by Nicole Deese
The Frosting Palace was still the only place in Lenox that could celebrate a success and commiserate a heartbreak in equal measure.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Savannah flipped the shoebox lid to the side and pulled out another pair of white sparkly mini heels. “Ooh. I like these ones the best!”
Too bad I’d heard that same line seven times in the last thirty minutes. I was certain she’d tried on every pair that Bella Bridal had in her size.
I knelt to unbuckle her current selection and slip them on her feet.
“I’m afraid you’ve inherited my indecisiveness.” Which had not been nearly as prominent as of late. My chest tingled as I thought back to Patrick’s first life lesson—the night of the school auction just over two months ago. In some ways it felt like a decade had passed since then, but the memory was as fresh as yesterday.
I could still see the glint of mystery in his eyes after I’d read the note tucked into the fold of the program. “Place a bet you know you can win. It makes the bets you lose a lot less defeating.”
Savannah touched my face. “Your smile is so pretty, Mom.”
I kissed the inside of her palm as my mother and Nan got to their feet. A reverent hush fell over the mirrored room.
Georgia’s gown swished as she took fluid, graceful steps to the platform. The combination of fabrics—silk, tulle, and lace—was stunning and sophisticated.
“You’re like a real princess,” Savannah breathed.
Georgia glowed, swaying gently in the trifold mirror. “I feel a bit like a princess.”
“Exquisite!” Nan clasped her hands, her eyes glossy and bright.
“Truly, Georgia.” I studied her delighted face. “It’s the perfect dress. You’re absolutely beautiful.”
My mom dabbed at her eyes with a paisley hanky, the kind she sold in her store. “Weston’s going to cry like a baby when he sees you.”
The blushing bride bit her bottom lip, then glanced over her shoulder at me. “Would you mind helping me with the veil?”
I carried the delicate accessory up the two-step pedestal and secured it to her head. The sheer layers of her veil flowed flawlessly over her luminescent gown and the dark cascades of her hair. My mom was right; my brother was going to be a blubbering mess next weekend.
“I can’t believe I’m getting married in seven days.”
I wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “And I can’t believe after twenty-seven years of putting up with Weston, I’m finally getting a sister.”
Georgia laughed. “Yeah, you’re seriously a saint, Willa.”
“Nah. That title falls to you.”
Savannah’s newest pair of child-sized heels clicked against the wood-planked floors; her continuous twirls were making me dizzy.
Georgia grinned. “Guess I don’t have to wonder if she loved the dress.”
“Nope. The real issue now is if I’m going to be able to convince her to take it off.”
I stepped down to allow my mom and Nan access to the bride, and began the process of Operation Shoe Cleanup. As I shoved the last box in place on the shelf, my attention was caught by a blur of plaid walking past the storefront window. I only knew one man who wore a flat cap in the dead of winter, and he wasn’t Oregon-born.
“Savannah, stay with Grandma.” I pushed out the door before I heard her reply.
My cotton sweater felt more like a piece of tissue paper as I slipped outside into the slicing wind and snow flurry. But I had to confirm my suspicion.
“Dr. McCade?” I jogged after him, snowflakes catching in my eyelashes.
His footsteps halted. “Willa?”
There was no mistaking his rich Scottish brogue.
“You’re back in town.” It wasn’t a question exactly, but with it came a reality I couldn’t ignore.
Time never waited for me.
Ivar McCade’s smile was seasoned with kindness, his blue eyes almond-shaped and full of spirit—just like his Patrick’s.
“Got in two nights ago—but you wouldn’t know it by the sleep schedule the wife and I’ve been keeping. Jet lag is not a friendly sort.”
I rubbed the chill from my arms. “No, I imagine it’s not.”
“It’s been a blessing to have a son with so much experience crossing the international date line. He’s given us some handy tricks.”
“Oh, yes . . .” Because what else could I say? “That is great.”
“I trust Savannah is well?”
“Yes, thank you. She loves school, and other than a couple cold viruses, her health has been stable. Her scans clear.”
“Marvelous.”
He ticked his head to the side, his gaze boring into mine. “My son’s spoken well of you these past few months. Your brother, also. Think he’s really enjoyed his time in Lenox.”
He’d spoken to his parents about me? The last shred of my anger drowned in a sea of homesickness. Only it wasn’t a place I longed for but a person.
He clamped a gloved hand to my bicep and squeezed. “You best get back inside, lass. Don’t want you to—”
Panic gripped me as I forced the words from my throat, unwilling to sever the opportunity to speak the truth to a man I respected greatly. “He’s a good man, your son. You should be very proud of him.”
Ivar lowered his chin and searched my eyes. “We are. But I’ll be sure to tell his mum you said so.”
Sadness crept up my throat, a sense of finality settling in. “Yes, please do.”
Ivar pointed to the bridal shop like a father sending his daughter to her room, then winked his good-bye.
A blistering cyclone of white curled around me and a fresh layer of snow melted into my scalp and dripped down my face and neck. But still I didn’t move. Not even after I’d lost sight of Ivar’s plaid cap and the feeling in my fingertips.
Ivar McCade was home.
And soon his son would be gone.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Ready or not?
It was the question I had asked myself a dozen times since I showered. And a dozen more since I parked. And a dozen more since I stepped into the hustle and bustle of wedding rehearsal pandemonium.
Savannah shoved past me, her basket of “practice petals” bumping against the poof of her “practice dress”—I wouldn’t let her wear the real one until tomorrow. White ribbons waved behind her as she weaved through the bridal party toward the trio of groomsmen next to the auditorium doors.
Patrick was midsentence, shaking hands with Weston’s best man, when Savannah tapped him on the leg, kicked out her heel, and flashed him her best ta-da smile.
I fumbled for the words to call her back, to remind her that it was rude to interrupt adult conversation . . . but then he dropped to his knee.
Savannah twirled.
Patrick grinned.
And my heart toppled over itself.
Ready or not had just been answered.
Despite my daughter’s blatant compliment-fishing, genuine amusement shone on his face. That was, until I walked toward them.
The earth could have looped the sun in the amount of time it took for his six-foot frame to resume to full height. And even then, it wasn’t long enough for me to form a coherent thought. For a man who climbed mountains, jumped off bridges, and swam through crocodile-infested waters, the vulnerability in his eyes unnerved me.
All we’d shared over the last three months lingered in the space between us. But this moment wasn’t about who we’d been. It was about who we’d become.
Not everyone had the opportunity to spend a last week or a last day or even a last hour with the person they loved before they were gone.
Tonight I did.
I stretched out my hand to him the way I’d done so many times before. “It’s good to see you.”
The overactive nerves inside my body calmed the instant his hand clasped mine.
His thumb trailed over my skin in a slow arc. “It’s really good to see you, too, Willa.”
“I�
�m sorry.” We spoke the apology in unison, our hands breaking apart.
Patrick shook his head. “Willa, I—”
“No, please, let me. I shouldn’t have said what I did at Santa’s Village. I was—”
“Angry,” he finished. “Which is fair considering . . .”
Considering I fell in love with you. “I don’t want to be angry anymore.”
He studied me as if we were the only two people in this crowded lobby, and suddenly I felt the need to break the intimacy of the moment. My fingers closed around the strap of my purse.
I slipped it off my shoulder and unsnapped the closure in the middle. “Before I forget, I have something that belongs to you.” I pulled Rex’s journal from my bag, its weight in my hand insignificant compared to the value inside. This journal represented more than a man’s legacy; it represented a friendship that never would have begun without it. I placed the leather-bound book in Patrick’s open palm. “Thank you for sharing Rex with me. I never told you how—”
A tug on my scarf pulled my attention. “When is it my turn to walk, Mom?”
My fidgety blonde, who shared her uncle’s impatience, set her flower basket down at my feet, as if declaring a strike.
“In just a minute, sweetie. See that lady right over there—the one with the red hair talking to Auntie Georgia?”
She crossed her arms and huffed. “Yeah?”
“Well, it’s her job to tell the bridal party when it’s time to walk down the aisle.”
“O-k-a-y.” A whine stretched into a song.
Patrick caught my eye again. “At least you don’t have to worry about stage fright.”
“Nope. I think she’d do this every weekend if I let her.”
“And that right there is the difference between boys and girls.”
“What?” The tease in my voice felt surprisingly natural. “You mean Dr. Forge-the-Amazon doesn’t like weddings?”
He laughed and my heart grew wings. I could have flown around the globe on a single breeze. Oh, how I missed that sound.
“There’s only one thing to love about weddings.”
“And what’s that?”
Patrick opened his mouth but the tinkling of brass bracelets cut him off.
Georgia’s wedding planner—a Californian with flame-red hair and about a hundred gold bangles too many—gestured to the taped Xs on the carpet of the theater’s lobby.
“Please find your assigned partner, and stand on your X. We’re about to begin.”
Georgia linked hands with Savannah and walked her back to her spot. Patrick and I were sandwiched between the two other bridal party couples.
He lowered his mouth to my ear. “Confession: I have no idea how to do this.”
I eyed him. “You’ve never been in a wedding?”
The corner of his mouth tipped and immediately I glanced away. Touching him was hard enough. I couldn’t look at him from so close a distance and be held responsible for my actions.
“How is that possible? What about all your brothers?” A rebellious button at the base of his navy polo shirt caught my eye. Half-in. Half-out. It was a 911 call I’d have to ignore.
I looped the end of my scarf around my fingers.
“One eloped in Vegas the second he passed his boards.” He quirked an eyebrow. “I know, scandalous.”
I stifled a laugh.
“One got married while I was in the middle of earthquake disaster relief in Haiti. And the last one didn’t want to deal with a bridal party. It was a backyard affair with only close family and friends. Hey—speaking of which, have you seen your brother yet?”
“No. Why?”
“He came in two pounds over.”
It took me a second to catch his meaning. Oh, the bet. “You’re telling me he lost? He’s actually wearing a kilt?”
Patrick shot me a disarming smile. “Not just any kilt. A McCade kilt.”
And then the couple in front of us was on the move.
“Seems like now might be a good time for some how-to instruction?”
“It’s easy.” I linked my arm through his and my heart stuttered inside my chest. “Just walk slowly.”
“Slowly,” he repeated, watching my mouth.
“Yes. Slowly.”
A shake of bangles from the wedding coordinator indicated it was our turn.
I tugged his arm to take the first step, and then we were walking, walking, walking.
The feel of him beside me made my stomach dip.
“How am I doing?”
“Shh,” I teased. “You’re not supposed to talk to me.”
“But I’ve missed you.”
I nearly stumbled, my heel catching on a seam in the runner, my heart catching on his words.
He tightened his hold on my arm as I pressed my lips together. I stared straight ahead, careful to avoid the gaze of the nosey kilt-wearing groom only a few paces away.
If Patrick thought I’d smile at his last sentiment, he’d thought wrong. I could be strong for an evening—do my best to keep my brave face intact for his final days in Lenox, but no amount of pretending could make my feelings for him disappear. Not even after he himself disappeared.
I counted the rows ahead.
Five . . . four . . . three . . .
“Did you hear me?” he asked.
How long is this aisle?
Two . . .
“I miss you, Willa.” If a whisper could cut through bone, his had done just that.
One.
I dropped his arm, found my X on the left side of the stage, and pivoted into position, my mind and heart at war with each other. Why would he say that? Didn’t he understand how hard it was to be near him and not wish for—? I took a deep breath, my smile locked in tight, my gaze fixed on the auditorium doors at the back of the theater.
The last couple in the bridal party found their places while my energetic daughter pranced and tossed handfuls of red petals.
Yet even when Georgia and Nan strolled toward the stage of the beloved community theater, and even after the pastor asked us to face the groom and his soon-to-be wife, I couldn’t shake the whispered words from my heart.
Just like Patrick’s gaze wouldn’t be shaken from my face.
I’d never cared much for assigned seating at special events. Tonight, however, had given me an entirely new perspective on the issue. Segregation between the bridesmaids and groomsmen at the head table might be the only way I would survive the evening.
“Next, we’d love to toast our families,” Georgia said. She glanced around the room, at all the smiling, hope-filled faces, and lifted her glass. “Thank you for all your prayers and encouragement over this last year. We’ve had a whole lot of change to work through—a lot of transition—but we both know that without your kindness and love, we wouldn’t be here today.” Palm to her chest. “So thank you all.”
A round of clinks and then my brother pushed out his chair. I leaned forward, just enough to sneak a peek at Patrick, who sat two places down from Weston.
Yep. He was still watching me.
I offered him a shy smile and he returned it—only there wasn’t a trace of timidity to be found on his face. Or in his eyes. I inched back again, exhaled, and tried my best to focus on the groom’s speech.
“Couldn’t agree more with my bride. Family plays a major role in each of our lives.” Weston’s attention swung from his audience to me.
I squirmed under his gaze.
“And because of that, I’d like to take a moment to recognize my sister.”
In less than two seconds, my throat and mouth became as dry as parchment paper.
“There are a lot of seasons in life we get to plan for—college, marriage, children.” He winked at Georgia and the crowd laughed.
He returned his focus. “But there are some seasons we never plan for. Seasons that take us by surprise and do their best to break our spirits, our hope, and our faith. As I’ve watched my sister”—he gestured to me—“wade through som
e of the toughest seasons a person should ever have to face—” Weston paused, released a slow breath, and then turned to me fully. “I can honestly say that I’ve never been more inspired by anyone in my life than I have by you.”
I dabbed the corner of my eyes with the white linen napkin from my lap.
He lifted his glass high. “To you, Willa. For never giving up and for continuing to believe there are better seasons ahead than behind.”
The muddle of murmurs and tinkling of glasses hid the sob that broke from my throat.
He pulled me to my feet a moment later and crushed me to his chest. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” After a second to regain my composure, I whispered, “Even in a kilt.”
He chuckled in my ear. “Georgia thinks it’s pretty hot. Maybe I should pack it for Hawaii.”
“Okay . . . that’s really enough,” I said, wiggling from his hold.
“Oh—wait.” He turned back to the dinner party, holding me hostage to his side the way a python squeezes its prey. “I almost forgot! Please help me in congratulating my big sis on her brand-new position at Lenox Elementary School. Second grade will never be the same.”
A loud round of claps and congratulations ensued while fire licked up my neck and face. I might be able to stand in front of a classroom full of children eight hours a day, but being the center of attention in a room full of adults might just cause me to implode.
I’d only heard the official word this morning, and the last thing I wanted to do was overshadow the wedding festivities with my news. But naturally, Weston had coaxed it out of me. And naturally, he’d not been able to keep quiet about it.
After a few pats on the back, I took my seat again.
Only this time, when I slipped into my chair, I didn’t have to dodge Patrick’s undeterred gaze.
Because he wasn’t there.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
He hovered in the front of the restaurant as I cleared the last of the decorations from the tables. Although everything in me wanted to forget these frilly centerpieces and run to him—kiss away that haunted look on his face—I had to make peace with my new role.
