Flower Girl Bride Page 2

  Dumbstruck. That’s the only way I could describe the jumble of feelings inside me as I just stood there staring up at Luke, my mouth hanging open like an invitation for West Michigan’s black flies. My cheeks were so hot that I must have looked as if I had a killer sunburn, and I hadn’t so much as made it out to the beach.

  The guy standing across from me looked annoyingly composed while I was well on my way to collapsing in a heap of humiliation. His posture was stiff, though, and his eyes widened, his pupils contracting in the bright sunlight. He had tanned, weather-roughed skin to hide his embarrassment, but he had to feel as ridiculous as I did.

  The rest of the crowd stood behind him silently, looking back and forth between the two of us as if they were waiting for something to happen. I’d so been set up, and I hadn’t even seen it coming. What did these people expect, that they could throw us together and start a bunch of fireworks? We weren’t little kids anymore.

  “Luke, you remember Cassie,” Aunt Eleanor said, breaking the silence.

  He studied my face for several seconds. His gaze moved from the cat-green eyes I’d inherited from my mother to the spattering of freckles across my nose. He paused briefly on my mouth, which I’d finally managed to close, before he turned back to his hostess.

  “Sure,” he said, probably to humor my aunt.

  Who remembered people they met before their fifth birthday, anyway? Well, obviously I did, but I couldn’t be counted as normal by any stretch of the word. Come to think of it, I didn’t remember much else about being five, even my own fifth birthday party a few weeks after my aunt’s wedding. Like the wedding, I knew about that day mostly from the pictures my mother kept in organized albums.

  “How’s it going?” He stepped forward and jutted out his hand.

  I blinked a few times but somehow managed to grip his hand for a civil greeting before pulling away again.

  “Good…ah…to see you again.”

  “You probably remember me as Lucky.”

  Lucky. That was probably how the women who dated him described themselves. I blinked. Now that thought had come out of left field, and I didn’t even like baseball.

  I tried to clear my throat and my head at the same time. “I was just Cassie…when you met me, I mean.” I couldn’t seem to control the wrestling match my hands were having at my waist.

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Then hi again, just Cassie.”

  As soon as he said it, Luke’s gaze darted over to someone in the crowd, his eyes narrowing. My stomach tightened, as I imagined his wife or fiancée or girlfriend cowering among the faces, a third party to this fiesta of humiliation.

  “Luke’s Clyde Lewis’s right-hand man in Heritage Hill Real Estate Development,” Aunt Eleanor told me. “They’re developers for the new Wings Gate subdivision near Shelby. Those places make this old house look like a beach shack.”

  I nodded dumbly at my aunt’s sales job. What was I supposed to say, “Going once, going twice, sold?” She didn’t mention my career at all, so I guessed she didn’t think it would properly impress.

  Luke turned back to Eleanor. “You said Cassie was tired. I’m sure we’ll all have a chance to talk later.”

  He’d taken pity on me, and it shamed me how grateful I felt for such a small gesture of kindness. That I couldn’t remember the last time a man had done anything so nice for me only emphasized how empty my social life had been since the divorce.

  Eleanor nodded, her shoulders curled forward and her lips pressed together. Had she really expected that Luke would sweep me off my feet and march right off to the altar or something? Well, I hated to disappoint her, but I was no longer the sweeping type. I might still be a romantic movie lover, new and old, but that didn’t mean I believed the It Could Happen to You idea.

  “It was nice meeting you,” I said, already taking a step back.

  “Meeting?” someone in the crowd called out. “You two are old friends.”

  The frown Luke shot over his shoulder must have been effective at cutting off additional comments because only a few nervous titters followed.

  Eleanor’s shoulders perked up again, and she reached for his hand with one of hers and for mine with the other. “Does anyone remember these two at our wedding? I was almost jealous of them, stealing so much attention on my big day. They were so cute.”

  Luke gently extracted his hand. “I’m sure we were, but that was a long time ago.”

  Eleanor released my hand and reached up to brush back my messy hair. “Does anyone remember those ringlet curls?”

  “Or the amount of hair gel it required to tame a little-boy cowlick?”

  That came from a middle-aged brunette who had to be Luke’s mother. I didn’t remember her, either, but I’d often heard stories about my aunt’s best friend, Yvonne Sheridan.

  “Or those kisses,” called out the anonymous person in the crowd.

  Luke turned to the others again, and his jaw tightened.

  “Those two were inseparable that whole weekend,” a dark-headed man in the back said. “Wherever you found one you found the other.”

  “That was twenty-five years ago,” Luke said with a warning finality.

  Given the opening, I jumped on it. “Yeah, let’s hear it for Jack and Eleanor. Twenty-five years. Here’s to twenty-five more.” I started clapping, encouraged when the rest of the crowd joined me. Soon someone executed a perfect two-finger whistle, and a couple of others were whooping in my aunt and uncle’s honor.

  “Hip-hip hooray,” Luke called out, raising his arm into the air.

  When our gazes connected briefly, the side of his mouth pulled up in a silly half grin. I ignored the equally silly tremor inside my belly. Had it really been that long since an attractive man had smiled at me?

  My uncle must have taken the lull in conversation as his cue to step in and contain his effervescent wife because he placed an arm around Eleanor’s shoulder.

  “Okay, everyone. That’s enough torturing of the guests. This is supposed to be a fun weekend for all of us, and these two aren’t having much fun.”

  Luke appeared as if he wanted to hug Uncle Jack, but I beat him to it. I wrapped my arms around my warm, wonderful uncle and pressed my cheek to his shoulder.

  “See you all later.” I nearly dragged Uncle Jack through the side door.

  I expected to feel relief as the door closed behind me, but a strange disappointment filled me instead. Had I expected something to happen just as my would-be matchmakers obviously had? Clearly, I’d been spending too much time reading “Cinderella” and watching It’s a Wonderful Life.

  No, I was way too sensible to be waiting for knights on white horses or invitations to royal balls. I should have been angrier with my aunt for trying to set me up in the first place. I was fine. I was a modern divorcée with an apartment decorated just the way I liked it and a career in speech pathology that challenged and fulfilled me. I had everything I needed.

  So why did that niggling seed of discontent dig under the sand of my consciousness and refuse to flutter off in the breeze? Why did it make me question if something was missing in my life?

  Chapter Two

  “This place is amazing.”

  I glanced around the mammoth great room of my aunt and uncle’s lakeside home, taking in the floor-to-ceiling windows, the honey-oak-colored wood floors and the comfortable furniture groupings. With walls and accents painted in warm earth tones, thick area rugs and sofas and loveseats so deep and plush that they practically begged for someone to nap on them, the place was a decorator’s showplace that doubled as a retreat.

  In the far end of the great room, there was a television so big that watching my movies on it would feel like a night at the cinema. I could almost taste the butter popcorn already.

  “Yeah, we like it,” my uncle said.

  Jack smiled as he stared up at the circular stairway leading to the second floor. On the wall beyond it, which stretched to the upper level, was a series of paintings of Michigan lighth
ouses. In one of those paintings, I recognized the redbrick Bluffton Point Lighthouse, the one that stood just down the beach.

  “If I lived in a place like this, I’d never want to leave home.”

  “Then maybe it was a mistake for us to have you house-sit. You’ll be the guest who never leaves.”

  “I’ll leave, I promise. As soon as you two get back from Paris.”

  “Okay then. The guest suite is upstairs. Third door on the right.”

  “Suite? Hey, this is my kind of roughing it.”

  “That just means it has its own head.”

  I nodded, somehow managing to keep a straight face. Living in a fancy house or not, my uncle was the same humble man who’d spent one summer of his youth working on a fishing boat crew and still used the lingo.

  Jack started for the door. “You go ahead on up. I’ll pull in your car and bring in your bags.”

  I looked up the stairs and then back at him. Though I didn’t remember having handed them to him, my car keys dangled from his fingers. “You don’t need to…” But he waved away my argument and disappeared through the door to the garage.

  Shrugging, I climbed the stairs, crossed to the third closed door and pushed it open. The room inside was a little too fussy for my taste. I might have selected the same rich wood armoire, bureau and four-poster bed if I came into some unexpected inheritance, but I would have skipped the flowery bedspread and those matching, frilly, tieback curtains. And the pillows…why did anybody need a dozen white lace pillows on any bed?

  I stepped closer to get a better look at them. Maybe their appeal would jump out at me upon closer inspection.

  Something jumped out, all right.

  Crouched among the pillows was a runt-sized cat, staring at me with eyes as green as mine. I stiffened, but managed not to squeal the way I usually did when something startled me. Good thing. As tense as the cat appeared trapping me in its wary stare, it probably would have shot straight into the air.

  No wonder I’d missed seeing the critter at first among the pillows. The cat’s white fur matched the material, except for one black front paw and a few other tiny black speckles on its back.

  “Hi, kitty,” I said, in what I hoped was a soothing voice. I took a tentative step forward.

  The cat only jumped back and hissed at me.

  I backed up a few steps toward the door. Could this wild creature possibly be my aunt and uncle’s precious cat? From the way they’d described her, I would have expected some froufrou feline like a chocolate Persian or a lilac point Himalayan, not this feral mixed breed spitting and hissing in the middle of my bed. The cat’s back arched so high that it nearly folded itself into an upside-down U, and every hair on its stubby tail stood on end.

  My hand touched the door behind me. I’d never been the hero type, and this was probably as good a time as any to beat a hasty retreat.

  “I see you’ve met our Princess.” Uncle Jack pressed past me into the room and set my suitcase and my duffel bag on the floor next to the bed.

  He clucked his tongue at the cat. “Now, Princess, I’ve been looking all over for you. You must have got yourself locked in here this morning.” He looked back and forth between his pet and me and then frowned at the cat. “Is that any way to treat our guest?”

  By degrees, Princess returned from that distorted form, though keeping a wary eye on me.

  Jack scooped up the cat in his arms and rubbed beneath her chin. Princess rewarded him by purring loudly.

  “You see she’s just a pussycat. Not a tiger like she was letting on.” He smiled over at me. “Don’t worry. She’ll warm up to you.”

  Somehow I doubted that, but I didn’t speak up for fear the cat would leap out of his arms with claws bared.

  He scratched the cat’s tiny white ears and crooned to it again. “How about you and I go downstairs and let Cassie here get some rest?”

  Because Princess didn’t seem to disagree, he carried her out of the room. “We’ll see you a little later,” he said over his shoulder.

  I closed the door behind him and slumped down on the bed. This weekend was getting worse and worse. First, the scene with Luke Sheridan and now this. How was I supposed to take care of that cat when it clearly hated me on sight? Well, I had better get used to the inside of this room because the little monster would probably hold me hostage until my aunt and uncle returned from their second honeymoon.

  Just as I was tracing a burgundy-colored pencil line over one half of my upper lip, a heavy knock came at the door to my guest suite. My hand jerked, sending the dark line past the corner of my mouth and making it look as if I’d drawn on a smile. Hey, that didn’t sound like a bad idea, but I doubted I could pull off the look without matching it with clown-white makeup, a polka-dot outfit and size-eighteen shoes.

  “Cassie, are you almost ready?” Aunt Eleanor called from outside the door. “We need to leave for the restaurant in about five minutes.”

  “I’ll be right out.” As gently as possible so as not to leave a huge red mark, I rubbed off the line, repairing the spot with a bit more concealer and a dusting of powder.

  I finished lining my lips and applied lipstick before examining the results in the mirror. The simple black sheath dress hung on what was left of my curves, and its dark color against my too-pale skin made me look a little like Morticia Addams on a hunger strike.

  It wasn’t great, that was for sure, but compared to the way I’d looked when I’d closed myself in this room two hours before, this transformation might have been one for the record books. Dud to decent in a duo of hours. I’d even wrestled my hair into one of those fancy updos that my stylist was always encouraging me to try.

  If she were still alive, Mom would have asked me why I was trying so hard to impress these people when I’d already made a less than spectacular first impression. Mom had believed first impressions were critical. They ranked second in importance only to clean underwear in case I was in an accident and needed the Jaws of Life to pull me from a burning car.

  Technically, though, I’d met all of these people twenty-five years before, so the first-impression argument was moot. And since they’d already seen me in my traveling worst, I just wanted to show them that I could at least clean up nice.

  My traitorous subconscious asked if there were any particular guests I was trying to impress, but I shut down the thought as absurd. I just didn’t want to embarrass my aunt and uncle at the party, and that was that.

  Besides, a thought like that would suggest that I had given more than passing notice to Luke Sheridan, and I wasn’t about to admit that, even under the threat of torture.

  Men like that one, with patrician features and enough thick, wavy hair to soften them, not to mention those eyes that were surely the inspiration for the color “royal” in the crayon box, probably drew all kinds of female attention. He was just going to have to live without my entering his fan club.

  Thanks, but no thanks, Aunt Eleanor. I didn’t plan to get back into the dating game anytime soon.

  I took one more peek in the mirror. Well, the image hadn’t improved in the last forty-five seconds, so I hurried across the room in case the whole getup might revert to rags even before the stroke of midnight. On the way through the door, I snagged my sequined evening bag, filled to capacity with a twenty-dollar bill, driver’s license, tube of lipstick and a roll of breath mints.

  The last thing I wanted was to show up late and be the center of attention again. I’d had enough fun playing bug-under-the-microscope for one day. Someone else needed to take a turn, and I would be thrilled if it turned out to be the couple represented by the wedding cake topper.

  Aunt Eleanor waited for me when I descended the stairs to the landing. “Well, don’t you look lovely, sweetheart.”

  “Thanks, but no one could compare to you tonight. You look positively radiant.”

  She batted her eyelashes and twirled, the full skirt of her peach chiffon dress fluttering around her like one of the “spinny�
�� dresses I used to wear to Sunday school. Her dress was probably designed for a mother-of-the-bride to blend with some daughter’s unfortunate choice of wedding colors, but it was a perfect match for my aunt’s peaches-and-cream complexion.

  “I should argue with you, but I won’t.” Her laughter filtered over me before she reached up and brushed my cheek.

  Eleanor glanced toward the door. “We’d better get out there. Everyone’s waiting on us.”

  Again? I tried to cover my sigh with a cough. My aunt turned to study me, her eyes narrowed. “You’re not coming down with something, are you? If you are, you should march right back upstairs—”

  I wasn’t sure why, but I waved my hand to interrupt her. She’d made it easy for me to back out on tonight, but I couldn’t bring myself to grab the dangling carrot.

  “No, I’m fine. Really. Let’s get going.”

  “Okay. Tomorrow we’ll have the bus to take us to the reception, but tonight we’re taking our own cars.”

  When we stepped outside, several vehicles were already lined up along the road, and a few more were parked in the drive. I glanced around to find my own, but then I remembered that my uncle had parked my car in one of the garage’s three stalls and hadn’t returned the keys.

  “I guess I’ll ride with you then,” I said with more than a little hope in my voice. At least if I rode with my relatives, I wouldn’t have to face another embarrassing moment like the one earlier.

  But my aunt shook her head. “Barb and Tom insisted that Jack and I ride in the lead car, and Tom’s midlife-crisis convertible barely fits the four of us.”

  I nodded, glancing around and hoping for an obvious place to squeeze in, but all the cars looked like cramped quarters as far as I could tell. “Speaking of fitting, where are you going to put all of these people tonight? I didn’t see any place to stay but a campground when I was driving in.”

  Already, I could picture myself sharing that queen-size guest bed with someone’s aunt or sister who snored. Or worse yet, I would probably end up relegated to the floor only to share a room with a sleepwalker.