Page 45 of The Choices I've Made
“We haven’t. Terri just thinks a fall wedding is the best kind of wedding.”
“Any wedding where I don’t have to sit around, sweating like a sinner in church, is a mighty fine wedding to me.”
Ignoring her comment, Jake pressed on, “And why is it that you and Dean haven’t set a date? Cold feet?”
My cheeks reddened in anger. “My toes are perfectly warm, thank you. And, if you haven’t noticed, we’ve both been a little busy recently.”
“Seems to me like you’re waiting on something,” he said in a mocking tone. “Maybe a sign from God?”
“Shut up, Jake,” I responded, feeling like he’d touched a little too close to home.
To be honest, I didn’t know why we hadn’t set a date. This summer would mark the two-year anniversary of our engagement.
Two years, and nothing planned.
Surely, that wasn’t normal, but whenever we sat down to work out the details, we’d get sidetracked. Too many guests at the inn, or something had broken on one of the fishing vessels, and he’d had to run.
Two years.
“I’m sure we’ll figure it out soon,” I said more as an assurance to myself than anyone else.
“Absolutely,” Jake said, clearly not convinced.
Terri moved about the kitchen, quietly observing us.
Being quiet wasn’t usually one of Terri’s abilities, and it only made the tension between us rise.
Would this day ever end?
After two more stops that day, Jake put his foot down.
Or made me put mine up.
Driving back to the inn, he was quiet. Reflective even.
I almost asked him what was on his mind, but that was the old Molly coming through. The one who still believed love could overcome anything, no matter what obstacle stood in its way.
And then Jake had proven otherwise, walking away with no intentions of ever returning.
I’d become part of his recipe for disaster. Part of the place—our home—that had made him run.
By the time we reached the driveway to the inn, we had barely said two words to each other. I guessed our reunion was over.
“I’ll come around and help you,” he finally said, pulling the key from the ignition.
“No, it’s fine. I can manage.”
There was a slight pause in his movement, as if he were deciding whether it was worth it to argue. Whatever internal fight was going on in his head, he seemed to reach a conclusion, stepping out of the car without a single glance in my direction.
It was just as well.
By the time I hobbled into the house, he was long gone. Tucked in safely in the yellow room where he’d probably stay for the rest of the day.
Guessed I was cooking for one tonight. It was Mr. and Mrs. Lovell’s last night, so they’d most likely eat out. They both loved to tour the local restaurants. Using my metal sticks of death that Jake liked to call crutches, I managed to get all the way to the kitchen without incident.
“Stupid ankle,” I mumbled, hating myself for being dumb enough to fall down the stairs I’d been using since I could walk.
“You always were a bit of a klutz,” Jake said, stepping into the kitchen.
