This Love of Mine

by Miranda Liasson

  Sam looked at him. “For the weekend?”

  “No, I’m leaving for good.”

  Meg stopped pinning the dress, and gestured to the girl wearing it that she was done. Everyone pretended to be busy, but it was impossible not to attend to what was going on in front of them. Sam blinked furiously, and her voice went up an octave. “But—your arm is still in the cast. You’re still getting therapy. Y-you can’t leave yet.”

  “I’ve got a singing gig in New York. This could be my big break.”

  “But your job is here.”

  Spike shrugged. “If I stay in Mirror Lake, I’ll be stuck at Clinker’s my whole life.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that,” Sam said.

  “There is to me.” They were standing close together in front of the window, unaware that, once again, everyone around them had stopped running around the shop in a flurry.

  “I broke up with Harris,” she said softly.

  His mouth quirked up the tiniest bit. “I’m glad.” Then he curled his hand around the back of her neck and kissed her. Hard.

  Women gasped. One whistled. And a few exclaimed.

  Spike pulled back, leaving Sam standing stock-still, looking like she’d just won the Powerball.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Spike said, pulling an envelope out of his back pocket and placing it in Sam’s limp hands. “This is for you. Open it later.”

  And then he was gone.

  But not quite. Meg dashed after him, pins in her mouth, and grabbed his arm before he could step through the door. “Wait. You can’t go yet.”

  Spike looked at her like she needed a softly padded room and a big shot of Haldol.

  Meg loosed her grip—a little. “My band cancelled and I know you’re in one. Can you play a gig right now? For my bridal show?”

  He frowned. “What kind of music?”

  “Anything you want. Happy music. Joyful. Stuff that makes people think of love and weddings.” She grabbed his other arm, too. “Please, Lukas. This show means everything to me and despite months of preparation, it’s turning to dog poo in front of my eyes.” Like everything else in her life.

  “Okay, relax,” Spike said, prying her fingers off his skin. “I’ll do it.”

  No sooner had she given Spike a few instructions and showed him out so he could go prepare for his gig than Olivia came up to her holding out a bell-shaped wedding gown. Priscilla’s. “You’re going to have to put this on.”

  “No way. Find someone else.” It had nothing to do with the fact that it was Priscilla’s abandoned dress. Well, okay, it did. But mostly, she just couldn’t do it. The last thing she wanted to do in her current state of mind was to parade down the dock dressed as a bride. Her dream of love had died and that would be the cruelest reminder she could imagine.

  “Look,” Olivia said. “You’ve got to set your personal feelings aside and get through this next hour.” Meg must have looked about to lose it because Olivia grabbed her by the shoulders and shook hard. “Just one hour, Meg. After a lifetime of hard work, this is what it’s going to take to save your shop.”

  Meg blew out a breath. “Right. Save the shop,” she repeated dully.

  Even if today weren’t the worst day of her life, the thing she hated above all others was to be the center of attention. Just the thought of all those eyeballs on her as she walked out in this fancy dress made her want to run screaming for the hills. As she stood there semi-panicking, Samantha came over and began doing her makeup.

  “Are you sure no one could find some sweet young girl who’s dying to model a wedding gown?” Meg asked out loud.

  “No bride yet,” Sheri said, dragging Stacy, Jax’s pregnant wife, into the shop, “but I did find us another bridesmaid.”

  “You all must be pretty desperate if you need someone like me to do this shit,” Stacy said.

  “Stacy!” Meg said, gave her a big hug, and looked her over. “We have a plus-size gown that would fit you, but it’s not plum.”

  Sam continued to work on Meg’s eye shadow, lipstick, mascara. “I know the gown you’re talking about. Pale pink is close enough it won’t clash,” she said.

  “I know exactly where it is,” Olivia said, then took Stacy in the back room to dress.

  “What else can possibly go wrong?” Meg went behind the dressing screen they’d set up earlier to help with all the changes for the show. She eyed the gown, which she knew she’d have to squeeze into and do something to fill up the bust. On impulse, she tossed the dress over the screen and ran upstairs. She yanked the alencon lace gown she loved off its hanger. If she was going to have to parade in front of the entire town, she was going to do it her way. And look damn good doing it.

  While Meg dressed, Gloria peeked her head over the side of the screen. She was channeling Jackie Kennedy in a bright pink tweed suit and a tiny matching pillbox hat covered with pink netting. “Hello, dear,” she said, her voice unusually quiet. “Turn around and I’ll zip you up.”

  Gran zipped the side zipper and fastened the hook-and-eye closure.. But then suddenly Meg felt something slide over her eyes—something white and silky, a sash. She felt a sharp tug behind her head as a knot was tied tight. “Gran, what the hell!”

  “It’s for your own good, dear,” Gran said in a strangely calm voice.

  Someone grabbed her hand and gave her a quick squeeze. “Just go with it, sweetie!” Olivia whispered.

  “Come in,” Gloria called. “Let’s go, ladies, and give them privacy.”

  Feet shuffled. “Wait! Don’t go! We’re twenty minutes to show time!” Meg wasn’t sure if everyone had really left or was hovering on the sidelines, but the entire shop went dead silent. The panic that had seized her for the past hour rose to fever pitch levels, her heart beating crazily out of her rib cage. Why the hell would these crazy ladies leave her like this?

  “Meg,” a familiar voice said.

  “Ben?” She stopped tugging at the knot, which, considering it was tied by an old lady, was surprisingly tight. “No, I can’t talk to you now. The show—”

  “Can wait. I have something to say to you.”

  “I’m taking off this stupid—”

  “I’m afraid you can’t do that just yet, dear,” Gran said in that same low, calm voice. “It’s bad luck.”

  “It’s bad luck to have someone kill you, too, Gran,” Meg said. “And I thought you were giving us privacy.”

  “With all the people in here,” Gran said, “if you want privacy, you may have to take him to the bathroom.”

  A loud crash sounded. “What the hell,” Ben said.

  “What happened?” Meg asked.

  “No one told me there was some—thing in the middle of the floor.”

  “It’s probably the dressing screen,” Meg said.

  “Thanks, my knee just discovered that.”

  “W-what are you doing here?”

  “I came to talk to you. Only those batty old ladies blindfolded me, too.”

  “You came to talk to me?” Meg asked. Maybe being blindfolded had enhanced her sense of smell. Because she could tell from the familiar scent of soap and August sunshine that he was close by. Her misguided heart quivered with a buoyant sense of hope despite her warning it not to.

  The calm tones of his voice soothed her frazzled nerves. “I was wrong to do what I did in front of Donaldson. I’m sorry.”

  There had been a time when an apology would have been enough to send her over the moon without demanding more discussion. When she would have tiptoed around the truth just to have his attention. But she’d finally left that crush thing in the dirt. This was real, and she was going for full disclosure or nothing. “You picked the job over me. You told me you didn’t do relationships. And I do. I want the whole shebang. Love, family, a fixer-upper that drains the budget, and a big, slobbery dog.”

  “The whole shebang, huh?” he asked. He sounded a little wary. Like maybe he just couldn’t do it. Like he simply wasn’t capable of having a real relatio
nship.

  Well, all right then. No matter what the outcome, she was going to get everything off her mind. She took a big breath and kept going. “I understand how badly you want that job,” she said. “I just wish you’d wanted me as much.”

  She heard him shuffle a step forward. He was so close now that she could feel his breath on her cheek. “Well, see, that’s where you’ve got me wrong because I do want you,” he said in a quiet, even voice. “Even more than that job. I spoke to Donaldson and the committee. I took myself out of the running. Told them the truth.”

  “Oh, God, no.” Meg’s muscles froze in dread as what he’d just said sunk in. He was giving up the job he’d loved for her? “I don’t want to be responsible for you giving up your dream.”

  “It’s only a job, and there are other jobs in Connecticut. The worst thing is that I blew the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Do you want to know what that is?”

  She might have nodded, who knew. Because her heart was squeezing so painfully it hurt, and she couldn’t breathe, and of course she couldn’t see. And she might have been crying, too.

  A hand grazed over her hip. Patted her skirt, then finally found her hand. At last he gathered up both her hands in his big warm ones and she gripped them for all she was worth.

  “You, Megan. Losing that job is nothing compared to the thought of living my life without you.” His voice rolled over her, soft as spring rain. “I want to show you I’m a better man because of you. For the first time since Patrick died, I want to take the risk of loving someone. I want to take that risk with you because I—love you.” He smoothed her fingers, rubbing them between his own, and the firm, reassuring pressure of his touch felt so damn good she almost forgot there were hundreds of people waiting to see a put-together, elegant bridal show instead of a three-ring circus. Then his grip on her hands shifted. She heard something hit the ground. Maybe his knee.

  “Wait.” In a panic, she tugged at the godforsaken sash that Gran must have tied with a sailor knot. “I need to see you.” She’d just heard the audio she’d been yearning to hear him speak for half her life and she was missing the visual feed. She needed to look into his deep brown eyes and see what his heart was saying.

  “The grannies told me it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding,” Ben said.

  “Before the—what?” Her blood froze cold. It’s just a bridal show.

  “If you say yes, we can walk down the aisle right now.”

  “I don’t—get it.” Had someone spiked her tea? Or had stress simply sent her careening over the edge?

  “The real bridal show will go on after we’re done. But I’ve got everyone lined up out there. All our friends and family. A priest, a minister, a rabbi, and a judge. And a license that’s waiting for your signature. So, Megan Louise Halloran, will you marry me?”

  Everything was trembling. Her hands, her knees. Dimly, she wondered if she was hallucinating. That the stress of the past few days had simply thrown her over the edge.

  “Ben, this is crazy.” It was crazy. Because she thought she’d just heard the man of her dreams tell her he loved her.

  “Not so crazy. I’ve always loved you. I just never thought I deserved you. But you fought for me. You gave me back a peace of mind I lost at an old quarry long ago. I’m all in here, sweetheart.”

  Could she take this crazy risk? She’d wanted to live a bold life. To fight for what she wanted. And dammit, she wanted him. “I’ve always wanted you. But I’d sort of invented a dream version of you. These past weeks have shown me you’re better than my dreams.”

  She felt her way up his arms, up his tuxedo jacket, up his starched collar and his bow tie, through the silky-coarse layers of his hair, until she was kneeling beside him and touching every part of his face like a blind person trying to use only their sense of touch to imagine their beloved. Maybe she did it to reassure herself it was really him. Same beard. Same stubborn chin. And at last, the same beautiful mouth, which she targeted with her own lips. The kiss was long and lush and maybe it was even better blindfolded because in the darkness, she felt every single passionate stroke straight down to her toes.

  His kiss reaffirmed his words. “Yes,” she said at last. “I love you, Ben. I’ve always loved you, and I want to marry you.”

  “She said yes,” he yelled.

  Feet shuffled into the room. People cheered. Cries of finally and it’s about time and glad that’s over filled the air. But when someone finally ripped the sash off her head, he was gone.

  Her mom and gran each took an arm. Sam, smiling, ran in front of her to fluff her hair and touch up her makeup.

  “Oh, Gran, I wish I had your veil,” Meg said, on the verge of tears.

  “Brought it,” Gran said, and Sam helped secure the comb of a simple fingertip-length veil edged with delicate lace.

  “Time to go,” Gran said, teary eyed. “You look prettier than Princess Kate.”

  Meg looked from her grandmother to her mother. “But, Mom—”

  “I owed Ben a big apology, and like the good man he is, he took it. I want you to be happy, Megan. And I want us all to heal, starting today. Patrick would have wanted that.”

  “Oh, Mom.” Meg kissed her mom. And Gran. Then she started crying, too.

  “You look beautiful,” Sheri said, giving her a squeeze. “And Mom’s right. We never healed, just covered up the scars. But I think this is a good start.”

  Olivia peeked outside the door and then returned with a report. “Are we ready? The groomsmen are lined up in front of the gazebo, and looks like all the officiants made it.”

  “I can’t believe you guys did all this,” Meg said.

  “It was Ben’s idea,” her mom said.

  Meg walked out of her shop, her mother on one arm, her grandmother on the other, following Olivia, Sheri, Stacy, and Sam. They crossed the street that she had crossed practically every day of her life, with all its familiar sights, but today everything looked surreal. The row of brick shops facing Main Street looked postcard perfect, their plate-glass windows shiny, their sidewalks swept clean, every potted geranium the brightest scarlet or the most vivid red. They followed the walkway through the middle of the square, waving to onlookers who were heading to the nearby marina for the show, then down the grassy aisle that someone had lined with two rows of white rose petals. Chairs had been set up in front of the gazebo, which were now occupied by the family and friends Meg loved. Alex blew a kiss from a wheelchair in the front row.

  Then she saw Ben for the first time, standing in front of the gazebo next to Brad, Tom, Teddy, and Jax, and for a moment the world stood stock-still. Meg thought of all the times she had had that reaction on first seeing him—the jolt of her heart, the stampeding of her pulse, the warm spread of heat everywhere—and this reaction was like that times a hundred. He looked like a dream in elegant black tux pants, a white jacket, and a black bow tie, his beard trimmed close and the thick layers of his hair cropped and elegantly precise. The look in his eyes promised a lifetime of love, humor, and something dark and sensuously dangerous that both thrilled and strangely soothed her at the same time.

  Odd that she’d lost count of all the times she’d looked at him from across a room, and felt such a desperate pining it was almost a physical ache. She thanked God for the crazy, miraculous turn of events that had finally broken down the walls between them for good. This time, when she stared at him, he smiled. A beautiful, wide smile that made her heart ache from all the joy that was overflowing from it.

  She smiled right back. Because this time it was for real.

  Ben left his place to meet her. He kissed her mother and her grandmother. Then he placed something into her hands—a bouquet of daisies, tied with a bright green ribbon. “Thank you,” she whispered. “They’re perfect.” Just like you.

  He stood in front of her, gazing long and hard into her eyes. Her full grin must have matched his own, except she was spilling tears of happiness everywhere. “Time to start our journe
y together, sweetheart,” he said, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm. Good thing he was holding her tightly because she went boneless as a blob of Jell-O from the sheer joy of being with him.

  But she couldn’t start walking yet. Urgently, she tugged him back. “Ben,” she whispered. “Are you sure? This is a pretty big show of PDA considering we’ve technically never gone out on a real date.”

  Ben turned to face Meg and took up both of her hands. Slowly, he brought their joined hands up to his mouth and kissed every delicate finger in turn. He looked at the strong, determined, beautiful woman before him, radiant in her lacy gown, her green eyes vivid and bright against the stark white of her veil. Honesty and unconditional love beamed from her gaze. “I never thought I’d be free to love you. You gave me that gift. And I don’t want to waste another minute apart. I love you, Megan.”

  Her hands were trembling, but her voice was calm and clear. “You make me feel like I can do or be anything I want to be. And I love you, too.”

  He looked from Meg to his brothers, standing in a row, their Rushford good looks unmistakable when they were all cleaned up. His sister stood with the bridesmaids, looking more like a woman than a little girl. And his Grandma Effie sat in the front row of chairs beaming. Everyone he loved and who had loved him all his life was here.

  For a second Ben thought of his parents. His grandparents. Patrick. All the important people who weren’t here. They would have loved Meg. He liked to think that Patrick would have laughed and slapped him on the back and warned him that he was watching, so Ben had better not eff this one up. In his heart he felt their blessing and knew they were here with him in spirit.

  The minister cleared his throat.

  Ben took a step forward, but someone called out in the crowd. “Excuse me, before the ceremony begins, I’d like to make an announcement.” It was Dr. Donaldson, dressed in a suit and tie.

  No, not now. He wouldn’t tell everyone about his deception, would he? What could he possibly object to now?

  “Did we invite him to the wedding?” Meg asked.

  “Honey, to be truthful,” Ben said, “I don’t think we invited anyone.”