How to Make a Wedding

by Cindy Kirk

  She’d wondered if he’d caught that part. She nodded, trying unsuccessfully to throttle back the fear. “My boyfriend—Zoe’s dad—was engaged to another woman while we were together.” Even now, the shame of that truth rubbed a raw spot.

  “And you didn’t know.” It wasn’t a question. The matter-of-fact way he uttered it warmed a long-frozen spot in Charlotte’s heart.

  “Right. I didn’t know.”

  The usual rush of memories—vivid reminders of that cold football game, that horrible showdown in the stadium in front of the entire school, the pounding of her broken heart now beating for two—didn’t come. Instead, there was calm. Peace. As if she’d finally taken a step away from her past and into her future.

  Will cleared a spot as the waiter brought their plates of enchiladas. When the waiter had refilled their water glasses and left, Will turned back to her with eyes she could only describe as kind. “You’ve been through a lot.”

  She spread her napkin in her lap. “Not as much as some.”

  Will took that in, nodding. “Not as much as some. But I’m sorry you—and Zoe—had to go through that kind of pain.”

  “I should have known better.” She picked up her knife and began to cut into the mass of beef and cheese on her plate. “He didn’t pass the eye test.”

  “The eye test?”

  “The eyes don’t lie. It’s what I tell Zoe all the time.” She forked a piece of the cheesy tortilla. “He never could look me directly in the eyes.”

  “What a coward.”

  She could come up with a dozen other accurate, suitable names, but she was tired of talking about her ex. “That’s enough about me.” She blew on her next bite to cool it off, grateful that the mountain in her past was already starting to fade behind them. “Tell me more about Melissa. Are you guys pretty close?”

  “Nah. I just bring her two giant cookies every week because I hate her guts.” Will said it with such a straight face she almost snorted her food.

  And just like that, they were back to laughing, annoying their table-neighbors, sharing bites of their dinner—and making Charlotte wonder why they hadn’t done this a long, long time ago.

  He hadn’t told her about Melissa. About the paralysis, about his regrets, about the night his selfish mistake almost destroyed one of the people he loved most in the world. He’d had the perfect window to disclose it all, but he couldn’t make himself put a damper on such a great evening.

  As he pulled his truck into the parking lot next to Charlotte’s apartment, he hoped that decision wouldn’t bite him later. He swung into an empty space. Julie’s car was parked in the spot next to them—or he could only assume it was Julie’s, judging by the pink fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview mirror, The Dough Knot decal on the back windshield, and a bumper sticker that read My Cupcakes Could Beat Up Your Honor Student.

  “You and Julie are good friends?” He shifted the truck into park, not in a hurry to get out and end their night.

  “A lot more than that. We’re almost like business partners. She’s part time at the bakery and helps me out with Zoe when I need it.” Charlotte tucked her hair behind her ears, eyes bright even in the dimness of the truck cab. She always lit up when talking about something—or someone—important to her. Her theory was right—eyes don’t lie. “She’s my best friend.”

  “That’s great you get to work together.” He gestured toward the apartment. “So, did she give you a curfew?” He hoped midnight. Though he doubted Charlotte would turn into a pumpkin or however that fairy tale went. And the whole “left her shoe” behind thing was a genius way to get a guaranteed call back from the prince. Too bad he and Charlotte were in his truck tonight, or he might try to play the same card.

  Because right now, he couldn’t imagine waiting until next Tuesday at 5:40 to see Charlotte again.

  “She didn’t say.” Charlotte glanced at the clock on his dashboard. “It’s not quite ten o’clock yet.”

  “Then there’s plenty of time to ask you a question.” He leaned toward her, unable to resist the magnetic pull she had on him since the first moment he stepped into The Dough Knot and saw her in that cute little apron.

  “What question?” Her hand brushed his on the truck seat, and their fingers threaded together as if they’d had a lifetime of practice.

  “A very important one.” His eyes lowered to her lips, pink and glossy, and a hint of color flushed her cheeks to match.

  “Important how?” She lifted her chin a notch, eyes expectant. Waiting.

  He leaned an inch closer, his voice deepening. His heart started a stampede in his chest. “Important to me.”

  Her dark lashes fluttered shut.

  He shouldn’t do this. It was their first date. But it felt as if he’d known her his entire life. As if all those weeks of small talk at the bakery had counted as dates leading up to this moment. He had no intention of wasting this moment or attempting to recreate it later. For the first time in a long time, he wanted to live right now. With Charlotte.

  He pressed his lips against hers.

  She kissed him back, her grip on his hand tightening. He used it to pull her closer on the bench seat, then cupped his hand around her neck and deepened their kiss. Her free hand clutched the front of his shirt, wrinkling the green button-down he’d spent fifteen minutes ironing earlier that evening.

  He didn’t mind.

  She broke away first, turning to press her cheek against his and catch her breath. “That wasn’t a question.”

  It had most definitely been a statement. He grinned, rubbing his cheek against hers before pulling away to look her in the eyes. “I was just going to ask if I could kiss you.”

  She studied him a second. “No you weren’t. You had a real question, and you got sidetracked.”

  She’d nailed that one. His eyes couldn’t lie, either, apparently. He grinned back, wanting to kiss her again. He leaned forward to do just that, but she pressed her palm flat against his chest and held him off. “Wait a second. What’s the real question?”

  He stole a quick peck on her cheek anyway. “Brittany and Adam’s couple’s shower is coming up. And I want you to come.”

  “I have to, silly. I’m delivering the cookie cake, remember?”

  She was even more adorable when confused. He reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear before she could do it first. “I know. I mean, I want you to come with me. As my date.”

  It would completely throw Adam for a loop after their conversation the other day at the gym, but he’d explain ahead of time what had changed, if need be. His friend would be happy for him.

  Hopefully, Melissa would be too.

  His exuberance dimmed slightly. Melissa. He had put the guilt out of his head all this time, wrapped up in the joy of this . . . this thing developing with Charlotte.

  Would Melissa ever have this kind of relationship with someone? Ever feel this connection? Her fiancé had bailed on her. Her accident had been Will’s fault. It didn’t seem fair, or right, that he was free to do as he pleased while she remained so limited.

  He tried to shove the doubts away, but they wouldn’t quite budge. Maybe he was moving too fast. Maybe he should slow down and not get involved—

  Charlotte slid closer to him, craned her neck, and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. “I’d love to come with you.”

  He shoved the doubts away and returned her kiss.

  How could one man possibly be so talented? Will obviously possessed a variety of survival skills from his time in the service. He knew how to iron, could parallel park on a dime, and sang along to the radio better than the majority of the artists playing. On top of that, boy, could he kiss.

  And she hadn’t even tasted his bacon mac and cheese yet.

  Charlotte shot Will a sidelong glance as he helped her unload the snickerdoodle cookie cake onto the dessert table at the party, this time hosted by one of Adam’s family members. Sometimes that niggling voice in her head tried to convince her that the man stand
ing beside her was too good to be true. Why would a really attractive, sweet, gentlemanly type of guy be interested in her? Somehow, she’d only ever attracted the party guys, the liars, the permanent frat boys with a case of Peter Pan syndrome—afraid to grow up.

  So far, Will Martin seemed like the real deal.

  And it terrified her.

  The other night after their date—and extended kissing session in the parking lot—she’d confided her uncertainties to Julie, who encouraged her to just sit back and enjoy the fairy tale.

  She couldn’t help but finish the unspoken cliché: enjoy the fairy tale . . . while it lasted.

  She tried to shake off the negativity and sense of foreboding. Things were finally going well in the love department. She had to quit being so negative and take Julie’s advice—enjoy the moment and quit expecting it to blow up in her face at any second.

  She set a dessert knife beside the cake. Julie was off duty tonight, babysitting Zoe for her again, so Will offered to help her with whatever she needed. She tried not to think about how awkward it felt arriving at the party as part of a hired service, and then staying as a guest. But Will had invited her, and he was the best man, so surely no one minded.

  She glanced down at her black dress pants and long-sleeved coral top. Hopefully this wasn’t another semiformal party where the other women would be in cocktail dresses. Not that she had one to wear even if it had been. Rarely—no, never—did the occasion arise for her to need one anymore.

  “Looks like you’re all set here.” Will stood behind her and rubbed her shoulders. “If you move that cake one more time, I’m going to think you have a twitch.”

  “You’re right. I’ll try to stop.” She winced at how nervous she sounded. She automatically reached out to tweak something else on the table, then stopped herself and turned to face Will instead.

  “I’m glad you came.” He smiled down at her. “Everything looks great. And that cake is going to be the hit of the party.”

  “I’ll say.” Adam came into the kitchen, snagged a cherry tomato from the veggie tray at the next table, and popped it in his mouth. “Brittany’s already worried about not fitting in her wedding dress after all of The Dough Knot’s treats.”

  Charlotte winced. That was all she needed—Bridezilla to have another reason to attack. She eyed the veggie tray. Maybe she could put the cookie cake in the background and move the veggies—

  “Don’t even think about it.” Will tucked her hand through the crook of his arm and tugged her away from the table. He bent to whisper in her ear. “Quit worrying so much. You did your job—now just be my date.”

  His warm voice in her ear sent shivers down her spine. She relaxed against his arm. “Sounds good.”

  They joined the rest of the guests in the sunroom at the back of the house, which had been decorated in red, black, and white. Bold—like Brittany. If Julie was here, they’d be discussing what color themes they’d use in their own weddings one day. Charlotte had never allowed herself to think that far ahead. It seemed so out of reach. But here, now, holding on to Will’s arm . . . maybe purple. Purple and silver.

  She sat on the edge of an empty loveseat. Will sank into the space next to her, and seconds later, a thin blonde in a red sheath dress squeezed in next to him. “Will Martin? I wondered if that was you.” She shook her head, red lips parting. “It’s been years.”

  Charlotte glanced around, suddenly realizing there was a lot more red in the room than just the decorations. Every guest, even the guys, were wearing black, red, or some form of both. Brittany had paired red slacks with a black sparkly top. Adam wore a black polo, and the three women lining the couch opposite the sunroom wore a variety of black and red dresses.

  Will hadn’t told her. Probably hadn’t realized, but his dark-wash jeans and black button-down must have been a lucky accident. She looked down. The clash of her bright coral top against the sea of red stood out like a lighthouse in a storm. Already she felt out of place, the hired help crashing the party, and now this.

  Will hadn’t noticed her discomfort. The blonde—who Charlotte now realized was an old friend from college—was still chatting him up. Another girl knelt on the floor by the loveseat and joined the conversation.

  She shifted on the loveseat, wishing the small talk was over. Wishing she could snag a piece of cookie cake and disappear somewhere with Will. Wishing she wasn’t so out of practice at these kind of events. She was used to being in the background, serving, not front and center, dating the popular guy.

  A crowd was beginning to form around Will.

  The flashback started, grainy around the edges, then gaining clarity. Zoe’s father, football helmet tucked under his arm. Laughing with the college cheerleaders while she stood awkwardly behind him. Zoe’s father, with his password-protected cell phone and constant texting.

  No. She shook herself free of it.

  A tall, dark-haired girl wearing a red and black long-sleeved shirt plopped down on the ottoman that had been pulled up next to the couch. She smiled at Charlotte.

  Charlotte’s hopes lifted. Maybe she could find an ally in this sea of strangers.

  “Hi. I’m Charlotte.”

  “Nice to meet you. Mia.” They shook hands.

  Mia sipped from her cup of red punch. “So . . . are you a friend of the bride or groom?”

  Charlotte gestured to Will, still talking beside her. Warmth radiated from his arm pressed against hers. “I’m with the best man.”

  It felt good to say—maybe a little too good. One of those dangerous good feelings, the kind that nudged the subconscious and shouted Warning, warning, you’re putting too much into this! But she ignored it. She wanted to belong, and right now, her claim to Will was the only thing keeping her anchored in the room.

  “Will Martin?” Mia brightened. “I haven’t seen him since college! Where’s he been?”

  “I—I don’t know, really. He did some time in the army.” She didn’t really want to disclose how little she knew of Will’s past. “He’s a personal trainer now.”

  “I’ll say.” Mia winked over the rim of her punch cup. “Sign me up for that workout regimen.”

  Charlotte opened her mouth to reply, but Mia didn’t give her a chance. She leaned in closer over the arm of the loveseat, lowering her voice. “So how’d you do it?”

  Charlotte blinked. “Do what?”

  “You know. Catch Free Willy.” She gestured with her cup.

  “Free—who?”

  “Free Willy.” Mia rolled her eyes. “We dubbed him that in college. He was the permanent bachelor type, you know. Never going to get married?”

  Charlotte’s tense shoulders relaxed. That made sense, after the comments Will had made recently about not getting out much and how this wedding was the first big social thing he’d done in forever. “That much of a hermit even then, huh?”

  Mia almost sprayed her punch. She choked, laughing and pounding herself on the chest. “Will Martin? A hermit? Oh, that’s a good one.”

  Okay, now that didn’t make sense. A sinking sensation filled Charlotte’s stomach—like being trapped in a roller-coaster car perched high at the very top, about to speed down the hill, with no way out.

  Mia must have caught her confusion, because she calmed down and set her cup on the end table. “How long have you known Will?”

  “A few months.” Charlotte didn’t bother to clarify that their first date had only been about a week ago.

  “Ah.” Mia’s know-it-all smile held two parts pity and one part condescension. “Well, let’s just say he didn’t earn his nickname for lack of female options.”

  And the roller coaster roared down the hill.

  Charlotte had often been accused of baking with her emotions. And right now, The Dough Knot’s counters were littered with bottles of cayenne pepper, Louisiana hot sauce, and candied red hots.

  She’d suffered through the end of the couple’s shower last night, forcing smiles and participating in just enough conve
rsation with Will to avoid causing a scene. It wasn’t difficult, distracted as he was by most of the female party guests. To his credit, Will had made several attempts to draw Charlotte into the conversations, but after Mia’s nearly endless accounting of the ghosts of girlfriends past, her heart wasn’t in it.

  Charlotte had always thought Zoe’s father had been the consummate life-of-the-party frat boy. But apparently Will could have taught him a thing or two.

  She sprinkled a liberal helping of cayenne pepper into her batter for chocolate chili cupcakes. The bakery was closed this Sunday afternoon. Zoe was in the front of the shop with the doors locked, coloring and whistling off-key while Charlotte took her aggression out in new recipes. Baking cleared her mind, gave her perspective, an outlet.

  She glanced at the far counter holding two pans of Mexican hot chocolate brownies and a dozen spiced cookies.

  So far, it wasn’t working.

  Her cell phone buzzed in her apron pocket. She pulled it out, saw Will’s number, and dropped it back in. He tried twice more, and she forced herself to keep stirring. As much as she wanted to give him the opportunity to explain his way out of this, she knew what she’d seen. What she’d heard. What her instincts shouted.

  She couldn’t trust him. Zoe’s dad had thrown excuse after excuse at her in the past, and she’d believed him time and time again. She’d been down this painful road before, and she couldn’t allow herself—or Zoe—the chance to get more attached to Will than they already were. It wasn’t fair.

  She swallowed hard. None of it was fair. She’d tried to explain that to him last night when he’d dropped her off after the party, but he didn’t get it. How could he? He hadn’t walked in her shoes. He didn’t feel the pang of old scars. He didn’t bear the weight of regret and shame that she carried daily.

  He didn’t have a five-year-old looking to him for protection and guidance.

  He’d lied to her, just like Zoe’s dad. Presented himself to be one way, but proved the opposite once he got in social settings. Words were cheap—actions were expensive.