The Marrying Type

by Laura Chapman

  “But your partner didn’t?” She caught the sad pang in his eyes.

  “No. He didn’t.”

  She understood what that was like, too.

  “We met Will at a wedding expo. He was charming and charismatic. He won us over.”

  “He has a way of winning people over.”

  “True, but I’d always hoped I might be the exception to phony antics.” Smyth cleared his throat. “Will promised to take care of us and our clients like they were his own. I was still hesitant—this was our business—but by this time more than our company had problems.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He squeezed her hand. “I was less than welcoming even after we signed over the company. Within three months I was fired, my brides were told I’d gone off the deep end, and my boyfriend told me we were done, too.”

  “Does he still work for Will—your ex?”

  “Yeah,” Smyth said. “Will made good on his promise there—and of treating our customers like they were his own. Unfortunately, I wasn’t part of the plan.” Wasn’t this her biggest fear come to life, too? Being edged out while everyone else moved on without her. “With the two of them reigning as they kings of Southern California weddings, well, there wasn’t much room for a good old country boy like me.”

  “Their loss, our gain.” Elliot’s eyes filled. “I had no idea we’d be putting you through this all over again. And after only a couple of months. I’m more sorry than I can say.”

  “Sweet pea, put those tears away. You don’t owe me an apology any more than you owe Will your undying loyalty or your family forgiveness.” Smyth gave her a pointed stare. “Only, your life might be better if you talk to your father and Libby.”

  “And I should play nice with Will if I want to keep my job for another summer.”

  “I didn’t say you had to go that far.” He grinned at her raised eyebrow. “You don’t have to play Will’s game unless you want. But you should have a plan for what you’ll do if you decide to go rogue.”

  Going solo: an interesting concept. She could find a path that belonged to her, and only her. She’d never managed to do much of anything that began and ended with her own wants or desires. Always the dutiful daughter and perfect planner—maybe she should discover what else life might have in store for her.

  Who was Elliot Lynch? Was she the writer she’d once wanted to become? Was she destined to travel the world and visit places she’d only dreamed about? Was she supposed to make a career out of something completely different? Or maybe she could take a job at a bookstore or coffee shop until she figured out her life.

  “What will you do?” she asked. “After this wedding—after we wrap filming?”

  “You mean after Will takes over and fires my ass for a second time this summer?” He cracked a smile. “I’ll survive. I’m quick on my feet. I’ll find my next dream.”

  “Any clues on what your dream might be?”

  “I have a few irons in the fire.”

  “Such as?” She picked up her pen again. “Don’t make me beg for details. You know I’ll only break your will and pride if I set my mind to it.”

  “Well, Marissa took the little Smyth Saves the Date spin-off idea to heart.”

  “For real?” Her eyes lit up. She imagined him traveling the country, maybe the world, sweeping in at the last moment to save weddings from fighting families, impossible expectations, undependable vendors, or even general tackiness. All with his southern flare and delightful blend of sunshine and sassiness.

  “She’s pitching it to the execs during her conference call this afternoon.”

  “They’ll love the idea. Who wouldn’t?” Elliot grabbed both of his hands. “And no matter what, you’re right. You’ll be fine—better than fine.”

  “Girl, we’ll both of us be perfect.” He raised her hands to his lips before letting them go. “Now what do you say we pool together our fabulousness and finish these fancy place cards?”

  “Sure. I’d appreciate the help.”

  He picked up one of the miniature flower pots and grabbed some ribbon to do his part to assemble the arrangement. “But after this, I’m opening a bottle of wine, and you’re going to put on your crazy classical mix. Getting a little tipsy and weird can only help us at this point.”

  He held up his finished arrangement for her approval. She grinned. His work was even better than her prototype—and he’d finished twice as fast. He definitely had a touch.

  “You just want a soundtrack for your singing and dancing,” she teased.

  “No arguments here.” He selected another flower pot and went to work. “Nothing classes up a night of karaoke like some high-quality vino and orchestral arrangements of Madonna’s greatest hits.”

  “How high quality of wine are we talking?”

  “Snagged from my nana’s wine cellar.”

  When the man had an idea, he didn’t miss the mark.

  “How about I put the music on, and you open up the bottle now?” When he stared, she shrugged. “I can have a glass of wine without my handwriting getting too sloppy.”

  “You don’t have to tell me twice.” Smyth was out of his chair and searching for his bottle opener in a drawer before she blinked. He poked around in the cupboards until he came up with two stemless glasses. He opened the wine and paused before pouring. “I’m never sure how long you’re supposed to let the booze breathe.”

  “Me neither.”

  “Didn’t they teach you about this sort of thing at finishing school or wherever you went to learn manners?”

  “Sorry. We didn’t learn about wine at cotillion.” She barely glanced up. “And I went to private school locally, not at some Swiss boarding school.”

  “My mistake.” He filled both glasses nearly to the brim. Lips pursed he snuck a glance her way and cleared his throat. “Now that we have you speaking, are we going to talk about him?”

  “Who?”

  “Don’t toy with me. Tell me about your man.”

  “I don’t have one.” She shook her head at how full he’d filled her glass before sipping. “Eric . . . Mr. Warner is our customer. And nothing more.”

  “But you two were making such nice progress.” Smyth sat back across from her, glass in hand. “The texts and emails. Those meaningful glances. That kiss.”

  “The manufactured for TV kiss.”

  “TV or not, the kiss was hot. Almost too hot for TV hot.”

  “Oh, please.”

  “Girlfriend.” His tone cut her short. “You can pretend there’s nothing but business between the two of you, but you’re wrong. You have sparks.”

  She pressed play, and an orchestral rendition of “Like a Prayer” filled the air. Smyth wouldn’t be able to resist joining along with the words. This was her signal to him that while they’d cleared a lot of air this evening, some topics still weren’t open for discussion.

  BY THE NEXT MORNING, Elliot needed to talk to someone, so she went to visit her mother. Armed with a bouquet of daisies—her mother’s favorite—she made the solo pilgrimage through the cemetery. She hadn’t been in years. Going places like the hospital or cemetery brought back memories she wanted to forget. But if Elliot wanted to move forward, she needed to stop fearing her past.

  When she reached her mother’s grave, Elliot paused. Another bouquet of daisies barely more than a few days old rested against the headstone. She leaned down and added hers to the pile. After a moment’s hesitation, she knelt down to sit.

  Seconds passed by into minutes. A decade had passed, but Elliot hadn’t mastered the right way to grieve. Her fingers reached out to trace the letters etched into stone.

  Kelly Elliot Lynch

  Wife. Mother. Friend.

  “I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.”

  Elliot’s eyes burned with tears. The same words were engraved on the wedding band her father still wore on his left hand.

  “Oh, Mama.” The words came out in a sob. “I’m sorry I haven’t come lately. Even n
ow, I’m here because I need help, which makes me pretty selfish. But you were always the person I turned to for help. I’ve only ever found one other person listens as well as you, and he isn’t speaking to me right now.”

  She paused a moment, choosing her words. She wanted to spill everything. Kelly Lynch had been more than a mother. She was Elliot’s best friend. When her mom died, Elliot lost both.

  “It's not fair you weren't there for my high school and college graduations,” Elliot said. “You would’ve been proud of me. It’s not fair you weren’t at the first wedding I planned. The groom mixed up his toast, but he improvised. You would’ve loved watching him talk his way out of the mess. We would’ve laughed together. I miss your laugh.”

  She would’ve given anything for one of her mom’s hugs. To smell her familiar perfume as her arms engulfed Elliot in a warm embrace. It wasn’t fair her mom wasn’t here now.

  “I’m a mess, Mama, and I need help.” Elliot pulled a tissue out of her pocket to wipe her nose. “I’m fighting with Dad, Libby, and Rosalyn. We still aren’t speaking. I’m mad at them. I have been for a long time, but now I’m furious. Maybe they’re mad at me, too. But I’m not sure I care. Isn’t that terrible?”

  Fresh tears fell down her cheeks at the prospect of staying estranged from the only family she had. Elliot was entitled to her fury, but she’d been a bit harsh and dismissive. Breathing in through her nose, she willed the building panic in her stomach to settle.

  “The strange thing is my fight with them isn’t what I’m most upset about. It’s Eric. You would’ve liked him, Mama. Even after what happened in college. The years in between. This summer. He’s still the best man I’ve ever known. How do you get over the best?”

  She would’ve approved of Eric, of that Elliot was sure. Her mother also would’ve encouraged her to postpone any marriage plans. She recognized that now. But Kelly would’ve had more tact about the whole deal. And she would’ve helped Elliot find a way to keep Eric in her life and make their relationship work.

  “Or at least you would’ve been a shoulder for me to cry on when I couldn’t find a way,” Elliot whispered. “When everything ended the first time, I had no one to talk about it with. But like when I lost you, I mourned him every day. I’m mourning him again.”

  Her breathing came faster. On the brink of a full-fledged panic attack, Elliot stopped speaking and ducked her head between her legs. She did her yoga breathing. In and out. In and out. No longer on the brink of hyperventilation, her breathing evened. Taking another deep breath, she opened her tote bag. Rooting around, she pulled out wet wipes and a mirror to check the damage. She removed the smears of mascara from her cheeks and added a little powder.

  One of the most important lessons she’d learned from her mother: No matter how bad you might feel you don’t have to let the whole world see.

  But oddly enough, the bulk of her panic and sadness was gone. She didn’t have answers for any of her problems, but opening up had helped.

  “Thanks for listening, Mama,” she whispered. She lifted one of the daisies to her nose and inhaled. She grinned—it smelled like her mother. She kissed the petals and returned the flower to the bouquets. “I love you.”

  Elliot took her time on the long walk back to her car. On the return trip, she found the quiet more peaceful than lonely. A voice called her name. She glanced up and caught Rosalyn walking toward her, carrying another bouquet of daisies.

  “Your friend, Smyth, said you’d probably be here,” Rosalyn said.

  “He was right.”

  “Don’t be angry.”

  “I’m not,” Elliot interrupted. “Not anymore. I’m not sure what I am.”

  “Oh, honey.”

  “No. Let me say this.” Elliot held up a hand. “Please.”

  Rosalyn gripped on tighter to her flowers. “Okay.”

  “All of you conspired behind my back.”

  “We did,” Rosalyn agreed.

  “Like you always have,” Elliot said. “You shouldn’t have done it when I was nineteen. You shouldn’t do it now.” She shook her head. “It’s worse this time.”

  “You’re right.” Rosalyn pushed her sunglasses up on top of her head. “I’m sorry. I wanted them to talk to you from the start this time. I should’ve pushed harder. I’m so sorry.”

  “I forgive you.” The words came out before she realized she meant them. Elliot threw her arms around the other woman. Stunned, Rosalyn shakily raised her arms and held on to her in return. When they pulled apart, Elliot had to fix her makeup again.

  “Did you have a nice visit with your mama?” Rosalyn asked. Elliot nodded. “She’d be proud of you.”

  “Even after the way I’ve acted lately?”

  “Especially because of how you’ve acted.” Rosalyn grinned. “You saved her business, your father’s house, and your family’s reputation and legacy.”

  “Even if it came to nothing.”

  “It wasn’t for nothing. You proved you could do it. That has to count for something,” Rosalyn said. “You were right about everything you said. You’re a grown woman now, and a fine one. None of us treated you how we should’ve.”

  A tear slipped down Elliot’s cheek. She apparently wasn’t done crying yet.

  “Oh, darling.” Rosalyn pulled Elliot in for another hug. Rosalyn’s hugs weren’t exactly like her mother’s, but they still hit the spot.

  After they’d paid their respects at Kelly’s grave together, Elliot shared the conversation she’d had with Smyth.

  “I can’t keep doing what I’m doing,” she said. “I have to change my path. I’m single, soon-to-be unemployed, and about to have my private business aired on national television for the world to judge me. The state of my life should terrify me.”

  “Doesn’t it?”

  Elliot shook her head. “My circumstances might look bleak on paper—or TV—but eventually, they’ll work out for the best.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Elliot took a deep breath and glanced back toward her mother’s grave. A butterfly landed on top of the flowers she’d placed only moments earlier. She gave a weak smile and cleared her throat. “I’m going to give Sadie and Adam the wedding of their dreams. I’ll lock Will in the men’s room if I have to. Then, I’ll figure out my next adventure.”

  Rosalyn smiled. “That’s my girl. Now do me one more favor.”

  “What?”

  “Talk to your father.” Rosalyn squeezed her hand. “Tell him everything you told me. He needs to hear it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Grow old along with me!

  The best is yet to be,

  The last of life, for which the first was made.”

  ~ Robert Browning

  SHE WAITED TO VISIT her father until Friday morning. With the rehearsal that evening and a mound of paperwork to sort out and file for the business transition, Elliot needed to be there, and she couldn’t put off the inevitable confrontation any longer.

  Outside her father’s office, she hesitated. She raised a hand to knock, but froze. What if he didn’t want to talk to her? He hadn’t made any attempts to call or text since she’d left two days earlier. After the way she’d left, the things she’d said, he was probably upset with her, too.

  Walter glanced up and caught her standing in the doorway. His hand froze over his keyboard. He opened his mouth once, twice before he managed to speak.

  “Good morning, dear.” He gestured to the coffee pot and serving platter sitting on the edge of his desk. “Thirsty? We also have some bran muffins in the kitchen. You’re welcome to help yourself if you like.”

  “Coffee would be great. Thanks.” She took the seat across from his desk. At his nod, she refilled his mug then poured herself a cup. She added some cream to his and two scoops of sweetener to her own. They sipped their drinks in silence while Elliot worked up the courage to say what was on her mind.

  “I’m still mad,” she said at last. “I don’t agree with what
you did. How you did it. Any of the situation.”

  “We were in a tough spot,” Walter said.

  “You didn’t even give me a chance.” Her hands shook. She set her cup down rather than risk it crashing to the floor. “You made the deal more than a month ago, while I worked my tail off to build up our business.”

  “And while you were filming your little TV show.”

  “The ‘little TV show’ saved our business, making it worth more for you to resell.”

  “You’re right. The show did help.” Walter leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “The show also caught the eye of the person who bought our company.”

  She didn’t even blink at the revelation. Of course she’d understood the show would bring them attention. That was the whole point. Will naturally had seen the promos and wanted a cut, or whatever. She might have been the one to capture his interest, but she wasn’t the one who brokered the sale. She wouldn’t be blamed for this.

  “We were making back the money we’d lost,” she said.

  “But for how long?” Walter asked. “How long would you want to keep the business running without Libby or me working with you?”

  Her brow creased. “Libby didn’t say anything about quitting.”

  “Has her heart been in this job since the divorce?” he asked, finishing the last of his coffee. “Combined with my upcoming retirement . . . We would’ve been stupid to refuse his offer.”

  “Maybe. But you should have included me in the talk.”

  “You wouldn’t have wanted to talk.”

  “You didn’t give me a chance.”

  “You’re right.” He ran a hand through his hair. “We should’ve included you from the beginning, but I confess I’m tired of fighting. Fighting to turn a profit. Fighting to keep the business. Fighting to win accounts. I want to go back to a simpler life.”

  “Why was the money such a struggle?” she asked. “I still don’t understand how we got here.” She furiously wiped a frustrated tear from her cheek. “I don’t understand how after more than twenty-five years in business, we suddenly found ourselves buried under a mountain of debt.”