Page 19 of Wisteria Winds
He stood in the center of what would become the gazebo, turning slowly to take in the view from all angles. This is where he would meet Danielle—his wife—and they would begin the next chapter of their lives together. The thought filled him with such a profound sense of rightness.
His phone buzzed with a text from Danielle.
Where are you? Morty’s looking everywhere, says he has urgent questions about wedding cake flavors.
Bennett smiled and typed back.
At the future gazebo site with Eddie, taking measurements for builders. Hide while you still can.
Her reply came a few seconds later.
Too late. He found me. We are debating the merits of lemon curd versus raspberry filling. Send help.
Laughing, Bennett put his phone back in his pocket and took one last look at the marked-out gazebo footprint before heading toward the center of the island.
As he walked, he calculated timelines and logistics, determined to create something truly special for his future wife.
The gazebo would be more than just a wedding venue. It would be his gift to her, to the island, and to their future together. And one day, he hoped to be sitting in that gazebo with their children—a place where they would make memories for years to come.
Morty paced back and forth with anxious energy as he crossed Dorothy’s living room. He kept checking his watch and felt like he had done it three times in the last two minutes.
“Oh, she’s late,” he fretted. “What if she’s changed her mind? What if she has decided to whisk Danielle away back to New York City for some big society wedding after all?”
Dorothy, elegantly arranged in her purple velvet chaise lounge, didn’t look up from her magazine.
“Oh, dear Morty, she’ll be here. Cecilia Wright is a woman who keeps her appointments. Plus, I don’t think she’s the type to kidnap her own daughter.”
“But it’s already ten past three. The florist’s samples will be wilting.”
“Calm yourself, darling. A proper entrance is always a little fashionably late.” She turned a page slowly in her magazine. “Besides, anticipation heightens the impact.”
Morty wasn’t convinced, but before he could say anything else, a crisp knock sounded at the door. He practically leapt to answer it.
Cecilia was standing on the porch, looking immaculate in cream linen pants and a coral-colored blouse.
“Dr. Wright, we were just?—”
“Cecilia, please,” she said, holding up her hand. “And I’m sorry for my tardiness. I was on a call with my publisher that ran longer than expected.”
“Not at all, you’re right on time,” Dorothy called from the chaise, taking a sip of her mimosa. “Morty simply arrived obscenely early, as is his habit.”
Cecilia crossed to Dorothy and extended her hand. “I wanted to properly introduce myself and tell you that I’ve admired your work for many years.”
Dorothy accepted the handshake. “The admiration is mutual. I’ve actually read some of your research papers.”
“You’ve read my research?” Cecilia said, pleasantly surprised.
“Oh, I make it a point to stay informed. Just because I played vapid socialites on screen doesn’t mean I actually am one. Although I am wearing a muumuu and drinking a mimosa in my velvet chaise,” she said, smiling slightly.
“Well, I would never assume you were one. In fact, I’ve always thought of your performances as showing remarkable intelligence beneath all that glamor.”
Morty watched the two formidable women size each other up. It was like watching two regal cats decide whether to share the same territory.
“Now then,” Cecilia said, “I understand we’re finalizing floral arrangements today.”
“Yes,” Morty said, clapping. He was happy to return to the agenda. He ran to the dining table where he had laid out various sample arrangements, color swatches, and more sketches.
“Now, the florist sent these for our approval. I am leaning toward the white roses with sea lavender and a touch of wisteria, of course.”
