Wrong Dress, Right Guy

by Shirley Hailstock

  “Mac, are you still there?”

  “I don’t believe this,” he said to himself.

  “Believe what?” Allison asked.

  “Nothing,” he said, coming back to his sister. “How long has this been going on?”

  “Since we came back from our honeymoon. It started before we got here.”

  “What’s Cinnamon doing with these letters?”

  “You know about the letters?”

  “I just read it on the Internet.”

  “I haven’t seen her in a couple of days, but she was reading through them, putting them in categories.”

  She couldn’t be considering this, Mac thought. He knew she wanted to marry. She’d told him that much when they were in Boston. But he was sure she was too intelligent to find a husband through a letter.

  “Mac, I didn’t call to give you the news of what’s going on in town.”

  “Why did you call?”

  “To invite you to dinner. Paul and I are having some people over. It’s our first party since we’ve been married and I’d like my brother to be one of the guests.”

  “When?”

  “This weekend. Saturday. Can you come down?”

  “I’ll be there Friday afternoon,” he said without hesitation.

  “Good. See you then.”

  Mac replaced the phone in its cradle. He stared at the computer screen. Stared at the photo of Cinnamon. He was going to Indian Falls.

  Now!

  Cinnamon recognized the start and stop hiccupping of the doorbell. Her heart beat like a hummingbird’s. It was Mac punching the bell, getting her attention. Cinnamon forced herself not to run to the door and yank it open. Calmly, she approached it as if he weren’t trying to get to a fire. As expected, Mac stood there, a suitcase on the porch floor next to him.

  “I need a place to stay,” he said.

  “What?” It was the last thing Cinnamon expected to hear. “I can’t stay with my sister and her husband. I wondered if you’d rent me my old room?”

  Cinnamon had said she wouldn’t do this. The house was hers. She couldn’t have Mac running around freely and destroying her peace of mind.

  “Why can’t you stay with Allison and Paul?”

  “I guess that question means you’ve never been a newlywed.”

  “And you have?”

  “No, but I know what it’s like to be a fifth wheel.”

  “What about the hotel?” Cinnamon suggested.

  “There is no hotel in Indian Falls.”

  Cinnamon knew they couldn’t discuss this standing in the doorway. She stepped back. “Maybe you’d better come in.”

  Mac lifted the suitcase and crossed the threshold.

  “I’m not saying yes,” she began as they entered the living room. “We’ll need to discuss this.” She sat down. Mac took the chair across from her. She was glad he didn’t sit next to her. It had been two weeks since she’d seen him and finding him suddenly on her doorstep was like finding the crown jewels. She’d missed him. While they had been in Boston, she’d thought their relationship had changed and that he would come back to Indian Falls. But almost immediately upon returning her to her house, he’d gone away and stayed away.

  “Your house is larger than this one. I’m sure you won’t be in Allison and Paul’s way.”

  “Maybe not, but they’re newly married and need their own space.”

  Cinnamon needed hers, too.

  “There’s a hotel in Gateville. It’s only ten miles away.”

  “I called them. They’re booked due to the cavern festival.”

  This part of Virginia was riddled with caves. Every summer tourists came in droves to visit the underground sites. The festival had grown to major proportions over the past twenty years. Cinnamon had gone to it once when she visited her father.

  “Besides, I work much better here,” Mac said.

  “Things are a little crazy right now, Mac.”

  “So I’ve read.”

  Her head came up and she looked at him.

  “Have you found someone to replace the TBA?”

  “I’m considering it.”

  “You’re not serious?”

  “Why not?”

  “Because there’s…” He stopped. Cinnamon thought he was searching for words. “It’s not the way people should meet, or choose a life mate.”

  “And how should they do that?”

  “Face to face,” he said. “Don’t you want to know whether or not you and this person have any chemistry? Whether you like the same things? Fit well together?”

  “Of course. I don’t expect to marry someone I can’t love. But we’re getting off the subject.”

  “I’ll make you a deal,” Mac said, as if he were the one with the bargaining chip. Cinnamon let him go on even though she knew who was in control. “I’ll borrow the room for the weekend and help you go through the letters.”

  “First,” she said. “It’s not the weekend. Today is Tuesday.”

  “Minor point. I have some writing to do. You won’t even know I’m here.”

  “And second.” Cinnamon went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “What makes you think I want your opinion? I’m perfectly capable of choosing for myself.”

  “Maybe,” he said.

  “What do you mean, maybe?”

  “I work with people all the time. I get press releases and have to be able to ascertain a person’s worth by the few sentences he chooses to put on paper. Reading between the lines is a specialty of mine. I’d be an asset in this endeavor.”

  “You assume I’m not expert in the same field.”

  “You know weather, but this is about people. And people are my business. I keep it honest,” he said. The pun was not lost on Cinnamon.

  “I’m a good cook. I can lift heavy packages, or bags of mail. I’m neat in the bathroom, never leave hair in the sink or the toilet seat up. And I need a room.”

  She laughed. Mac made her laugh a lot. “I suppose anyone who puts the toilet seat down deserves a room,” she said.

  “Good,” he said.

  “There are some rules.” Cinnamon stopped his elation.

  “Go on.”

  “We don’t share a bathroom or any other rooms. This is strictly a business arrangement. In exchange for your help with the letters, I provide you with a room. No board.”

  “Agreed,” he said.

  “This arrangement will remain in effect until the weekend.”

  “At which time,” he finished for her, “I will escort you to the dinner party at my sister and brother-in-law’s house.”

  “And then you’ll turn into a pumpkin and—”

  “Then we’ll see whose name we choose to fill in on that invitation,” he interrupted. “After that the rest is up to you.”

  Cinnamon felt as if he’d just handed her over to a marriage of convenience. She wasn’t sure she liked Mac being so involved in her life. But she’d agreed to the deal, and there was no turning back.

  Initially, she’d been kidding with Mac, but he was serious and now she had him living in her house and helping her possibly choose the man she would marry.

  Cinnamon thought of the wedding gown. She imagined herself in it, floating down the aisle and marrying the faceless man who waited for her. Only he wasn’t faceless. He turned in the dream to look at her.

  It was Mac.

  They’d been at it for four days. Mailbags arrived every day, increasing in number with the days. Mac had been true to his word. He hadn’t encroached upon her time unless she asked him, except in the matter of the letters.

  The newspaper that had started this letter writing campaign hadn’t used her address, but everyone in town knew her and even letters addressed to General Delivery ended up on her dining room table.

  “I can’t believe there are so many desperate men in the world,” Mac commented after several hours of sorting letters.

  “I beg your pardon?” Cinnamon said.

  He glanced at her, then d
id a double take. “That came out wrong. I don’t mean that you aren’t worth it. Clearly you are, but who would have thought so many people would offer to marry someone they’d never met?”

  “It’s the way of the world. Look at all the Internet dating services. Everyone wants to find the perfect match. And remember in some places arranged marriages are still the norm.”

  “Not for me,” Mac said emphatically.

  Cinnamon stopped reading and sorting and looked at him. “Mac, you don’t mean that.”

  “I do,” he said. “I had my go at marriage. And I’m done.”

  “Have you ever thought that she might have done you a favor?”

  “Leaving me standing in front of three hundred people and just forgetting to show up? Yeah, I can see the favor in that.”

  “Wouldn’t it be worse if she had shown up and the two of you had made each other miserable for years? Then you’d go through divorce. There might even be children involved. It’s your ego that’s been bruised.”

  “Bruised? I think beaten into pulp is a more apt description.”

  Cinnamon went back to the mail. A photo fell out of an envelope. She picked it up and smiled. “He’s gorgeous.”

  Mac pulled the picture from her hand. “Yeah, too gorgeous. No way he needs to find a bride through the mail.”

  “You know you can stop insulting me anytime now.”

  Mac turned and looked at her. “It’s not you. You’re gorgeous, too.”

  “Why, thank you.”

  “And this is no way for you to find a husband. If you’re so fired up to get married, I know a score of guys. Let me introduce you to some of them. At least you’ll find out more than a letter can tell you.”

  “Thank you,” she snapped. “But I think I’ll go with the Longfellow approach a little longer.”

  “Longfellow approach?”

  “Oh, go look it up,” she shouted.

  Cinnamon got up and went into the kitchen. She wanted to be away from Mac. Anger flushed through her system. Why should he think she needed him to introduce her to men? Why would he even think after the way he’d kissed her in Boston that she would take direction from him?

  She had been teasing when she’d told him she’d let him help her. It was an exercise to go through the letters. It was fun in the beginning, but now things were getting out of hand. Mac was trying to find her a husband.

  And she was falling in love with him.

  “Cinnamon.”

  Mac called her name and she stiffened. Turning around she looked at him.

  “Did I do it again?” he asked.

  “It’s all right. We’re never going to get through all those letters. Every day the postman brings more bags.”

  She passed him and went back into the dining room, which now looked like it was the post office.

  Letters had been sorted into piles. Cinnamon took the pile containing photos and began discarding the ones she wasn’t interested in.

  “What are you doing?” Mac asked, coming back.

  “Sorting.”

  “Why?”

  She stopped on one of a guy that could have been a model. “What do you think of this one?”

  “Too good-looking.”

  She dropped the photo and chose another one. “This guy looks like he’s worked as a logger.”

  Mac shook his head. “Too muscular,” he said. “He’d probably crush you in bed.”

  Cinnamon chose another one. The man was ordinary looking.

  “Too young,” he said. “He hasn’t even learned to shave yet.”

  Cinnamon dropped the pile on the table. “None of these are going to satisfy you, are they?”

  “I’m not trying to stand in your way. I think this is not the way to meet a husband, but I’ll give you the benefit of my expertise.”

  At that moment the doorbell rang. Both of them looked toward the door. Cinnamon wasn’t expecting anyone, but it wasn’t uncommon for people in Indian Falls to drop by unannounced. Wasn’t that how Mac had ended up on her doorstep?

  She stood up. Mac put his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll get it,” he said.

  Cinnamon lifted the photos again after Mac left her. She read the letter that accompanied the picture of a young man who could double as posterboy for the all-American male. Cinnamon smiled, but she wasn’t really interested in choosing a man from the letters. She thought it would be fun to look through the mail, but she never knew so much of it would come. Or that Mac would find it so irritating.

  “You’re not going to believe this,” he said as he returned to the dining room.

  “Believe wha—” Cinnamon began speaking, but when she saw what Mac was holding, she stopped short.

  He held three dresses in front of him. Three wedding gowns.

  “The driver said they’re on approval. You can choose anything in the store for your wedding.”

  For a moment Cinnamon was stunned. Then she burst out laughing.

  “This is not funny,” Mac told her.

  “It is. Mac, don’t you see? This isn’t real. It’s a publicity stunt to garner attention to the stores.”

  “Keep thinking that,” he told her. “All the way to the altar.”

  Chapter 8

  Allison Grier-Mathis decided to hyphenate her name instead of dropping her former identity and taking on another one. Although Allison’s house wasn’t that far from hers, Cinnamon and Mac had driven there for dinner. The party had been filled with delicious food and conversation, none of it related to the problems that Cinnamon was having with the overzealous shop owners in town.

  As things were winding down, Cinnamon helped clear the table. Allison rolled into the kitchen after her.

  “How are things going with my brother?” she asked without preamble. “I see he’s wangled a room out of you.”

  “Just until tonight. He’s going back to D.C. in the morning. And he’s lending me his expertise with the letters.”

  “How is that going?” Allison pulled the dishwasher open and began putting dishes inside.

  “I’m not sure. Mac is like a father, never finding anyone good enough. He rejects every candidate. Not that I would select any of them anyway. But it’s so much fun seeing him get upset over the process.”

  “So you’re really not interested in any of the men?”

  Cinnamon stared at Allison. “As your brother tells me, ‘no sane woman would choose a husband this way.’”

  “And you’re a sane woman?”

  “Last time I checked.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “Don’t be,” Cinnamon warned her. “I’m not after Mac, either. He has a wall around him as thick as a fortress.”

  “But you could break it down.”

  “Allison, this is not a strategy to get Mac.”

  “But it could be.”

  “No,” Cinnamon said. “It can’t be. While I wouldn’t choose a man from a letter, I also won’t trick a man into falling in love with me.”

  “I’m not sure you’ll have to trick Mac. I haven’t seen you two in a few weeks and from what I saw tonight, you’re already in love with him.”

  Cinnamon said nothing. Denial was on the tip of her tongue, but she knew it wasn’t true. Since the party in Boston, since their kiss in the pink room, Cinnamon had known. Mac must have sensed something since he’d stayed sequestered in D.C. until Allison called him home for a dinner party.

  But he hadn’t gone to Allison’s. He’d come to her, convinced her to give him a room with a flimsy excuse. She’d allowed it because she wanted him around, because she’d fallen in love with him. But Mac was solidly against long-term relationships.

  And for her, marriage was a long-term commitment.

  Mac opened the door and helped her out of the car as they arrived back at her house. The sky was clear, the moon a huge silvery disc in a starry sky. Cinnamon recognized the smell in the air. The pressure was low and the air system over them was likely to remain in place for a few more days
. This meant the weather would remain calm and warm.

  “You and Allison had your heads together a long time tonight,” Mac said.

  “You know, for a man who probes politicians for a living, you’re not very good at asking a straight question.”

  “All right.” He stood up straight and looked her directly in the eye. “What were you two talking about?”

  “You,” Cinnamon answered.

  “And what did she say?”

  “She thanked me for letting you stay here.”

  Cinnamon had reached the porch. She opened the door and went inside. Turning on the light, the wedding gowns were the first things she saw. They hung from the dining room door. Cinnamon told herself she’d deal with them in the morning.

  “They are beautiful, don’t you think?” she asked Mac.

  He looked at the gowns and turned away. “Don’t do it,” he said.

  “Do what?”

  “Don’t try them on. They’re not yours.”

  “I know,” she said. Walking over to them, she touched the train of one. It was covered with flower appliques and crystal pleating. Cinnamon imagined herself dancing in it, sure the hemline would flare out and make a beautiful picture.

  She turned around and faced him. “If I were to put them on, I could be sure that no angry brother of the bride would show up and annoy me.”

  “The best you can do is return them. Tell Fletcher and Amanda and anyone else that this charade has gone on too long.”

  Cinnamon took down at one of the gowns. She held it up to herself. “What do you think?”

  “I think you should stop this.”

  “Mac, we’re going to a wedding next weekend. There is going to be a bride there. You aren’t going to turn away from her, are you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Maybe you need some practice. Why don’t I try this one on.”

  “No!” he shouted.

  Cinnamon jumped at the harshness of his reply. “All right, maybe that isn’t the best course of action.”

  “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “Why don’t we call it a night?”

  “Good idea.”

  He left her then and went upstairs. Cinnamon stared at the dress in her hand and at the papers covering her dining room. She heard Mac moving around upstairs. Moving to the light switch, she turned it off. Immediately the room was plunged into darkness. The only reflection came from the outside lights.