A February Bride

by Betsy St. Amant

  The woman he loved.

  A swell of hope shoved the anvil off his heart, and he stood, pocketing the letter and grabbing for his keys. Allie might have burned him twice, but it’d take three times before he’d learn his lesson. Maybe four. It didn’t matter.

  He checked his watch, then quickened his pace toward his truck. He had about six hours until the wedding—four, really, until he needed to be at the church for pictures.

  He’d have to hurry. He shot a glance at the garage and made a quick detour. First to the garage.

  Then to the pawn shop.

  Allie adjusted the turquoise tie on her dress for the tenth time as she paced outside the bridal suite, waiting for Hannah to finish talking to her father in private. She’d called her friend on the way to the church several hours prior for pictures and received permission to execute her crazy plan. She hadn’t wanted to steal the show on her friend’s big day, but Hannah was so excited that she didn’t mind in the least.

  Allie wore her bridesmaid gown for the group pictures, then donned her new wedding dress with shaky hands, determined to be proactive for once in her life.

  At least if she ran this time, she wouldn’t have to hike up the hem.

  No, no running. For the first time in a long time, peace flooded her heart. She had to try. Marcus deserved her best, and while the flutters in her stomach had yet to be convinced that her plan had even a chance of working, she remained determined to stick it out.

  “It’s time.” Hannah and her father walked out of the bridal suite, and a chorus of nerves burst into anthem in Allie’s heart. It was time. Now or never.

  She really, really didn’t want it to be never.

  She gripped her friend’s hand. “You look amazing.”

  “So do you.” Hannah leaned in close as she adjusted her bouquet and grinned. “You ready?”

  “Let’s do this.” They slapped a high five, and Allie went to join the processional line in front of Hannah and her dad.

  Julie, who had been keeping Marcus at bay all afternoon with bogus tasks, darted around the corner of the long hallway and shot a thumbs-up sign to Allie.

  Go time.

  Her stomach flipped. She was crazy. What if this didn’t even work? What if he couldn’t forgive her?

  What if he ran?

  She joined the end of the line in the foyer outside the double doors of the church and waited for Marcus to file in beside her, looking heart-stoppingly amazing in his tuxedo. He slipped into place as the music started inside and the elderly family members began to be escorted into the church.

  “Finally. I’ve been trying to talk to you all afternoon. I wanted to tell you thank you—” He stopped and did a double take. “Did you change your dress after the pictures?”

  “Yes.” Her voice came out barely above a whisper, so not what she had practiced. But it was hard to concentrate with that white collar setting off his brown eyes, and the way his hair curled slightly over the sides of it.

  “It’s beautiful.” His gaze flickered over her dress, then back to her eyes.

  Suddenly the hallway felt much too crowded.

  She pulled Marcus a few feet away, ignoring the look she could feel Hannah shooting her from the far side of the processional line. The music changed to Pachelbel’s Canon in D. She only had a few minutes to get Marcus’s answer.

  “Thank you for the bench. And the letter.” Marcus reached out and cupped her arm, grazing his fingers from her elbow to her hand. His touch sent shock waves of electricity up her arm, but did he mean to? Or was he just being friendly?

  “You’re welcome, but you deserve a better explanation than that.” She swallowed and gathered her nerve. She could do this, had to do this. Marcus was worth it. And she wasn’t the old Allie anymore. She wasn’t a victim. She wasn’t trapped in an old life.

  She was a new creation. Just like her dress.

  Just like she and Marcus could be, if she could just get the words out without crying.

  The music surged onward, and her heart rate tripled. The speech she’d planned, all the careful words she’d written that afternoon, fled her memory, and all she could blurt out was the deepest desire of her heart. “Marry me, Marcus.”

  His eyes widened. With shock? Grief? Regret? Hope? She couldn’t tell.

  But it was almost their turn down the aisle, and she didn’t know if her February wedding had a groom.

  “I’m a mess, and so is my family. I don’t know what’s going to change, or if I’ll ever really get over everything I’ve believed all my life.” Allie hesitated, wringing her fingers together, wishing she had more eloquent words to express her heart. “But I want to try. You make me want to try.” She reached for him, then stopped, as she still had no idea what was going on behind his piercing gaze. “I just know that when I saw what your mom did to this dress, saw how it could be restored and made new, I had hope—real hope—that maybe we could be too.” She tugged at her sash, self-conscious. “So . . . will you? Marry me?”

  Marcus shook his head, and her heart fell into her high-heeled shoes.

  “I understand.”

  Who had she been kidding? Of course it couldn’t be that easy. After all she’d put him through . . . yet now they had to walk down the aisle together as if nothing was wrong. As if her bleeding heart wasn’t leaving a trail right down her dress. As if her future hadn’t just been knocked away by a wrecking ball once again.

  “I can’t say yes, because I have my own question.” Marcus took her hands and knelt before her. “Will you marry me?”

  Gladness bubbled from deep inside, seeping out through the edges and bursting free in a joyous laugh like she hadn’t experienced in years. “Yes. Yes!”

  Canon in D swelled as Marcus stood, and she pressed her lips against his to seal the promise. His arms locked against her waist, and her head spun as he lifted her slightly off the ground. She was home.

  She was with family.

  “There’s just one more detail to that question I asked you.” She nudged him in the side with her elbow, giddiness filling her spirit. He was going to freak out. “It’s only good for today. A double wedding.”

  They didn’t have a marriage license, of course, but the ceremony would seal their commitment, and they could take care of the legalities as soon as the courthouse opened back up.

  “What? Today?” Marcus feigned what was clearly pretend shock before he grinned. “Let me show you something.” He pulled her a few more feet toward the outside doors, and bumped one open with his hip. Then he tugged her to his side and wrapped his arms around her from behind. “See anything familiar?”

  No. She looked away, confused about why he wasn’t more surprised, and why she was staring at a parking lot.

  Then, yes. A Mustang. A 1973 Mach 1, if she wasn’t mistaken, parked under the awning at the side of the reception hall. Was that—

  She blinked, then swallowed, then blinked again, pulling slowly out of Marcus’s arms to get a closer view. “Is that my car? I thought you sold it.” She couldn’t believe it—though yes, on second thought, she could. Typical Marcus.

  And the turquoise racing stripe down the front was all her.

  “Anything can be restored, Allie.” Marcus brushed escaped tendrils of hair back from her cheeks, leaning in close to steal another kiss. His voice drifted to a lazy whisper. “A time to tear . . .”

  “And a time to mend.”

  She wasn’t afraid of mending anymore. Or tearing. Because a little bit of both just made her that much stronger.

  Made love that much stronger.

  They kissed again as the music inside the sanctuary changed to the traditional wedding march.

  “I believe that’s our cue.” Marcus held out his arm, and she fit her hand neatly into his elbow. In front of them, Hannah shot a wink and a grin as she marched down the aisle beside her father.

  Then it was their turn.

  Allie’s stomach twisted as rows and rows of heads turned to stare at the sec
ond bride walking down the aisle. But her feet remained firmly in place, routed forward to the altar, and her arm remained tucked safely into Marcus’s. She wasn’t running anywhere.

  Except straight into her very own February wedding.

  1. Allie took a Biblical truth about generational cursing and applied it to her life in a defeated way, rather than seeking to use her faith in God to break the destructive cycle in her family. Have you ever misunderstood or misapplied a Biblical truth in your life? What was the result?

  2. Marcus was torn about accepting the job offer in Texas after his breakup with Allie because he wasn’t ready for that official Next Step, that final nail in the coffin. Have you ever hesitated to move on after a life change for fear of the unknown? What did you decide and what was the consequence?

  3. Allie and Marcus both loved each other unconditionally, yet in trying to do what was best for the other, ended up pushing each other away. Have you ever pushed away someone in your life whom you loved for good reason? Was the result beneficial or heartbreaking? What did you learn from the experience?

  4. Hannah’s wedding plans and parties threw Allie and Marcus together many times. Do you think those painful reminders of their own wedding season helped bring Allie and Marcus back together or caused more drama between them? Why?

  5. Restoring old things and making them new is something both Marcus and Allie are naturally drawn to. How was this symbolic to their love story?

  6. Hannah and Allie’s friendship survived a significant road bump after Allie left Hannah’s brother at the altar. Have you ever had a friend forgive you or show you grace after a hard decision or mistake? What did that teach you about the friendship? Have you ever had to show grace to a friend in a similar manner?

  7. Allie and Marcus both desired to give the other a significant gift to remind them of their feelings for each other. Have you ever used a gift to show someone your love or care for them? What did you give and what was their response?

  AN EXCERPT FROM A December Bride

  Layla O’Reilly squeezed into a corner of the bustling kitchen of Cappy’s Pizzeria and leaned into the receiver.

  “No, no, no. You cannot cancel on me now. The wedding’s in five hours. Five hours, Cooper.” She wound the spiral cord around her fist, a sweat breaking out on her forehead.

  “Layla, I—”

  “Don’t even tell me you have to work. I asked you over a month ago. You said you got the night off.”

  “If you’d just let me talk. I have strep, Layla. I’m contagious. I have to be on an antibiotic for at least twenty-four hours before—”

  “I’ll risk it.” She didn’t care if he had malaria. She was going to this wedding, and she was going with a date. Nothing said, See, I’ve moved on, like an attractive man draped on your arm.

  “I feel like trash. I have a 102-degree fever and barbed wire in my throat.”

  Layla took a deep breath, the familiar aromas of garlic and oregano filling her nose. She couldn’t believe this was happening. “Now that you mention it, you don’t sound so good.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know tonight’s a big deal.”

  She closed her eyes. “It’s not your fault. The strep or the wedding.” She banged the receiver against her temple once, twice, three times. “I’ll bring you chicken soup tomorrow.”

  “My sister’s already on it; don’t worry about it. What are you going to do about tonight?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Just don’t go. You don’t need them.”

  “My whole family will be there.”

  “This isn’t about your family, and you know it,” he said. “This is about you having something to prove.”

  She knotted her fist around the cord. Nothing stung as long and hard as betrayal. “Shut it, Cooper.”

  “You know I’m right.”

  Olivia passed with a tray, nodding her head toward the back. Layla followed the direction of her nod. Cappy’s bald head gleamed under the kitchen lights. He gave Layla a pointed look.

  “I have to go. I’m in the middle of lunch rush.”

  She took two orders, working on automatic as her mind filtered through the possibilities. She had to find someone and quick. On her break she made a few calls. No luck.

  Think, Layla.

  She tidied her long brown ponytail before exiting the break room. She had two-and-a-half more hours of work, one hour to get ready, and a half-hour drive to Louisville. Feeling desperate, she scanned Cappy’s. The new busboy, David, wasn’t bad looking, and he was always smiling at her. She hadn’t encouraged him because he was four years younger, but no one would know. Besides, desperate times and all that.

  A few minutes later she walked away from David even more depressed. He was scheduled till closing. Worse, her invitation had encouraged him.

  “You okay?” Olivia asked as she passed.

  “Yeah, fine.”

  “Well, order’s up for table four, and a family was just seated at five.”

  “Thanks.” Layla grabbed the order from the heat lamp—a personal Whole Shebang—and headed toward four, her mind in overdrive.

  She was tableside before she saw him. Seth Murphy recognized her at the same time. He pocketed his iPhone without taking his blue eyes off her.

  “Layla,” he said in that deep voice of his.

  She tipped her chin up, set the pizza down, and didn’t bother serving the first slice. “Murphy.”

  What was he doing here? At her station? Not that he had any way of knowing that. “Don’t you have a wedding to be at?” She clamped her lips shut before anything else leaked out.

  He checked his watch, a casual number with a big face and lots of dials. “Few hours.” He opened his mouth again, then wisely shut it.

  She spun around to table five before he could ask her the same. She felt Murphy’s eyes on her back as she took the order, making heat flood the back of her neck. She didn’t run into him much—didn’t exactly travel in the same circles. But when she did, it was awkward. No one knew better than Murphy how badly Jack had hurt her. And no one, save Jack and Jessica, was more responsible.

  She brought table five their drinks and delivered the bill to a couple squeezed into one side of a two-seater booth. She briefly considered ignoring Murphy’s empty glass, but her conscience kicked in.

  A minute later she set down a fresh Mountain Dew and ripped the bill from the tab. Normally she didn’t leave it this early, but Murphy wasn’t her normal customer. It was hard to be close to him again. To stay angry at him.

  “Can I get you anything else?”

  He leaned back against the red vinyl booth. The light from the overhead pendant washed over his features in a flattering way. He’d always reminded her of Ryan Gosling, especially when he wasn’t wearing that infernal Murphy’s Hardware cap.

  He opened his mouth and shut it again. She was so tired of being tiptoed around. By him. By everyone.

  She pulled herself to her full five-feet-six and tossed her ponytail over her shoulder. “Go ahead.”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “Go ahead and ask.”

  His gaze dropped to the half-eaten slice on his plate. He hadn’t shaved yet. The five o’clock shadow only made him more handsome. “Layla . . .”

  “Yes, I’m going to the wedding. Yes, I’m over him. And yes, I’m happy for my cousin. That about cover it?”

  His eyes drifted to hers again. It was all she could do to hold his gaze. He had a way of looking at her that made her feel like he was seeing all the way inside. She hadn’t seen that gaze since the summer they painted sets at the community theater. She’d liked it then. Now, not so much.

  “I’m glad,” he said. “You deserve . . .” He struggled to fill in the blank.

  She didn’t need his take on that anyway. She slapped the bill facedown. “Have a nice afternoon, Murphy.”

  Her heart was beating too fast as she spun away. Her legs trembled as she made her way to the kitchen. If se
eing Murphy had this effect, what would tonight be like? Seeing Jack and Jessica exchanging vows, kissing, dancing?

  She didn’t have time to worry about her feelings. She still needed a date, and the clock was ticking. She’d exhausted her contact list. She scanned the restaurant again as she carried out an order. A group of guys she didn’t know had gathered around the pool table in the back room. Married couples and families filled the restaurant. She scanned the kitchen again. Three males. David, Cappy, and a man old enough to be her grandfather.

  Come on, God, a little help here.

  Her eyes fell on Murphy as she set down a medium pepperoni at the next table and began serving slices.

  No. Absolutely not. For reasons too numerous to mention.

  She gave a mechanical smile to the couple and went for more refills. Maybe he was single. And yes, attractive. But he was also a friend of Jack’s. She was surprised he wasn’t in the wedding, but then Jessica had probably insisted that Jack choose her brothers.

  She looked out the tinted window to the snowy landscape. Fat snowflakes drifted to the white carpet. It was beautiful, she had to admit. Perfect day for a winter wedding. If things had gone differently, it might have been her day.

  A loud slurp drew her eyes to Murphy’s table. He set his empty cup down and took another bite of his pizza.

  Fine. One more refill.

  A minute later she set the drink on Murphy’s table and turned to go.

  “Layla . . .” He touched her arm. “Wait.”

  His touch sent a jolt of something through her. His fingers still rested lightly there. She turned, raising her brows.

  “Do you . . . need a ride? To the wedding? The roads are getting bad.”

  She stared into his eyes. He had a way of catching her completely off guard. Always had. Even back when they’d been friends, back before she and Jack had gotten together.

  “I mean—you probably have a date . . .”

  “I did. Two hours ago. Cooper came down with strep.”

  He scratched his neck. “I’m going alone, so . . .”

  “Oh.”

  Was this the answer? Was God sending her the most unlikely of lifelines?