by Toni Blake
All of which had indeed kept her out of Jeremy’s path other than the night she’d seen him briefly at the Hungry Fisherman. And given her some time to think, mentally prepare.
She couldn’t believe the agreement she’d made with Fletcher. After all, instinct had told her to push Jeremy away in her garden. And she still believed she’d responded smartly, for all the reasons she’d given Fletcher on his porch.
And yet . . . she’d kissed Jeremy for quite a while before that instinct had kicked in. And those kisses had stayed with her. And when she’d seen him walk into the Hungry Fisherman, her heart had begun pounding against her rib cage so hard that it hurt. Just from the memory.
Thank God no one but Fletcher knew about that. If the girls knew, no telling what lengths they’d go to in shoving her toward him. And if she was going to truly open herself to this, she had to do it her own way, in her own time.
Though she knew tonight would be a darn good time. She knew Fletcher was expecting that, same as she was expecting him to get closer to Bethany tonight, too. The only problem being: When it came right down to it, could either one of them really go through with it?
BY early afternoon, everything for the party was in place. And everyone was gone—except Fletcher and Bethany. When she’d offered to take care of a few last things, he’d volunteered to help.
But being alone with her, even just doing a few party tasks together, was different than seeing her in a crowd. Her gaze was so direct, and so filled with . . . expectation. An expectation he still wasn’t sure he could meet. No matter how drawn to her he was.
Music still played through the speakers, currently the Sick Puppies reminding him that it was time to change. But he still wasn’t sure. About any of it.
When they finished tying fabric ribbons around the backs of the wedding party’s chairs, Bethany plopped down into one, the move suggesting she was tired, but her eyes, on Fletcher, shone as bright and bold as ever.
“Guess that’s it,” he said.
“Except for one last thing,” Bethany said as he pulled out another chair and took a seat next to her.
“What’s that?”
“Me asking you a question, something I’ve been trying to figure out.”
Fletcher pulled in his breath, tried not to feel guarded. Normally, he was just as direct as she was—it was a trait they shared. But right now, he felt uncharacteristically shy. “Let’s hear it.”
The hint of a coy smile reshaped her lips as she said, “I want to know what your deal is.”
Hmm. That was to the point, all right. And it was a fair question. So he began to tell her. “Well, I have a wife. But I don’t know where she is right now.”
It surprised him when the dark-haired girl beside him shook her head. “No, I know that part from Christy. But what’s your real deal, inside? What’s it about? What’s so special about this woman?”
And that was even much more to the point. The calm, sure, inquisitive way she posed the question nearly stole his breath. Even though it shouldn’t. You’re just two people. Two honest, open people. Just tell her the truth, what’s in your heart.
And really, the answer, when he broke it down, was simple. “She’s . . . my wife,” he said. “Isn’t that enough?”
Bethany tilted her head, appeared knowing, and maybe a little cynical. “Millions of men have wives, even wives they love, but they wouldn’t wait patiently for four years, ready to forgive them for total abandonment.” And when he met her gaze, she added, “I’ve heard you’re shockingly honest. So am I.”
“I can see that,” he said, trying for a small smile.
And when he said nothing more, she went on. “How is it that you go on believing? Because I have trouble having faith in things I can’t see—like love, and loyalty, and dreams coming true—on a daily basis. But you . . . you seem at the opposite end of the spectrum—believing in something you have zero evidence for, never stopping. What is that about? Why is it so important?”
Fletcher contemplated the question. He talked a lot about his endless faith that Kim would return, but Bethany was asking him something deeper, asking him to dredge up a more private part of himself. So private that he wasn’t sure he knew the answer, and so he sat there digging through all the feelings in his heart—until it struck him.
And it was . . . a hard answer. An almost frightening answer. An answer so enormous and personal that he almost didn’t want to tell her.
And he knew he didn’t have to—he barely knew her. And yet, he still felt that connection happening, that kindred soul thing. And there had been moments with her today when he’d almost wished . . . that he wasn’t waiting for Kim at all so that he could feel truly free to explore everything about Bethany that called to him, everything about her that woke something up inside him.
And he felt the burning urge to keep right on being who he was—the guy who had no secrets, the guy who spilled his soul. Even if this had been a secret to him until just now and didn’t feel like . . . a good or flattering one.
“If . . . if Kim is really gone . . . I don’t know what my life is about anymore, what my purpose is. She’s my cornerstone, my foundation—I built my whole life on her. When I was young, I wanted to perform, to make magic, to do something impossible that would make people feel amazed and in awe, and would maybe make them think they could make magic, too, in whatever way they wanted. But somewhere along the way, I started making that magic for her. I wanted to see the world with her. I bought my house on Sea Shell Lane for her. If she’s not there anymore, in my life, in my future, what’s it all about? What’s it all for?”
Bethany let her gaze drop from his for a moment, clearly considering her reply—until she looked back up at him and said, “I understand how big a thing marriage is. And I’ve never been married so I won’t pretend to have shared that kind of intimate, long-lasting connection with someone.” She stopped, pursed her lips. Then stood up from her chair and looked down at him. “But there’s such a thing as holding on too tight to something that doesn’t really exist anymore. And sometimes it’s best to let go of the past and look to the future.
“There’s more than one kind of magic in the world. I feel like she stole yours—ran off with it and hasn’t brought it back. How long are you going to let her keep it when you could be . . . sharing it with someone else?”
She spoke the last word with invitation in her eyes.
And then she walked away, leaving Fletcher to sit there alone and to feel that, the aloneness of it, and to decide . . . that maybe he didn’t want to be alone anymore.
TAMRA looked in the floor-length mirror on her bedroom door. She barely recognized the woman looking back.
The woman before her wore a fitted, above-the-knee dress of pale yellow. She’d bought it yesterday at Beachtique, a shop in the same stretch of retail as the Happy Crab and Hungry Fisherman—which she’d always thought a little too classy and upscale for its surroundings. But when she’d needed a dress for tonight’s party, she’d been glad it was there.
She continued taking in her reflection, trying to get used to what she saw—what other people would see. There was cleavage. And leg. Basically more skin than most people probably even knew she had. She wasn’t sure she was comfortable with it. But she’d promised Fletcher, and unlike the promise about Jeremy, this was the part she felt she had more control over—so she had to follow through.
And she’d even gone him one better. This afternoon, totally unplanned, she’d walked into the hair salon on Route 19 where she got her hair trimmed every few months—and made what was, for her, a radical shift. This morning, her long auburn spirally locks had hung to her waist, a big curtain of hair. Now, it was four inches shorter and laden with layers that made it lighter, bouncier, fuller around her face. And she had bangs!
She could scarcely believe she’d done it—she hadn’t changed her hair in years. But maybe the talk she’d had with Fletcher had suddenly made her realize she was judging him, and Jeremy, fo
r not caring how they looked, when she was just as guilty. So she’d just gone for it, walked the talk.
The truth was, she thought she looked prettier now. Something in her face was softer. The hair framed her features more. Maybe she was crazy, but she could have sworn her eyes looked larger, her lips fuller.
Even so, she was nervous—her stomach swam with anxious butterflies. She thought she looked prettier—but what would everyone else think? It was scary to show people you were trying to make yourself into something a little bit new and to not know how they would react.
And there was more to be nervous about tonight than just her new look. The very thought forced her to expel a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. Had she really made this agreement with Fletcher? About Jeremy? Wearing a shorter dress to a party was one thing, but pursuing romance—or good Lord, sex!—with Jeremy was another.
Jeremy had told both Reece and Polly he would be at the party tonight. And she supposed she could just avoid him the same way she had all week, but regardless, she would see him. And probably—no, definitely—be swept back to the memory of those unbelievably tantalizing kisses they’d shared in her garden.
She decided to text Fletcher. To distract herself from her nervousness. She was ready early and had a little time to kill. She scooped her cell phone up from her dresser and typed in a message. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?
It took a few minutes for him to answer. SHAVING.
She gasped. She knew he’d agreed to, but it still caught her off guard. The truth was, she couldn’t quite envision Fletcher without his beard. WOW. CAN I SEE A PICTURE?
He answered more quickly this time. NO. THIS IS HARD FOR ME. CAN’T TALK RIGHT NOW, OKAY?
It made her feel bad. Fletcher didn’t complain about much and she’d seldom heard him admit anything was difficult. Cutting off some of her hair today had felt a bit like . . . cutting away a little of her own identity. And in the end, it had felt refreshing, like it had lightened something inside her, cleared away something old to make room for something new. But maybe Fletcher hadn’t quite gotten to that part yet.
She kept her reply simple. OKAY. GOOD LUCK. IT’LL BE GREAT, FLETCH.
It surprised her when her phone buzzed again with another message from him. ARE YOU WEARING SOMETHING NEW?
YES.
GOOD. WE CAN DO THIS.
She smiled. It was strange to see Fletcher vulnerable—he always acted so in control. But she admired him for showing her that part of him right now, and it heartened her that they were doing this—all of this—together.
YOU’RE RIGHT, WE CAN! SEE YOU AT THE PARTY.
. . . and the whole world looked as if something Magic had happened to it.
Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden
Chapter 12
TAMRA’S HEART beat too hard as she exited the car after parking in front of the Happy Crab. What have I done? I made these changes now? On the one night I’m going to see every person in town?
She steeled herself, though, as she took careful steps—on heels she seldom wore—toward Christy and Jack’s pre-wedding party. There’s no going back now—it is what it is. And tonight is about Christy and Jack and their new life together, not about you. She carried a wrapped gift—a stained glass heart-shaped suncatcher with the date of their wedding soldered at one edge.
When she exited the Happy Crab’s breezeway into the party, music played and the smell of seafood wafted through the air. The first people to see her were Cami and Reece—and both their jaws dropped.
“Tamra?” Reece said, eyebrows lifting.
She blinked nervously. “I don’t look that different. I got a haircut, for God’s sake.”
Yet both still appeared completely dumbstruck. “You look that different,” Cami said. “As in amazing.”
Something in Tamra’s chest expanded. She didn’t want to care that much how she looked. She didn’t want to care that much how people saw her—the outside her, the physical her. There was so much more to a woman, after all.
And yet . . . Cami’s words lifted her spirits in a way she couldn’t have anticipated. “Really?”
Reece and Cami exchanged glances, clearly still trying to absorb the differences that must be bigger than Tamra had realized.
“Um, yeah,” Reece said. “You look like a million bucks!”
Again, her heart soared. And as more people began to arrive and mingle and say hello—and to compliment her—something new grew inside her. Or at least something she hadn’t felt for a very long time. Feminine confidence. Not just confidence about herself as a person, or an artist, or a friend—but a confidence borne of knowing people saw the woman in her, the feminine side she didn’t always display, and that they liked it.
“Good gravy, Tamra,” Polly said, stepping up to her, “where you been hidin’ all that gorgeous, girl? You’re gonna have to beat the fellas off with a stick!”
Polly herself had switched things up tonight, as well, wearing an old-fashioned but brightly flowered dress. “Looks like you broke out of your normal shell tonight, too,” Tamra pointed out. “I like seeing you in some color!”
A blush rose to Polly’s cheeks as she said, “Well, that’s nice to hear, hon.”
And though he wore just a simple button-down shirt and pressed khaki pants, even Abner had spiffed up in his own unique way, topping his look off with a shiny silk top hat.
After suffering from self-consciousness less than an hour ago, Tamra now felt prettier than she had since she’d been a much younger woman. The cherry on top of the sundae of compliments was when Bethany—clearly a woman with style—gave her a once-over and said, “This. Yes. So much hotter.” And ended with a thumbs up as she walked away.
Tamra stood chatting with Reece and Cami when a lean, handsome dark-haired man walked in, slightly overdressed for the party in a stylish pale gray suit and plum-colored shirt underneath. Tamra only noticed him for two reasons—she was keeping her eyes peeled for Jeremy and Fletcher, and this was the only person there who she didn’t know. She was about to ask her companions about the new arrival when he walked up to them and said, “Sorry I’m late.”
And they all three blinked. And gaped. Because the voice coming out of the guy’s mouth had sounded astonishingly like Fletcher’s. But that was the only resemblance to the bearded, pony-tailed tightrope walker they all knew.
“Quit staring,” he said. “I know it’s weird, but you’re making it worse.”
After a little more blinking and gaping, Reece finally managed to say, “Fletcher?”
“Yeah?” the guy said.
“Holy crap,” Tamra remarked.
Fletcher—or the man purporting to be him—stepped back and gave her a long look. “I could say the same to you. You look great, by the way.”
She drew in her breath, dumbfounded. It was hard to believe the attractive man standing in front of her was her best friend. “Um, um . . . thanks. So do you.” She stood there, still taking him in, now shaking her head. “I just didn’t know . . .”
He let out a heavy breath, looked uncomfortable. “Didn’t know what?”
It was Cami who spoke up—which was good, because Tamra remained stuck for words. “Fletcher, you’re . . . handsome.” Though she still appeared as confused as Tamra felt. He looked like a different person.
“Thank you. I think. Although the level of your shock tells me what a surprise that is.”
“Well, um . . .” Cami fumbled.
“You’ve been hiding it,” Tamra said. It was easier for her to be honest with him due to their close friendship. “But she’s right. You really are a handsome man, Fletch.” She gave her head another shake. “That beard and ponytail were doing you a disservice.”
He continued to discuss it in his usual matter-of-fact tone. “I always felt they suited my performance persona. Looked circus-y.”
“That’s fair,” Tamra said. “But this . . .”
“Is better,” Cami finished for her. “Way better
. Even though I sort of feel like I’m talking to the handsome new stranger in town.” She leaned a little closer, looked a little harder. “Are you sure this is really you?”
“It’s me—I promise,” he said. “But I’ll be honest. I feel a little naked. Not quite myself.”
“Join the club,” Tamra said.
Reece started wagging his finger back and forth between the two of them. “Did you two plan this or something?”
Tamra and Fletcher exchanged glances, and Tamra said, “Sort of. I promised I would if he would.”
“Why?” Reece asked. “I mean, you both look great—so great that I’m totally freaked out right now. But what brought this on?”
Tamra and Fletcher stayed quiet. The answer was complicated. And clearly Cami hadn’t filled Reece in on their conversation about Fletcher and Bethany. Finally Fletcher gave a simple but true reply. “We both thought it was time the other made some updates. So we agreed to do it together. To make it easier.”
Tamra was still caught up in looking at her newly made-over friend. Who knew he had such a strong jawline? Or that short, tidy hair would make him appear so much more . . . commanding or something. He simply looked like a guy who had it going on. He even appeared a little taller somehow. “There’s a cleft in your chin,” she couldn’t help pointing out.
“I know,” he said.
“But no one else did. We’ve never really seen you before. It’s . . . nice. To really see you, Fletch.”
Just then, Bethany came strolling up carrying a tray of little green mojitos she’d been handing out to party guests. She addressed Tamra, Cami, and Reece as she said, “Christy just texted. She and Jack will be here in five minutes, so we should get ready for their big entrance.” Then she turned to Fletcher. “Hi, I’m Bethany Willis, the maid of honor. And you are?”
