Page 44 of That Reilly Boy
Hayden glances at the display on his smartwatch and frowns before sliding his phone out of his pocket. “I’m sorry, but I need to step out and take this.”
I nod, and as soon as the door closes behind him, Sherry leans across the counter. She looks like she’s going to tell me a secret, but there’s nobody else in the shop and Mom’s out back, so the closeness feels unnecessary. “What’s going on, Cara?”
“He gets a lot of business calls. I don’t think he’ll be very long.”
She blows out an annoyed breath. “Like I care about his phone calls. The last time I saw you—which was maybe last week—you weren’t dating anybody and now you’re in here picking out a bouquet to hold while you walk down the aisle with a Reilly?”
“We reconnected online and have been talking for a while,” I say, wishing I didn’t have to lie to this woman, who’d been an honorary aunt for most of my life. At least repeating the lie multiple times is making it roll a little more smoothly off my tongue. “It’s not as sudden as it appears.”
She makes a sound that’s a little bit of agreement mixed with a whole lot of skepticism. The way she’s staring at me makes me squirm, but I can’t look away and I just hope my cheeks don’t look as warm as they feel.
Then she laughs. “Honestly? I don’t care one way or the other, as long as you know what you’re doing and whatever that is gets her out of that overblown money pit.”
The words stun me, and the realization I’m not alone in knowing my mother needs to be set free of the house she’s lived in since her marriage almost brings tears to my eyes. Even though I can’t tell her the truth, I appreciate having an ally in Gin’s best friend.
She goes on, seemingly oblivious to my reaction. “I keep telling her there’s a house right up the road from me coming up for sale soon, and it would be perfect for her. And your future husband has the means to repair your house, so it’s a win for everybody.”
Sherry moved into the fairly new 55+ community on the outskirts of Sumac Falls after her divorce. The houses are small, but cute, and the idea of having a property management company doing all the groundskeeping and maintenance for my mother that I’m currently struggling with makes my knees weak.
“I don’t know how many times I’ve told her she’d be so much happier there,” I say.
“Mmhmm. But her excuse is that she can’t sell the only home you’ve ever known out from under you.”
I’d bang my head against the counter, but it’s glass and I can’t afford to replace it. “She actually says that out loud?”
“Every time I bring it up.” Sherry shrugs. “And, of course, the promise she made to Marcus.”
“Right. That.”
“Unfortunately, she told everybody about it in the days after he died, so I think that, not only would she feel like she let Marcus down, but everybody in town would know it.” She shakes her head. “Trust me, I’ve tried. But it doesn’t matter now because she’ll be able to sell the house to you and your husband, so it’ll stay in the family. Promise kept and problem solved.”
I’m saved from having to respond to that by the door chime going off. Hayden’s back, and a moment later, Gin appears from the back room. She’s carrying a few long stem roses in a variety of shades and a bunch of baby’s breath, but nothing else. It’s not exactly original, but she might have been going for classic.
“I didn’t ask if you have a venue yet. I know you live in Boston,” she says to Hayden, somehow managing to drown the name of the city in disdain, “but I assume you’ll be getting married here in Sumac Falls since your families are here.”
“We’re getting married here, Mom,” I say tersely, because there’s no chance Gin hasn’t already heard we got the marriage license and she just wanted to take a dig at Hayden for choosing city life. “At the gazebo in the square.”
“Perfect,” Sherry says, pulling a binder out from under the counter and flipping through laminated pages before turning it to face them. “We have a standard arrangement for weddings at the town gazebo. If you like it, you can just individualize the flowers.”
I look down at the photo and a tingling sensation spreads over my body. It’s gorgeous—splashes of colorful flowers in baskets on the three wooden steps. A basket hanging in the center of the archway, with smaller baskets in each corner. Flowery vines connect each of the baskets and then trail down the wooden supports. All the way around the gazebo, there’s a basket centered between each upright with the same flowers trailing down over the white wood.
It’s beautiful and somehow seeing these very-wedding-flowers photos makes this real in a way the official document from town hall didn’t. I’m really doing this. I need a dress. And a bouquet. And Mel needs a dress.
A wedding cake.
Champagne.
Are we feeding our guests? We don’t even have a real guest list, just a list of family members who hate each other.
“Cara? Do you like them?” His hands move to my waist, holding my body against his while he rests his chin on my shoulder to look at the photo. It probably looks to Gin and Sherry like he’s being affectionate, but I suspect he’s trying to keep me from sliding to the ground and putting my head between my knees. I nod.
“You can swap more formal—elegant, I guess—flowers in, but most people who get married at the gazebo are looking for summer joy,” Sherry says.
“We like this look.” He pauses, maybe waiting for me to say something, before forging on. “Can you make a bouquet to match?”
“Of course. And a boutonniere for you?”
“Yes. I’ll be wearing a suit, not a tux, and it’ll be pinned.” He lets go of me then, his fingers trailing over my waist for a moment, and a second later hands Sherry a credit card. “You can put this on file, for anything the bride and her mother want.”
