When I Fall in Love (Christiansen Family) (2 page)

I
T WOULD BE
the most perfect day of her brother Darek’s life. Even if Grace Christiansen had to personally hand-dip two hundred strawberries.

“If you don’t leave now, you’re going to miss the entire wedding.” Her assistant, Raina Beaumont, reached around Grace and moved the bowl of strawberries away from her. “I might not be going to culinary school in a month like you, but I swear I can dip these without making a mess.”

But
 
—the word touched her lips a moment before Grace nodded and stepped away from the island in the middle of the industrial kitchen.

The afternoon sun creased the red tile floor and stewed the smells of the kitchen
 
—wild mushrooms simmering in garlic-and-wine sauce, focaccia bread baking in the oven.

She could stand here, close her eyes, drink in the scents, and die happy. Something about seeing her brother
 
—her wounded, broken oldest brother
 
—smile at his beautiful bride-to-be last night at the rehearsal dinner had filled her soul right to the brim. Yes, of course she would dip strawberries and hang twinkly lights from the rafters of the folk school building. Because that’s what family did
 
—they shared in dreams, even helped make them come true.

Raina pushed her toward the door. “Seriously, I’ll get Ty to chase you out of here or, better yet, throw you over his shoulder and
 
—oh, for pete’s sake, you have chocolate on your dress.”

“What? Shoot, where’s a rag?”

But Raina had already grabbed a wet cloth and was dabbing at the dark stain on the collar of Grace’s purple dress.

Grace checked her reflection in the microwave door over Raina’s shoulder. Her hair had withstood the test of the kitchen, still caught up in netting. Eden’s spectacular idea of having her hair done before she set foot in the kitchen to oversee the final preparations might not have deserved the battle they’d waged. But she shouldn’t have worn the dress. Unfortunately, she’d managed that brilliant thought with no help from her big sister, and now she’d have a stained gown for the pictures. . . .

Pictures!

“Oh no.”

“I know. It’s leaving a greasy spot,” Raina said.

“I was supposed to be there an hour early for pictures.” Grace pushed Raina’s hands away. “Eden is going to murder me.”

“I thought this was Ivy and Darek’s wedding.” Ty looked up from where he stood at the stove, stirring the mushroom sauce. His hairnet looked silly over his dark, nearly shaved head, but no one took his job more seriously than Ty Teague, youngest offspring
of the Teague clan. At seventeen, he could outcook any of the Pierre’s Pizza line cooks. And he was a starter on the Deep Haven Huskies football team, not unlike his legendary older brother, DJ.

“Ty, eyes on the sauce. And it is; it’s just . . . Eden is a little exacting. She has us all scheduled to the minute.”

Raina, while listening, had pushed End on the microwave panel, where she’d paused the timer.

Grace stared at the digital clock. “Oh . . . no. What time is it?”

Raina checked her watch. “About 3:20.”

“I thought it was 2:07. I’m an idiot
 
—I thought it was weird the clock didn’t change. No, no
 
—” She pulled off her apron, heading for the door.

“What?”

“The ceremony started at 3:00!” Grace banged through the door, then spun around and poked her head back into the kitchen. “Listen, fire up the grills at 3:30. Don’t turn them on high or they’ll smoke
 
—just keep them on low. That way the chicken won’t burn. And cook the ravioli al dente. Otherwise it will sit in the sauce and
 
—”

“Go!” Raina glanced at Ty, shaking her head.

“Don’t forget the cupcakes! They’re in the freezer
 
—”

“Ty, we have a situation
 
—”

“Fine.” Grace let the door close behind her and stood for a moment in the most perfect vision of a wedding reception she could imagine.

Her vision. Okay, Ivy’s too, but the elegantly rustic room had romance draped all over it. Grace and the rest of the Christiansen women had spent all day yesterday wrapping the timber beams with twinkle lights, covering the long picnic tables with white linens and birch bark–wrapped candles, surrounding the dance
floor with potted cedars, also laden with white lights. They’d hung sheer drapes across the length of the room and dropped them behind the serving tables, which, in an hour, would be filled with Grace’s creations.

She’d spent a month putting together tonight’s menu of grilled lemon-rosemary chicken, wild-mushroom ravioli, parmesan-and-rosemary focaccia, wild-greens salad with buttermilk-Romano dressing, and chocolate-dipped strawberries. Thankfully, the local donut/cupcake shop, World’s Best Donuts, had provided the wedding cupcakes.

But the magic of the night would happen when Darek picked up his bride, Ivy Madison, and carried her into their celebration. No one could be happier for Darek and his new life than Grace. If he could find happily ever after without leaving Deep Haven, then so could she.

First, she had to get to the wedding.

Grace climbed into the family truck and gunned it out of the dirt parking lot of the folk school grounds. The building’s sliding-glass doors overlooked the gold-splashed harbor of Deep Haven. With otters frolicking around the docks and seagulls perched to watch the festivities, a sun-soaked breeze blowing off the lake, and the scent of summer in the air, this Sunday evening of Memorial Day weekend held the promise of a beautiful celebration.

She glanced at her phone where she’d left it on the seat of the truck. Five missed calls.

Shoot.

Grace shifted her gaze back to the road in time to slam on her brakes for a couple of tourists, one wearing a baby in a back carrier, crossing the main drag and waving the orange flag provided to alert drivers to pedestrians as they came over the hill.

Easing forward, she made the light, then turned left up the hill to the church. The parking lot was full, music playing as she parked and hustled in.

The sanctuary doors hung closed, an usher standing just inside as she cracked one open. One of Darek’s firefighter buddies from the National Forest Service. She gave him a sheepish look as he quirked an eyebrow.

The overhead fans stirred the hushed air and she realized the music had ended and the pastor was praying. Good, maybe she’d arrived just after the processional. She ducked her head but shot a glance at the front, where Ivy and Darek held hands. Beside Ivy stood her matron of honor, Claire, petite and cute in her turquoise dress, holding Ivy’s bouquet of orange gerbera daisies.

Her heart could melt at the sight of Darek in his tuxedo, tall and handsome and healed and giving his heart away. Again. Or maybe fully, for the first time.

“Amen.” Pastor Dan lifted his eyes to the crowd, smiled at the couple. Grace looked for a place to scoot down the aisle and slip in at the end of her parents’ pew in front. Sure, a few people might notice, but it wasn’t as if she’d missed
 
—

“I’d like to present, for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Darek Christiansen.”

Darek looked up, smiled for the crowd, and met her eyes.

Oops.

She stepped out of the way as Ivy and Darek marched up the aisle. Then, before the ushers could open the sanctuary doors again to release the guests, she ducked out.

And caught the bride and groom in an after-ceremony smooch.

“Grace!” Darek said, releasing his bride. He had a grin in his eyes, and she credited Ivy for tempering his anger. “Where
were you? We called and called. We finally had to rearrange our pictures
 
—”

“I’m so sorry.” She grabbed Ivy’s hand, caught for a moment in the radiance of her new sister-in-law. Ivy wore a simple diamond necklace, a strapless taffeta gown, and with her red hair tucked up on her head, she looked like a fairy tale. “You’re gorgeous.”

“I know,” Darek said.

Ivy blushed. “We were worried. Are you okay?”

“I was dipping strawberries and lost track of time
 
—I’m so sorry!”

“That’s okay.” Ivy leaned in and kissed Grace on the cheek. “I knew I could trust you with an amazing dinner.”

The guests had started to spill out of the sanctuary.

“I’m so sorry I missed the wedding
 
—”

But Ivy wasn’t listening.

“I’ll see you at the reception,” Grace said and headed back to the parking lot before Eden could track her down.

Yeah, that wouldn’t be pretty.

But soon she’d wow them with her ravioli, impress them with the grilled chicken, stun them with the beautiful dipped strawberries
 
—

I knew I could trust you with an amazing dinner.
The Minneapolis Institute of Culinary Arts didn’t know what they were missing. Tonight Grace had prepared a dinner that would make everyone forget she never had any formal training. She didn’t need cooking school to go places.

And up here, one great party led to word of mouth across the county. She didn’t even have to make up business cards.

Grace spied the curl of smoke as she turned onto Main Street. Stomped the gas as she tracked its source.

The folk school.

No.

But her timing was finally perfect as she skidded into the parking lot, right behind the Deep Haven volunteer fire department.

Maxwell Sharpe wasn’t going down without a fight.

“Okay, listen, Evan. Your sister isn’t doing a good job of blocking around the end, so when I hand the ball off to you, I want you to run straight toward the big oak. Jenness and I will block for you. You just have to outrun a
girl
.”

“But, Uncle Max, Lola is older than me, and she’s faster. And she hits. And trips. And bites.” Evan stared up at him, his blue eyes huge in his head.

Max curled an arm around his seven-year-old second cousin, once removed, although everyone under the age of eighteen was referred to as a nephew or niece, regardless of the official tree ranking. “You don’t want to let Uncle Brendon win again, do you? He wins every year. Isn’t it time to take him down?” He glanced over to where his older brother huddled with his own cadre of extended relatives, ages six to twelve, ready to draw blood.

Two of Max’s linemen had gone in to use the bathroom; only one had emerged. The five-year-old had found a frog and was busy terrorizing one of the toddlers. And his defensive end, nine-year-old Jenness, his secret weapon, lay on the ground staring at the sky, having already whined through the last huddle about her skinned knee.

Where was the fight in the Sharpe family line?

“I’m hungry,” Evan started.

“One touchdown, pal. We just need one. Then we’ll get lunch.”

This put a fire in his nephew’s eye, and as his meager team lined up, Max pointed at Brendon. “You’re going down.”

A moment later, he lay on his back, Lola and three of her cousins on top of him, Brendon laughing. The football Max had lost in the sack. He pushed up, grabbed Lola, and tickled her into the grass, reaching for Daniel and Evan, sandwiching them along with their sister as he gave them wet willies.

“Uncle Max, cut it out!” Jenness jumped on his back, apparently switching sides to protect her generation.

Max heard Brendon laughing behind him, no help at all.

Well, he could pin all his nephews and nieces with the joy swilling through him today. A perfect, blue-skied family picnic; the storm clouds had bumpered their way around the Sharpes’ Wisconsin homestead, hanging just over the horizon but holding back the deluge and allowing the extended family a jolly day of reunion.

He’d spent hours towing one relative after another behind the wakeboarding ski boat that he kept moored at his grandfather’s lake place, then took a turn on skis himself, letting Brendon pull him around Diamond Lake.

So he’d shown off, just a little. Max had victory sluicing through his veins after the last two months. Even though the Blue Ox hadn’t made it all the way to the Stanley Cup, he’d earned himself a slew of impressive stats as their right wing, and
Hockey Today
magazine planned on running a glossy centerfold feature including him in the “Hot Shots of the Season.” They’d even hinted at the cover.