Wedding Dreams: 20 Delicious Nuptial Romances

by Maggie Way

  “Mom, the room is already made up for you and Dad. John and I will take care of the mess. You guys need to get some rest if you’re going to drive to Phoenix tomorrow.” Gretchen turned to John and asked, “John, would you mind helping my dad to the room?”

  Setting down the plates he was holding, John walked over to the couch, hoping he wasn’t going to have to carry her dad to their room. He wasn't sure his leg could handle that. It was already begging him to sit down and give it a rest. Thankfully, when he tapped him on the shoulder, he woke right up and followed John back to the room. Gretchen showed them where the guest bathroom was and left them to finish getting ready for bed.

  When she got back to the living room, Gretchen grabbed John and pulled him onto the couch with her. He flopped down, happy to be off his leg. Stretching out, John got comfortable and pulled Gretchen down next to him. She laid her head on his arm and seemed to deflate.

  “Tired?” John asked.

  “Exhausted.” Rolling her head, she looked up at him. “Did you have fun tonight?”

  Aside from Carl…. “Yeah, I did. It was great to finally meet your friends. I was beginning to think you were embarrassed of me.” John was teasing, of course. Gretchen knew that and smiled.

  “What about my parents? How did you like meeting them?” she asked.

  “They’re great. Your dad’s a little quiet, but he seemed to like me. I think he did anyway. It was hard to tell,” he said.

  “He loves you. They both do.” Gretchen put her head back down and relaxed.

  Her words really hit him. Her parents loved him. Until she said it, John didn’t even realize how much he had been worrying about whether or not they would. For now, they were the closest thing he had to parents, and they actually seemed to like him. Maybe his real parents were looking for him, maybe they weren’t. Maybe they were already dead. He had no idea.

  Over the past two months, he had thought about his family a lot, but as the days went by even the idea of them was starting to fade. Gretchen had been slowly filling in the empty places in his heart.

  He loved Gretchen. He knew she wasn't ready to hear that from him yet, so he kept it to himself, but John felt it. Being around her and making her happy were his only goals in life. He thought if he could make her feel as loved and complete as she made him feel, nothing else would matter. Not what he lost, not anything. Even though getting Gretchen to call him her boyfriend was hard enough, John thought she loved him, too. He was willing to wait for her to admit her feelings. She would see it in her own time, when she was ready to let go of past hurts and trust in their future.

  Gretchen was John’s family now. He would have been happy with that, but now he felt he could include her parents in his little circle of people who knew he existed and cared about what happened to him. John felt so incredibly lucky to even have Gretchen that he hadn’t really hoped for anyone else. But there they were. The more time that passed, the less sure John was he even wanted to find out who he used to be.

  “What?” Gretchen asked with a smile as she watched him. She was looking up at John curiously.

  “What do you mean ‘what’?” he asked.

  “You have this goofy smile on your face. You should be about to fall asleep, not smiling at the wall,” she teased. “What were you thinking about?”

  “Just about you and your parents. Whether or not anybody from my past cares what happened to me, I know there are at least three people who care about me now,” John said. “I’m starting to feel like it doesn’t matter so much what I lost because I’m finding it again with you.”

  Joy sparkled in Gretchen’s eyes. Her chest bobbed up and down as she tried to keep herself from crying, drawing John’s eyes to the way her collar lay partially open. Her top button had come unbuttoned, tempting him to pull the fabric back and see what it was beneath. Suddenly the warmth of her body seemed to intensify where it touched him. Promises of “later” crawled back into his mind.

  “You know,” he said, pausing to brush his lips against Gretchen’s forehead, “I never got the chance to tell you how beautiful you looked tonight. I love your dress. I think you should wear it every day.”

  “Oh, do you? Yes, I’m sure the teenage boys I teach every day would like it too,” she said.

  “Okay, maybe not every day, but definitely more often. You looked amazing tonight.” This time John’s kiss went right for her lips. She accepted him willingly. Reaching up, she pulled him closer, deepening their kiss. All of John’s weariness sprinted away. His leg felt like it could run a marathon without getting tired. His skin was alive, and everywhere she touched him sent waves of pleasure coursing through his body.

  This was what John wanted. In that moment, he could let go of everything else as long as he had Gretchen in his arms.

  Shifting his weight so he was poised above her, John started at the top of her head and gently kissed a trail down to the button that had come undone. Her soft flesh begged him to keep going. Gretchen sighed with pleasure at his touch. John gently pulled her collar back, kissing her shoulder and moving back down.

  “John,” Gretchen breathed, “wait.”

  He pulled back reluctantly and looked up at Gretchen.

  “My parents are just down the hall, and…” She looked away embarrassed.

  “And what?” John asked softly. She buried her head against his shoulder, hiding her face. He could take a hint. Gently, John backed away and helped her sit back up. She wasn't ready for more. He understood. John wanted to keep going, but as he began to cool down, he wasn't sure. Behind his love for Gretchen, there was still a river of anger for what he had lost. Even if he were ready for more, there was no way he was pushing Gretchen about this. She smiled and leaned against him.

  “I guess we should get the rest of this cleaned up then,” John said. There were still plates and cups and trays of food all over the room.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” Gretchen said.

  Leaning over the arm of the couch, John grabbed what used to be his sweatshirt from its now customary place in the basket of throw blankets. He handed the sweatshirt to Gretchen. “But would you do me a favor and put this on?” he asked her. She took it with an embarrassed smile and slipped it on.

  John understood, but he wasn't a saint.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Gigi

  The horizontal bar under the couch bed’s mattress digging into John’s back all night wasn't the only reason he didn’t sleep well. Safely tucked away in his own room, there was a bathroom, a linen closet, and two doors between him and Gretchen. Lying on the couch in the living room there was less than twenty feet, and only Gretchen’s bedroom door between them. Knowing she never locked her door at night only made the hours even more excruciating.

  The pink light of dawn eventually crept through the window and John was glad for the excuse to finally get up. His back twinged and cracked as he stripped the sheets and blanket off the bed and shoved it back inside the frame. After replacing the cushions, he leaned back and forth, trying in vain to stretch out his cramped muscles.

  The next time he and Gretchen had company, John would just sleep on the floor. There was no way it could be any worse than that bed. As he quietly stepped into the guest bathroom to brush his teeth and hair, John thought about the idea of “he and Gretchen” having company. The assumption that they were both hosting her parents, not just Gretchen, inevitably got him thinking about her slip the night before when she had said it was their house.

  She’d realized what she’d said right away, and became flustered when she did, but the comment had made John smile. On the inside, of course. She would have been annoyed if she thought he was laughing at her. Perhaps she didn’t mean to say it out loud, but it showed John she was thinking about it. Did she think of it as their house all the time, or was it just that night with them hosting their first party together? John wanted to know, but he was afraid of pushing her away.

  Creeping out of the bathroom, John felt a warm sen
se of familiarity as he walked into the kitchen. It was his favorite room in their house. Laughing to himself, he realized he was doing it too. Maybe it was easier for him to fall into that, though. The house was the only one he had ever known. He loved being there with Gretchen.

  Mixing eggs and milk in a bowl, John barely thought about what he was doing as he stirred in the mushrooms, onions, and spinach for a frittata. He knew where everything was, and he grabbed things without having to think about it anymore. John had even moved a few things around to make it easier when he cooked. Pausing for a moment, John wondered if he should have asked Gretchen before doing that. Had she even noticed that the spices were next to the stove now instead of on the shelf above the glasses? With how little John actually let her cook…probably not.

  Gretchen juggled a million things a day, but she had no clue how to organize a kitchen. She owned one cookbook her mother had given her when she moved out. Based on how crisp the pages were when John first opened it, he didn’t think she had ever used it. Gretchen’s deficient cooking skills didn’t bother him in the least. He loved cooking for her. He loved doing anything and everything for her, really, but he especially liked cooking for her.

  The frittata mixture went into a pan and into the oven before John started mixing up some drop-biscuit batter, throwing in sage and lemon to make it pair with the frittata better. A puff of flour spouted out of the bowl as he started mixing, dusting the countertop. Gretchen hadn’t even had flour and sugar in the house that first week. John had to drag her to the store and show her what baking supplies he’d needed. Now she let him make the shopping lists.

  Plopping the biscuits down on the baking tray, John popped them into the oven and checked on the frittata before ducking back to the fridge to grab the fruit. Gretchen had tried pulling out the strawberries and blueberries the night before, thinking John had meant them for the party, but he had been quick to snatch them away. The party menu was all finger food.

  Her parents were only in town for a short visit. John wanted to make sure they knew that even though he hadn’t been well enough to work up until a few days ago, he was still doing what he could to thank Gretchen for everything she’d done for him. Plus, John thought as he sliced the strawberries, he wanted to impress them with how good of a cook he was. It was pretty much the only thing he knew how to do well, so he wanted to shine for them.

  John was tossing the washed blueberries into a bowl when a bleary-eyed Gretchen wandered into the kitchen. Her dark blonde hair was smashed against her head in strange places from her pillow, and she still had remnants of makeup on from the party, but she looked gorgeous. Stepping away from the counter, John wrapped her up in a hug, lifting her feet off the floor in the process.

  She looked up at him in disbelief. “What are you doing up so early? It’s only six-thirty.”

  John stifled a laugh before she saw it. It amazed him that Gretchen had chosen a profession which made her get up even earlier than the normal eight-to-five crowd when she despised mornings so much. She must have really loved teaching.

  “For your information, your pullout couch is incredibly uncomfortable. I was flopping around trying to find a comfortable spot all night,” John said. Grinning devilishly, he knew he shouldn’t, but he said it anyway. “I was about ready to sneak into your room and crawl into bed with you.”

  “I appreciate that you didn’t,” Mr. Gesner said suddenly, appearing right behind Gretchen and making her jump.

  “I…just…uh …” John’s brain and tongue were suddenly frozen in horrified embarrassment. Gretchen smirked at him and jabbed his shoulder.

  “He’s just kidding. Daddy knows I’m not a little girl anymore,” Gretchen said, eyeing her dad pointedly. She led him to a chair at the table and sat down next to him.

  Suddenly, John’s mind seemed to unfreeze and he desperately tried to apologize. “I’m sorry, Mr. Gesner. I was joking, and, uh…” His apology trailed off. He didn’t want to lie and say it would never happen. Never was a strong word. Actually, he was hoping someday his bedroom would go back to being a guest bedroom and he could move his stuff into Gretchen’s room. John didn’t know what else to say.

  “Gretchen…” Mr. Gesner said, still eyeing John. “John seems like a nice young man, but you two haven’t known each other that long.”

  Gretchen eyed him without backing down. “Come on. I would expect that kind of intrusive comment from Mom, not from you. I’m an adult, not a goofy teenager still living upstairs in my little girl bedroom.”

  Now her dad looked embarrassed. “Well, I just…you’re still my little girl, Gigi, and I don’t want you getting hurt again like last time.”

  “I know,” Gretchen said. John felt he was intruding on a very private father-daughter conversation. He tried to be as invisible as possible.

  “John has his own room, Dad. We’re comfortable with that, for now. And you don’t have to worry about me getting hurt. I’m a big girl. I’ll be fine,” she said.

  Silence fell over the room. Abandoning the finished salad, John went back to the frittata and took it out of the oven. He was dropping hot biscuits into a basket when Mrs. Gesner appeared around the corner, fully dressed and ready to go.

  “What on earth are you making, John? It smells wonderful,” she said.

  “Spinach and mushroom frittata, Mrs. Gesner, along with some biscuits and fruit salad. I hope you’re hungry.”

  Taking the chair next to her husband, she said. “I think I ate too many of your delicious hors d’oeuvres last night to be too famished this morning, but you’re such a wonderful chef, I wouldn’t dream of missing an opportunity to eat one of your meals.”

  John served breakfast a few minutes later, breaking up their conversation about the wedding Gretchen’s parents were on their way to attend. Mr. Gesner seemed to have forgotten John’s earlier blunder, or at least he was pretending he had for Gretchen’s sake. John sat down across from him and hoped he hadn’t ruined his chances of being welcomed into the family.

  “So, John, now that you’re all healed up, what are you planning to do with yourself,” Mr. Gesner said. “I’m assuming intend to get a job. What do you think you’d like to do?”

  “Dad,” Gretchen whined, “could you please not grill John about getting a job. He’s had a lot to deal with. He probably hasn’t even thought about it that much.”

  “Actually, I think I may have gotten a job last night,” John said.

  “What?” Gretchen asked, fork halted halfway to her mouth. “How did you get a job at the party last night?”

  “Your friends, Melanie and Eric, the ones getting married in a couple weeks, offered me a job,” John said. The confusion on Gretchen’s face was laughable.

  “They’re both teachers. How did they offer you a job?” Gretchen asked.

  “Apparently, the caterer they hired for their wedding bailed on them yesterday. They liked the food so much last night, and they seemed to know I wasn't doing much else right now, so they asked me if I wanted to cater their wedding,” John said. “I love cooking, so why not get paid to do it?”

  “That sounds like a wonderful idea,” Mrs. Gesner said. Even Gretchen’s dad was nodding.

  Gretchen looked worried. “Are you sure, John? Catering a wedding is a lot of work.”

  “I’ll be fine. They already have the menu planned out and the food ordered. All I have to do is show up and cook. They said they had already planned on having their nieces and nephews be the servers. Apparently they have a lot of nieces and nephews.” Gretchen started to look a little less concerned.

  “Well,” she said, “if you’re sure. Just let me know what you need me to do, I guess.”

  “What you need Gretchen to do is stay out of the kitchen,” her mom muttered. Gretchen scowled, but her mother just said, “You never were much of a cook, dear.”

  “It’s not that I wasn't good at cooking, I just didn’t like doing it,” Gretchen said. The pout on her face was adorable. That reminded John of som
ething.

  Leaning over to her, he whispered, “Did your dad call you Gigi?”

  Gretchen’s face turned scarlet. She looked away and left John grinning. She was never going to live that down.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Last Time

  As soon as her parents left the kitchen to get started on their packing, Gretchen spun around to face John. He stared at her expectantly, knowing what was coming. Smiling, he folded his arms across his chest and waited. His quiet teasing almost made Gretchen forget what she was going to say. Almost.

  Jabbing her finger against his chest, she said, “If I ever hear the word Gigi come out of your mouth again, I’ll…I won’t let you in the kitchen for a week.”

  John actually looked a little surprised at that. Gretchen had no real way of making good on her threat, but she thought he realized how serious she was. “Why didn’t you tell me your dad called you…that?”

  “I hate the name Gigi even more than Gretch. My dad is the only person I have ever let call me that,” she said. “You have no idea how much the other kids tortured me and my sister because of our names. My sister was Moldy Mildred all through grade school until she turned into a ridiculously gorgeous teenager and told everyone her name was Millie. And I got called Gretch the Wretch until some of the boys figured out that if you changed a few letters in that they got something a whole lot meaner. Millie at least figured out a nickname for herself. I couldn’t even come up with that. Gigi is a million times worse than Gretch.”

  “Gretchen, I don’t understand why you get so upset about your name,” John said. “I love the name Gretchen. It fits you so perfectly.”

  Gretchen snorted and looked away.

  “I’m serious,” he said. “It’s a little old fashioned and unusual, but that isn’t a bad thing. It’s also a memorable name, a name that’s strong and fun at the same time. It’s a little quirky, but so are you. How many other people would do what you’ve done for me? You are unique and beautiful and fun and serious, just like your name. And I think Gigi is adorable. I think of it every time you laugh at yourself or blush when you get embarrassed. Your name is only one of many things that makes you special. But if you really insist, I won’t call you Gigi. Out loud, at least.”