Marrying the Wrong Man (21 page)

He narrowed his eyes on Morgan, whose smile looked shaky. Before he had a chance to say a word, someone tapped a glass.

The room quieted on an overpowering wave of shushes.

Morgan cleared her throat and glanced around the room. “I’d like to welcome everyone to Char-Grilled Bistro on a very special night. Chef Charlie Cramer … ” she looked at him, “has been away from the kitchen for almost two weeks. As far as I’m concerned, that’s way too long. And I intend to make sure that never happens again.”

In the middle of a crowded room, all Charlie could hear was his breathing punctuated by the tapping of Morgan’s shoes as she walked toward him.

“You are not leaving Harmony Falls, Charlie.” She lifted his hands and laced her fingers with his. “You’re staying in this town, in this restaurant, and in that house.”

He opened his mouth to argue—he was going with her. But her next words ran right over his. “And I’m staying, too … with you … if you’ll have me.” She dropped to one knee. He could’ve heard a pin drop if his heartbeat wasn’t echoing in his ears. “You’re the only man I’ve every loved. You’re the only man I ever will. Marry me?”

Whoops and whistles shattered the silence, as Charlie pulled her into his arms. All the times he thought something weird was going on … he never would’ve expected this.

Not in a million years.

“Yeah,” he said into her ear. “I’ll marry you anytime, anywhere. But, when we’re alone tonight, you’re going to have to explain exactly what happened here.”

She laughed and he kissed her.

When they came up for air, he glanced around the room at the smiling faces. “So am I really cooking for all you people while the Mitchell brothers wait on you?”

More than one person shouted, “Hell, yeah!”

“Then let’s get this show on the road.”

And for the first time since Char-Grilled Bistro opened, the chef didn’t complain about special orders and substitutions.

Especially when a little blonde girl asked for macaroni and cheese.

• • •

Three weeks after Morgan dropped to one knee inside the bistro, she donned a vintage wedding dress, pale pink lace and tulle, that Alice had stashed in the theater’s costume closet. As she peeked out of Charlotte’s bedroom blinds at the backyard tent streaming with ribbons and rose garlands Aunt Phyllis helped her make, Morgan felt overwhelmingly blessed.

Despite her mother’s recent arrest.

Even when she’d heard the news, she hadn’t felt like running away from who she was or what people might think of her. Why waste the effort? All the turmoil of the last three years led right back here anyway. It led her right back to where she was supposed to be.

She wasn’t going to let anything chase her away from it again.

She sniffed.

“Do not cry and ruin that makeup.” Alice’s silver-gray pencil skirt and bolero jacket glistened in the sunlight streaming in from the window.

“I won’t. I promise.” Morgan dabbed beneath her eyes. “At least not until I officially say, ‘I do.’”

Alice walked closer and smoothed the spaghetti strap on Morgan’s right shoulder. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

She smoothed the other strap. “You know, I always wanted a sister. I just never in a gazillion years would’ve thought I wanted you.”

The tears started up again, but Morgan kept them at bay with a roll of her eyes.

“You make my Charlie happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted in this whole wide world.” She tilted her head. “Except for Justin. I’m really, really glad you wanted Charlie instead.”

Morgan laughed. It was so damned warped it was funny.

They hugged as soft guitar music filtered in from the yard. It wouldn’t be long, now. She’d be Mrs. Charlie Cramer before this day was through.

“Are we ready?” Aunt Phyllis passed Charlotte to Alice and walked to Morgan. With makeup and hair fixed to compliment her ivory wrap dress, Phyllis’s transformation was shocking. She looked younger, happier, a bit like Morgan’s mother used to look, except Aunt Phyllis had a heart so big it illuminated the room.

“You look amazing,” Morgan said as she squeezed Aunt Phyllis’s hands.

“You do, too.” She leaned in and brushed the tip of her nose to Morgan’s. “And there’s a man out there in a tuxedo and cowboy boots who looks pretty darn good, too.”

That man was waiting beneath an arbor just beyond the white reception tent. Charlie Cramer in a tuxedo.
Mm, mm, mm.
With one smile, he took her breath away.

Her promise not to cry was a big, fat joke.

Alice and Charlotte walked the grass runner to the final strains of “Somewhere over the Rainbow.” Every so many steps, Charlotte tossed a handful of rose petals as if they were chicken feed. When a bird landed on a nearby folding chair, she attempted to bolt. But, Alice caught her, and lifted her into her arms amid laughter.

Those tears kept falling. With a smile, Morgan gave up trying to hold them in. She was entitled to every single one. This day was a long time coming.

The guitar music changed to “In My Life” by the Beatles, a song that resonated with her soul. Family and friends who had gathered around the arbor turned to face her. A lump of tears lodged in her throat.

“Here we go.” Aunt Phyllis tightened her grip.

Sun blanketed the rich green grass, and a soft breeze ruffled the trees and fluttered Morgan’s dress and hair. She walked slow and strong, trying to take it all in. She wanted to remember
this
wedding march.

There were smiles everywhere. Mark and Corbin. Mrs. Mitchell. Will and Kory. Hannah from the bistro, too. The small crowd brimmed with friendly faces. She never would’ve believed this was possible three months ago.

Her pace picked up when she looked at Charlie again. God, she loved him. As nice as it was to have all these other people here, he was all that mattered. Well, him and that little girl.

Charlotte waved as she bounced in Auntie Alice’s arms. Justin was there, too, beside Charlie. Funny, he’d been waiting for her at the end of her last aisle walk, too.

She liked him much better in the role of best man.

Her gaze wandered back to Charlie. “I love you,” she mouthed.

His smile could’ve outshone the sun. That man in a tuxedo, wearing cowboy boots, put every other man to shame.

She broke down again, blinking frantically, brushing tears off her cheeks when Charlotte reached for him, and he pulled her into his arms. They were going to be a family. A real family.

As the music faded, she took her place beneath the arbor. Aunt Phyllis grabbed Charlie’s hand. For a moment, the people she loved most in the world were all connected. Then, Aunt Phyllis joined Morgan and Charlie’s hands and with kisses to both their cheeks, backed away.

That was the last clear thing Morgan remembered. Time accelerated. The ceremony whizzed by with Charlotte in Charlie’s arms, and her hand in his.

After they said their vows and shared a kiss, the justice of the peace announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you, the Cramer family.”

Even a fleeting thought about her parents couldn’t wipe the smile off Morgan’s face.

The Cramer family.
She didn’t think she’d ever heard more beautiful words.

As evening descended, white lights illuminated the reception tent and the delicious scent of Charlie’s recipes, cooked by Corbin, wafted on the summer breeze.

They danced to acoustic guitar, laughed with guests, and when Charlotte finally crashed in Morgan’s arms, snuck away as a family.

“I can’t believe you’re sneaking away from your own wedding reception,” Charlie teased as they walked down the hall toward Charlotte’s room. “What will people think of you?”

She grinned. “Me? What about you?”

“Oh, I’m not sneaking away. I’m just going to help my
wife
tuck in our little girl.”

“Well then, I’m not sneaking away, either. I’m just going to put my little girl to bed—with help from my
husband
—and then I’m going to watch her sleep and count my blessings until her Aunt Phyllis comes in to lay with her. That poor woman is exhausted, too.” Morgan chuckled. “What a day.” A storybook day.

She eased Charlotte to the mattress and watched while Charlie pulled the covers over her. Blessing count:
two
. When Aunt Phyllis entered the room, Morgan counted
three
. Then, Charlie led her by the hand into the kitchen, where he brought her to face the window overlooking the back yard.

He wrapped his arms around her waist. “Look at that. Those are people celebrating our wedding day.”

It sounded too good to be true. She lifted her lips to his jaw and kissed him. “Today was absolutely perfect. Like a dream come true.”

He tightened his grip around her and nuzzled her neck. “My very favorite part was watching you walk down that aisle, knowing you were just steps away from being mine—forever.”

She tipped her neck to one side, giving him better access, and reached behind her to thread fingers through his hair. “Yeah,” she sighed. “That was very good.”

“What was your very favorite part?” He dragged his lips across her neck.

“This part.” She chuckled in between kisses. “Although, I do like having a last name I can be proud of. That feels really good. And the chocolate wedding cake. That was amazing as usual. The flower girl was exceptionally cute and well-behaved. God, there were so many very favorite parts.”

“Pick
one
,” he whispered in her ear.

“Fine. If I have to pick only one … it would be proving my parents wrong.”

He turned her around and cupped her face. “About what?”

“About you.” She smiled. “You weren’t the wrong man for me, Charlie. You’ve been the right man all along.” She lifted on her toes and brought her lips to within inches of his. “I’m so glad I finally decided to do something about it.”

Elley Arden is a born and bred Pennsylvanian who has lived as far west as Utah and as far north as Wisconsin. She drinks wine like it’s water (a slight exaggeration), prefers a night at the ballpark to a night on the town, and believes almond English toffee is the key to happiness. Elley writes contemporary romances for Crimson Romance. For a complete list of Elley’s books, visit
www.elleyarden.com.

What was it about weddings that made perfectly sane people act like lunatics?

Kory pressed her bare back to the padded chair, adjusted the wide black belt strangling her ribcage just below her breasts, and fluffed the ruby red crinoline skirt, trying to get comfortable at the bridal table. She wouldn’t be caught dead in this dress for any occasion other than her best friend’s wedding. And now that the beautiful wedding part was over, Kory was subjected to this…people she’d known her whole life bumping and grinding all over the dance floor.

The principal?
Kory cringed as she watched Russell Stonewall hike up the polyester fabric of his pants so he could squat lower as some song from an era long before her birth urged him to shake his booty. She looked away, scanning the crowd for a reasonable distraction only to find her mother wiggling her breasts and strutting around Kory’s rhythmically challenged father. This was so not reasonable. Kory pushed fingers to her lips to halt the dry heave that arose.

The bride and groom danced on the outskirts of the chaotic circle. Alice floated on a pure white puff of crinoline as she sang the song word for word to Justin, one hand wrapped around his ruby red tie. He was laughing at the performance, and Kory found her lips twitching, too. God, those two were made for each other, and seeing them happy was worth any amount of discomfort Kory had to endure being back in her hometown.

“Your mother can groove.” The deep voice added too many ooh’s to groove as it slithered down the table, invading Kory’s personal space.

She crossed her arms and tossed Will Mitchell a humorless look. She’d been trying to avoid him all weekend, but was failing miserably. They’d shared a rehearsal followed by a dinner, and a two-hour photo shoot followed by a cramped limousine ride. It was damn near impossible for the maid of honor to avoid the best man.

What were the odds her best friend would marry the brother of her high school nemesis? Kory had happily avoided Will for the past twelve years, which had been surprisingly easy since high school graduation what with her stifling training schedule and hundreds of miles between them. She’d only come home for the occasional holiday, having parents who preferred she stay in Chicago and conquer the medical world. Alice and Justin’s whirlwind courtship hadn’t left much time for socializing when Kory had been home, but she was certainly getting her fill of Will now.

“What’s wrong, Doc? Too much education to appreciate a little dancing?”

No. Kory just had no desire to look like a fool shimmying in a disco ball-lit fish bowl. She didn’t get the allure of participating in something she wasn’t very good at. It seemed like wasted time. Not that sitting here, trying not to be dragged into meaningful conversation with the smuggest asshole she’d ever met was any more productive.

“I don’t see you up there,” she said.

“True.”

Silence filtered between them along with a sense of satisfaction that she’d shut him up so quickly. He’d never been easy to beat. Back in high school, Will had managed every science fair win; every standardized test high score; and the pièce de résistance, valedictorian. Try as she might, she could never top him. She’d been a merit scholar and the most academically decorated female graduate in the history of Harmony Falls High School.

“What more could you want, honey?” her mother used to ask.

Juvenile or not, Kory had just wanted to beat him. She didn’t want her accomplishments quantified by her gender. She didn’t want to be the best female anything. She wanted to be the best. Period.

She blinked, and those scenes from the past dissipated. Her medical degree trumped his MBA, didn’t it?

Maisy Carmichael wrapped a boa around Gilbert Hoover’s neck and pressed her fuchsia-clad body against him. Gross didn’t begin to describe it. Kory sighed and reached a sweaty hand to her head, digging at a bobby pin Maisy had cranked into place several hours ago. Painful—this whole damn thing was painful. Minus Alice being happy, of course. And that was what Kory had to remember, not that she was uncomfortable in this dress and ridiculous hairstyle, not that people in this town had no shame when it came to dancing, and not that she was sharing a table with the man who, after all these years, still managed to drive her nuts. It was like some bizarre switch got tripped when she was in his proximity, one that managed to warp her love for healthy competition into something crazed. Heck, she’d about clobbered the guy with her bouquet when he’d managed to win that dumb bridal party scavenger hunt in the limo on the way here. It had been awfully suspicious that he just happened to have a penny in his pocket from the year the bride was born. Was he really that good or was he just that lucky?