by Beth K. Vogt
“Deploying? And you’re happy about that?”
“If you’re in the military these days, it’s part of the job. I’ve got no complaints. Besides, it’s only four months. This is my first time. Some friends of mine have done multiple deployments.”
• • •
Silence settled between them, as uncomfortable as the ice against his skin. Elisabeth had done her good deed. Why didn’t she leave, instead of standing there, twisting her hands together, staring at him, an adorable mix of a captivating woman in a black dress and appealing uncertainty. She still had the ability to put his senses on high alert.
After this weekend, who knew when he’d see her again, if ever? He could spend these few moments enjoying looking at Elisabeth . . . or maybe God would want him to put them to better use.
“Look, Elisabeth, I may not get another chance to say this . . . the truth is, I didn’t think I’d ever have this opportunity to speak to you again . . .”
“What are you trying to say, Jamie?”
“I owe you an apology.”
“For what?”
“For how things ended between us.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Yes. I do.” He could have laughed. Elisabeth looked about as lost as he felt, trying to figure his way through uncharted territory between them. “There’s no denying what happened between us hurt me. I thought we were doing okay with the long-distance thing back when I was at the Academy.”
“We were . . .”
“Well, obviously we weren’t. You sent me a Dear John letter, remember?” His brief laugh didn’t even lure the hint of a smile from Elisabeth. “But I shouldn’t have let any of my classmates write responses on it. That was my roommate’s idea. I went along with it at first. And then I realized that, no matter how upset I was, I didn’t want you to read all that stuff. I went to get the letter, but it was too late. It’d already been mailed back to you.”
“You . . . you didn’t mail the letter?”
“No.”
“And none of the comments were yours?”
“No. I never had a chance to reply.”
She refused to meet his gaze, her voice going so soft he almost couldn’t hear her. “Mailing the letter was your reply. You just let everyone else speak for you.”
“No, it wasn’t like that—”
But it was. It was exactly like that. He’d read some of the first comments. Ones that attacked her character. Ones that told her she didn’t deserve to be with him. He let guys who didn’t even know her speak for him, rather than trying to talk to Elisabeth himself. Not replying to her letter at all would have been kinder.
He needed to own up to how wrong he’d been.
“You’re right. And that’s why I owe you an apology.”
Elisabeth’s gaze flickered to his for just a moment. “Jamie, you should—”
She stopped as someone knocked on the door to his hotel room.
“Were you expecting someone else?”
“No.”
“Maybe Chloe stopped by to check on you.”
“Very funny.” He set the ice pack on the bed, moving to the door, Elisabeth following behind him. “Who is it?”
“Pete. You okay?”
“I’m fine.” He swung the door open. “Elisabeth brought me an ice pack for my ankle—”
Elisabeth eased past them and out into the hallway, her nearness offering him a brief hint of her perfume. “And I was just leaving. Try to keep your ankle elevated, Jamie.”
“Sure. Thanks. Are we still meeting in the morning—”
“Just text me when you wake up. We’ll see if it works.”
Once the door shut and it was just the two of them, Jamie shuffled back to the bed.
“What was that all about?” Peter motioned back toward the closed door.
“Just what I said. Elisabeth caught me limping down the hallway and insisted on bringing me an ice pack.”
“An ice pack. Right. And I’m supposed to believe nothing else went on between you two?”
“Well, something else might have happened if you hadn’t barged in.”
Peter looked as shocked as a parent who caught his teenage son making out with his girlfriend in the family room. “Are you kidding me?”
“Stop imagining things. I was apologizing for what happened back when we broke up.”
“Oh, man, I’m sorry for my lousy timing.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m not sure Elisabeth wants to make amends.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I’d just told her that I owed her an apology right before you knocked on the door and she got this odd look on her face.”
“Odd? How?”
“I thought maybe she wanted to tell me something—”
“Like to drop the whole topic because you were making her uncomfortable?”
“I guess.”
“You apologized, right?”
“Technically, yes.”
“Then you did what you wanted to do. Now you need to get some sleep. Tomorrow’s my wedding day. I need you rested up and ready to go.” Peter pulled something from his coat pocket. “And keep track of these, okay?”
“What’s this?”
“You are now responsible for the wedding rings. Make sure they make it to the ceremony tomorrow night.”
“Will do.” Jamie accepted the dark gray velvet ring box, taking a quick glance at the two matching white gold wedding bands before snapping the lid shut. “For now, they’re going in the room safe.”
“Thanks.” Peter paused at the door. “Hey, if I haven’t said it before, thanks for being here. For being my best man. It means a lot.”
“Means a lot to me, too. That’s why I’m here.” Jamie clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Now I’m going to pray for you on your last night as a single man—and then you’re going to sleep. All right?”
“Sounds great.”
• • •
If she could, Elisabeth would take a long soak in the tub. Maybe even turn the jets on high and pour the tiny plastic bottle of scented bubble bath into the just-hot-enough water, and then sink into the luxurious froth.
But thanks to her unexpected visit with Jamie Travers, it was almost eleven o’clock—and tomorrow was not about sleeping in. She wouldn’t be surprised if Jamie gave her an earlier-than-expected wake-up call to polish their toasts.
And she still wasn’t sure what she wanted to say.
Sitting on the edge of the tub, she leaned over and turned off the water streaming from the faucet. Then she swung her legs over the side, slipping her feet into the warm water so it reached her calves.
Ah . . . bliss.
The sparkly silver nail polish Tori had requested all the women in the bridal party wear shimmered beneath the water. Silver toenails, silver dress, red shoes, and a faux white fur stole for a holiday wedding. Tori had made sure her bridal party would be festive.
Elisabeth bent forward, resting her head on her folded arms, her hair falling about her face. She didn’t care about the color of her toenails or her dress or her shoes.
She’d missed her chance to talk things out with Jamie. To explain why she’d sent the letter to him. Why she’d ended their relationship. But as she’d struggled to find the words, Peter had shown up.
Opportunity lost.
Should she call Jamie? Go back across the hallway, knock on the door, and launch into an explanation the second he opened the door—if he even answered it? He and Peter were probably talking . . . or Jamie was probably getting ready for bed. And how was she supposed to explain everything while she talked to him on the phone, unable to gauge his reaction?
What had happened to her fun wedding weekend? From the moment she’d seen Jamie Travers, she’d been pulled into a complicated dance betwe
en her life now and who she’d been so many years ago.
FIVE
How beautifully appropriate that it was snowing on Tori and Peter’s wedding day.
Fat white flakes started falling early in the afternoon, coating the grass and streets with a light dusting of white and causing Elisabeth and the three bridesmaids to gasp out loud. And Tori to clap her hands and laugh like a schoolgirl who’d been granted a snow day from school.
Tori ran to the bedroom window at her grandparents’ house, her purple silk robe belted around her waist, and pressed her nose to the frosted pane of glass. “I was hoping it would snow!”
“You were hoping—” Elisabeth almost dropped her handful of bobby pins on the floor. “I might have guessed.”
“It’s perfect for a winter wedding. Snow will make the outdoor photos more fun.”
“We’ll all freeze.”
“You each have your fur wrap. And I have my cape. I know each of you has boots and a winter coat, right?” Tori scanned her friends’ faces. “We can always see what my grandmother has in the coat closet. And we’ll sit in the cars in between photos. Ladies first, then the guys.”
“Your hair will be ruined.”
“Then you can fix it again before the ceremony. It is naturally curly, after all.” Tori hugged her before allowing Elisabeth to lead her back to the chair so that she could finish fixing her hair. “If I’m not worried about it, why are you?”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Elisabeth grinned as wide as she could, trying to pretend she couldn’t wait to stand in the snow in her bridesmaid dress and high heels. “And I’m changing my attitude right now. I’ll even build a snowman for the photos if you want me to.”
Getting through today was all about the right attitude. A little snow wasn’t going to stop her from celebrating her friend’s happiness. And Jamie Travers wasn’t going to, either. She’d keep her focus forward, ensure that Tori had the wedding day she imagined, and be home in twenty-four hours.
• • •
Nine weddings in two years, and she’d cried at every single one of them.
It didn’t matter when the ceremony took place—what season or what time of day. It didn’t matter where the wedding took place—in a formal church setting or outdoors in a gazebo. The moment the music swelled, signaling the guests to stand as the bride walked down the aisle, Elisabeth’s throat tightened and tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision. She’d swallow and blink, and watch the bride make her way forward . . . accompanied by whispered comments . . . sometimes a few sniffles . . . even the occasional soft lilt of laughter . . .
And standing there, holding her bouquet, she’d imagine the day she was a bride. She never imagined her groom. Never tried to envision his face, or anything else about her future husband. But she longed for the day when the man she loved enough to exchange “forever” vows with was waiting for her. What would it be like to experience the one-of-a-kind joy that radiated from every bride’s face?
Tori and Peter’s wedding was a jubilant ceremony, from the vivid bright red shoes her bridesmaids wore to the men’s red cummerbunds to the red amaryllis bouquet Tori carried to how she’d chosen to walk down the aisle accompanied by the song “Giving It All (to You).” Instead of bouquets, Tori had each of the women carry a small clutch dyed the same color as their shoes, adorned with festive holiday greenery. Once Tori stood beside him, Peter took his bride’s hand and didn’t let go, and they shared several whispered exchanges during the ceremony. When the time came to exchange their vows, Peter choked up, while Tori’s voice rang strong and sure.
Elisabeth couldn’t help but be aware of Jamie throughout the entire ceremony. He stood next to Peter, looking confident and relaxed, patting his friend on the back and saying something that put a smile on Peter’s face right before the processional began. Jamie presented the rings at the right time—no fanfare, no joking. He was the perfect best man. Responsible. Staying in the background. And yes, drop-dead gorgeous, like Tori had said.
Not that Elisabeth was going to tell the man she’d thought that.
When the ceremony ended, Elisabeth slipped her hand into the crook of Jamie’s arm without having to be reminded, catching a whiff of his aftershave again, and adjusting her pace to his. “How’s your ankle holding up?”
“Just fine, thank you. And now that you’ve checked on me, Mother, that question is retired for the day.”
“Hint taken. No more talking about your ankle—except for a reminder to keep on your Tylenol or Motrin if you plan to dance at the reception. And you can still participate in the champagne toast if that’s all you’re taking.”
“I didn’t realize you also earned a medical degree at Biola.” He ignored her snort of laughter. “And of course I’m dancing. That’s the best part of a wedding reception.”
“Chloe will be thrilled.”
“You’re getting a real kick out of throwing Chloe in my face, aren’t you?”
“I don’t need to throw her in your face, not when she’s throwing herself at you every chance she gets.”
“Jealous?” Jamie tossed the question at her even as he smiled at the wedding guests as they walked back down the aisle.
“Why would I be jealous?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
Elisabeth avoided answering his question by joining the rest of the bridal party surrounding Tori and Peter. She wasn’t getting into an I’m-not-jealous-oh-yes-you-are tug-of-war with her ex-boyfriend. After a quick round of hugs and handshakes, the wedding coordinator whisked them all into the limos waiting to take them back to the Brown Palace before the guests could descend upon them.
Through a whirlwind of timed entrances and introductions and the four-course meal featuring chicken cordon bleu being served, before Elisabeth knew it, she was standing next to Jamie again. They each held a microphone in one hand and a fluted glass of champagne in the other.
“You ready?” Jamie leaned close to whisper in her ear while they waited for the crowd to quiet down, his breath a quick, soft caress against her skin.
“Absolutely.”
And she was. For all her resisting the idea of an unconventional toast-duet, she was eager to do this.
“As maid of honor and best man, Elisabeth Straker and I have the honor of toasting the newly married couple. Elisabeth will begin, and I’ll follow, and then we’ll all raise our glasses to Mr. and Mrs. Peter Huxley.”
Elisabeth paused to gather her thoughts, her gaze finding her friend sitting with her brand-new husband. “We’re here to celebrate the newlyweds today. Peter, Tori told me how when you first dated, you listened to her when she talked. You encouraged her in her profession, celebrating her successes. And you cared for her in a variety of ways, taking the time to find out what she liked. You made her feel important. You made her feel safe. Your faith strengthened her faith. And for all these reasons, she fell in love with you. May you always be the kind of man who loves and cares for his wife in an understanding way.”
As she finished, Jamie shifted so he stood closer to her, the slight brush of his hand against hers creating an unexpected warmth coiling inside her. “Peter and Tori, it’s great to be part of today, knowing you two are so right for each other. Tori, I remember how Pete told me that he knew you were special because you went fishing with him—and then you came home and cleaned the fish and grilled it.” He paused as laughter filled the room and Tori buried her face in Peter’s shoulder, pink tinting her skin. “Every man wants a woman who will walk alongside him in life—or in Pete’s case, fish alongside him. And I knew Peter was a goner when he said you were the most beautiful woman that he’d ever seen even when you had the flu.”
“Jet!” Tori’s protest dissolved into giggles.
“Just being honest here. And that’s what makes a marriage. Honesty. Love that means you want to spend time together, whether you’r
e having fun or having a lousy day, because life is made up of both. Tori, I know your beauty will never fade in Pete’s eyes. May you always choose him over other people and other things in your life. And may you show him the respect he values in how you love him.”
Elisabeth lifted her glass. “Join us in toasting Mr. and Mrs. Peter and Tori Huxley. May God bless you with many years of happiness.”
As she touched the rim of her glass to Jamie’s, her gaze locked with his. For just a moment, an unspoken litany of “what if?” rose between them. What if she had torn up her letter instead of mailing it to Jamie? What if he hadn’t responded with a series of anonymous, but still hurtful, comments? What if their relationship had endured all the challenges they’d faced when they were younger? What if they were being toasted as the bride and groom?
Glancing away, she took a small sip of the dry champagne. What-ifs only bogged you down in possibilities long past. Nine years separated her from the memory of the girl she was when she’d danced with Jamie at their high school prom, imagining their future together. The faint remnants of their unfulfilled dreams couldn’t bridge the space between their youthful expectations and the reality of today.
As Tori and Peter finished their first dance, the DJ invited others to join them on the dance floor.
“That’s our cue.” Jamie turned to her, his hand outstretched.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I think it’s customary for the best man and the maid of honor to share a dance together.”
She couldn’t argue with him, especially since he knew how many times she’d participated in the tradition in the past two years.
He took her hand in his, his skin warm against hers, and led her out on the dance floor, giving her a quick twirl. “Besides, you’ve just saved me from dancing with Chloe.”
She tried to ignore the sweet zing of satisfaction that coursed through her upon hearing his words. “I see. Now I’m your bodyguard.”
“A very pretty bodyguard. Do you swing dance?” His words, offered with an inviting half-smile, held the hint of a dare.
