The Wedding Chapel (14 page)

“Go on . . .”

“What happened between you and Granny?”

“We chose different paths.” Colette’s assessment was quick and purely matter-of-fact.

“But you never visited. Didn’t you want to be near her, reminisce about your childhood in England? Or Heart’s Bend, for that matter. My sister, Emma, and I have our moments, but at the end of it all, we’re the only ones who can remember our childhood, our parents.”

“Peg and I did not get along.”

“Are you telling me all the space between you and Granny was simply because you didn’t see eye to eye on a few things?”

“Peg and I rarely saw eye to eye. So, you’re off to Nashville?”

“Actually, to Heart’s Bend. I have a shoot there. Colette, Granny’s left her house to me.” Taylor hesitated. What was that dark shadow flickering across Colette’s features? “Is there anything you want from her house?”

Zoë interrupted, and Colette ordered tea for one. Then . . .

“I need nothing from Peg’s home. I’ve got everything I need right here.”

Taylor would never classify Colette Greer as warm, but in the moment she seemed to drop one cold degree.

“Well, if I find a childhood memento, I’ll let you know. Maybe a photo or teacup.”

“Taylor, mark my words, there is nothing in your granny’s house for me.”

Chapter Ten

JACK

H
e had forty-five minutes to pack and get to the airport. Jack tossed his laptop on the counter and made a beeline for the bedroom, bumping into his wife as she exited the closet, rolling her carry-on behind her.

“Jack? What are you doing here?”

“Heading to Nashville. I have a meeting tomorrow with the FRESH team. I got them to all come in on a Friday, so I need to be on my A game. Despite what Hops wants.”

“What did Hops want?”

“He wants me on another job.” Jack yanked open the closet doors and pulled his roller bag from the top shelf. Hops could go to London himself if he thought that job was so important. But Jack didn’t want to run a foundation for WhiteWater Media, a cutting-edge social media group. The CEO was two years younger than Jack.

He wanted his own client back. FRESH Water.

“How long will you be there?” Taylor asked.

Jack tossed his suitcase to the bed. He didn’t need much. “Until Sunday. Getting in a game of golf with the CEO, Lennon, on
Saturday.” Socks, underwear, T-shirts, jeans, a nice button-down, and some golf gear.

“What about seeing Sam and Sarah? We told them we’d visit when we called to tell them we eloped.”

Sam and Sarah were Jack’s last foster parents, who treated him more like a son than anyone ever had. They were his mentors, saviors, guiding light. But he didn’t like going home. Even to see the people he loved most. Because there was always the off chance he’d run into his father. And that he would avoid at all costs.

“Let’s plan another trip to see them. No time this go-round.”

“Your call.” Taylor leaned against the door frame. “So how do you plan to win back the account?”

Jack slipped his phone out of his pocket. “Taylor, could you put this on the charger for me? I don’t want to lose juice on the trip.”

“Y-yeah, sure.”

Her quiet hesitation raised his attention. Was she all right? “A-are you ready for your trip?”

“I think so. Hey, why don’t you come down to Heart’s Bend and stay with me for a few days? I’ll be at Granny’s. Emma insists we finish with the house.”

“No can do. If I win FRESH back, no,
when
I win FRESH, I’ve got to get back here and roll up our corporate sleeves. We’ve got work to do. Not to mention hiring Carmen’s replacement and showing some love to the accounts I’ve neglected this week.” Jack tossed his Dopp kit on the bathroom counter. Toothpaste, toothbrush, shaving cream . . . “What time is your flight?”

“Three.”

He glanced over at her. “I got the last seat on a two forty-five direct flight.”

“LaGuardia?” Taylor ducked into the bathroom, taking a small packet of Dramamine from the medicine cabinet.

“No, JFK.” Jack wedged his toiletries in the suitcase. “Otherwise we could’ve shared a cab.”

“I’ve got a cab on the way, Jack. There’s plenty of time to drop you off and get me over to LaGuardia. I’m prechecked so it’ll save me time.” Taylor tapped his shoulder. “Don’t forget your Dramamine or you’ll get motion sickness.”

His fingers grazed over hers. “Th-thanks, babe.” Their gazes locked. “Hey, why don’t you come up to Nashville? Stay with me at the Hermitage.”

She shook her head. “You’ll be working and golfing. I have the chapel shoot tomorrow, with time reserved on Saturday in case I want to go back. And I’m working on the house. Speaking of . . . what should we do with Granny’s house?”

“Whatever you want.” Jack glanced around the room. Taylor could see him running through a mental checklist. “When do you come home?”

“Saturday next. Jack, we need to talk about Granny’s house. Are we keeping it?”

“Why would we?” He zipped his suitcase. “It’s not like we want to live in Heart’s Bend ever again.”

“Look, I know we both had to escape for a while, but never?”

“Not in the big-picture plan, Taylor. I thought you knew that.”

“Then why’d you marry me? I’m Heart’s Bend, a piece of what you want to forget. We have to go home sometime. To see my mom, my sister and her girls, Sam and Sarah.”

“Okay, fine, but we don’t have to do that now, do we? And you’re
not
Heart’s Bend. You’re”—he shrugged—“
different
. A New Yorker.”

He couldn’t tell her because the words were all jumbled in his chest, but knowing her, watching her in high school, made him believe the world was a better place. He couldn’t explain it. But he’d always been drawn to her.

“A Yankee?” Taylor grinned. “Granny would roll over in her grave.”

“Like she was a true Southerner? Coming from England?”

“She adapted. Hey, by the way, I saw Colette today. She had some deal where she approved the photos from the shoot. I tried to get her to talk about Granny, but . . .” Taylor waved her hand past her face. “Ice.”

“You’re surprised?” He brushed past her for the kitchen. “Did I see Pop-Tarts?”

“Yeah, I guess. I mean, I know they didn’t see each other much, but I thought she’d wax sentimental or something.”

“My gut tells me whatever went down between the two of them left no room for sentimental waxing.” Ah, cherry. His favorite. Jack tore open the foil wrapping. Creative work and dashing to the airport made him hungry. This would hold him until he arrived in Nashville. “How did Colette like the photos?”

“She liked them. All of them. Which is weird. No one ever likes
all
the shots.”

“You’re good. I’ve told you that before.” Didn’t she believe him? He’d told her before. “Why do you think I gave you the
AQ
job?”

“To one-up Doug.”

“What? No.” Did he sound convincing? Because he refused to be
that
kind of husband. Motivated by jealousy. “Because I thought you’d do a good job.” Jack consumed the Pop-Tart in a few bites. Eating fast was practically his superpower.

Growing up, moving from house to house every year, and from family to family, he’d learned to eat fast. At twelve, he did a few odd jobs for neighbors and earned enough money to keep a food stash under his bed. It was a good plan until that particular foster mother discovered a trail of ants leading right to it. When Jack came home she was waiting. Popped him in the face before he could offer one word of explanation.

“Well, either way, I’m on my way.” Taylor brushed her hand down his arm and his desire for her stirred. “You never told me your great plan for FRESH.”

He pulled another Pop-Tart from the box. “My plan is brilliant. Begging.”

She laughed, and the melody loosened the tension in his gut. He loved eliciting her laughter. He didn’t know he possessed such a power until they started spending time together. He had never laughed so much as their first month together.

“At least my idea was better than begging,” she said.

“Your idea?” Jack poured a glass of milk and glanced at his phone, checking the charge. “I’m going to appeal to our relationship with them. I’m not going to overwhelm them with ideas, just sincerity about our history together. Besides, it was all I could do to talk Lennon into letting me address the team.” Jack swigged down a gulp of milk. “So what’s this idea of yours?”

“Don’t you remember? Last week, when you were falling asleep on the couch, I landed on an episode of
Always Tomorrow
, and Colette, I mean
Vivica
, splashed some dude in the face with water. Right in the courtroom. It’s her infamous move. I said Colette would be a great spokeswoman for FRESH—”

“You said that to me?” Jack sobered, trying to remember.

“Yes, right after you muttered something about me being hot.”

He wrinkled his brow. “When I was asleep? Because hiring Colette is actually a great idea.”

“Of course.” Taylor flirted over her shoulder as she slipped back into the bedroom.

Hey, and for the record, you are hot.
He’d shout it from the rooftops if she asked him to. But he wasn’t good at intimate confession, at sharing the deepest feelings of his heart. When he was awake. A year ago he’d added “work on compliments” to his personal to-do list.

But it was hard to harvest words that were never sown.

Jack finished off his third Pop-Tart, walking back to the bedroom. “Do you think she would actually do it?”

Taylor shrugged. “Now that she’s retired, she might want a new project.”

“Hmm . . .” He’d thought about Taylor all day, whispers, impressions, fleeting images drifting across his heart. And he missed her. Missed the light in her blue eyes. Missed the floating sensation she inspired in his middle, like drifting across a glassy sea, baking in the sun’s rays, his fingers intertwined with hers.

When she looked at him, he was free, his cares floating away on her current.

“Do you want to call Colette?” Taylor stood in the doorway, holding up her phone. “Ask her before you go down there? Just in case.” Taylor tossed her phone to him.

“Really? Yeah, why not. Let’s see what she says.” Jack caught her phone. “Thanks, Tay.”

He’d not considered an aging soap star for his pitchwoman, but why not? Colette Greer was an icon. A legend.

He tapped the screen to navigate to Taylor’s contacts, pausing when her display showed five missed calls from Doug Voss. He glanced up at her, the familiar dark wave crashing over him. “Taylor, what—”

“Yeah?” She looked up from where she packed her laptop, her gaze clear. Innocent.

“N-nothing.” He smiled. If she intended for him to see Doug’s calls, she was a better actress than her aunt.

He found Colette’s number and dialed, walking over to the window, peering out, a gnawing in his gut. He hated that Doug Voss was in her world. Even a little bit. Colette’s voice mail answered and Jack fumbled for words.

“Colette, Jack Forester, Taylor’s husband.” The word resonated through him. He liked that word. He liked all it implied. “I was wondering how you’d like to be a spokeswoman for FRESH Water? Let me know.” He rattled off his number, then handed the phone to Taylor.

“Did you get ahold of Colette?” Taylor dragged her gear to the door, her shoulder loaded with her laptop and camera bags.

“Voice mail.”

“Keep it. Try her again on our way there.” She fumbled to open the door, catching her laptop case as it slipped from the top of her suitcase. “Let’s go down. The cab will be here any minute.”

“Here, let me help you.” Jack tucked Taylor’s phone in his pocket, reaching for her suitcase. “You get the elevator. I’ll grab my stuff.”

“Jack, don’t forget your phone. You’ll go crazy without it.”

“Right, right.” He came from the bedroom, unplugged his phone, and coiled the cord in his laptop case. His phone slipped from his hand, banging on the floor. Taylor jumped to pick it up. “Hold on to that for me.” Jack reached for her suitcase, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder. “Can you do that? Do you mind?”

“I can hold on to anything you want, Jack.” Taylor regarded him for a moment, then disappeared into the hall. “Elevator is here.”

He followed her out, locking the door, his heart on fire. About to lean in to kiss her, the elevator doors pinged open and she stepped in.

“You coming?” she said, a soft laugh in her words. “I promise to give you back your phone before the airport.”

Jack swallowed, stepping into the elevator. “I wasn’t worried about my phone.”

“Then what?”

“J-just thinking.”

He wanted to bonk his head against the side of the elevator,
frustrated at his inability to say three simple words, “I love you.” Words he longed to say but couldn’t.

As the car descended, he rode to the bottom of his heart, to where his thoughts settled in the sludge of his own truth.

He loved his wife and if he didn’t find a way to tell her, he could very well lose her. And he could blame no one but himself.

Chapter Eleven

JIMMY

S
EPTEMBER
25, 2015

F
or more years than he cared to remember, Jimmy had started his Friday mornings in the same corner booth of Ella’s Diner. With his date. The doc.

Sipping his coffee, he stared out the window, monitoring traffic—what little bit still came through downtown these days.

He hoped the city council’s plan to beef up the old city center panned out. He had a great affection for the old town. Spent many a happy weekend at Millson’s drugstore and soda fountain.

But those days had long passed. Time was like spilt milk. It could never be put back in the bottle.

“Refresh your coffee, Jimmy?” Tina, owner of Ella’s, stood poised over the table with a full pot of black brew.

“Naw, I think I’ll wait for the doc. But if’n you don’t mind, I could munch on a donut.”

“Plain or chocolate?”

“Got a plain with chocolate icing?”

“Now, you know I do.” She turned to go, saying over her shoulder, “Doc’s late, isn’t he?”