Beach Wedding (8 page)

“You want us to break up?” Pixie looks confused.

“No, don’t worry,” Marcie soothes her. “It’s
just like the costume ball last year, remember? You and Olivia both
came dressed as slutty sloths, and had that big fight and fell in the
chocolate fountain. But we’d planned it all along.”

“Oh.” Pixie brightens. “I can do that. It was fun.
Like real acting.”

“Exactly!” Marcie cheers. “You got that, Clyde?”

“Huh?” Clyde looks spacey. “Oh, yeah, whatever.”
He yawns. “I think it’s time for my disco nap.”

“Just a few more things.” I can see Marcie speaking
through gritted teeth, and surprisingly, I feel a little sympathetic.
I’m exhausted after a week, but she’s been trying to
corral this pair into action for a few years now.

Pixie raises her hand.

“Yes?” Marcie asks.

“Have you found us someplace else to stay yet?” Pixie
looks around. “I told you, the feng shui in this place is all
wrong. My energy consultant skyped in, and she says my room is going
to be really unlucky.”

“And we can’t have that!” Clyde cracks, chortling.

Marcie takes a deep breath. She looks about ready to snap, so I
quickly speak up. “I have the number of a new developer,
Driftwood Realty. They have several luxury beach houses in the area.
I was going to scout as a possible wedding venue, but I can see if
they have any rentals available.”

Marcie exhales with a relieved look. “There you go. Ginny will
take care of it.” She gives me the ghost of a smile, so I take
my cue to leave before the fireworks start again.

“Call me if you have any big wedding ideas!”

It’s a relief to get a moment alone away from the madness. I
get in my car, and head out of town. True to his word, Theo drove my
vintage old convertible down from New York. It feels like bliss to be
back behind the steering wheel with the top down and the sun on my
face. The beach stretches beside the highway, a shimmering white
expanse leading down to the sapphire ocean.

As work assignments go, this isn’t too shabby. Which is what I
need to keep reminding myself every time Marcie makes a new
outrageous request, like organizing the entire town to do a flashmob
dance routine for the show trailer. But I’ve handled my share
of crazy brides in my time, and I’m confident I can keep a
level head, even if everyone around me seems to be losing theirs.

I pull out my notebook and check the address. The developer has a
show home office just a few miles south of town, so I drive over.
Hopefully, it’s the kind of place that can meet even Pixie’s
outlandish standards. I’m lucky, crashing at my aunts’
place, but I want to make sure the happy couple are comfortable, too.
I’ve learned that nothing makes a bride more agreeable than a
good night’s sleep on three hundred thread count sheets.

I reach the address and turn off the highway. At the end of a short
driveway the house rears up, an incredible modern design with a whole
wall of glass looking out across the bay. It looks like it belongs in
Architectural Digest, a sharp contrast to Pelican Key’s usual
rustic charm.

I feel a shiver of excitement, the way I always do when a piece of
the puzzle falls into place. Pixie and Clyde are going to love this
place, and, maybe more importantly, Marcie will, too.

I park and get out. There’s no sign for an office or where to
go, so I climb the back steps to the main floor. “Hello?”
I call, looking around for a bell. The door is open, so I push it
wider and step inside.

Wow.

I take a breath. The living area is all open plan, modern and sleek,
but everything pales in comparison to the jaw-dropping view out of
that wall of glass. Ocean and sky stretch endlessly toward the
horizon. I stare, taking it in, until I hear a noise behind me.

“Sorry.” I turn, ready to introduce myself to the owner
of this incredible house. But my words fade on my lips.

It’s Luke.

“Ginny.” Luke looks as confused as I am. He’s
wearing worn faded jeans and a plain white T-shirt, with some rolled
up papers under his arm and a tool belt slung around his waist. He
looks way too good to be taking a girl by surprise. A face like that
should come with a warning. “What are you doing here?”

I scramble to pull it together. “You work for Driftwood
Properties?”

He gives a lopsided smile. “It’s my company. I studied
architecture, in the end. Now I design and develop luxury
properties.”

“That’s… amazing.” I’m seriously
impressed. Every inch of this property looks perfect and thoughtfully
planned. “Wait, those other houses further up the shore. Are
they yours, too?”

He nods. “I built them a couple of years ago. They got snapped
up the minute they hit the market. Now there’s a waiting list
as long as my arm.”

“Wow,” I say again, still thrown. “This is
amazing. Really, Luke, you’ve got a great talent.”

“Thanks.” He pauses and shoves his hands in the front
pockets of his jeans. “So what can I do for you?”

I remember the last time we spoke, and feel a flush on my cheeks. “I,
umm, I need a house. For my clients, Pixie and Clyde. Remember them?”

Luke chuckles. “How could I forget?”

I smile too. “Well, they’re going stir crazy in the inn,
so we need a place for them to stay for the rest of filming. Another
three, four weeks maybe?”

He nods. “That could work. I keep this place as a show home for
clients, but if you need something move in ready, it’s pretty
much good to go. You want a tour?” he asks.

“Sure, I’d love to see it.”

Luke shows me to the kitchen, with the gleaming concrete countertops
and stainless steel appliances. “I try and build around the
views,” he says. “You should be able to see the ocean
from every point in the house.”

“Even the bathrooms?” I crack.

“You bet.” Luke takes me downstairs and shows me into the
master suite. Just like upstairs, there’s an amazing glass wall
looking out across the ocean. I can see massive walk in closets, and
a modern four-poster bed. It’s like something from a magazine.

“They’re going to love this place,” I say, a touch
of envy in my voice. “I forget how much space you have down
here. My place in New York is barely big enough to squeeze a sofa,
let alone all this.”

“There are some perks to small town living.”

I check if that’s a pointed note in his voice, but Luke’s
expression is still relaxed.

“Come in here. This is my favorite spot.” Luke shows me
to the bathroom. It’s tiled in gorgeous pale marble, and right
under the windows is a deep soaking tub that’s more like a
small pool.

“You’re kidding me,” I gape. “It’s like
you’re actually swimming in the ocean!” I look around
again. “I can’t believe you built all of this.”

“Me and my crew,” he corrects modestly.

“You know what I mean. You had the vision, and you brought it
to life.” I look at him, so impressed by the man he’s
become. The old Luke was always just happy to hang out, take things
easy, and let life pass him by. He never seemed to understand my
ambition, or that hunger to make more of my life. But here he is now,
the head of a successful company, with a real skill and vision. “You
should be proud of yourself. I bet your dad was.”

Luke looks away. “Yeah, I think so. He helped me with the plans
for this place,” he adds, his voice quiet. “It was always
our dream to build it together. But I guess he’ll never know I
finished.”

Before I can stop myself, I place a gentle hand on his arm. “He
knows.”

Luke looks up, sadness in his eyes that I know all too well. I’ve
been carrying that absence ever since my own parents passed. Out of
everyone, Luke was always the one who helped me the most when I was
missing them. He knew when to crack a joke and lift my spirits, and
when to just be there, silent and loving, to help me through.

He swallows, and then slowly steps away. My hand drops. “So,
you think you’ll take it?” Luke says, and clears his
throat. “It’s ten thousand a week.”

“The production will take care of it,” I nod, wishing I
could say something else. “Thanks.”

Luke heads back upstairs. I follow, wracking my brains for something
else to say. Should I mention the kiss, or should I just follow his
lead and act like it never happened?

I’m saved from having to decide. Upstairs, a bright looking
young woman is waiting with a stack of papers in her hand and a phone
under her ear. “Yes, he’s right here,” she says.
“Luke? It’s the plumbing guy.”

He gives me a rueful look. “I gotta take this. Just leave your
details with Gracie here, and we’ll get this fixed up. Rental
agreement,” he mouths to Gracie as he takes the phone and
stride over to the windows. “No, Bill, you’re killing me
on this…”

“Hello?” Gracie pulls me back. “I have the
paperwork right here.”

“Sure,” I say, turning away from the sight of him against
the ocean, illuminated by the midday sun. “Whatever you need.”

Instead of driving straight back into bedlam, I take a detour down
the coast. I find myself driving to that spot Luke and I always used
to park, the secluded place where the woods and marshland meet the
water. I hope it hasn’t been razed over for some hotel to
build, but to my relief, it’s still deserted. Nothing but a
cluster of pelicans and a swaying palm for company as I park, turn
the radio off, and look out across the bay.

Luke’s a man now.

In my mind, he’s always been frozen as that easy-smiled,
charming boy of eighteen. Now, I can see ten years have made their
changes. Not just physical – his shoulders are broader, that
tanned face more weathered with the stubble – but the way he
carries himself, too. There’s a new confidence, but a quiet
maturity, like he’s at ease in his own skin.

Losing his dad must have been a terrible blow, but he seems to have
made it through all right, building the business and a life for
himself. I told him his father would be proud, but I am, too. I
always knew he was capable of doing great things. I always tried to
tell him, but he just took that as a sign I didn’t think he was
good enough yet.

I let out a wistful sigh. We sure made a mess of things back then,
and I was the one to carry most of the blame. But we didn’t
know any better, two kids so swept up in each other they didn’t
know how to steer that steady course. I’ve been telling myself
for ten years now that passion like the kind we shared was bound to
go down in flames, but coming back here, seeing him so settled, it
makes my heart ache with the terrible question:

What if I’d never left at all?

It could be me that Luke comes home to every night, me curled up
beside him for a sunset drink. Talking about our days, laughing and
kissing the way we used to. And then, later, heading off to bed…

I force my thoughts away from that king-sized bed at the house. It’s
all just make-believe, I know. Even if I’d stuck around longer,
never made that midnight drive out of town, we wouldn’t be the
people we are now. Luke would have driven me crazy with his laziness
and carefree attitude, and I would have felt my frustrations build,
itching for a freedom I needed to taste for myself before it could be
sated.

But still, the ‘what if’s circle like gulls, calling
their echoes into the wind. Maybe it would be easier if I’d
fallen in love like that again, but my dating life since leaving
Pelican Key Cove has been nothing to write home about. I didn’t
really date in college, still too raw and heartbroken about what I’d
left behind, and then the whole New York scene just seemed too fast
and polished for me. Guys would keep one eye on the door and the
other on their phone in case something better came along. Or, worse,
the endless parade of first dates where you have nothing in common
and just awkward silence to fill until one of you finally calls for
the check.

Love was real. I saw it every day in my work. Couples so crazy about
each other they would have eloped that minute rather than wait
another day. Couples who had found love after other, broken
relationships. Couples re-affirming their commitment after thirty,
forty, even fifty years together. After seeing all that devotion up
close, it felt like a lie to meet someone for casual drinks, or hook
up without any real connection. So I focused on my job instead,
dreaming of the day when I would feel that chemistry, that passion
again.

The closest I came was the six months I spent with a guy called
James, a good-natured lawyer who didn’t mind me working
evenings and weekends on a new client’s wedding. He was sweet
and good to me, so I kept trying, thinking that maybe our connection
was something that would develop naturally over time. But the months
passed, and there was still something missing between us: that
friction, that spark. I liked him just fine, but that was as far as
it went. I felt like I was going through the motions, pretending to
be the perfect couple at his company dinners and my friends’
events, and all the while knowing that this wasn’t real love.

After him, I decided I wouldn’t try to force it. Love would
arrive for me in its own time, and meanwhile, I had plenty to keep me
busy. Sure, I would feel that empty pang every time I saw my clients
kiss at the end of the aisle, and wake up on Sunday mornings wishing
I had someone in bed with me to snuggle and share the newspapers
with. But you can train yourself to ignore anything if you try hard
enough.

Now that ache returns a hundred times stronger.

I take another breath and start the engine. There’s no use
dwelling over what might have been. I’ll just do what I always
have done: focus on the love that is possible. Pixie and Clyde, and
their perfect wedding.

*

Back at the ranch, I pull up to find a production van parked next to
my aunt’s truck.