Wedding Dreams: 20 Delicious Nuptial Romances

by Maggie Way

  Gage followed her under the shaded covering. He sat on one of the two chairs with worn cushions. The wicker frame creaked and groaned as he settled. Sigmund sat at attention next to him, leaning into his lower leg as if he wanted to assure Gage he was around if needed. Gage’s breath evened out as he stroked his fingers through Sig’s fur.

  Emily stepped to the end of the porch, dug in a green Coleman cooler and produced three bottles of water. She handed him one, poured another in a stainless steel bowl. After she toe-kicked the water dish in front of Sigmund, she sat on the chair next to his.

  She twisted the cap off her bottle and took a long drink. “What were you thinking about? When you tensed up.”

  “Going back to work.”

  “That makes you nervous?”

  Gage scrubbed his hand down his face. “How much did Elle tell you about my…situation?”

  “Not much. I read the story in the paper, though. About you trapped in a bombed-out building. It must have been bad.”

  “It sucked worse than—” Anything he’d ever known. Even talking about it in casual conversation escalated his stress. Sigmund leaned harder against his leg, propping his big head on Gage’s thigh. “Smartest damn dog ever,” he murmured.

  “You don’t have to talk about it. I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “It’s okay.” Emily was growing on him. He wondered if a therapy dog would help ease her painful shyness. “I work for Streetler Mining. My job requires me to go underground almost daily to inspect safety measures, provide direction about support structures. I’m not sure I’ll be able to go back. I drove by the entrance of a defunct mine and couldn’t even look at it without getting nervous.”

  Who the fuck was he kidding? He’d caught a glimpse of the gated-off entrance, the blackness beyond the barrier, and had to pull his truck to a stop. He’d barely gotten the door open before he puked his guts out.

  “I think your fear is natural. Doesn’t every miner get anxious about going into the depths of the Earth like that?” Emily’s eyes darted back and forth as she spoke, like she was thinking hard.

  “I guess. My experiences in Iraq aren’t helping at all.”

  “Sigmund can go with you.”

  “If my boss allows.” There were no guarantees the company would make the concession. Then what would he do? Ask Logan for a job selling T-shirts? Yeah—that would make him look crazy successful in Elle’s eyes. He shook his head.

  “I think the law requires them to make accommodations for people with disabilities. Gage, that’s what your fear is. It’s a disability.” Emily didn’t look at him as she spoke.

  “I’m not handicapped,” he protested weakly. Aw fuck! That’s exactly what he was. He hadn’t come home from overseas with a physical issue. Oh, no. He’d come back with something far more insidious.

  “Yeah, you are. You should talk to someone at the Veterans Clinic. Maybe they can help.”

  He should talk to Bill Sweeney. Just suck it up and make an appointment. A heavy sigh rumbled around his chest, but he refused to give into it. Instead, he speared his fingers through his hair, still unaccustomed to the new longer length.

  If he could make a therapy dog work, and start to reclaim his life, he’d do it. He’d do anything for Elle, even if it meant working with her dad as his shrink. He slapped his hand on his thigh and batted away the worry that Bill couldn’t get to the root of his issues. He reminded himself it wasn’t just for Elle, but for him as well. For their future.

  He straightened in his chair. “Maybe. What else do you have for me?”

  Chapter Six

  “I think Gage is in denial.”

  A week after introducing Gage to Sigmund, Elle met her dad at The Old Miners Cafe for a late lunch. They’d just settled on the patio, enjoying the unseasonable warmth of the late spring day.

  A lot had happened in the past week. Some good, some not so great.

  To her delight, she and Gage had resumed their close physical relationship, but the emotional side of things was coming along slower. Gage had seemed in a great mood yesterday over breakfast. He’d even been whistling when he left for a run. He’d left Sigmund at home, and the canine had lain by the door until Gage walked back in about two hours later. He’d cut his run short and came back slightly agitated. He’d refused to discuss what was bothering him. One step forward, one back.

  It felt like a miserable setback. Gage’s mood overall had been better. He’d spent time with the dog trainer and seemed to make progress. The nightmares only came on three of the past five nights. And Sigmund had done his job in each episode—waking Gage before she was fully aware he was caught in a dream. But he still refused to make the call to his boss to go back to work. He had made several trips to his folks’ farm to help out with chores. He was willing to pitch in as long as the work occurred outside. One day his dad had asked for help changing the water heater in the basement, and Gage had come home tense and jumpy. Not that she blamed him. She’d been in his parents’ basement. It had a damp, dirt floor, lots of dark corners and cobwebs. Creepy.

  “Where is he now?” Dad glanced at his phone, a quick check of the time.

  Gage was five minutes late.

  “After his run and a shower, he took Sigmund, his new therapy dog, for a training session.” Elle patted her dad’s arm. “I’m sure he’ll be along soon.”

  A waiter approached with a large pitcher, and splashed water into their glasses. “You ready to order?”

  “We probably should, so you’re not late getting back,” Elle said. She didn’t bother to consult the menu before ordering a chicken Caesar salad with iced tea.

  “I’ll have the double burger with the loaded mashed potato,” Dad ordered.

  “Dad!”

  Since he’d had a heart attack last summer, her mom had kept him on a strict diet. The low sodium, low carb, high protein lifestyle was hard on him and he wasn’t beyond cheating on his diet at every occasion. Right after Gage proposed, she’d begged him to stay on a straight and narrow diet. She wanted him around for the wedding. He’d even taken up jogging and was up to five miles three days a week. And even though he’d complained each time he checked in with her, he’d stuck with the routine. She’d even convinced him to take a Pilates class with her.

  Dad pouted. “Fine. I’ll have what she’s having.” Dad handed the menus to the waiter, who pivoted and left them to their business.

  Elle shot a look down Main Street, hoping to catch sight of Gage’s beat-up old truck. She’d tried to convince him to trade it in, but he’d laughed and started a mini-lecture about how the vehicle was so old it was worth more to him than he’d ever get on a trade.

  “Elle, what makes you think he’s in denial?”

  “He keeps insisting he’s fine.”

  Dad tipped his head to the side and hit her with shrewd brown eyes. “Does he have a problem?”

  “He’s better, but I think he still does. The nightmares have lessened, but haven’t stopped. He thrashes and moans for a long time before Sigmund or I manage to wake him. Sometimes, he’s disoriented for quite a while.”

  “Does he get violent during the dreams?” Dad’s eyebrows needled together, knit in a deep frown of concern.

  “Nooo,” she said slowly. “Not violent, but he’s been aggressive on one occasion. Last week, he pinned me to the bed and threw his body over mine. Not to hurt me, but more as though covering me, or protecting me.”

  Dad reached for her hand. “Better tell me about it.”

  Just as it had when she’d been a teenager, Dad’s gesture comforted her. “It was scary because Gage wouldn’t snap out of the dream. I finally resorted to pinching the skin of his tricep. When he realized what he was doing, he bolted from the bed and spent the rest of the night on the couch.” No amount of cajoling, demanding, not even the threat of tears would bring him back. “When I dragged a blanket and pillow out and spread it on the floor so I could at least sleep in the same room as him, he rolled over and gave me his b
ack.” His ragged breathing had nearly broken her heart.

  “Elle—”

  “Dad, he can’t control the nightmares, or how he reacts when he’s in a dead sleep.” Any more than he could control not being able to look her in the eye the next morning. The stilted silence between them as she got ready for work had grated her nerves like sandpaper.

  “Honey…Jesus, I hate to say this. You know I love Gage like a son. But maybe it would be better to call off the engagement. Or at least postpone until Gage is more stable.”

  “No!” Elle battled away sudden anger. “Hell no, Dad. What’s with you guys? Gage said something along the same lines last week. But I love him. I’m good for him, and I’m going to help him get through this. That’s why I made arrangements for him to have a therapy dog.”

  Her father started to protest, but shut it down when she flashed her hand in his face. He changed the subject. “I’ve been reading good things about canine therapy. Works in all kinds of situations. Maybe you’re right, and Sigmund will be a golden ticket for Gage.” His expression remained skeptical, however.

  “I think it’s working already. He is having fewer nightmares. And he’s more comfortable having me close to him when he’s sleeping.” Elle had been locked in a struggle all week to not get her hopes up that he might be getting better.

  Before Dad could respond, Gage’s truck rounded the corner, and slowly moved down the street toward the restaurant. He pulled into a free spot and cut the ignition. His door popped open immediately and he lifted his hand in greeting as he moved toward the crate in the rear of the truck. Sigmund emerged from the cage and bounded down from the truck bed. Gage snapped the leash on, and skirted a couple pedestrians on his way over to their table.

  “Hi, baby.” He greeted her with a touch of his mouth to hers. He turned his attention to her dad. “Nice to see you, Bill.”

  Dad reached his hand toward Gage, who knocked it to the side, bending for a quick hug instead. Dad thumped Gage’s shoulder. Gage was a hugger. Always had been. But outside of the initial meeting on his return to the States, he hadn’t hugged her father, or anyone else, again. Not once in the five or so occasions when he and Dad had been together. The sight, even as short as the embrace was, heartened Elle. Gave her hope.

  “Did you order already?” Gage asked as he dropped onto the chair next to her. He snapped his fingers by Sigmund’s ear. “Sit.” When the mutt complied, a smile ghosted Gage’s lips as he fed him a doggie treat.

  The waiter approached, bearing their salads. As soon as he deposited Elle’s in front of her, Gage filched a crouton and popped it in his mouth.

  He pointed to the salad. “I’ll have one, too. Can you double up on the chicken?”

  When the waiter disappeared, there was an awkward pause. Dad inspected his salad, and pushed the lettuce around with his fork. Gage’s knee jerked and jiggled like one of those bouncy rubber balls that never seemed to stop.

  Desperate to end the silence, Elle said, “Dad, Gage and I are heading to the Aspen Leaf Lodge after lunch to meet our photographer. She’s done this a million times, but I wanted to see what she was thinking for the different stages of the wedding. You know, like when you’re walking me up the aisle made by the aspens, where the preacher will be. Where Gage and I will pose after the ceremony, just by ourselves.” She was babbling, but couldn’t seem to stop herself. The expectation in the air was thicker than fudge and not nearly as tasty.

  Gage dropped his hand to her knee and gave her a squeeze. “Shh, baby. It’s okay.”

  The loud sound of shattering dishes boomed through the open windows of the café. Elle’s shoulders lifted. Immediate sympathy rattled through her for the poor waiter or busboy responsible for the sudden noise.

  Gage’s fingers crushed painfully around her knee. His body practically torqued in half. He jolted upright so fast, the chair crashed to the ground behind him. His head swiveled side-to-side, as if looking for something. Sigmund whined then stood at alert, his muzzle poking Gage’s thigh.

  “Gage?” Elle put her hand on his arm.

  He shook it off, and took a step back, stumbling over the chair. His eyes darted around but never focused on any one thing. “Oh, Jesus.” His breath heaved in and out; each exhalation a strangled groan.

  He clenched his fists into tight hammers. Sig let out a woof, then licked the back of Gage’s hand, and barked again. He took Gage’s wrist between his jaws and closed down gently, giving his head a shake, moving Gage’s arm.

  Elle shot to her feet and cupped Gage’s cheek. The dark stubble he hadn’t shaved this morning was soft under her fingertips. “Honey? Gage, it’s okay. The waiter dropped some dishes.” Sweat beaded on his brow. Elle put some backbone into her voice. “Gage! Come on, honey. You’re home. In Colorado. You’re safe. Please, Gage.”

  Dad stood and braced a hand on Gage’s shoulder. “Gage. Look at me.” The command in Dad’s voice wasn’t at all familiar. She’d never heard that tone. Adrenaline blasted through her body, making her legs tremble, her heart flutter.

  Gage rolled murky blue eyes to the side, a muscle popping in his jaw, the tendons on his neck taut and standing out. Sigmund continued to lick Gage’s fist, whimpering louder than Gage’s moans. Eyes wide, lips seamed tightly together, Gage pinned his gaze on Dad.

  “That’s it. Pay attention to me. Take in your surroundings, Gage. The sun is shining, there’s a breeze blowing. Can you smell the Chocolate Shoppe? Smells like they’re toasting hazelnuts, doesn’t it?”

  Gage’s nostrils flared, but his teeth clenched tighter together. His molars ground together loud enough to make her jaw ache in sympathy.

  Sigmund bumped his head against Gage’s thigh, and the fingers of his right hand relaxed enough to brush the dog’s fur. Some of the starch went out of Gage’s body as he visibly relaxed.

  Dad kept talking, his tone now low and soothing. “The Rockies are playing ball on TV in the bar. See the game?” Dad touched a finger to Gage’s chin and angled his head so he could observe the café’s interior. “They’re winning, for a change. About damn time, right?”

  Gage nodded, and diverted his eyes back to Dad’s face. Whatever terror had gripped him released its hold. Gage hung his head as his chest rose and fell sharply, too rapidly.

  Throat aching with emotion, Elle pushed him into his chair. Putting an arm around Sigmund, she knelt next to Gage, stroking her other hand on his leg. He bent at the waist, propped his elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his hands. Noisy breaths echoed against his cupped palms. Dad took his seat again, but kept talking into Gage’s ear, too low for Elle to hear above the rush of her own heart.

  After a minute, Gage dropped one hand from his face and wrapped it around her nape. “I’m sorry, baby. So sorry.” He buried his face in her neck.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

  “I’m so fucked up a couple of breaking dishes freaks me the fuck out.”

  “Gage.” She bit her lip and continued to stroke his thigh, hoping to ease his despair.

  “Son, you’ve been through hell. That kind of trauma will rear up when you least expect. But you have a lot of people pulling for you. Elle’s here for you. I’m here for you. Let us help.”

  Gage straightened in his chair, scrubbing the last trace of his anxiety off his face with brusque fingertips. He urged Elle back into her chair, then stroked his fingers behind Sigmund’s ears. Elle tensed, waiting for Gage’s next words.

  He chugged in a huge breath and lifted his gaze to Dad. “Bill, I don’t know if Elle mentioned, but I brought up the idea of postponing the marriage until…”

  When he didn’t continue, Dad set the fork he’d just picked up aside and leaned forward. “Funny. I brought up the same topic just moments ago.”

  “Oh, no. Hell no! You two aren’t going to gang up on me.” She could fight one or the other, but both together would be…insurmountable. Her heart thudded against her ribs.

  “Elle, we both know how you fee
l.” Dad reached out to pat her hand, this time the gesture far from comforting. He looked at Gage. “No changing our girl’s mind. So what are we going to do?”

  “I love your daughter very much. I can’t face the possibility of a life without her in it. But she deserves better.” He twisted his neck and hit her with beseeching eyes. “I don’t know why she’d want to tie herself to me for the rest of her life.”

  “Because I love you, you dope.”

  Gage chewed his lip, swiped her water glass and drained it. He dragged his gaze back to Dad. “I, uh…was hoping you might have some free time this afternoon. You know—to talk to me. Uh, alone. Like as in therapy.”

  Sigmund lifted a paw and laid it on Gage’s thigh. Gage let his shoulders slump from their high-level position by his ears.

  “I always have time for you, Gage.” Dad’s voice was soft, but strong. He raised his arm and tapped the fitness tracker on his wrist. Elle had given it to him when she asked him to be around to walk her down the aisle. “I was going to run on the forest trail below Purgatory, but I’ll cancel.”

  “No, don’t cancel. I’m already going to be in the area. Why don’t we run together? I’ll train you, you can shrink me.” Gage leaned forward and ran his fingers over Sigmund’s foreleg. His breath remained calm, as if asking her dad for help was a walk in the park.

  Elle knew better. She ducked her head to hide the tears brimming in her eyes. Gage had asked for help. He was making a commitment to owning his problem. To her. And to helping her dad get healthy.

  “I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep up with you.” Dad hemmed and hawed around the chance to escape exercising.

  Gage grinned. “I promise to take it easy on you. I probably only have ten miles in me today.”

  Dad groaned.

  “Kidding. We’ll go at your pace. I can always keep going if it’s not enough.” Gage tapped his thumb on the metal table.

  The grimace disappeared from Dad’s face, replaced by a slight smile. “You’re on.”