Wrong Dress, Right Guy

by Shirley Hailstock

  “Which room?” Cinnamon asked. Her mind flashed back to the day when he’d come to her bedroom door. At first she thought he’d followed the sound of her voice, but now she wondered if he didn’t know exactly where he was going.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did he have a key?”

  She nodded. “He wanted to buy the place, but discovered Zahara had left it to you. He turned the key in to the lawyer right after he cleared all his stuff out.”

  Cinnamon had been given many keys, some loose, some on rings or chains. It came as a surprise that one of them was MacKenzie Grier’s. And he’d wanted to buy the house.

  “So, how do you like my brother?” Allison interrupted her thoughts.

  “We haven’t really met,” Cinnamon hedged the question. “For the most part he only glared and shouted at me. And my seeing him in D.C. didn’t forge a good opinion, either.”

  “You saw him today?” Her eyebrows went up.

  “I met my sister for lunch and by coincidence he happened to be meeting with someone in the same cafeteria.”

  “Justin Beckett.”

  Cinnamon nodded. “We weren’t introduced.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Nothing. He didn’t so much as acknowledge my presence, although he looked me straight in the eye.”

  “I’m sure he had something on his mind.”

  Cinnamon remembered he’d just taken a phone call, but that was no reason to look through a person. Since she’d come here to Indian Falls where people went out of their way to be friendly, she’d quickly become used to nods, waves and smiles. Back in D.C. she could only suppose Mac had fallen back into his cosmopolitan persona, yet that didn’t account for him not speaking to someone he knew.

  “Let me make it up to you,” Allison said. “I’d like you to come to my wedding.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Well, you’re new in town, Zahara was a special friend, you like my dress and I have the feeling we’re going to be very good friends.”

  Cinnamon smiled at her. She liked Allison Grier almost as much as she disliked her brother. Allison produced a white envelope and pushed it across the table toward her.

  “You’re welcome to bring a guest.”

  Cinnamon smiled as she took it. “I promise to wear something other than white lace.”

  Chapter 3

  Cinnamon loved weddings. She wasn’t one to cry. For her, weddings were happy days. She loved the bridesmaids floating down the aisle past flower-decorated pews. She loved the colors, the happiness and the combining of lives. The ambiance of the day seemed to put all the world’s problems on hold as the happy couple made their vows before friends and loved ones. Cinnamon believed in finding Mr. Right and living happily ever after. Despite her parents’ breakup and her mother—now between husbands, but Cinnamon was sure number four lurked somewhere waiting to be found—Cinnamon still believed in marriage.

  Allison Grier’s wedding had been perfect, and the weather cooperated for the outdoor reception. The sky was blue with huge billowing clouds, soft as cotton and mindful of a bride’s bouquet. Everyone smiled and kissed. Only Mac looked like he was attending a funeral and not a wedding. His face was slightly more relaxed now that the ceremony was over, but in the church he’d been visibly nervous. Cinnamon wondered why he appeared so uncomfortable. It wasn’t his wedding, and everything had gone off without a hitch.

  In the last few years, Cinnamon had attended several weddings. This was the order of things, her mother used to tell her. After college comes wedding showers, then baby showers, then divorce. Then more marriages. Cinnamon had added the last thinking of her mother’s three trips to the altar. Her father had only been married twice. Cinnamon was the product of his first marriage and her sister Samara came from the second.

  Samara was Cinnamon’s guest. The two sisters didn’t get to spend much time together when Cinnamon was in Boston, and after Samara called to say she wanted to come for the weekend, it was natural to invite her to attend the wedding, too. Besides, Cinnamon had the distinct feeling that although Allison said she could invite a guest, she really didn’t want her to bring someone of the opposite sex. Her comment about her brother set Cinnamon’s teeth on edge. Was Allison trying to play Cupid? If she was, she should have chosen someone who hadn’t been on the receiving end of Mac Grier’s anger.

  Twice.

  What could Mac have told her to give her the impression that the two of them even wanted to be in each other’s company? Cinnamon gave up trying to figure out the machinations of the Grier family’s minds. It was too nice a day to be bothered with something that didn’t really concern her.

  Cinnamon looked over the yard. The Grier house was totally different from the one Cinnamon now lived in. Her grandparents had had it built fifty years ago, giving it a distinct Australian Outback look. They’d lived in Australia for several years while her grandfather served as ambassador to that country. The Grier house was mansion-style, with white columns and a porticoed entrance. The reception was in the backyard which was normally a huge flower garden. Today, white table-clothed tables with colorful centerpieces that matched the peach and pink bridesmaids gowns and coordinating place settings, decorated the space.

  “Do you know any of these people?” Samara asked. She was scanning the area. “There must be at least two hundred guests. We should know someone.”

  “You should know someone,” Cinnamon said. “You came here often. Except for moving back when grandmother left me the house, I haven’t been here since before the divorce.”

  “Well, I know Fletcher Caton. He owns a gift shop on Main Street.” Samara smiled as Fletcher nodded to her. “And Mrs. Sweeney over there.”

  “I know Amanda, too,” Cinnamon said. Amanda owned the bridal shop that had delivered the wrong gown and brought the wrath of Mac Grier down on Cinnamon’s head.

  “I mean, do we know any eligible males that are here?”

  Cinnamon surveyed the tables. She smiled. “We should. There are a lot of them here, including him.”

  Samara looked in the direction Cinnamon indicated. “What is he doing here?” she asked, with a frown.

  “I imagine he’s a friend of the family. He was at lunch that day I visited you.”

  “Yeah, he always seems underfoot.”

  “Really?” Cinnamon’s eyebrows rose as she stared at her sister.

  “Don’t go there, Cinnamon. He’s the last man on earth I want to have anything to do with.”

  The wedding party arrived amid fanfare from the guests. Cinnamon looked up as they took their places at the head table. She smiled at the grace of their movements, at how Allison’s husband tended to her, how the bridesmaids and groomsmen assumed the arrangement of seats. Then her eyes alighted on MacKenzie Grier. At the same moment, he spotted her.

  By the look on his face, Allison had failed to mention the invitation to him.

  “I’ll be right back,” Samara said. She got up and went over to speak to some of the guests that she’d met previously. Despite saying she knew no one, there were people she recognized. Samara’s mother didn’t have the same experience with their father’s family that Cinnamon’s mother had had. Or if she had, she’d put it behind her.

  Cinnamon sat alone at the table that had been assigned to her. Mac’s stare was direct and penetrating. It made Cinnamon sweat, but she refused to back away from him. Instead she stood up, spread her arms and turned in a complete circle, showing him the light-yellow dress that she wore. It had no lace, no sleeves and no train.

  He turned away from her and Cinnamon laughed out loud.

  “What’s so funny?” Samara asked, returning to the table.

  “Mac just saw me.”

  “Good.” She smiled brightly looking toward the head table.

  “Apparently not. I don’t think he knew we were on the guest list.”

  “He was just surprised.”

  “Samara, don’t make excuses. There is nothing between the t
wo of us. Our first meeting wasn’t anything to write home about and the day I had lunch with you, he didn’t so much as look in my direction.”

  Samara took a drink from her water glass. “A sure sign that he’s interested.”

  Cinnamon rolled her eyes. “Samara, you can’t just make it happen.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t give me that innocent look.” Cinnamon mocked her. “I’m off men and you know it.”

  “You can’t make a blanket statement like that.”

  “Why not? It’s my life. I can live it the way I want. It’s a right I’m guaranteed by the Constitution.”

  “Boston isn’t the world, Cinnamon.”

  “No, but it’s a large part of it.”

  “Cinnamon, you have to let it go,” Samara said, slightly perturbed with her. “You can’t swear off men because of one bad relationship.”

  “It wasn’t one.”

  “No, but they were all wrong for you.” Samara turned and stared at her. “You’re going to hate me for this, but you’re acting like your mother.”

  “I am not!”

  “She’s always searching for the right man and so are you. The difference is she takes the chance and marries them. You find a reason to push them away.”

  Cinnamon felt slapped. “Do I really do that?”

  “Not consciously,” Samara said, her tone comforting. “What you need to do is let yourself go a little. Don’t look for a reason to end a relationship. Stick it out and see where it leads you. It may go nowhere, but it might be the one you’re looking for.”

  “You’re always so sure of yourself. But for me, finding Jarrod with another woman was the last straw.”

  “Don’t let his idiocy ruin your chances, Cinnamon. If you do, he wins.”

  “Wins?”

  “Of course, he moves on and you’re left standing in his dust. You know men love that. They want you home pining away for them. The best thing you can do is replace him immediately. And who better to do it with than him?” Samara sighed. “Look at him, Cinnamon.” She glanced toward Mac. “He’s gorgeous. Even better looking than when he’s on TV.”

  As much as Cinnamon didn’t want to look, she couldn’t help it. Mac was good-looking. In his tuxedo, he was as dashing as a swashbuckler. And just as dangerous, she reminded herself. He smiled at something someone said to him. His face totally changed at that moment. His eyes crinkled and his features relaxed. Cinnamon smiled as if she were part of the conversation. His eyes locked with hers and she quickly turned away.

  “Good-looking men are plentiful,” she said to Samara. “I worked with a score of them.”

  “But none of them set you off like he does.” Again she nodded toward the front of the yard.

  “Set me off? What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the way you look at him when you don’t think anyone is watching. The way your eyes seek him out as if he was as delicious as chocolate candy.”

  “I don’t do that.”

  Cinnamon turned to her sister whose head was already nodding.

  “I’ve seen him all of three times, including today. Even I need more time than that to go goo-goo eyes over a man.”

  Cinnamon looked at Mac again. At least where he’d been sitting. His chair was empty. She looked around the yard trying to spot him. When she’d canvassed the entire space and her eyes met her sister’s, the smirk on her face couldn’t have said “I told you so” better than if she’d spoken the words aloud.

  The waiters began serving the meal. Samara and Cinnamon talked to their neighbors until the other marriage rituals began, the best man’s toast and the bride and groom’s first dance as man and wife. Paul lifted Allison from her chair and the couple danced several steps. The crowd applauded. Cinnamon tried not to look for Mac, but when he appeared near the front table, she saw him retake his seat. She told herself she wasn’t really looking for him. She didn’t want to be surprised by him showing up suddenly and accusing her of some other infraction of his rules.

  Couples joined the bride and groom on the floor that had been laid out over the grass in front of a small band. Samara was immediately asked to dance. Cinnamon envied her sister. She was a butterfly in a room full of owls. Someone always wanted her hand. Like the man in the cafeteria who couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

  Mac danced with one of the bridesmaids. Cinnamon looked away and found Fletcher Caton coming toward her.

  “How about a dance?” he asked.

  Cinnamon got up. The card-and-gift–store owner was old enough to be her father, yet Cinnamon found him extremely light on his feet. She enjoyed dancing with him and smiled as he twirled her around the floor in what had to be a dance they did during one of the wars. She wasn’t sure which one, but it wasn’t one she’d lived through. Catching Samara’s eye, she smiled widely as they shared a private joke.

  From Fletcher she danced with several of the groomsmen and finally the groom. Mac hadn’t even looked in her direction. Why it irritated her, she couldn’t say. Maybe some of what Samara had said was true. Cinnamon dreamed of her own wedding, but each time she got anywhere near it, it seemed her relationships deteriorated. Was she really unconsciously putting up roadblocks due to her mother’s marriage history?

  Paul turned her around to the music. Cinnamon thought of Jarrod. She’d thought he was the one. Mr. Right. She’d envisioned them dancing at their own wedding. Plans of shopping for wedding gowns, invitations, choosing a ring had all gone through her head. And then she’d discovered the truth. Jarrod wasn’t in love with her. She found him in a wild embrace with someone she didn’t know. And then he told her he didn’t love her.

  That had been when she’d sworn off men. Jarrod had been the final straw. She didn’t want anything more to do with them. The gibes at the office got to her after that and she jumped at the NWS job offer and moving to Indian Falls. It was a new start. Something she needed. She didn’t know her move would bring her into the line of sight of Mac Grier. But she was here now and she wasn’t backing down.

  “Allison and I are very glad you could attend,” Paul said, pulling her back to the present.

  Cinnamon wondered how many times today he’d delivered that line. Instead of the obligatory thank-you, she said, “I was thrilled that Allison came to see me. I’m sure she told you about the dress.”

  “We had a good laugh over it. She also told me how Mac reacted. I apologize for that.”

  “Think nothing of it. I’m sure we’ve put it behind us.”

  He swung her around, his steps smooth and sure. Cinnamon couldn’t help thinking how well he danced and how Allison would never be able to fully appreciate his expertise.

  “Has Mac mentioned me?” She hoped her question was as innocent as she intended it to be.

  “Not in my presence. Allison kept both of us very busy this last week. We were forever on the phone or running somewhere to check on details.”

  “Well, it worked,” Cinnamon told him. “The day couldn’t be better and the service was beautiful.”

  “And I’m having a wonderful time,” Paul said. The music ended.

  Cinnamon stepped out of his arms. They began walking off the floor. “Thank you,” she said. “I can find my way back. And I know you have other guests to dance with.” She turned to leave and found herself standing in front of Mac.

  “Mr. Grier,” she said.

  “Mac,” he corrected her.

  “Mac,” Cinnamon said. She moved to go around him, but he took her hand.

  “Dance?” he asked, putting his arm around her waist as the music started up. He gave her no opportunity to refuse him as she would have. The hand on her waist was hot and heavy. She felt it burning through the fabric of her summer dress. Unlike dancing with Fletcher or Paul, she was stiff and awkward in his arms. “Relax,” he said. “I won’t bite you.”

  “Can I have that in writing?” Cinnamon asked.

  “I am surprised to find you here. When I mailed the invit
ations, you weren’t on the guest list.”

  “Would you like me to leave?” Cinnamon stopped dancing.

  Mac pushed back and stepped on her toes. “Of course not,” he said. She began to move again. “So are you going to tell me?”

  “Tell you what?”

  “Why you’re crashing my sister’s wedding.”

  She looked up at him with enough venom in her eyes to kill a small city. “Well, I wore the dress. It seemed only decent to attend the wedding.” The music hadn’t ended, but Cinnamon stepped out of his arms. “Mr. Grier, I think we should just shake hands and go our separate ways. It’s obvious we have nothing to say to each other.”

  She left him, walking slowly so as not to create a scene. She’d never been so angry. How could he think she was low enough to crash a wedding? She looked around, searching. Where was Samara? She was leaving.

  Now!

  “Cinnamon.”

  She heard Mac call her name. Unmindful of him or anyone else who might be looking, she continued to walk around the perimeter of the yard. He caught her arm as she passed the house and guided her through a doorway and into an office.

  “Let me go.” Cinnamon jerked free of his hold. It wasn’t very strong and she easily disengaged herself. Opening her purse, she extracted the envelope with her name clearly written in an elaborate script and thrust it into his hand. “Will this do?”

  “Cinnamon Scott and Guest,” he read.

  She moved to go around him, but he stepped in front of her. “I didn’t know.”

  “Is that an apology?”

  “You could have told me you had an invitation while we were dancing.”

  “I guess that’s a no?” What was it with men? Why couldn’t they just acknowledge that they did something wrong and then go on. Cinnamon had apologized for trying on his sister’s dress, yet he couldn’t even admit he was wrong about her being at the wedding.

  Mac sighed and took a step away from her. She relaxed a bit, too. She’d been holding her breath, only letting out small amounts of air.