Wind Chime Wedding (A Wind Chime Novel Book 2) (5 page)

Colin’s brows rose.

“I mean…” Becca blushed, looking away. “You know what I mean.”

“No.” He smiled, enjoying himself. “I’m not sure I do.”

“I just meant…” Becca’s hand fluttered out in front of her, trying to wave him off. “Everyone knows you’ve been dating a lot of women lately.”

“Everyone?”

“Everyone on the island,” she said quickly. “You know how fast word spreads around here.”

Colin watched a telltale shade of pink spread across her cheeks. She was trying to play it off like she’d heard the gossip in passing, but he had a feeling she wouldn’t be blushing like that if she hadn’t been keeping track on her own.

He would have thought, with her upcoming wedding and impending move, his love life would have been the last thing on her mind.

Apparently not…

Becca picked at a piece of construction paper stuck to the sleeve of her purple sweater. “What kind of event is it?”

“It’s a dinner.” He leaned back against the piling. For someone who was getting married in three weeks, she seemed awfully distracted.

“Is it fancy or casual?”

“Casual.”

“How casual?” Her gaze flickered back up to his. “I mean…should I wear jeans or a cocktail dress?”

Colin’s lips curved as his gaze combed down the front of her crewneck sweater, ankle length chinos, and black ballet flats, then all the way back up. He was beginning to think Saturday was going to turn into a very interesting evening. “Wear something red.”

W
ear something red?

Becca walked into her house, dropped her purse on the floor, and leaned back against the door. What was she doing letting Colin flirt with her? And what was she thinking telling him she had a hard time believing he had trouble finding a date?

She might as well have a sign stamped to her forehead saying she was attracted to him. Scrubbing her hands over her face, she felt the cool band of her engagement ring brush against her skin. Her hands dropped quickly back to her sides.

A rush of guilt swept over her as she took in the half-finished wedding projects scattered throughout the living room—material and thread for the ring bearer pillow she’d insisted on sewing by hand, spools of lavender ribbon that still needed to be cut and tied around the dozens of glass jars that would line the aisle to the altar, a growing collection of classic love poems that she was hoping to draw inspiration from to write her vows.

Reaching down, she picked up a crocheted afghan that had fallen off the sofa and draped it back over the piece of furniture. She should call Colin and tell him that something had come up, that she had just remembered a previous commitment, and that she wasn’t free after all.

The sound of her neighbors’ voices drifted in from the street. Their muffled conversations were punctuated by the faint hiss of a hose as Gladys Schaefer watered her flowerbeds and the low growl of Randy Cole’s diesel engine as he eased his truck into the driveway next door.

Randy’s oldest child was supposed to start kindergarten at Heron Island Elementary next year. How many times had his wife, Kate, come over worried about how their painfully shy daughter was going to fit in?

She would be eaten alive in a bigger class.

Didn’t Becca owe it to her friends and neighbors to do everything she could to try to save the school before she left?

It wasn’t like she was going to get another invitation to meet the governor face-to-face.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed off the door and made her way through the cluttered living room to her first floor bedroom. She was going to that dinner on Saturday. She was going to talk to the governor. And she was going to find a way to convince him to help them save the school.

She opened the door to her closet, catching a few sweaters as they tumbled down from the overstuffed top shelf. At some point over the next few weeks, she really needed to go through all the clothes in this closet and decide which ones she wanted to keep. Her best friend, Grace Callahan, had been threatening to stage an intervention for years.

Snagging the sleeve of her favorite Salisbury University sweatshirt off the floor, she lifted it up and looped it over a hook on the back of the door.

She had never been very good at getting rid of things.

She wasn’t a hoarder…just sentimental.

Satisfied that nothing else was going to fall out of the closet, at least for the next few minutes, she started pulling possible outfits off the hanging rack and tossing them onto the bed. When she found what she was looking for—a pale yellow wrap dress with the tag still on—she laid it over her arm and knelt down to search for a pair of shoes.

She spotted a pair of wedge sandals buried beneath a rubber boot in the back and started to reach for them, but paused when a pair of red heels caught her eye.

Wear something red.

Her pulse skittered at the memory of those cool blue eyes combing down her body.

It didn’t mean anything, she told herself. He probably looked at all women that way.

Her hand hovered over the wedge sandals. The safe choice. The right choice. But those red heels were brand new. She hadn’t even worn them yet. And they would look great with this dress.

Her fingers inched toward the red heels.

They were just
shoes
, she rationalized. Colin probably wouldn’t even notice if she wore them. And if he did…well, then they could get a good laugh out of it.

It wasn’t like she was wearing them for him.

She needed to look her best for the governor. Definitely not for—

“Becca?”

Becca jerked her hand back. She twisted around, snagging the strap of a purse and the hanger it was attached to, and bringing them both toppling down onto her head. “Dad,” she said, relieved when she spotted the man in the doorway. “I didn’t even hear you come in.”

He walked over and untangled the wire hanger from her hair. “You’re jumpy today.”

“It’s been a long week.”

He set the hanger down and held out his hand, helping her to her feet. “I ran into Shelley out in the street. She seemed distracted, too. Is everything okay at work?”

Becca hesitated. She didn’t like keeping secrets from her father. He lived across the street and they saw each other almost every day, so even when she tried to keep something from him, he found out eventually. But she didn’t want to upset him with the news about the school. That building represented one of the last physical connections he still had to his wife, and she really didn’t want to reopen the old wound.

Besides, Colin had seemed fairly confident that the governor would be able to help them. There was no reason to worry her father yet. “Everything’s fine,” she assured him.

He glanced down at the dress in her arm and then looked over at the pile of clothes on the bed. “What’s all this?”

“I’m cleaning out my closet,” she said, opting for a half-truth. “I’m trying to decide what to keep and what to get rid of.”

He walked over, picking up a dress that had fallen on the floor. “Are you getting rid of all these?”

“No.” She took the dress from his hands and laid it back on the pile. “I’m just going through them.”

He picked up a delicate cream-colored wrap with tiny pink flowers embroidered into the edges. His weathered waterman’s hands held it gently, lovingly, like it would disappear if he let it go.

“I’m not getting rid of that, Dad,” Becca said softly. “I would never get rid of anything of Mom’s.”

He looked up at her. Even after all these years, she could still see the grief reflected in his light brown eyes. “You know I have room in my house if you need to store anything.”

“I know.” She took the wrap gently from his hands and hung it back up in the closet. Neither of them had ever been very good at getting rid of things. “Are you hungry?” she asked, changing the subject. “I think there’s some leftover fried chicken in the fridge.”

He nodded and she let out a breath as they walked out of the room and headed for the kitchen. She grabbed two sodas from the fridge and handed him one. “Why don’t you turn on the game and I’ll heat up dinner?” she suggested.

Pulling an Orioles frosty mug from the freezer, he poured his soda into it and wandered back out to the living room, rummaging through the cushions on the sofa for the remote control.

Becca watched him run through the familiar routine. Her father came over almost every night for dinner. That was all going to change in a few weeks.

What was he going to do when she left?

Who would he eat with? Who would feed him?

Sliding the chicken into the microwave, she reminded herself that her father was in his late fifties. He could take care of himself.

Then, why did she feel so guilty?

She scooped leftover mashed potatoes into a bowl and stole another glance back out at the living room. Her father had found the remote and was settling onto the sofa, flipping through the channels for the baseball game. He was wearing the same thing he always wore, a plain white T-shirt and faded bleach-stained khakis with sneakers so beat-up they looked like something he’d accidentally dredged up in one of his fishing nets.

“How was your day?” she asked over the voice of the announcer calling the plays of the game.

“Same as yesterday.”

The microwave beeped and she pulled the chicken out, popping the mashed potatoes in and resetting the timer.
Same as yesterday
meant that whatever her father had pulled out of the Bay today wasn’t coming anywhere close to what he needed to make ends meet.

It was still early in the season, but it seemed like every year the reports got worse. Retrieving the heated potatoes from the microwave, she filled their plates with food. She walked over to the sofa and set them down on the coffee table, just as her phone began to ring.

“This might be Tom,” she said, digging the phone out of her pocket and checking the screen. Sure enough… “Hey,” she said brightly, picking up the call.

“Hey,” Tom said. “Are you still coming to D.C. tonight?”

“Tonight?” Her brows pinched together. “No. I’m staying here this weekend.”

“You are?”

“Yes.” She threw a quick glance at her father. “It’s Easter…”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “I completely forgot about that.”

Becca covered the mouthpiece and smiled down at her father, pretending everything was fine. “I think I’ll make a salad,” she whispered as she headed back into the kitchen. As soon as she was out of earshot, she spoke back into the phone. “You forgot about Easter?”

“Things have been crazy here. A big case came in today. Everyone’s been called back into the office.”

He paused and Becca could hear him speaking to someone else in the office, another lawyer or an assistant maybe. Then she heard the sound of a door shutting. When he came back on the line, it was quieter in the background. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s a really big case. High profile client.”

It was always a big case, Becca thought. And the firm always took precedence, no matter what. “You’re not going to be tied up for the whole weekend, are you?”

“I don’t know. It’s possible.”

“Annie and Della are throwing a big party at the café on Sunday,” she protested.

“I know,” he said, and his voice sounded weary. “Look, Becca, you know I need to do whatever it takes right now. There’s a lot of competition to make partner this year. I’m doing this for us, remember?”

For us.

Becca knew how hard he worked. She knew he wanted to start a family as badly as she did. But, as he’d reminded her countless times, children were expensive. He wanted to make sure they were set up financially first.

How could she argue with that?

She heard more commotion in the background. “Do you want to call me back later? Something happened today and I’d really like to talk when you have time to—”

“Hang on, Becca. Hang on, just a second.”

She heard Tom’s office door open again. All the background noise from the hallway rushed back through the receiver. She held the phone away from her ear as he engaged in a lengthy discussion with whoever had barged in. When he finally came back on the line, the noise in the background was deafening.