by Lee McKenzie
She stopped walking and reached for his arm. “If you don’t mind waiting at the bridal salon—I have to make sure my dress fits—I’d love to. It’ll be fun.”
THE IMPROMPTU SHOPPING trip with Mitch and Miranda had been even more fun than Rory had expected. Miranda had enjoyed being the center of attention and, like a little princess-in-training, loved trying on new things and modeling them for her father. She was now outfitted with two new pairs of jeans for school, an armload of cozy winter T-shirts and sweaters, socks, underwear and the most adorable pair of pale yellow polka-dot flannelette pajamas.
Rory had also quietly convinced Mitch to splurge on a new dress—the “twirly” kind—that Miranda could wear to Nic and Jonathan’s wedding ceremony. Although she wasn’t on the guest list, Betsy could take her to the church. Knowing how excited she would get, Mitch had asked that it be a surprise, so he simply told her the new dress was for special occasions.
Now they were seated in a booth at a fifties-themed diner, Mitch on one side next to a pile of shopping bags, and Rory and Miranda seated on the other.
The server’s purple-streaked hair, eyebrow ring and the dragon tattoo on her shoulder were an amusing contrast to the James Dean posters and the retro chrome-and-Arborite decor.
At least Rory was amused. Mitch not so much.
Miranda dumped crayons out of a small cup and studied the farm scene on her paper place mat. “I already know what I’m having. The kid’s cheeseburger.” She picked up the red crayon and started on the barn. “And fries.” She sounded definite, but looked hopefully at her father. “I can have fries, right?”
He nodded.
The waitress looked at Rory.
“I’ll have a BLT on toasted multigrain.”
“Soup, salad or fries with that?”
Rory winked at Miranda. “I’ll have fries, too. And coffee, please.”
“And you, sir?”
“I’ll have the cheeseburger. And fries,” he added quickly, before she launched into the choices again. “And coffee.”
She jotted his order on her notepad and turned to Rory again as she gathered up the menus. “What would your daughter like to drink?”
It was the third time that morning that someone had mistaken her for Miranda’s mother, and for the third time she offered a correction. It was an honest enough mistake, given they both had blond hair and blue eyes, but every time it happened, Mitch’s expression became more difficult to decipher. If he hadn’t been with them, she’d have been tempted not to make the correction, but she didn’t dare let anyone, even a stranger, assume she was his wife.
“I’m just a friend, not her mother.”
The server couldn’t have been less interested.
Rory lightly touched Miranda’s arm to get her attention. “What would you like to drink?”
Miranda stopped coloring. “A chocolate milkshake.”
Mitch shook his head. “How about a glass of milk?”
“Chocolate milk?” she asked, ever hopeful.
He gently shook his head again, the negative answer tempered by an affectionate smile.
The waitress made a note of the milk and walked away.
Miranda grinned at Rory. “It’s pretty funny that everybody thinks you’re my mom.”
“I think it’s because our hair is the same color.”
Miranda ran a hand over Rory’s hair. “I wish mine was long like yours.”
Rory resisted the urge to ask how Miranda’s mother had worn hers. “Your hair suits you perfectly.”
Miranda leaned close and touched the side of her head to Rory’s. “What do you think, Dad? Do we have the same hair?”
Mitch cleared his throat and then took a gulp of his ice water.
Rory held her breath. She couldn’t begin to guess what he was thinking, but she hoped he’d say yes.
“It looks the same to me.”
She exhaled slowly. His answer didn’t come out quite the way she’d hoped it would, but his eyes were telling a different story. So, Mitch Donovan. Is there anything else about me that reminds you of your wife? She hoped not. But if there was, would that be a bad thing? Yes. She meant what she’d said to Jess—she didn’t want to be anybody’s stand-in.
The server appeared with two cups of coffee and a glass of milk. Miranda picked up her drinking straw and peeled off the paper wrapper. Then she handed a green crayon to Rory. “You can color the tree if you want.”
“Okay.” Rory took the crayon and started filling in the outline. “What kind of tree do you think this is?”
“I don’t know. Maybe an apple tree?”
“Would you like me to put some apples in it?”
“’Kay. Here’s the red crayon.”
She drew a couple of apples and finished coloring the rest of the tree.
“My mom used to color with me.”
Rory set the crayon on the table. Again, Mitch’s reaction was indecipherable.
“Have you been to this restaurant before?” Rory asked.
“Yup. My mom liked it here.”
Rory watched for Mitch’s reaction but he was looking at something out the window as though he hadn’t heard.
When their meals arrived, Rory quickly helped Miranda clear away the crayons. “One kid’s cheeseburger,” the server said.
“Yum. I love French fries.” Miranda bit into one and spat it onto her plate. “Hot!”
Her father gave her a stern look, but Rory handed her a glass of water. “Drink this, quick. It’ll stop the burning.”
The server set down Mitch’s burger and Rory’s sandwich. “Can I get you anything else?”
Rory smiled up at her. “No, thanks.”
“Miranda, remember your manners. You don’t start eating till everyone has their meal, remember?”
“I was just so excited to try a fry ’cause I haven’t had them for ages.”
“Ketchup?” Mitch held up the bottle.
“Yup.” She reached for it. “I can put it on myself.”
She watched Mitch reluctantly hand the red plastic bottle to his daughter.
Miranda squirted a generous blob onto the pile of fries on her plate and a little dribble on the table.
“Good job,” Rory said. She swiped the ketchup off the table with a paper napkin as she nodded at Mitch across the table, hoping he understood that Miranda needed to do things for herself, even if meant sometimes making a mess.
Miranda passed the bottle to Rory. “Do you like ketchup?
“You bet I do. Thanks.” She squirted some beside her French fries, set the bottle on the table and slowly slid it across to Mitch.
“Have you ever gone on a cable car?” Miranda asked.
She had, once, and the downhill trip to Fisherman’s Wharf had kind of freaked her out. “I have, but the steep part was pretty scary.”
“Not for me. Someday me and my dad are going on one again. If you come with us, maybe you won’t be scared.”
Having two hands to hold could be fun and it just might help. Mitch’s response was less than favorable, though. Either he didn’t want to ride on a cable car at all, or he didn’t want to ride on one with her.
“We’ll see,” she said to Miranda. “But that might be something you and your dad should do on your own.”
What are you doing? she asked herself for the umpteenth time. Mitch might not be looking for a replacement wife, but there were times when it seemed as though his daughter was looking for a replacement mother. And Rory had to admit that all morning she had been entertaining the idea as though it was a real possibility. It wasn’t. She could not, would not be a stand-in for Miranda’s mother.
Chapter Eleven
Rory felt inexplicably jittery on the day of Nicola’s wedding, and she didn’t know why. Maybe it was the weather. She gazed up through her skylight, grateful that the rain that had threatened all day was still holding off. Nic had already called three times that morning, and each time Rory had been able to calm her down and assure her
that everything would be perfect, no matter what the weather was like. After tonight, though, she’d have two weeks of peace and quiet. Nic would be on her honeymoon but her BlackBerry, at Jonathan’s insistence, was staying in San Francisco.
And Rory never had to be a maid of honor again.
Everything had gone smoothly, though, including the bridal shower. The guests had raved about the food, the decorations and the stunning view of the bay. Even the table centerpieces had been perfect, and Rory was beyond grateful to Nic’s mom for doing most of the work. Still, she would be happy to simply be a bridesmaid if Jess ever tied the knot, or if Paige got married again.
Rory stripped off her dressing gown and avoided looking at herself in the full-length mirror. She’d bought the shoes and lingerie with Mitch in mind, and that now felt like a mistake. When she’d had lunch with him and Miranda—which had been only two weeks ago but felt more like a lifetime—he hadn’t been at all happy that everyone mistook her for Miranda’s mother.
Well, neither had she. She couldn’t replace his wife and she wasn’t interested in trying, so the best thing to do was put a little distance between them. In spite of living in such close quarters, avoiding him had been surprisingly easy. He was a creature of habit, and it had been easy to figure out how to avoid running into him. Of course that had meant paying close attention to when he came and went, but she’d had to do it.
She removed the dress from the hanger and stepped into it, taking care not to hook the heel of her shoes in the netting under the full skirt. She managed to zip it up and, after a few minor contortions, even managed the hook-and-eye closing at the top. She had run into Mitch the other day—she was pretty sure it was deliberate on his part—and he had asked what time she had to leave for the wedding. Since they had to spend the day together anyway—although it’s not a date, she reminded herself—they might as well drive together. And that meant they had to leave in…she glanced at the clock radio next to her bed…ten minutes.
She fluffed her hair and applied another layer of lipstick. The dress swished against Buick’s chair as she made her way across the room, and he gave her a one-eyed glare.
“You get an early dinner today,” she said, and made her way into the kitchen. She was hungry, too, but didn’t think she could eat anything if she tried. “I’m just nervous about the wedding,” she said to Buick. It was the responsibility of being a maid of honor that was making her stomach do cartwheels, not the prospect of spending the day with Mitch.
MITCH FELT LIKE A teenager on a first date. Since the shopping trip and lunch with Miranda two weeks ago, he and Rory had settled into a comfortable pattern of greeting each other as they came and went from the house, or when he took Miranda to school and picked her up, but there’d been no more close encounters. Something had changed that day in the restaurant, but he hadn’t been able to figure out why. Whatever it was, Rory seemed a little inaccessible.
Now as he stood in the foyer and looked up the stairs, he wasn’t sure if he should go up there, but it seemed no amount of wishing would make Rory appear. She needed to be at the bride’s home an hour before the wedding, which meant they had to leave soon or they’d never make it. He’d better go up and see if she was ready. Her door was open but he knocked anyway.
“Come in. I just need to feed Buick and then we can go.”
He stepped inside. “No problem.” The cat was curled up in the same chair, asleep, in pretty much the same position as the last time he was here.
Rory was at the kitchen counter. Some of her hair had been swept back from her face, and all of it cascaded down her back in big, soft, golden waves. His fingers flexed in anticipation. There’d be dancing at the reception, so he’d have a perfectly legitimate reason to touch her.
Schloop. She popped the lid off the can and the cat leaped to attention. He jumped off the chair and had Rory laughing as he tried to rub himself against the full skirt of her dress. One foot in a strappy sparkly high-heeled shoe appeared from beneath the dress and gently nudged him away. It was the kind of shoe that was not meant to be hidden.
“Cut it out,” she said. “I don’t want cat hair all over my dress.”
She glanced over her shoulder and grinned at Mitch. “I should have fed him before I got ready.”
The cat continued to circle the dress, living up to his name by filling the small space with the sound of his purring while she spooned his food into a dish. The cat lost interest in her the instant she set his dish on the floor. She picked up her keys and a tote bag that was hanging from the back of a kitchen chair. “All set.”
He had seen the dress the day she’d gone shopping with him and Miranda, but he hadn’t seen her in it. She looked as though she’d stepped off the page of a magazine, and he still couldn’t quite believe she had walked into his life.
He worked up the courage to ask the question that had been on his mind for two weeks. “Is everything okay?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” She sounded cautious, though, and he got the sense that maybe she did.
“Since lunch that day, you’ve been, I don’t know, distant.”
At first she didn’t say anything. Instead she opened the bag and appeared to be checking that she had everything she needed. “I’m sorry,” she said finally. “I realized you were uncomfortable when everyone kept mistaking me for Miranda’s mother, and then she kept talking to me about her mom…” She closed the bag again. “I guess I should have said something.”
Like what? That you don’t want a family? She had a way with kids and she’d be a wonderful mother, in spite of her declaration of independence—a declaration that seemed oddly out of character now that he was getting to know her. It had contradicted what appeared to be a strong maternal instinct, one so strong that even Miranda had picked up on it.
He wasn’t ready to rush into a committed relationship, either, but he’d been hoping… “We hardly know each other, but Miranda thinks the world of you, and I…ah…” Say it. “I kind of enjoyed having coffee together.” And the kiss.
Rory’s face softened into a smile. “Me, too.” She extended a hand. “Friends?”
He held it without shaking it. “Friends.” The afternoon and evening ahead of them suddenly held a lot more promise.
His mother met them at the front door and, somewhat to his surprise, she was wearing a brown-and-yellow flowered broomstick skirt and a deep-gold-colored gypsy-style top reminiscent of her youth. Her hair, in its usual single braid, had been twisted around her head. If she had considered tucking flowers into it, and most likely she had, he was relieved she had resisted.
Rory hugged her. “Betsy, you look gorgeous! We should put some flowers in your hair.”
“Pretty sure we don’t have time,” Mitch said.
“You’re right,” Rory said. “I don’t want to keep Nicola waiting.”
“That’s quite a dress,” Betsy said. “Isn’t it a tradition for the bride and her bridesmaids to get ready for the wedding together?”
“We did when my other friends got married, but Nicola tends to stress about stuff like that, so I suggested we get ready on our own and meet before the wedding. We’ll still have plenty of time to take photos and make last-minute adjustments before we take the limo to the church.”
Miranda skipped across the living room, the skirt of her new blue dress swishing from side to side. He had waited till this morning to tell her she could go to the church, and she’d been bubbling with excitement ever since. “Miss Sunshine, your dress is beautiful.”
Rory gave her a mock curtsy. “Thank you. You look pretty beautiful yourself.”
Miranda pointed to the blue headband that held her curls off her face. “Grams bought this to go with my dress.”
“It matches perfectly.”
“And we match, too. We’re both wearing blue.”
He watched to see if Rory would take exception to the look-alike reference. If she did, she didn’t let on.
“We should go,” Mitc
h said, holding the front door open. He had parked on the street so Rory wouldn’t have to go down the basement stairs in her dress.
“I was wondering if I could borrow your van,” Betsy asked. “I thought I’d take Miranda out for dinner after the ceremony.”
“Of course.” Rory offered her keys.
“Va-nna White, Va-nna White.” Miranda emphasized each syllable by hopping three times on one foot, then three times on the other.
The idea of his daughter being a passenger in that motorized scrap yard, especially with his mother at the wheel, had his gut churning. “Does your van have a stick shift?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“It does. Is that a problem?”
“Oh…” Betsy said. “It’s been a while since I’ve driven one.”
“Then you should take my car,” Mitch offered. “Rory and I can take the van.” His mother would have an easier time with an automatic, and Miranda would be a lot safer.
“Good idea.” Rory handed her keys to him instead. “Would you mind driving? I don’t think there’s room for me and the dress in the driver’s seat.”
He smiled at her as he pocketed the keys. “Sure.”
On the front porch, Miranda stood on one foot and spun herself around. “Look at my dress,” she called to them. “It’s all floaty.”
He opened the passenger door and held Rory’s bag so she could get in—not an easy feat in that dress and those shoes. He offered her a hand and she finally settled into the passenger seat. “Mine’s a little too floaty,” she muttered, stuffing her dress around her knees and covering her feet. The shoes were such a distraction that he still hadn’t noticed the color of her polish.
MITCH’S DAUGHTER WAVED at him as he and the other groomsmen took their places at the front of the church. He nodded and smiled at her, feeling quite certain that the bride would disapprove of a waving usher. Without a doubt, Rory’s friend Nicola was one of the most intense people he’d ever met, and certainly not the type of woman he would have pictured easygoing Jonathan spending the rest of his life with. But true to character, Jonathan was looking relaxed and supremely confident. Mitch tried to remember the way he’d felt on his own wedding day, but the memories escaped him.
