The Wedding Chapel (28 page)

“Pretty noisy, huh?” Taylor said, smiling at the baby. He was a cutie with his round face and dimpled cheeks. His mother called him Levi. “What do you think about the name Levi?” Taylor liked it.

“Fine.” Jack was fixed on his phone. “For another man’s kid.”

Taylor lowered her head to see his face. “No kids?”

He peeked up at her. “No kids.”

“Ever?”

“You know how I was raised, Taylor. Besides, you said yourself this world is no place to bring up a kid.”

Yeah, she had said that once. But she didn’t mean it.

Taylor snatched up a box of Milk Duds. Then another and another until her arms were laden. She headed to the checkout with no intention of swinging by the pregnancy tests. She had no room to carry one.

Jack’s wedding day confession boomeranged through her.
“If it doesn’t work out we can walk away.”

Then what in the world were they doing?

Taylor passed the soda cooler. She arched her back, balancing her Milk Duds, opening the cooler with her fingertips. Grabbing a Diet Coke—first one in the row—she got in line and scanned the magazine headlines. Doug’s
Gossip
was front and center with a cover showing a baby-toting celebrity. Taylor glanced away.

But all the magazines featured stars with their babies, and the cast of a new sitcom,
Love
’
Em or Leave
’
Em,
in which the real-life actors were spitting out babies like springtime bunnies.

Love
’
em or leave
’
em.
That was what it boiled down to, wasn’t it? Love or leave. But what if she loved and he wanted to leave? He never said he wanted to go, but it was something Taylor felt in her gut. All the time. The time for guessing was coming to an end. She needed to talk to her husband.

Turning away from the headlines, Taylor came face-to-face with a display of pregnancy tests. On sale!

You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Next!”

Taylor stepped forward. Only one customer was in front of her. Her heart raced. Did she really need to buy a pregnancy test? She couldn’t be pregnant. She
refused
to be pregnant.

From her shorts pocket, her phone rang. Probably Emma telling her to hurry up. But it was a New York number. One she didn’t recognize.

Jack? Was he okay? “Hello?”

“Taylor, this is Justine Longoria, Colette Greer’s cowriter for her autobiography.”

She exhaled. “Hey, um, how can I help you?”

“I hope you don’t mind, but she gave me your number. Said you were at her late sister’s home and I thought, ‘Perfect!’ The publisher would love to have photos of Colette from when she was young. Any family pictures? Perhaps taken in England? It’s weird, but Colette doesn’t have any of her own.”

“Wow, good question. I don’t know. But I’ll look around.” Well, she did know of one. In the car.

“That would be fantastic. You have my number now so you can text me if you find any.” Justine repeated her name and hung up.

Taylor hung up, tucking her phone in her pocket. She or Emma was going to have to go to the attic now. Granny’s photo albums were up there. She knew only because Granny told her once.

Moving forward to check out, Taylor spied the bank of pregnancy tests again. There had to be fifty of them. Were they expecting a pregnancy epidemic in this town?

She couldn’t remember her last cycle. Or when she had started waking up slow and tired, the fragrance of Jack’s morning coffee making her nauseous.

Still, they were careful . . .

Until that dinner . . . two months ago . . .

Taylor moaned and stepped out of line. “Go ahead,” she said to the woman behind her.

The evening in July was one for the memory bank. Jack had called around six. His client had been delayed and wouldn’t make a
scheduled dinner meeting at an upscale Manhattan restaurant. So, he said, did she want to join him? If so, he’d send the car for her.

She didn’t hesitate. Absolutely. She slipped into a slinky black dress that accented a few features Jack liked best. She had her neighbor, a beauty school student, fix her hair in an updo. Jack’s expression when she stepped out of the car filled her with flutters.

He, in turn, looked incredible, wearing his best blue shirt, the top button open and his sleeves rolled up, his blue eyes snapping beneath a wave of his dark hair.

“You look amazing, babe.” He never called her anything but Taylor. Until that night.

“Back at you, babe.”

He offered his arm, kissing her as they walked into the restaurant. But it was noisy, packed, exuding a different vibe than what moved between them. So Jack grabbed her hand and led her out to the street, hailing a cab.

They ate in the Village, at a small, homey restaurant he’d been dying to try. The food was amazing, the atmosphere romantic and intimate. When Michael Bublé’s soothing voice came over the speakers and melted the atmosphere, Jack offered Taylor his hand.

“Dance with me.” He led her to the garden, into the light of the moon, his arms, his heart.

Even more than their honeymoon night, she felt his love for her. A rare experience.

Between the melody and the movement, their walls came down. She became vulnerable, willing to let Jack see all of her. And in a husky, sweet, raw voice, Jack apologized for working too much, forgetting he had a wife at home.

“I want to be a good husband. I don’t know how, but I want to try.” He cradled her, touched her, overwhelmed her.

“I’m trying too.”

“Let’s go home.” Jack hailed a cab and they cuddled in the backseat, barely making it home before the fireworks began.

Later, she luxuriated in his arms, smoothing her hand over his chest. “Isn’t the moon beautiful? I think it’s shining just for us.”

Jack raised his hand to its light. “The moon doesn’t shine, babe. It just reflects the sun’s light.”

“Ha, you know what I mean.”

He laughed and kissed her, settling between the sheets, his breathing even and content.

So this was love . . .

“Next!”

Taylor snatched up the pregnancy test and dropped it on the counter.

The night did not end as romantically as it began. Jack popped out of bed, panicked that their impromptu lovemaking would result in a baby.

“Taylor, we didn’t . . . I mean . . . I don’t want kids, Taylor.” He cut his hands through the air, pacing, raising his voice. “I do not want kids.”

As the cashier rang up Taylor’s order, she hoped, prayed, that as she was feeling particularly negative at the moment, the pregnancy test would be good enough to reflect the same.

Chapter Twenty-One

COLETTE

T
hursday morning Colette strode into the FRESH conference room flanked by Ford and Jack Forester feeling anxious yet determined, her spirit bolstered with the kind of strength that comes when one finally faces her fears.

While she appeared to be following Jack’s plan for the visit, she had one of her own.

Jack leaned to say something to her, but for the life of her she could not focus on anything about this trip to FRESH. Only the matter beating in her own heart.

She thought it would be simple to sit through the FRESH presentation, then escape to her plan, but the enormity of what she was about to do settled on her aged shoulders heavier than expected.

But she’d set everything in motion before leaving New York and she refused to back out on it now.

Because if she did, she’d never find the courage again.

“Good morning, everyone.” Evoking the bold and self-focused Vivica Spenser, Colette walked into the boardroom, straight to the head of the table, like she’d done a million times on
Always Tomorrow
.

The team rose to their feet and chorused, “Good morning.” A dozen well-dressed men and women lined the elongated glossy conference table and the perimeter of the room. A handsome gentleman approached, offering his hand.

“Lennon MacArthur. Welcome to our humble company. We are
thrilled
you’ve agreed to be our spokeswoman.”

“I’m a fan of your product.” That was Colette speaking, not Vivica. But since both women had lived in her soul for ages, Colette could hardly make the distinction. She scanned the room, taking in each face, making a mental note that they appeared to be honest,
fresh
folks.

She teetered on her plan. Could she really do it? Leave this safe place for one unknown?

“Please, Ms. Greer . . .” Lennon offered her a seat.

“Call me Colette, please.”

“Colette, we have a lovely presentation for you.”

But she remained standing.
Courage, Lettie.
If not today, never. “I appreciate that, Lennon, but I don’t need a song and dance.” She smiled for them all. “I’ve already heard the melody and I like it.” She made a show of glancing around the room. “And I like you.”

The room expanded with a collective exhale.

“Excellent. Then, what?” Lennon glanced at his team. “We can move on to the plant tour?” He motioned to the exit. “We do our own bottling right here, Ms. Greer, I mean, Colette.”

“So I’ve heard. I read up on your practices. Very impressive.” Colette noticed the large cake in the middle of the table. “I’ll tell you what I’d like. A piece of that cake. It looks divine.” She pressed her hand to her lean belly and angled toward one of the older women at the table. “One thing about getting older, you don’t care about your figure quite as much.”

The woman patted her own round middle. “Don’t I know it.”

Lennon barked that someone should cut Colette a piece of cake, which she accepted with gratitude. But really, she couldn’t eat a thing. Her belly was full of anticipation, anxiety. Excitement.

She needed to get on with her plan, right or wrong. And she could feel her courage fading. Checking her watch, she realized the car she’d ordered would arrive any minute.

Yet she couldn’t let
all
of FRESH’s efforts go to waste.

So she forced down the cake and forced her attention on Lennon as he introduced staff members. Finally, when her cake was gone, she set her plate down and inquired about the ladies’ room. “I’d like to freshen up.”

“Of course, forgive us.” He bustled about as if he expected neglecting to offer her a freshen-up minute might cost him. Fine, let him sweat a little. She’d need the credit in a few minutes. “Karli, can you show her to our executive lounge?”

“Please, Lennon, just point me in the right direction. A girl likes a bit of privacy in the loo.” Colette lightly gripped his arm, offering the half wink she’d perfected that said,
“I like you.”

“Down the hall, on your right.” He snapped his fingers and Karli passed over a key. “To the executive lounge. You’ll find everything you need in there.”

“Very nice.” Colette clutched her wristlet by her side. Thank goodness she’d had the presence of mind to exchange her big handbag for a wristlet before she left her suite this morning. Lugging it just to the loo would’ve been ridiculous.

She almost made her exit alone, but Ford trailed out of the conference room behind her.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to the executive lounge.” Colette dangled the key in front of him.

“We just got here. Why don’t you sit and relax? Let them wine
and dine you. Jack’s put a lot on the line for this account.” Ford’s heavy stride thumped against the industrial carpet. “And we moved heaven and earth to get you here
this
week. This is not like you to be so disengaged.”

“Ford, I’m grateful to Jack and FRESH. I’m sorry, I’m a bit distracted. But please assure everyone I will be their spokeswoman.”

He made a face, then smiled. “Go freshen up. You can tell them when you return to the boardroom.”

“Thank you. My eighty-two-year-old bladder is not what it used to be, and unless you want to call for ‘cleanup on aisle four,’ I’d better go.”

Ford cleared his throat, stepping back. “See you in the room, then.”

“Of course. Relax. Have another piece of cake.” Colette pressed her back against the wall just inside the lounge door, breathing deep, feeling like a schoolgirl who had just escaped the headmaster. As she and Peg managed on one occasion or the other.

She waited another few seconds, then peeked out. But excitement took its toll on her heart, and she needed a moment to gather herself. She reclined in the nearest chair and breathed, not allowing herself to really ponder the next few minutes. Or the afternoon.

When she felt steady, she peeked out again. The hall was clear. Colette tossed the lounge key in the corner by the door and darted for the elevator.

The doors opened immediately and she stepped into the car, riding down to the main floor with her heart fluttering.

She’d not done anything so outlandish in years. And for a thrilling moment, it felt wonderful to
break
out.
Forgive me, Jack.

On the main floor, Colette finally breathed. Tiptoeing past the receptionist, who was involved with something on her phone, Colette met her waiting car. A silver Mercedes parked by the door.

The things money could buy!

“Ms. Greer?” A man in a white shirt and dark slacks approached with the keys.

“That’s me.” She shoved past him and dropped in behind the wheel. She knew Ford. He’d be suspicious about now. “Show me how she works.”

She’d owned a car back in the eighties but rarely drove it, so she’d sold it. Now her hands itched to grip the wheel and
drive
. Command her destiny.

“You hit this here.” He touched a button by the steering wheel and the car fired up. “And enter your destination into the GPS here.”

“Push-button cars. What will they think of next?” She shooed the Hertz man aside and pulled out the map she’d carefully folded into her wristlet. “I don’t need a GPS. I have a map. Just need to get out of Nashville.”

Vivica Spenser, I learned so much from you.

“Where are you headed?”

“Heart’s Bend.”