The First Man You Meet

by Debbie Macomber

  The dress slid easily over her hips. She turned around so Jill could secure the back, then glanced toward the mirror, expecting to find the skirt miles too short. It would have to be in order to fit Jill as perfectly as it had.

  ‘‘Shelly,’’ Jill whispered, then cupped her hand over her mouth. ‘‘My goodness…you look beautiful…really beautiful.’’

  The sentiment was what Shelly had felt when she’d viewed her friend in the dress. ‘‘Something’s wrong,’’ she said once she found her voice. ‘‘Something’s very wrong.’’

  ‘‘No,’’ Jill countered, ‘‘it’s very right. It’s as if the dress was made for you.’’

  ‘‘Then answer me this,’’ Shelly whispered. ‘‘How is it possible for the same dress to fit two women who wear totally different sizes?’’

  Chapter Five

  Shelly struggled to open the door of the Internal Revenue office, her arms weighted down with a huge box stuffed full of receipts and records she’d need for the audit. By bracing the box against the wall with her knee, she freed one hand to open the door. For the first time ever, she’d completed her tax return early—all by herself, too—and this was where it got her. She grumbled righteously and bit her lip, more in anxiety than annoyance.

  She’d just managed to grasp the door handle, when the door unexpectedly opened and she staggered into the room, nearly colliding with an end table. She did a quick pirouette, convinced she’d ruined a new pair of panty hose. With a heartfelt sigh, she set her box of records on the floor and sank into the first available chair, neatly arranging her unaccustomed skirt around her knees. Only then did she bother to look around. There was one other person in the large reception area.

  Shelly’s heart did a nosedive, landing somewhere in the pit of her stomach. The man who’d opened the door for her, the man sitting in this very waiting room, was none other than Mark Brady—the man she’d hoped to avoid for the rest of her natural life. She gave an involuntary gasp.

  Mark was leafing through the dog-eared pages of a magazine when he happened to glance her way. The automatic smile quickly faded from his face, and his gaze narrowed as if he strongly suspected Shelly had purposely arranged this meeting.

  ‘‘What are you doing here?’’ Shelly demanded.

  ‘‘I might ask you the same thing.’’

  ‘‘I didn’t follow you here, if that’s what you’re implying!’’

  ‘‘Listen, Ms.…Hansen, I really couldn’t care less.’’ With that he returned to his magazine as if he were reading the fine print in a million-dollar contract. ‘‘You’re the person who blurted out to everyone within hearing distance that you weren’t marrying me. As if I’d even asked! As if I even knew you!’’

  Shelly felt the heat rising up her neck and quickly offered the first excuse she could think of. ‘‘I…was distraught.’’

  ‘‘Obviously,’’ he muttered from behind his magazine.

  A few minutes of strained silence passed. Shelly shifted uncomfortably in her chair, checking her watch every couple of minutes. For the first time in recent history she was early for an appointment, but if this was where promptness got you, she’d prefer to be late.

  ‘‘All right, I apologize,’’ Shelly said when she couldn’t tolerate the silence any longer. ‘‘I realize it was utterly ridiculous and…and out of turn—’’

  ‘‘Out of turn,’’ Mark echoed, slapping the magazine down on the table. ‘‘I repeat—I don’t even know you.’’

  ‘‘I realize that.’’

  He inhaled deeply, which drew her attention to his broad, muscular chest. She noticed that he was as meticulously dressed as he’d been at their first encounter. His dark suit and silk tie, however conventional, added a touch of sophistication to his natural good looks.

  ‘‘If there’s anyone to blame for this it’s Aunt Milly,’’ Shelly said, more to herself than to him.

  ‘‘Aunt Milly?’’ Mark repeated, sounding unsure. He eyed her warily.

  She’d said this much; she might as well launch into the whole ridiculous tale.

  ‘‘Actually, it has more to do with the wedding dress than with my aunt Milly, although by now the two of them are inseparable in my mind. I don’t usually dabble in this sort of thing, but I’m beginning to believe there just might be something supernatural about that silly dress, after all.’’

  ‘‘Supernatural?’’

  ‘‘Magic, if you prefer.’’

  ‘‘Magic in a wedding dress?’’ Mark gazed hopefully at the door that led to the inner offices of Internal Revenue, as though he was anxious to be called away.

  ‘‘It’s unbelievable, but the dress fits both Jill and me—which is virtually impossible. You saw Jill—she’s the friend I was having lunch with last Saturday. I know we were halfway across the room from you, but you couldn’t help noticing how much shorter she is than I am. We’re completely different sizes.’’

  Mark hurriedly reached for the magazine as if he wanted to shut her out again before she said anything else.

  ‘‘I know it sounds crazy. I don’t like this any better than you do, but I’m honestly afraid it was you Aunt Milly mentioned in her letter.’’ Well, it was only fair to tell him that.

  Mark glanced in her direction again, blue eyes suspicious. ‘‘Your aunt Milly mentioned me in a letter?’’

  ‘‘Not by name—but she said she had a clear vision of me in the wedding dress and I was standing with a tall man. She also mentioned blue eyes. You’re tall and you have blue eyes and the legend says I’m going to marry the first man I meet after receiving the dress.’’

  ‘‘And I just happened to be that man?’’

  ‘‘Yes,’’ Shelly cried. ‘‘Now do you understand why I was so disturbed when we met?’’

  ‘‘Not entirely,’’ Mark said after a moment.

  Shelly rolled her eyes. How obtuse could the man be? ‘‘You’re tall, aren’t you? And you have blue eyes.’’

  He flipped intently through the magazine, not looking up at her as he spoke. ‘‘Actually, I really don’t care what the letter said, nor am I concerned about this wedding dress you keep mentioning.’’

  ‘‘Of course you don’t care,’’ Shelly said indignantly. ‘‘Why should you? It must all seem quite absurd to you. And I’m aware that I’m overreacting, but I do have a tendency to get emotional about things. If it helps any, I want you to know I’m content with my life just the way it is. I don’t want to get married now—to anyone.’’ When she’d finished, she sucked in a deep breath and began leafing idly through a magazine, doing her utmost to ignore him.

  Silence returned. Silences had always bothered Shelly. It was as if she felt personally responsible for filling them. ‘‘If you want something to be grateful about, you can thank your lucky stars I didn’t mention you to my mother.’’

  ‘‘Your mother,’’ Mark repeated, briefly glancing at her. ‘‘Does she know about Aunt Milly sending you this…dress?’’

  ‘‘Naturally she does,’’ Shelly answered, closing the magazine. ‘‘She’s phoned me every day since she heard, because she thinks I’m going to meet that special someone any minute.’’

  ‘‘And you didn’t mention me?’’

  ‘‘How could I? The instant I do that, she’ll be contacting the caterers.’’

  ‘‘I see.’’ The edges of his mouth lifted as though he was beginning to find the situation amusing. ‘‘She believes in the power of this dress, too?’’

  ‘‘Unfortunately, yes. You have to understand where my mother stands on this marriage business,’’ Shelly continued, undaunted.

  ‘‘I’m not sure I want to,’’ Mark muttered under his breath.

  Shelly disregarded his comment. ‘‘By age twenty-eight—my age now, coincidentally—Mom had been married for eight years and already had three children. She’s convinced I’m letting the best years of my life slip away. There’s nothing I can say to make her believe differently.’’

  ‘‘Then
I’ll add my gratitude that you didn’t mention me.’’

  Mollified, Shelly nodded, then glanced at her watch. Her meeting was in ten minutes and she was nervous, since this was the first time she’d done her own taxes. She should have known there’d be a problem.

  ‘‘I take it you’re here for an audit?’’ Mark asked.

  She nodded again, studying her tax return, sure she’d be in jail by nightfall without even understanding what she’d done wrong.

  ‘‘Relax.’’

  ‘‘How can I?’’

  ‘‘Have you knowingly hidden something from the government? Lied about the income you received, or claimed expenditures you’ve never made?’’

  ‘‘Oh, no!’’

  ‘‘Then you don’t have anything to worry about.’’

  ‘‘I don’t?’’ Shelly stared at him, soaking up his confidence. She’d been restless for days, worrying about this meeting. If it wasn’t the wedding dress giving her nightmares, it was the audit.

  ‘‘Don’t volunteer any information unless they ask for it.’’

  ‘‘All right.’’

  ‘‘Did you prepare your own tax return?’’

  ‘‘Well, yes. It didn’t seem that complicated, and well, I realize this sounds silly but Jill bet me I couldn’t do it. So I did. Back in February. You see, usually numbers boggle my mind and I decided to accept the challenge, and…’’ She realized she was chattering, something she did when she was nervous. Forcing herself to stay quiet, she scanned her return for the hundredth time, wondering what she could have possibly done wrong.

  ‘‘Do you want me to check it over for you?’’

  Shelly was surprised by his generosity. ‘‘If you wouldn’t mind. Are you being audited yourself?’’

  Mark smiled and shook his head. ‘‘A client of mine is.’’

  ‘‘Oh.’’

  Mark crossed the room and sat next to her. When Shelly handed him her tax return, his gaze ran quietly down the row of figures, then he asked her several questions.

  ‘‘I’ve got everything right here,’’ she assured him, gesturing toward the carton she’d lugged in with her. ‘‘I really am careful about saving everything I should.’’

  Mark glanced down at the large cardboard box. ‘‘This is all for one year?’’

  ‘‘No,’’ she admitted sheepishly. ‘‘I brought along everything I had for the past six years. I mean, it made sense at the time.’’

  ‘‘That really wasn’t necessary.’’

  ‘‘I’d rather be safe than sorry,’’ Shelly said, managing a small grin. She watched Mark as he scrutinized her return. At such close range, she saw that his eyes were even bluer than she’d thought. Blue as the sky on a bright July afternoon, she told herself fancifully. Her heart felt heavy in her chest, and hard as she tried, she couldn’t keep from staring.

  Mark handed back her return. ‘‘Everything looks fine. I don’t think you’ll have a problem.’’

  It was amazing how relieved she felt at hearing that. No, at hearing that from him. Mark smiled at her and Shelly found herself responding readily with a smile of her own. The fluttery sensation returned to her stomach. She knew her eyes were wide and questioning and although she tried to look away, she couldn’t make herself do it.

  A look of surprise mingled with gentleness came over Mark’s features, as if he were seeing her for the first time, really seeing her. He liked what he saw—Shelly could read that in his eyes. Slowly his gaze traveled over her features, and she felt her pulse tripping into double time. The letter she’d received from Aunt Milly flitted across her mind, but instead of dismissing the memory, she wondered, Could there really be something to all this?

  Mark was the one to break eye contact. He stood abruptly and hurried back to his seat. ‘‘I don’t think you have much to be concerned about.’’

  ‘‘Yes, you told me.’’

  ‘‘I mean about your aunt Milly’s wedding dress.’’

  ‘‘I don’t have anything to worry about?’’ Shelly wasn’t sure she understood.

  ‘‘Not with me, at any rate.’’

  ‘‘I don’t quite follow…’’ If he was even half-aware of the way her heart was clamoring as they gazed into each other’s eyes, he wouldn’t be nearly as confident.

  ‘‘I’m engaged.’’

  ‘‘Engaged?’’ Shelly felt as though someone had slugged her in the stomach. Her first reaction was anger. ‘‘You couldn’t have mentioned this sooner?’’ she snapped.

  ‘‘It’s not official yet. Janice hasn’t picked out a diamond. Nor have we discussed our plans with her family.’’

  The irritation faded, swallowed by an overwhelming sense of relief. ‘‘Engaged,’’ she repeated, reminding herself that she really had no interest in marriage. And this proved there was no such thing as a ‘‘magic’’ wedding dress. If Mark was involved with Janice, he wouldn’t be free to marry her. It was that simple. Shelly leaped to her feet and started to pace.

  ‘‘Are you all right?’’ Mark asked. ‘‘You’re looking pale.’’

  She nodded and pressed her hands to her cheeks, which suddenly felt hot. ‘‘I’m so relieved,’’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘‘You have no idea how relieved I am. You’re engaged… My goodness, I feel like I’ve got a new lease on life.’’

  ‘‘As I explained,’’ Mark said, frowning, ‘‘it isn’t official yet.’’

  ‘‘That doesn’t matter. You’re committed to someone else and that’s all that matters. However—’’ she forced a smile ‘‘—you might have said something sooner and saved me all this anxiety.’’

  ‘‘You did ask that day at the mall, but I was more concerned with avoiding a scene than revealing the personal details of my life.’’

  ‘‘I’m sorry about that.’’

  ‘‘No problem,’’ Mark was quick to assure her.

  Shelly settled back in the chair and crossed her legs, hoping to stroke a relaxed pose. She even managed to skim through a couple of magazines, although she barely knew what she was reading.

  Finally, the receptionist opened the door and called her name. Eager to get this over with, Shelly stood, picking up the large box she’d brought in with her. She paused on her way out of the reception area and turned to Mark. ‘‘I wish you and Janice every happiness,’’ she said formally.

  ‘‘Thank you,’’ he answered, then grinned. ‘‘The same to you and whomever the wedding dress finds for you to marry.’’

  Chapter Six

  SHE SHOULD BE HAPPY, Shelly told herself early the following morning. Not only had she survived the audit—in fact she’d come away with an unexpected refund—but she’d learned that Mark was practically engaged.

  Yes, she should be dancing in the streets, singing in the aisles… Instead she’d been struggling with a strange melancholy ever since their last encounter. She seemed to have lost her usual vitality, her sense of fun.

  And now it was Saturday, and for once she had no looming deadlines, no appointments, no pressing errands. Remembering the exhilaration and solace she’d experienced when she videotaped an ocean storm sequence recently, Shelly decided to see if she could recapture some of those feelings. She headed toward Long Beach, a resort town on the Washington coastline. The sky was clear and almost cloudless; the sun was bright and pleasantly warm—a perfect spring day. Once she drove onto the freeway, the miles sped past and two hours later she was standing on the sandy beach with the breeze riffling her long hair.

  She walked around for a while, enjoying the sights and sounds about her, the chirping of the sea gulls, the salty spray of the Pacific Ocean and the scent of wind and sea. She was satisfied with the end product, her beach video, and started to work out plans for a whole series—the ocean in different seasons, different moods. That would be something special, she thought, something unique.

  She wandered down the beach, kicking at the sand with the toe of her tennis shoes. Tucking her fingertips in the pockets of her jeans, she breath
ed in the vivid freshness around her. After an hour or so, she made her way back to the concession stands, where she bought a hot dog and a cold drink.

  Then, just because it looked like such fun, she rented a moped.

  She sped along the shore, thrilled with the sensation of freedom, reveling in the solitude and the roar of pounding surf.

  The wind tossed her hair about her face until it was a confusion of curls. Shelly laughed aloud and listened as the galloping breeze carried off the sound.

  Her motorized bike rushed forward, spitting sand in its wake. She felt reckless with exhilaration, as though there was nothing she couldn’t do. It was that kind of afternoon. That kind of day.

  When she least expected it, someone else on a moped raced past her. Shelly hadn’t encountered anyone during her ride and this person took her by surprise. She glanced quickly over her shoulder, amazed by how far she’d traveled. The only other person she could see was the one who’d passed her.

  To her surprise, the rider did an abrupt turnaround and headed back in her direction. With the sun in her eyes and the wind pelting against her, Shelly slowed to a crawl and she shaded her eyes with one hand.

  It wasn’t until he was nearly beside her that Shelly recognized the other rider.

  Mark Brady.

  She was so shocked that she allowed the engine to die, her feet dropping to the sand to maintain her balance. Mark appeared equally shocked. He braked abruptly.

  ‘‘Shelly?’’ He seemed not to believe it was her.

  Shelly shook her head and blinked a couple of times just to make sure she wasn’t fantasizing. The last person she’d expected to encounter on a beach two hours out of Seattle was Mark Brady. Mr. Conservative on a moped! This time, though, he wasn’t wearing a dark suit. He didn’t have his briefcase with him, either. And he looked even handsomer than usual in worn jeans and a University of Washington sweatshirt.

  ‘‘Mark?’’ She couldn’t prevent the astonishment from creeping into her voice.