanie Bonneau out a couple of times.”
Chelsea laughed. “In just this past week? You didn’t waste any time, did you?”
He grinned sheepishly.
“That’s great! I’m really happy for you. Is she coming to the party today?”
He nodded. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“I don’t. In fact, it makes this a lot easier for me.” She slipped the tiny engagement ring off her finger and handed it to him as she stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Thanks for everything,” she whispered.
He smiled down at her. “You keep it.”
“No. It doesn’t belong to me anymore.”
“Yes it does, Chels. It will always belong to you.” He slipped it quickly onto her right hand. “There,” he said happily. “Now it’s a friendship ring.”
She put both arms around him and hugged him tightly. “I’m so lucky have you for a friend, Stuart. Sometimes I think I’m the luckiest woman in the world.”
Chapter Twenty
Behind the cabin, Chelsea laid sheets over a makeshift table Stuart had rigged from sawhorses and a sheet of plywood. Stacks of lobster traps made a wall between the table and the grill, while a section of fence that Stuart had decorated with old lobster buoys screened the view of the driveway and the road beyond. Stuart scattered folding chairs around the yard in conversation-sized clusters and brought out his rocking chair as the seat of honor for his father. In the tiny kitchen, Chelsea spread paté on cucumber slices and toast squares. She steamed clams in the big black pot that Stuart kept under the sink, and stirred the dressing into the potato salad. The lobsters, moving around lazily in a tub of seawater on the kitchen floor, wouldn’t be cooked until the guests started arriving. The corn could be roasted right in the husk over hot coals in Stuart’s grill outside.
By noon everything that could be done ahead of time was ready. Chelsea stood for a moment, surveying her work with satisfaction. “I think it’ll be a great party,” she told Stuart as he came through the kitchen. “I’m done until people start coming.”
“Go home and change into that dress,” he urged her. “I’ll start the coffee.”
“Not before one-thirty.”
“Coffee’s one thing I can make,” he growled. “Now get going.”
Chelsea found herself relishing the weather as she drove back to her apartment. It was the perfect day for a party, the kind of day a June bride would probably kill for. She felt a strange tingle in the small of her back. It could have been her wedding day. It would have been, if she hadn’t realized how important making choices really was.
She let herself into the apartment, changed out of the Strawberry Lace outfit and into the white summer dress that she’d picked out to serve as a wedding gown. It was simple and attractive, with a scoop neck, lace-trimmed bodice, cap sleeves, and a full skirt that fell from the fitted waist. She eyed herself critically in the mirror. Lori had been right: it wasn’t a wedding dress, really. Just a pretty lit
tle summer outfit. She thought again of the beautiful bridal gown in the shop in Portland. Her dream gown. She wondered if it was still on layaway. Probably Lori had been too busy to even think about it. She’d have to call the shop and ask them to put it back on display. She no longer even had an excuse to look at it, not to mention buy it.
She piled her hair on top of her head, studied the effect, then brushed it out again so that it hung over her shoulders in long red-gold strands. She eyed the hat on the top shelf of her closet. It was a wide-brimmed, white straw hat that she’d purchased instead of a bridal veil and crown. She slid it off the shelf and placed it on her head. Perfect. It set off her hair and face beautifully, just as it had in the shop. She smiled at her reflection. She’d wear it to the party. There was nothing obviously bridal about it, after all; those associations had just been in her own mind. And the hat had the added advantage of keeping the sun off her face and preventing a sunburn.
When Chelsea pulled into Stuart’s driveway a half hour later, she saw that several people had already arrived. Lori’s car was there, as well as the Saturn that Holly and Martin had rented.
She found everyone out back, setting out finger food on long trays at the table. Holly was the first to spot her. “You look fantastic!”
“Thanks.” Chelsea started taking curried chicken hors d’oeuvres out of a box and placing them on trays.
“No, you don’t!” Lori warned. “You look too pretty to do that. Besides, you’ve already done more than your share.”
“That’s right,” Holly and Stuart chorused. “Go sit down and let us finish this.”
Chelsea protested, but her friends remained adamant. She finally retreated to a lawn chair and sat there for a few minutes, watching the play of sunlight on the calm water of the cove and fingering the little shell around her neck. There were several sailboats in the distance, one closer in, sailing near the mouth of the cove.
Stuart came up behind her. “Hope she’s got a low keel,” he commented. “Or she’ll run aground on that sandbar.”
Chelsea watched as the boat slid through the neck of the cove. She thought it looked vaguely familiar, but then all sailboats looked alike to her.
A sudden wail from Holly brought her to her feet. “We forgot the flowers!”
“Oh no!” Lori cried. “And none of the shops are open today either. Damn!” She was shifting back and forth from one leg to the other, rocking Andrew, who was strapped to her chest in a soft cotton pouch.
“I’ll go get some wild ones,” Chelsea offered. She started down the sloping lawn toward the water’s edge. Stuart only mowed a small section of his yard; the rest he let run to meadow, where hundreds of daisies and buttercups bobbed in the sunlight.
She loved wildflowers; they had always been her favorites, and she relished the sheer pleasure of building the bouquet in her arms. She wandered through the tall grass, enjoying the way it brushed against the folds of her skirt as she bent and picked. She found not only daisies and buttercups, but cornflowers, wild hyacinths, and, in the shade of the trees down closer to the water, a bed of fragrant lilies of the valley. She moved out of sight of the cabin, following the flowers as if they were a trail, focusing all her attention on creating a huge, brilliant bouquet.
She didn’t pay attention to the outboard motor at first; it was just background noise, a sound she’d heard thousands of times in her life, no more arresting than an auto engine. She didn’t even lift her head at the sound of a boat hull scraping stones. It wasn’t until she heard the low drumbeat of running footsteps that she straightened and turned. A small skiff had been beached a few hundred yards from where she stood, and a man was running up the sloping meadow toward her.
She didn’t recognize him for a moment; the glimmer of sunlight off the water was too bright. But when he moved into the shade of the pines where she’d found the lilies of the valley, she let out a gasp of recognition.
It was Jeff Blaine. Her heart banged eagerly against her rib cage as she lifted her arm to wave to him. Then she saw that his expression wasn’t the grin she’d first thought, but a dark scowl.
“What’s wrong?” she called as he came closer. Part of her wanted to laugh, she was so happy to see him.
He didn’t answer, but was suddenly beside her, grabbing her upper arm in a viselike fist.
“Don’t try to get away,” he warned her. “It won’t do any good.” He started pulling her back toward the skiff.
“Jeff? What are you doing?”
He clapped his free hand abruptly over her mouth. “Quiet!”
Instinctively, she struggled to free herself. But instead of releasing her, Jeff swung around, lifted her in his arms and heaved her over his shoulder. Then he continued down the meadow to the boat.
She was so stunned that she didn’t even think to scream. She was vaguely aware that her hat had sailed off and disappeared in the tall grass. She felt the heave of his shoulder against her pelvis and heard the pound of his footsteps as he ran. It wasn’t until he had tumbled her into the boat, pushed off, and was gunning the outboard, that her brain collected itself enough to try and make sense of what was happening.
“Jeff!” She tried to yell above the roar of the outboard. She saw that they were heading toward the sailboat she’d seen earlier, which was moored in the middle of the cove. “What’s going on? What are you doing?” She lifted her arm to shade her eyes, to make out his expression against the glare of light.
“Don’t try to talk me out of it,” he yelled back at her. “I’m not changing my mind.”
“Changing your mind about what?”
“I’ll explain when we get on board.”
She didn’t ask any more questions. A moment later he was tying the skiff to the sailboat’s stern and pulling her aboard. He ducked into the pilothouse to start the engine and swing the boat around. Apparently he didn’t want to waste time waiting for the big sail to catch the wind.
Chelsea followed him into the pilothouse. “Do you mind explaining what you’re doing?”
“Sit down.” He pointed to a deck chair. “Don’t talk.”
She did as he said, aware that great waves of adrenaline were coursing through her body. It wasn’t fear either; she didn’t believe he would hurt her. She was more excited than anything else. Just being near him again made her whole body come alive. And whatever he was doing, for whatever reason, was certainly thrilling. It was like being in her own private adventure movie.
As soon as the boat cleared the neck of the cove, he cut the engine and turned to face her. “I know this may seem cruel, but it’s necessary, Chelsea.”
“What’s necessary?”
“I had to get you out of there. I couldn’t wait any longer.” He pushed his hands down into his pockets. “Believe me, I tried. I spent the last two weeks trying to get you out of my mind, trying to tell myself that what you do with your life isn’t any of my business, that you can get married to whomever you want. I know that’s what I’m supposed to feel, that it doesn’t make any sense for me not to be able to reconcile myself to your marriage—”
“Marriage?”
“Please. Let me finish. The fact is, the more I told myself to stay out of it, the more I knew I had to do something. The more I tried to convince myself that it wasn’t my business, the more I realized it was.” He leaned toward her. “I know you’re probably very, very angry with me right now. And I know I’m probably destroying whatever chance I might ever have had with you, but I couldn’t just stand by and watch you get married and see my whole future go down the drain. Not without at least laying my cards on the table.”
Chelsea stared at him in confusion. Then, suddenly, everything clicked together. Jeff thought she was still getting married to Stuart, that today was her wedding day! She recalled Stuart’s offhand invitation to Jeff and his mother after Andrew’s birth. No one had thought to inform them of the change in plans, so now Jeff believed he was interrupting her wedding. She felt a huge bubble of laughter buildin
g in the base of her chest. She looked up at him, trying desperately to swallow a smile.
“You kidnapped me from my own wedding?”
He winced. “I’d rather think of it as a rescue. But yes, technically I’m kidnapping you. I know it’s illegal, and probably unforgivable, but I’m a desperate man.” He pulled another deck chair over to face her and sat down. “Look, I’m only going to keep you here long enough to present my case. If you still want to get married after I say what I have to say, then I’ll take you back. No questions asked.”
“What do you have to say?” Her eyes danced.
He took a deep breath. “That you’re marrying the wrong man.”
“I am?”
He nodded solemnly. “This is going to sound selfish, but I don’t want you marrying Stuart. Or anyone. I love you, Chelsea. Just being close to you lights me up in a way I’ve never felt before.”
She couldn’t contain her laughter any longer; it burst out of her in a storm of giggles.
“What’s so funny?” He drew back in his chair. “Believe me, I’m not joking.”
She shook her head, trying desperately to get control of herself. “It isn’t what you said,” she gasped. “It’s just that . . .” She collapsed again into helpless giggles.
He was frowning when she finally collected herself. Even then she had to wipe the tears out of her eyes and take several deep breaths before she could speak. “You didn’t rescue me from my wedding, Jeff.”
“What do you mean, I didn’t rescue you? You were all dressed up in white, carrying a big bouquet of flowers—” His eyes widened. “Are you saying that the ceremony is already over?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m saying there isn’t any ceremony. Today or any day. I broke the engagement with Stuart two weeks ago.”
His jaw dropped. It took him a moment to speak. “You mean, there wasn’t going to be any wedding?”
“That’s right.”
“But I saw the cars, the people—”
“We’re holding a get-well party for Stuart’s father.”
He stared at her, a flush of embarrassment climbing his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I guess I owe you an apology.”
Strawberry Lace Page 20
