Four Weddings and a Break Up (11 page)

B
efore Ginny knew it
, Saturday had arrived as well as the start of the Glorious Food festival that would last through the weekend. She and Julie had arrived at the bakery last night and had pulled an all-nighter, getting ready for today. Now they headed over in the van that Julie had bought to transport wedding cakes. The twins, Matt and Pete, were in the back of the van, making sure that the mini cupcakes stayed level.

They had two hours until the festival began at ten. By the time they set up their table at Willow Walk, the local park where Glorious Food was taking place, it would be close to opening. It promised to be a bright, humid day, and as such, Ginny had worn khaki shorts and a pink tee that had “Just Desserts” emblazoned on it.

The tables were set up under a big white tent. Theirs was toward the back, stationed between Charlie’s Diner and Venice, a small Italian restaurant. Ginny, her sister, and the twins started setting cupcakes in rows on their table as well as towering them on a three-tiered stand they’d brought. The cupcakes Ginny had made—the carrot cake and tiramisu—had actually come out decent. She and Julie had decided to make the carrot cake cupcakes a little whimsical, and they had decorated them to look like kittens. The cupcakes had a thick cream cheese frosting, and there was white fondant shaped like ears, icing for the eyes, nose, and mouth, and black licorice for the whiskers.

When they were all set up, Ginny wasn’t too surprised to see people coming into the tent. An all-day event, people usually milled around the different food tables and ate at the picnic tables situated in Willow Park. There was a small playground for the children and a baseball field where some summer leagues and Cape Hope High’s teams played.

Residents and vacationers approached the Just Desserts table, and soon Ginny and everyone else was busy handing out cupcakes and bakery menus. The menu also mentioned their catering services, and a few women asked about having Julie design their wedding cakes. Longtime residents also asked them questions about their mom, their lives, and just general stuff.

No one mentioned what happened last year, and Ginny was relieved by that. Perhaps people had put that behind them and were moving on. After all, it happened over a year and a half ago. Enough distance that it was part of what happened to Cape Hope but didn’t define their town.

And it didn’t define her.

Ginny stared at her hands, recognizing the truth in that thought. The shooting didn’t define her. It had changed her, yes, and it would always be a part of her. But, it didn’t make up the person she was right now, and she was determined that she wouldn’t let it affect her future self.

That didn’t mean she wanted to talk about it.

But perhaps she could start making peace with herself and recognize that the woman she was now was indeed the better version of the woman she used to be. She couldn’t go back and change what happened, and she had to stop torturing herself with images of that day. She needed to forgive herself and put the blame and guilt behind her. If she could.

Of course she could. Look at how much she had accomplished in this past year and a half. She’d left teaching and discovered a new passion in baking and organizing events for Just Desserts. She’d started going after what she wanted—the first being that night in Atlantic City with Wes. And “dating” Wes was giving her more time to put herself together.

Three months ago she wouldn’t have been in this place—she would have found an excuse to bail out on the festival. She couldn’t have been out in a crowd of people and not felt a sense of panic, of growing urgency that all wasn’t well. Heck, she’d had that reaction when Marie DePaul had entered the bakery just last week.

But something had happened since then. Maybe it had been when Wes had driven her home, and she had admitted out loud what she wanted for herself—love, commitment, and happiness. Maybe it had been when she had watched
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
with him and realized that she did bring a lot to the table with friendship. Or maybe it had been just now, when she looked at the cupcakes she had baked and saw her sister standing next to her and her mom, who had stopped by a few moments earlier, smiling. Maybe then she had finally since she had never been alone. She had the support and love of her family, and she had most of Cape Hope’s as well.

Maybe one day she would be able to talk about that day—and what had happened. But, for right now, the promise of a bright future was enough to keep her going.

T
oward the late afternoon
, Wes showed up. He hung out at the table and asked how the day was going so far. Perhaps, Ginny thought, this friend thing could actually work out. Anything was possible at this point.

“Oh,” she said, as she suddenly recalled what she had to tell him, “so next week, my mom wants to have that dinner. Are you game?”

“Sounds fine to me.”

“You’re not allergic to shellfish or seafood, are you?” she asked. Her mom had briefed her on the menu—scallops with fresh veggies. But if Wes couldn’t eat that, her mom was also planning on grilling a few steaks to have surf ‘n’ turf.

“No, I can pretty much eat anything.” Wes leaned closer to her. “By the way, I’ve decided something.”

She tried to keep her head straight, but the intoxicating scent of his cologne was wreaking havoc on her senses. “Oh. What’s that?”

“You know that day at the lighthouse? With the Ugly Duckling story you told me?”

Ginny nodded.

“Well, I think you’ve got it wrong.”

“How so?”

“The duck who sees the swan become all beautiful and everything, and doesn’t think that she’s any good.” Wes stared at her. “The duck is wrong. Because the duck discovers that she’s got it all, too.”

Something blossomed inside of her, the petals of hope spreading open. Hadn’t she had the thought moments earlier—that she was worth something a whole lot more than she believed? It was nice to hear that echoed from him, but Ginny had learned that people could believe something about you, but unless you believed it too, it didn’t matter.

In this instance, she did believe. She wasn’t an ugly duckling or worthless or the girl who was never noticed. Her story was changing, the pages rewritten, because she deserved more than what she’d thought. In time, she would get what she needed in life. The first step of her new journey was today—right here, right now—when Ginny started recognizing that there was no such thing as an “ugly” duckling and that she was someone better than she had ever thought.

She returned his smile, and the hope continued to spread in her, warming her over and over again. “Thank you, Wes.”

And then, not caring that the whole town was most likely watching, she leaned up on her toes and kissed him. Her hands were on his shoulders, and her mouth pressed lightly against his, and she started to give, to make the kiss deeper and get lost.

She had to step away, and stop this before the kiss got heavier.
Keep it light and sweet, Ginn
y. Even though she knew what she wanted and needed, and even though she had started seeing the value in herself again, she didn’t want to lose the tenuous hold of whatever they had. Even if it was grounded in a make believe relationship.

She didn’t want to lose whatever this was—a friendship, perhaps, since Wes had clearly stated over and over again that he didn’t want a commitment. And she did. She eventually wanted to meet a man who would have no problem loving her, wanting her, and wanting to raise a family with her.

Wes didn’t want that.

It gave her a moment of clarity—enough so that she pulled back and ended the kiss. Her heart stung because if this weren’t pretend and they actually dated they would’ve had a shot. Maybe if Wes could realize that his past didn’t define him, and that he could be something other than what he’d believed.

But that was the key. He had to believe that he could change—that he would want a commitment. He didn’t. He wanted things to remain exactly where they were, making it somewhat easier on him, because with no commitment came no possibility of being vulnerable to another person and being hurt.

She was brave enough to one day find that with a man.

Maybe Wes just wasn’t made that way and would always remain a bachelor. She wanted more time with him and wanted to get to know him better. She actually enjoyed spending time with Wes. Either way, she was fine with this arrangement.

For now.

W
es
and she had talked briefly in the last week and hung out a few times, but Ginny felt nervous that they hadn’t spent quality time in each other’s company. But Wes had been busy with juggling construction jobs and his father, and she had been busy at the bakery.

Today had been a busy day. Julie had to leave at the last minute to help set up a wedding cake, and Ginny had been up to her elbows in baking and making sure Just Desserts ran smoothly. By the time Julie returned, both she and her sister were frazzled and got into an argument about nothing.

Now, Ginny stared at her closet, looking for clothes to magically jump out and scream perfect first fake date outfit. She was nervous and felt like she was going to throw up or pass out. Hopefully not at the same time.

She placed a hand to her stomach, trying to settle the butterflies doing Cirque du Soleil tricks. Yeah, that wasn’t working. But this was not even a
real
date. It was
fake
.
Pretend
.
Make believe
.

She needed to put all of these thoughts out of her mind and focus on picking an outfit. Especially since Wes was coming to pick her up in fifteen minutes.

Crap.

She undressed, stood in her closet in her nude bra and panties (sigh, she so needed a lingerie makeover, too), and selected an outfit befitting the dinner tonight. Something dressy but still casual. Something that looked like it wasn’t trying too hard. Something that made it seem like she wasn’t trying to impress Wes. Too much.

She took out a pink linen, full, A-line skirt, sequins splattered in the fabric à la Jackson Pollock. The material of the skirt was paper thin but layered. A certain slant of light would outline the shape of her legs. She paired the skirt with a scoop neck white tee, flat espadrilles, and a gray cardigan for later that night when the ocean breeze turned cool.

She pulled the sides of her hair back in a barrette and let the rest fall to her shoulder blades. The humidity had caused her hair to become sort of wavy. She probably should have straightened it with her flat iron but since time was short and wavy would have to do.

Going out to the kitchen, she grabbed the bottle of red wine she had purchased yesterday. The kitchen windows looked out to the front of her apartment building’s parking lot. She was drawing the blinds closed when she saw Wes’ black Ford Explorer make the right-hand turn into her complex.

She hurried down the stairs and opened her door just as Wes pulled into an empty parking space in front of her building. She gave him a quick wave hello, then turned around to shut her door and lock it. Satisfied that she had everything she needed, she put her keys in her bag, whirled around, and headed to Wes’ SUV.

He had turned off his SUV and gotten out, but the driver’s side door was still open. His skin had gotten more golden, as if the sun had made slow, luxurious love to his hard, rugged body. He smiled at her.

A welcoming warmth spread through her, and she felt herself smile in return. Breaking contact, he reached into his SUV and pulled out a bouquet of bright pink roses.

Her heart thundered in her chest, and her mouth went dry. Were those for her? They couldn’t be. No, they couldn’t be. Roses meant something. Or they were for a real relationship. Which this wasn’t. And roses were just . . . roses.

But she couldn’t deny the bubbles of anticipation brimming to the surface. She almost felt like she was walking on air as she met him halfway on the grass. Maybe the roses weren’t for her. Maybe he’d gotten them as gift for her mom in an attempt to sweeten her up—to make her mom more reciprocal to him. After all, guys had successfully done it before.

Ginny was so confused. She wasn’t sure if she’d be disappointed if the roses were for her mom . . . or for her. Okay, so she lied. She knew she’d be disappointed if they weren’t for her. But at the same time she wasn’t sure if bringing her flowers was taking the whole pretend thing a little too far.

They were only a
pretend
couple. It wasn’t as if there were any
real
feelings between them. So if the roses were for her, there was no meaning assigned to them whatsoever. The bubbles of anticipation popped, and a whoosh of breath escaped her, almost like a balloon letting out its air in one fell swoop.

She was acting stupid. She needed to gird her loins and focus on the
make believe
aspect of their relationship. They were in this for a common goal—so that they didn’t have to put up with any bad dates or people trying to set them up. She wouldn’t have to listen to her mom, and she certainly wouldn’t have to deal with her mom’s matchmaking. And Wes wouldn’t have to deal with being the new eligible bachelor in Cape Hope.

So she would keep this exactly what it was. Light. Easy. Fun.

She placed a hand on her hip, shot Wes a jaunty look, and affected a teasing tone. “Those flowers for me?”

“Actually they were for your mom to—”

“Sweeten her up.” So her suspicions had been correct.

“Well, you can’t blame a guy. The first time we’re a ‘couple’”—he did little air quotes, which looked a little ridiculous to her since one of his hands was gripping the roses—“and I’m meeting your family.”

“Awwww, is wittle Wes scared of my mom?”

“Listen, Tweety Bird . . .” He stepped closer to her, and she could smell traces of sandalwood. “There’s nothing ‘wittle’ about me.”

“You know size doesn’t matter, right?”

“Sugar, whoever told you that obviously didn’t have much.” He held her a gaze and stepped closer, his free hand brushing her cheek. “Size matters.”

Men and their egos. Time to put him in his place. “Ducks.”

“Ducks?” His forehead furrowed in confusion, then smoothed out as understanding dawned. His gray eyes fixed on hers, narrowing. “Ducks.”

She stepped away, breaking the contact, and his hand dropped back to his side. The heat of his touch lingered and echoed warmth throughout her body. “There’s no reason to touch when no one’s watching. And I know I started it, but I really think we need to lay off on the double entendres. One of us could get the wrong picture.”

“Meaning me,” he repeated dully.

No. Her. But she certainly wasn’t going to say
that
. But she also wasn’t going to let him think that she thought badly of him. “I don’t think you’re a caveman or anything of that nature. But I think the sexual jokes could cross a line.”

“I agree,” he said. “Since sex is off the table, so are sex jokes.”

She took a deep breath. “I don’t know if there should be any flowers or other romantic gifts to one another, even if it
is
in front of family or friends. Kissing is one thing, but gifts and other stuff can mess with emotions and . . .” She was rambling and couldn’t stop twisting her hair around her fingers.

“I completely agree with you. It’s not like we’re going to be together long enough to celebrate birthdays.” Wes rested the roses on the SUV’s windshield, his brows furrowing. “Unless your birthday’s in the summer.”

“It’s in May actually. The twelfth.”

“No worries then. You’re in the spring, and my birthday’s March 14.”

“You’re going to leave before September?”

He nodded his head. “I’ll be back in Las Vegas by the end of August. Everything should be settled here, and I need to focus on my company.”

She focused her attention on the fuchsia petals, the color clashing against the cherry red of the SUV. There was a deadline. August 31. Wes’ life wasn’t here—it was in Las Vegas, and he’d be returning to his old life. Meanwhile, she would still be in Cape Hope. And if there was any fall out to their break up, she’d be the one left to deal with the pieces.

That didn’t seem fair to her. Even if their relationship was fake, she shouldn’t be the only one who had to deal with the fall out when things ended. But that was a discussion for another day, time, and place. Right now, they had to get to her mom’s and convince her that she and Wes were a happy, loving couple.

Easier said than done.

W
es pulled
into a driveway in front of a big, gray Victorian home. “The Gray Lady” was painted in cursive white font on a sign featuring a silhouette of a lady with a parasol over her right shoulder.

On the short drive over, he and Ginny had gotten some more basic facts about each other and some likes and dislikes. He still wasn’t sure if he could stomach the idea that she thought baseball was “boring.” Or as she put it, “What is the point of watching a bunch of men running around bases to score?” He didn’t even want to know what she thought about football.

But now that his SUV was running idle in an empty parking space on the side of the road, they’d both fallen silent. The bouquet of pink roses that he had, in fact, bought for Ginny rested on the console. But after he’d gotten one look at the panic on Ginny’s face and how she’d asked the question, he’d thought it best to play it off as if he’d gotten the roses for her mother instead.

Honestly, Wes didn’t know why he’d bought the roses in the first place. He knew what the rules were—they both knew the rules. Neither of them were starry-eyed people who stupidly thought love conquered all. Ginny was sarcastic, funny, and had no bullshit in her. She wasn’t going to assume things that weren’t there. In fact, she seemed to be reinforcing the rules, reminding the both of them that there was no sex and nothing that would cloud the waters between them.

What he knew of Ginny, he liked. He hadn’t been lying to her last week when he told her that they could be friends. But getting involved with her other than what they had agreed upon would ruin things. It was obvious Ginny was against friends with benefits.

Maybe he could change her mind, except he respected Ginny enough that he didn’t want to use her for just sex. Especially when this was temporary. This thing with Ginny, living here, taking care of Dad, helping out his brothers . . . it was all temporary and at the end of August, he’d be back where he belonged. Las Vegas.

Ginny reached for the door handle and started to open the door. He placed his hand on her other arm, drawing her attention back to him. Her eyes widened, the dark brown overpowering the slices of green as she stared at him.

“What?” she finally asked.

He suspected it was meant to be a reprimand, but her voice was breathy, as if the question had suspended in her chest and had traveled up slowly before finally releasing in one long, drawn out sigh.

Damn it, it was really hard to remember the rules when her mouth was parted like that, when her tongue darted out to lick her lips.
Ducks,
he thought to himself.
Remember those damn ducks.

“Shouldn’t I be opening the door for you?” He waited for his question to sink in. When she didn’t answer straight away, he continued, “I mean, I know it’s old fashioned and all, but wouldn’t it look more couple-y for me to do that sort of thing?”

“I . . .” She fumbled around, her expression growing more and more comically flabbergasted. “Do you think that’s necessary?”

“Do you?” he countered.

“Who does that sort of thing anymore?”

He wasn’t sure about her dating past, or what type of men she’d been with, nor was it any of his business. But he wondered what sort of guys she had dated that she didn’t expect doors to be opened.

“And besides,” she said in a rush, “this is the twenty-first century. All we have to get through is this dinner and convince them that we’re a couple.”

He turned off his SUV and palmed the key in his hand. The sharp edges of the key’s teeth bit into his palm. “What sort of couple?”

“Oh, you know.” Her cheeks became a delightful rosy blush. “A
couple
couple.”

It had been getting too serious before. This—the familiarity of teasing her and her joking in return—was more welcome territory. Humor was needed to remind them both that the reason they had agreed to this in the first place was because they got along with one another, and because they had no expectations of anything real.

“Well, sugar.” Wes leaned in, his tone teasingly seductive, his lips inches away her cheek. “As a
couple
couple, I’d open the door for you.”

Then he pulled away just a little so that their eyes locked and held. Where gray skies met the brown earth.

“Open the door then. We have to get inside anyway. We’ve been too long in here and they’ll think—”

“We’ve been kissing.”

His gaze went to her full mouth. It didn’t look like it’d been kissed. It wasn’t red from his lips claiming hers. Her cheeks were flushed, but not from the after effects of desire.

“Do you want my kiss, sugar?”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t need kissing.”

Damn. With that, he got out of the SUV and went around the front to open her door.

“And why do you call me that?” she asked after he opened the door and she stepped outside, the bouquet of pink roses in her hand.

“Call you what?”

Her fingers played with the silver ribbon holding the stems together. “Sugar.”

“Because I do.” He held out his arm. “Let’s head inside and face the firing squad.”

They were halfway up the stairs to the porch when the front door opened wide. It was her mom. Of course.

“Why, hello,” her mom said with an exaggerated surprise. “I didn’t realize you two were here so soon. I was just going to get the mail—”

Ginny raised her eyebrows. It was 7 p.m. Her mom got the mail as soon as it arrived in the afternoon.

“—and it’s just a twist of fate that I opened the door to find you here.” Her mom smiled as she eyed Wes up and down. There was a gleam in her eyes, the same type she got when she happened upon a one-day sale. “Why, Ginny, aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Before she could, Wes said, “You must be Ginny’s sister, Julie.”

Ginny gave him a look. Mr. Dangerous had become Mr. Charming.

Her mom tittered. “Oh, you.”

“Wes,” Ginny said before her mom could flirt even more shamelessly with Wes. “This is my mom, Faith. Mom, this is Wes.”

“Hello, Mrs. Michaels.”

“You can call me Faith.” Her mom extended her hand, and Wes shook it. “It’s very nice to meet you, Wes.”