“I wouldn’t mind having a bachelor party with some of my friends here in town.” Joe spoke tentatively, as if he expected Gabe to make fun of the idea.
“Sure, sure.” Gabe continued to walk backward. “We’ll invite Will. He’s your best man. And the sheriff. I could still arrange for a woman to come out of the cake.”
“No women. No cakes.” Vince’s little brother was all grown up, ordering Gabe around.
Which was great, considering Gabe had never grown up.
“Beer and nachos then,” Vince suggested. “We can hold it at the garage. Pick a day and invite whoever you want.”
“You might be surprised as to who I invite,” Joe said somewhat cagily.
“But it’s your day, so who cares?” Vince silenced Gabe with a glance.
They reached a stretch of undeveloped land by the river and took a path that led to the bridge near the garage. A few minutes later, they’d returned.
“I’m gonna make some phone calls.” Gabe settled at a picnic table, giving Vince a look that said he was going to contact a guy about a riding mower.
“Vince, I want to show you something.” Joe unlocked the door to the office and led him into the service bays.
Vince had gone into the garage yesterday to wash up and he’d done so quickly, trying to avoid the memories with some success.
A whiff of motor oil as he stepped in and he was cannonballed back in time.
I can’t touch it. Dad sat huddled in the corner of the garage with Mom next to him. It’s booby trapped.
Vince knows all about traps. Mom had her arm around Dad’s shoulders. Just tell him what the timing is for a ’57 Chevy. She kissed Dad’s forehead and then looked up at Vince encouragingly. You can do that, can’t you?
Vince wasn’t sure if Mom was asking him or Dad. He’d been eight or nine. Mom had discovered his talent for taking things apart and putting them back together. She’d been pulling Vince away from play time more frequently to cover in the garage. But this was the first time Vince remembered watching his father and wondering why he was acting so strangely.
“You comin’?” Joe called out to him, impatience threading his voice.
Vince walked slowly across the service bays.
There was a shiny red-metal tool chest on the back wall. A bulletin board with photos of Brit and Sam hung nearby. A calendar with a heart drawn around Saturday’s wedding date above the workbench. Comforting sights. Comforting because they hadn’t been around when he’d grown up.
“Over here.” Joe stood by a cupboard hung on the wall in the far corner.
Cheap plywood. Never painted. Hung slightly off level. Vince wanted to straighten it.
Fix it. The story of my life.
But the cabinet... It was where Vince used to store things when he was called home from school. He couldn’t remember what he might have left in there.
Joe opened the door and removed a stack of books, setting them on the small countertop. “Sam found this stuff after we moved in. I figured I’d leave it for you to go through.”
The stack was organized from thinnest to thickest. A car magazine. A slim, black, photo album. Vince’s freshman yearbook. An algebra book.
Vince didn’t touch any of it. “This is all trash.”
“Sam will be disappointed.” Joe smiled at Vince as if they were the closest of brothers with no secrets between them. “She’s read every signature in your yearbook. She’s asked about every photo in this.” He held up the photo album and flipped it open. “Do you remember this picture?”
Vince bent forward to see.
Mom was standing behind the three Messina boys. Joe looked as neat as a staged living room in one of those mansions Vince worked on in Texas. Pressed trousers and a blue-checked, short-sleeved button-down. It’d been his fifth birthday. He beamed at the camera.
Gabe’s red-and-white-striped shirt was streaked with dirt. He’d been frogging down by the river and had been upset to be called back, even if it was for cake. He wore a black motorcycle helmet with the visor up. Vince’s hands were stuffed in the pockets of his grease-stained blue coveralls. The legs and sleeves were cuffed, because they were Dad’s. He was grinning, probably because he was on a cake-induced sugar high.
Mom had her hands on Vince’s shoulders and Gabe’s. Her soft brown hair curled around her face, accenting an easygoing smile. She loved birthdays. Anyone’s birthday. She’d sing “Happy Birthday” from breakfast until bedtime, making the birthday boy feel special.
Vince leaned back, swallowing thickly. “That was a good day.”
“Look at the captions.” Joe read them, perhaps sensing Vince needed distance and wouldn’t. “‘Gabe, the jokester. Vince, the fixer. Joe, my favorite.’” Joe lifted his blue-eyed gaze to Vince’s.
There was so much of their mother in his eyes. In the cheekbones. In his smile sometimes.
“Don’t feel like you have to apologize,” Vince said gruffly. “Gabe and I knew you were her favorite.”
Joe shrugged, closing the album. “Didn’t keep her from leaving me.” There was hurt in his voice, even after all this time.
Vince stared at the pile of books. Should he take them?
“Sam found these in your algebra book.” Joe held up a small stack of hall passes. “All signed by Mom. Never used. You had carte blanche to take a hike whenever you wanted to. And here I thought I was her favorite.”
“You were. It says so on the photo.” It hurt to argue the fact since Vince had been the one she’d relied on.
Joe picked up the books and handed them to Vince. “You should have these.”
Vince hesitated before taking them. His curiosity won out.
Outside, car doors slammed. Gabe said something. Harley laughed. That laugh. It called to him. Vince started walking.
Joe stepped in front of Vince as he moved toward the door. “Do you know why Gabe and I worry about you? Why we pester you to get on the phone and talk, and ask about your relationships?”
Vince had told Harley he’d thought they had nothing better to do than pester him, but now that he was with them, he knew that wasn’t true.
When Vince didn’t answer, Joe said, “Because you’d never tell us if something was wrong.”
How right they were.
“But if you had someone, someone you loved and who loved you back...” Joe’s gaze drifted to the office and the females who were filling it up. “They’d be there when you wouldn’t let us be.”
“You mean if I’m diagnosed with depression or schizophrenia, like Dad, that I’d have someone to rely on.” His worst fear. The words tumbled off Vince’s tongue like bitter pills. “Someone who’d stick with me, for better or worse. Like Mom.” Like Mom would have done if Vince hadn’t told her to get out.
“No.” Joe drew back. His face was chiseled in confusion. “I meant we worry about you being alone and not having a family.”
“I’m not alone.” Anger tunneled into his chest, a big emotion in a small cavity. “I have... I have...” He couldn’t think of who he had—not Harley or his mother—but he wasn’t pathetic, the way Joe’s words made him feel. He’d built his life to avoid a repeat of his childhood.
“Hey, settle down.” Joe put his palm on Vince’s shoulder. “I mean, of course, you’re not alone. You have Harley now, who seems great. Why wouldn’t you want to marry her?”
The books felt heavy in Vince’s arms. “Just because you found someone to marry you, doesn’t mean I need someone. Marrying Harley would be a huge mistake.”
A door latched.
Harley stood a foot away from them, staring at Vince as if he needed a hug and she wasn’t going to give him one.
CHAPTER NINE
HARLEY’S CHEEKS WERE PALE. “Excuse me.” She slipped out the door.
Vince was moving before he realized he was goin
g after her.
“Shaggy Joe.” Brit appeared in the doorway, slowing Vince’s pace. She held a bouquet of ribbons as if it were a bouquet of flowers. “I received four Crock-Pots at my shower. I’m not sure people in Harmony Valley know what a bridal registry is.”
“She also got two nighties. Eeww.” Sam stood behind her. She had a pink curly bow in her hair above one ear, the kind that went on presents. “Those gifts should have come with a warning label—not for the eyes of children.”
Vince edged around them and hurried outside.
“Dude—” Gabe held his phone away from his ear “—you better hurry and catch Harley. I’ve seen friendlier faces across the North–South Korean border.”
Harley was nearly to the bridge. She’d changed for the bridal shower. The hem of her yellow dress flirted with her knees.
Vince called to her, jogging to catch up when she didn’t stop.
The late-afternoon light made the river look a refreshing, deep green. A cool breeze came over the mountain range to the west, the one separating Harmony Valley from the ocean. Vince didn’t feel cool or refreshed.
Harley set foot on the bridge. He could feel her slipping away the same way he could feel the humidity rise in Houston. He lengthened his stride, running awkwardly with the books in his arm.
“Harley, wait!”
She did, finally, turning to face him, her thick, blond braid swinging, her cheeks flushed with color, her eyes flashing with hurt.
“I thought I could do this. I thought I’d feel a twinge of guilt for misleading your family about our relationship, but I thought I could do it anyway.” She wrapped her arms around her waist, tightly, the way you did when you didn’t trust the person you were speaking with. “I didn’t sign up to be humiliated in front of them.” She nodded toward the garage.
He looked back and winced. They had an audience. Joe, Brit, Sam, Gabe.
“I thought when we were dating that you were comfortable in your own skin.” Harley straightened, her arms still snug around her waist. “In Houston, I’m comfortable being who I am. But in Harmony Valley, I don’t know who I am, who you are, or who you want me to be. Why am I here?”
“Because you want your tile saw fixed.” He knew it was the wrong thing to say, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.
She huffed. “Were you this sarcastic when we were dating?”
“I was.” Well, maybe not to this extreme. Harmony Valley seemed to amplify all his flaws. He set his mementos from the past on the bridge.
Her gaze drifted toward the river. “I must have missed that somehow.” Her words were heavy with disappointment.
His chest felt as if the tow chains they’d been using yesterday to haul cars had been wrapped around him and were cutting off his air supply.
Vince liked Harley too much to let her think what they’d had was a sham. “You didn’t... You weren’t...” How to say he’d been happy around her without making her think there was still a chance for a future together. He couldn’t come up with a thing. “I’m sorry.”
She laid her palm on his cheek. “Your family is awesome. I’m going to give them my regrets. And then I’m looking into flights home tomorrow.” She dropped her hand and took a step back.
Their audience was still riveted. It was amazing Gabe wasn’t walking over to hear what they were saying.
“Hold on.” Vince bit off the words and swallowed the urge to tell Harley no saw would be fixed if she abandoned him. He caught her arm. “I’m falling apart here. Joe said something and I...I overreacted.” That, at least, was the truth. “I’m sorry. Don’t go.”
She screwed up her nose as if he’d offered her smelly sushi. “No.”
Her refusal meant he’d be facing his siblings alone the rest of the week. “I could pay you.” Not much, but still...
Her blue eyes sparked with anger. “My wanting to leave isn’t about money or my saw. It’s about you and me, and who we were when we were together. I thought I kind of got us, but it seems I was wrong. Which means you charmed me into bed, like some Casanova—”
“Casanova...” Vince’s self-image plummeted. “That’s not the way it was.” Now his chest ached for a different reason. He didn’t want her to think their time together was about him trying to seduce her. “I have a lot of respect for you.”
She tugged her arm free. “I suppose that’s better than you saying you worshipped my body.”
“I... Wow... It wasn’t like that.” He ran a hand through his hair. “What can I do to convince you to stay?”
“You can be honest and explain what’s going on, and why this place throws you off your game.”
“Okay.”
Her gaze softened. “I understand family baggage. My brother thinks I wasted time and money getting a degree.” Her voice trembled. “Taylor and my parents don’t understand why it’s important to me that walls curve or rooms intersect in unusual ways. Their world is flat-surfaced. Right-angled. Tile-ready. My family would’ve been happier had I gotten a business degree and come home to work in the family store.” Harley shifted from one foot to the other. “I’ve talked too much. I didn’t give you a chance to speak. I seem to do that a lot around you.”
“I like listening to you.” Too much.
“Listening goes both ways.” She clasped his hands. “Tell me. Start with something small.” Her voice was as warm as melted chocolate. Her hands as smooth as a ribbon of caramel. A gentle breeze lifted the wisps of golden hair she’d tried to tame around her face.
Another man wouldn’t let go of this awesome creature.
Vince didn’t want to break the moment by speaking. He glanced at their joined hands and then back at the garage where their audience was applauding. They liked the show. But Vince didn’t want an audience just then.
“My mother...”
Harley squeezed his hands gently when he faltered. “None of the tension around here is caused by your mother.”
How wrong she was.
Vince stared at Harley’s blue sandals, covered in a layer of fine dust. At her long legs and the hem of her yellow skirt. At her hands, gripping his. Finally he stared into her clear blue eyes. He’d missed her touch, her smile, her curiosity, her cut-to-the-chase attitude. But when he’d been with her, he hadn’t been honest. He’d diverted her personal questions with kisses, despite the ever-growing need to tell her things he hadn’t told anyone else. It’d been a relief to find she was afraid of something, that she’d failed, that she was human. It had given him an out from the feelings he’d felt blossoming for her.
Except, he didn’t want Harley to be fearful, or to fail, or to be less than perfect. Because she was pretty darn close to his ideal, if he’d wanted to get married and deserved someone like her. If Vince couldn’t have her, he wanted her to have the best. Which wasn’t Vince Messina. Not by any stretch.
“Quit making googly eyes at each other and kiss her!” Gabe called.
Harley gave up on Vince and made to pull away.
“If you hold my hand while we walk across this bridge...” Vince held on, an idea taking shape. A really bad idea. “I’ll tell you everything.”
She stopped struggling. “I don’t want to barter with you. I want you to trust me.”
A surprisingly strong ache of longing filled his chest. “Why?”
* * *
THE BUTTERFLIES WERE BACK.
Why did Harley want Vince to trust her?
Because she wanted her tile saw fixed for free.
Sometimes the biggest lies are the ones you tell yourself.
Harley’s mouth went dry. She didn’t still feel about Vince that way. After watching him with his brothers, she’d been curious, that’s all. She should have known that with Vince curiosity led to vulnerability. Hers. She didn’t like being put on the spot. She avoided it. The same way she’d avoided turning in la
te papers when she’d been a student, because being less than perfect wasn’t how she rolled. Nor was making mistakes.
But here she was, blundering through things with Vince.
She never used to make mistakes.
Ah, for the golden days of my childhood.
Vince was staring at her, waiting.
Mistake. Mistake. Mistake.
And now she’d backed herself into a corner without any defense other than the truth about why she wanted Vince to trust her. “Why? Because we were close once. And I still care about you.”
His eyes widened. He dropped her hands.
Could she jump over the bridge railing and float away without Vince jumping in after her and making her feel like a bigger fool?
“Let me rephrase.” She infused her voice with a business-like quality. “If any of my friends asked me to pretend to be something I’m not, I’d do it if they gave me a good reason, because I care about them.”
The panic vanished from his eyes.
If that was regret spiraling in her stomach, she pretended not to notice. “You talk. I’ll listen.” She picked up the books he’d been carrying and handed them to him. And then she claimed his free hand in hers.
A wrinkle appeared on his brow.
She squeezed his hand and then released it. She wanted to tell him not to bother divulging his mysterious background. After all, she had to work with this man. If the past was so terrible, she’d never be able to look at him the same way.
But there was the gentleness in how he’d held her hands just a moment ago and the pain in his eyes that she instinctively wanted to soothe. And then, miracle of miracles, he started to speak.
“My dad was diagnosed with schizophrenia after Joe was born.” His words came out as slow and deliberate as the sun moving lower on the horizon. “He’d never taken as much as an aspirin before his diagnosis. Afterward...well, Dad had a slew of pills he was supposed to have every day.”
She could see where this was going. A sense of doom pressed upon her, stifling butterflies and internal voices that whispered about pitfalls and blunders.
“There were times Dad couldn’t remember how to fix a car. Or he could remember, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. My mom worked when she could, and quit to stay at home when Dad was taking a nosedive.”
Marrying the Wedding Crasher Page 10
