Wrong Dress, Right Guy

by Shirley Hailstock

  There was silence for a long moment. Mac finished his food and got up to refill his coffee cup. Cinnamon felt as if her presence had evicted him. It was irrational, but she couldn’t help it.

  “What do you want with the house?”

  “I like it. It’s part of the history of this town and I like the town.”

  “Don’t you have a home in D.C.?”

  “Georgetown,” he said, nodding and resuming his seat. “A very impressive address. It’s where I work, where I entertain. Indian Falls is where I live. With Allison and Paul starting out, they need time to be alone and eventually they will start a family.”

  “Don’t you both own the house?”

  He nodded. “We did. My interest in it was my wedding present to them. It’s totally converted for Allison’s needs.”

  He didn’t need to justify his action. Cinnamon thought it was a wonderful thing to do. Much like Samara had done for her. Their grandmother had left the house to Cinnamon, but she’d offered Samara an interest. Her sister refused, saying she’d stayed in Indian Falls before. She liked living in the District and didn’t want to be in a small town.

  “That was a wonderful thing to do. I’m sure Allison appreciates it.”

  He took his plate to the sink, rinsed it and put it in the dishwasher.

  “Thank you. I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in a while.”

  “Can’t you cook?” From the comfort he’d displayed in the kitchen, she thought he’d have no problem making a meal.

  “I can, but food tastes so much better when someone else cooks it. And I’d forgotten how much I like meatloaf.”

  Cinnamon hadn’t had it in a long time. Being in front of a television camera had ingrained in her the need to watch her weight. She usually went for salads and fruit.

  “So what are you doing here now?” Cinnamon asked. “Since you no longer own the house.”

  “I have a few things to pick up while Allison is away. And I wanted to see Amanda’s debut as a television star.”

  “And now? After her anecdote?” Cinnamon laughed when she recalled Amanda’s rendition of Mac’s anger over her wearing the wedding gown.

  When she looked at him, she expected to see either humor or anger, but neither expression was on his face. His stare was intense, heated, and Cinnamon suddenly thought they were no longer talking about the same thing.

  After an eternity, he stood up. “I’d better go.”

  She stood and together they headed for the front door. At the door, neither of them reached to open it.

  “I suppose I won’t be seeing you again,” Cinnamon said. The thought of it made her a little sad. She didn’t know why. “That is unless I meet my sister for lunch.”

  “Yeah,” he smiled.

  “Well, good night,” she said a little awkwardly. Both of them reached for the knob at the same time. Their fingers touched and caught. She looked at their hands, locked together like chains for several moments. Then she looked up at him. All she could see in his eyes were questions. Cinnamon didn’t understand them.

  After a moment, Mac dropped her hand and pulled the door inward. Without a word, he went out into the night. Cinnamon closed the door and headed back to the kitchen. There were still the pastries to wrap up and the dishwasher to run, and the television room needed straightening. But somewhere between the door and the kitchen, Cinnamon stopped.

  “What was that?” she asked herself. Her mind had refused to process her holding hands with Mac. Or him with her. Didn’t they dislike each other? Then why had they talked so easily in the kitchen? And why did she feel that there was something more in store for them?

  Suddenly, she shook her head, jarring herself back to reality. She was off men and that included MacKenzie Grier. She told herself that. But could she remember her vow the next time she saw him?

  Anyone who wanted a good meal in Indian Falls had to go to Velma’s. She owned and operated the only restaurant in town. Mac turned into the parking lot the next morning and noticed the place was doing a good business. Cars were three deep, and he squeezed in between a Camry and a super Escalade.

  Velma’s restaurant was like a local bar for the morning crowd. Everyone met there for both conversation and good food. Mac was sure the general talk this morning would be Amanda’s appearance on television the night before. He wasn’t disappointed. The moment he opened the door he was greeted with “what did you think of Amanda?” Of course, this was accompanied with a bit of good-natured laughter. Although Mac didn’t see it that way. He wasn’t a joker.

  Allison had left very little food in the house since she and Paul would be away for two weeks. Mac hadn’t decided how long he was going to stay, so he hadn’t brought anything with him. He thought of the meatloaf he’d eaten last night at Cinnamon’s. She was a good cook, making even a simple meal feel both substantial and elegant.

  At his sister’s, the quiet afforded him time to get some much needed work done, but of late each time he passed the city limit, his thoughts immediately flew to the town’s newest resident. That’s where it had been this morning when he woke. And now as he took a seat in the restaurant, the town also put them together.

  Mac usually sat at the counter when he was alone, but every seat was occupied when he entered the place. A couple got up to leave as he made his way to the end of the room and he took their table.

  “Morning, Mac, what can I get you?” Velma asked, as she cleaned the table. Mac had known her for as long as he could remember. She rarely waited tables anymore. She had a full staff, but this morning the place was unusually busy and apparently all hands were needed.

  “The full American,” he said. It was the specialty of the house, included everything: coffee, juice, eggs, various breads, sausage, bacon and the staple of the South—grits. Even though he’d had a big dinner at Cinnamon’s, he was famished this morning.

  Velma poured his coffee and smiled as she left him. Velma heard everything and knew everything going on in the small hamlet, but she wasn’t one to spread gossip. The other citizens of Indian Falls gathered and talked, speculated and laughed over the crisis of the moment, but Velma knew how to keep hold on what she knew.

  Mac tried to concentrate on his newspaper while he waited, but people kept stopping by or talking to him from other tables. Indian Falls was that kind of place. And Velma’s was that kind of place, too. Neighbors were friendly and always willing to stop and talk. Velma poured him a second cup as he went back to his paper. He accepted it without looking up. With the hot liquid halfway to his mouth, he heard his name. Lilly, one of the young waitresses, was standing near the door and pointing in his direction. Next to her was Zahara Lewis’s granddaughter. Mac’s throat closed off and he set the cup back in its saucer. Cinnamon circuited the tables, weaving back and forth as she searched for a place to sit. Mac had a table for two and one of the chairs was empty.

  Cinnamon didn’t appear to want to sit with him. She looked everywhere but in his direction. He stood up as she neared him.

  “If you’re looking for a seat, I’m willing to share.”

  Mac noticed the noise level had decreased in the room and several of the patrons were openly staring at them. Cinnamon looked around.

  “I don’t want to disturb you,” she said.

  “There aren’t any other seats,” Mac pointed out. He pulled out the chair and she sat down. Despite the busy room, Velma and the waitresses moved about like a well-practiced dance team. Velma appeared with the coffee pot and at Cinnamon’s nod, filled her cup.

  “The full American is the specialty of the house,” Mac told her. “I can vouch for it.”

  “All right.” She gave the order to Velma.

  “I don’t mean to impose,” she told Mac. “You can go on with what you were doing. Pretend I’m not here.”

  “I don’t think that’s possible,” Mac said.

  “Was that a compliment?”

  Mac shrugged. “Even if I wanted to ignore you, I don’t think the crowd
would allow it.”

  Cinnamon looked around. People were glancing covertly at them. She was glad when Velma set plates in front of them and went on to fill the small table with toast, butter, pastries, condiments and baskets of jams, jellies and preserves.

  Cinnamon’s eyes opened wide when she saw everything. “I didn’t know what a full order an American was,” she said. “With all this, I may still be here when Allison and Paul return.”

  Mac dug in. He didn’t want to discuss the wedding.

  “Will you be here until they return?” she asked conversationally.

  “I haven’t decided. I could get a lot of work done without a lot of interruptions.”

  “I hated to see all the decorations come down,” Cinnamon began. “The house looked so festive with the decorated tables and flowers. But I guess you can’t have a wedding every day.”

  “No, you can’t,” he said flatly.

  Cinnamon took a bite of her eggs. “May I ask you a personal question?”

  Mac stopped eating and folded his hands, elbows on the table. He stared at Cinnamon. He was sure he knew what she was going to ask. “What do you want to know?”

  “At the wedding. You looked very…uncomfortable. I mean even when you weren’t looking at me. Don’t you like Paul? Is he not good enough for your sister?”

  He relaxed. “I think Paul is perfect for my sister. He worships the ground she rolls over.”

  Cinnamon smiled a moment, but didn’t give up on an answer to her question. Mac didn’t want to tell her the real reason. He hated reviewing that humiliating day. But he supposed she’d hear the enhanced version if he didn’t give her the true facts.

  “I suppose you haven’t heard about my wedding.”

  Her eyes opened wide and she sat back. “I didn’t know you were married.”

  “I’m not. Never have been.”

  “Oh.”

  Her face showed him she was more confused now than before.

  “If you stay around here a while, you’ll hear the story.” He paused. “She left me standing at the altar.”

  Cinnamon gasped. “You’re kidding?”

  “I wish I was. It was humiliating, so I don’t like weddings, don’t want anything to do with them.”

  “How did you get out of the church?”

  Mac remembered the anger that came over him when he realized he was going to have to announce to the congregation that there would be no wedding.

  “It’s mainly a blur. The bride’s father came back and gave me the letter. The minister offered to let the guests know, but I went out, told them there would be no wedding. The other three men were with me.”

  “Mac, I’m sorry. That’s an awful thing to do to a person.”

  “I’ve survived it.” He shrugged.

  “This is a small town, a place where people have long memories. It must have been hard to walk the streets after that.”

  “As luck would have it, the wedding wasn’t here, but there were enough people from Indian Falls attending, including Zahara. The sorrowful looks are gone and no one mentions it to me anymore.”

  “But you know they’re thinking it?”

  He nodded. “Every time someone gets engaged or has an anniversary. If I never attend another wedding, it would be fine with me.”

  “But as Allison’s brother, you were forced to be in her wedding.”

  He smiled quickly. “She manipulated me at every turn. And I knew it. I was relieved when it was over and everything went off fine.”

  “Did you doubt that Paul would show up?”

  He shook his head. “I was the best man. It was my job to get him to the church. Paul was a little nervous, but he wanted to marry Allison. He just wanted the ceremony behind him. Paul’s not one to be at the center of attention.”

  “What was her name?” Cinnamon asked.

  Mac knew who she meant. “Jerrilyn McGowan. She lives in San Francisco now.”

  “Mac, I’m sorry.” She reached across the table and put her hand on his. Mac was immediately aware of the softness of her touch, but there was also a live wire inside the gentleness of it. “I can see why you don’t want anything to do with weddings.”

  “It’s all right. I’ve had two years to get used to it. But I’m not that lucky. There is still another wedding I’m obligated to attend. My best friend’s. I’m standing up for him, too.” He hoped she didn’t hear the reluctance in his voice.

  “Cinnamon, there you are.” A happy voice called them. Fletcher Caton was making his way toward their table. He grabbed an empty chair from a table someone was vacating and pulled it up next to them.

  “Morning, Mac,” he said.

  “Fletcher,” Mac acknowledged. “Who’s watching the store?” Fletcher was rarely away from the gift shop during working hours. He watched over it like it was his child.

  “I put the sign out,” he said.

  That meant he closed it until he could get back.

  “I had an epiphany,” Fletcher said, looking at Cinnamon.

  “An epiphany about what?” Cinnamon asked.

  “Your wedding.”

  “My wedding. I’m not getting married.”

  “Let me explain,” Fletcher said. “After watching Amanda last night, I thought it would be a good idea to give away free invitations to a wedding.”

  Cinnamon looked questioningly at Mac. He didn’t know where Fletcher was going with this.

  “It’s a business ploy, I admit that.” Fletcher looked a little shy, but recovered quickly. “I’m willing to provide you with top-of-the-line invitations for your wedding as long as it’s all right with you if I advertise the invitations in the local paper.”

  “But, Fletcher, I’m not even engaged to anyone. You can’t have an invitation with Groom: TBA written on it.”

  Mac laughed at that. Cinnamon looked at him for help, but he had none to give.

  “Well, I’m sure wedding bells will soon ring for you, too. You caught the bouquet.”

  “You can’t believe that really means anything.”

  “Allison Grier must have. She flung it straight at you.” He swung his gaze from Cinnamon to Mac and back again.

  “She did,” Cinnamon acknowledged, but added nothing more.

  “Fletcher, how do you think this will help your business?” Mac asked.

  “Everyone loves a wedding, except you, Mac.” He glanced again from one to the other, then back to Cinnamon. “You’re Zahara’s granddaughter and you’re living in her house. If I give invitations to you, others will do business at my store.”

  “My grandmother had that much influence?”

  “She was the Oprah of Indian Falls. If she recommended something, it sold like hotcakes.”

  “Fletcher, I have no problem with you giving me invitations, if and when I get engaged, but right now the groom is still TBA.”

  Cinnamon laughed as Fletcher left. He was happy, threading his way through the crowd before going out of the restaurant and back toward his shop.

  “Where does he get these ideas?” she asked.

  “It was an epiphany,” Mac answered.

  Chapter 5

  “Cinnamon, what is going on down there? You’re on the front page of The Weekly.”

  “Is it a good picture?” Cinnamon yawned into the phone.

  “This is not a joke,” Samara scolded.

  “Only if you don’t laugh at it. What are you doing with The Weekly anyway?” The Weekly was the Indian Falls Weekly, a local paper that had been published continuously for the past seventy-five years.

  “I have a subscription,” she answered.

  Cinnamon pushed herself up in the bed.

  “Are you still sleeping? Don’t tell me you’re still in bed.”

  “Samara, what are you so upset about?”

  “Me! I’m not upset, but you should be. You wanted to be taken seriously down there. How do you think this will play at the weather station when you start work?”

  “How do I think what
will play?”

  “Cinnamon, you have read the paper?”

  She could hear the censure in her sister’s voice. “I’ve been a little busy and that paper never has anything in it other than how many jars of preserves Minnie Wilson is donating to the county fair.”

  “Well, they’ve come up in the world and your wedding invitation is on the front page.”

  “What wedding invitation?” Cinnamon carried the portable phone with her as she ran downstairs to the stack of unread letters and papers she needed to respond to. She ripped the paper from its plastic bag and turned it to page one. There was her photo, one that had been taken at Allison’s wedding. Someone had snapped that photo when Mac had asked her dance.

  “Oh no,” she said. On the front page was a copy of the invitation with her name as bride and Groom: TBA written in bold letters. Cinnamon started to laugh.

  “You think this is funny?” Samara said.

  “Of course, it’s funny. What else could it be? Obviously, this is a joke, Samara.”

  Cinnamon thought of Fletcher leaving the restaurant. His step was lively, as if he’d gotten what he wanted. And then she remembered seeing someone follow him out. At the time she hadn’t though anything of it. After all, Mac was distracting her. Now she remembered who it was—Sonia Archer, reporter for The Indian Falls Weekly. Cinnamon wondered how much of Fletcher’s conversation she’d heard.

  “Cinnamon, are you still there?”

  “I’m here. Samara, this is nothing. It was a marketing program that Fletcher wanted to run.” She went on to explain the breakfast meeting and seeing Sonia leave right after Fletcher.

  “As I said, this is not the way to start a new job.”

  “I don’t think anyone will care about this. It’s a joke. Fletcher offered me some invitations. I refused them.”

  “And you made the front page with that refusal.”

  Cinnamon wished Samara would stop saying that.

  The story didn’t call for righteous indignation, Cinnamon thought as she dressed and prepared to confront Fletcher Caton, at least not at the level Samara thought it should. Cinnamon walked briskly along the street, heading for Fletcher’s gift shop. She wasn’t a mail-order bride. She wasn’t a bride by proxy. She wasn’t even a jilted bride. But mostly she wasn’t a bride at all. And, as a non-bride, she didn’t need invitations.