The Very Thought of You (32 page)

“It's wonderful. It's so open. Once furnishings are in place, creating all kinds of cozy nooks, it should be very comfortable.”

“I thought so, too. That's why I've considered buying one.” He laughed. “I'll have to offer myself a pretty hefty discount, though.”

“You want to move here?”

“I've thought about it. I'm ready for something different. I've spent my whole life in the Marina District and Pacific Heights.”

Molly thought about his present apartment. They'd made love there. She'd given him more than her body there. She'd given him her heart.

“Yeah, I'd like to live down here for a while. If I'm going to do it, though, it had better be soon, before I get married. I suppose after I have a kid or two, it'll be suburbia for me.” He grinned. “Though maybe not. You never know. A nice Victorian, like your aunt's, might be in the offing.”

Nick is getting married.
Why did it come as such a shock? The shock was he'd remained single so long.

“Have you set a date?” She didn't want to know, but the nasty little trickster who squatted inside her brain screamed for the details.

“About moving?” He shook his head. “I haven't one hundred percent decided to relocate here.”

“No, I mean for your … wedding.”

“My wedding?” For a moment, confusion settled in his eyes. “Oh that. No, no date's been set. If it were up to me, we'd jump in the car and drive over to the courthouse and do it now. The woman I have in mind is pretty traditional, though. She'll probably want the whole big scene.”

I wouldn't.
Molly knew she'd be happy with a handful of people and the mayor officiating. Or even one of his minions. It would take less than nothing to make her happy if she had Nick.

He reached into his pocket and drew out a velvet pouch. He opened it and a ring slid out onto his palm.

Molly's eyes widened. The center stone was a rich green emerald embedded into a gold band and surrounded by a swirl of tiny diamonds.

“It's beautiful.” Emerald was one of her favorite stones, rich without too much glitz.

It was exactly what she would have wanted.

Nick held the ring out. “Here, try it on.”

“I can't.”

“Why not?”

This had to be his first engagement. Why ask her anything so silly, otherwise.

“Your … fiancée should be the first woman to wear the ring. I mean, after a while, she might let her girlfriends try it on. They would probably want to — I tried on my cousin's — but it shouldn't be that someone else wore it before … you know.” Why, in awkward situations, did she have to babble? She wished the concrete floor would crack open so she could jump head first into the crevasse.

“Molly, you're still the most stubborn woman I know.” He took her hand. He slipped the ring onto her finger before she could pull away. “I figured this was the right one for you.”

“Me?”

He took her face in both his hands and kissed her as deeply and as long as he'd done on the night they made love. Finally, they broke apart. “Maybe I should have asked you first if you still feel the same way about me.”

“Same … way?”

“You told me once you loved me. At least I thought you did.”

“You were supposed to forget anything I said … along those lines.”

“That's something a man doesn't forget. Not when he's in love with the woman who's saying it to him. I love you, too, Molly. More than I can ever show you. I want to marry you.”

A grin spread across Molly's face.

“I woke up Friday morning and realized, not for the first time, how empty my life was without you. I love you. I wanted to tell you then, but I didn't have a ring or even a plan. I was afraid if I called you, I'd just blurt it out. It was important to me that I ask you to marry me in a place that had meaning for us.” His eyes swept the room. “This is what brought us together.”

Molly's heart filled with the best kind of ache, and she blinked back a sudden spurt of tears. “I'm glad you waited.”

“I hope you haven't changed your mind.” He tipped her head back and gazed into her eyes.

The muscles in Molly's face cramped from holding a broad smile.

Nick took her in his arms. “I'm probably not going about this the right way.”

“Yes, you are.” Molly put her hands on his shoulders. A note left in the hollow of a tree would have worked if it contained a marriage proposal.

“Maybe I should get down on one knee.”

“That's not necessary.”

“Okay, then. We'll forget the bended knee and I'll just get right to the proposal. Will you marry me?”

Molly looked at the ring on her finger. So much happiness filled her heart. She could barely speak; though, she needed to find only one word. “Yes.”

It was Nick's turn to grin. Then he let out a long breath and followed it with a soft laugh.

Relief came in many guises, she supposed.

“Okay.” He kissed the tip of her nose.

“Nick, will you tell me you love me again?”

Without hesitation he said, “I love you. I love you. I — ”

“Don't say it again.”

“Why not?”

“I figure each ‘I love you' must have set you back … What do these lofts sell for?”

He shook his head.

“No, I'm serious. To give up three floors must have cost you plenty.”

“It brought me a better than good return. You.”

Tears glistened again in Molly's eyes. Happiness had a way of doing strange things to her.

“While we're on the subject, what do you think about living here? At least for a while. It's up to you. I'll do whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?”

“Absolutely and forever.”

The absolutely part she might stake her meager bank account on. Knowing Nick, as to forever, she'd have to wait and see.

She wound her arms around his neck. “There's only one thing I want right now.” She stood on tiptoes and kissed him with all the passion she'd held inside. Her heart swelled and told her she was the luckiest woman in the entire western hemisphere.

When the kiss ended he said, “I have my apartment until the end of the month.”

“Hmm. I'll bet you still have furniture there.”

“Are you thinking what I'm thinking?” he said.

“How about you drive me to my car?”

“How about once we get there, you follow mine? I know all the shortcuts to my place.” He tousled her hair, and she didn't care if the curls stood out like bed springs.

“My, you're eager.”

“Baby, you don't know the half of it.”

Maybe not, but she had the rest of her life to find out.

Carolann Camillo is a recipient of the Coffee Time Reviewer's Recommended Award for her historical romance,
Moonlit Desire
. A native New Yorker, she lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her college professor husband.

You just don't expect to see gunfire at a wedding.

I know, because I've been in a lot of weddings, despite my well-known aversion to them. “Always a bridesmaid, never a bride” is not just a cautionary adage, it's my personal credo.

Having a gigolo for a father might have contributed something to that philosophy. Who really knows for sure?

Today Alexa, my best friend since grade school, glided down the aisle of the chapel to the accompaniment of a string quartet playing an elegant Handel air. For this wedding, she wore a white strapless dress, complete with tulle and beaded embroidery that made all the women sigh as she passed. The low v-back and body-hugging mermaid shape, along with her icy blonde beauty, provoked quite a different response from the males in the congregation.

I clutched my single calla lily, watching her entrance with a mixture of awe and disbelief. How had Alexa persuaded me to be her maid of honor, again?

And again.

And yet again.

“Shelby, you're my good luck charm,” she had cooed while I suffered through the circle of hell known as “trying on bridesmaid dresses.”

“How do you figure that?” I had asked, peeling off a poufy satin monstrosity the color of Mountain Dew. “Every time I've been your maid of honor, you've gotten divorced!”

“Oh, that has nothing to do with anything. Everything goes off without a hitch when you're there.”

“Maybe that's the problem. If I weren't around, there would be some sort of hitch, and then you wouldn't be hitched.”

I admired Alexa's wildly unwavering enthusiasm for weddings, and commitment, and all that “'til death do us part” stuff. Especially since none of her marriages seemed to last very long. Two years was the record so far, and that was because her husband was working overseas for one of those years.

Which was supposedly the reason for the end of that union.

That, and the next husband was already in her sights.

When the evil wedding consultant gleefully rolled in another torture rack crammed with dresses for me to endure, I shuddered. “Have you ever thought that maybe, just maybe, marriage isn't right for you?”

“That one.” Alexa pointed to a strapless hot pink mini-dress that could have worked — if Hooters ever decided to cater weddings. “And why all these concerns? Don't you like Jordan?”

“Of course I like him, silly. He seems perfect.”

He was handsome, loving, and completely ga-ga for his bride. Alexa told me during our numerous wedding planning get-togethers, which thankfully required a great deal of wine, about Jordan's great sense of humor, and even greater job.

Who wouldn't want him for a husband? If I were the marrying kind, even I would want him for a husband.

Although, as I recall, Husbands One through Three were pretty darn perfect too.

Alexa smiled, spinning her index finger to indicate I should twirl in front of her. “Maybe, Shelby, you're afraid all of these weddings will change your mind about marriage.”

“Ha!” I, the eternal bachelorette, scoffed, and quite eloquently. Alexa raised her eyebrow as if debating whether to get out of her chair and start the Heimlich maneuver on me.

In the end, I gave up trying to make Alexa see the multiple incredible benefits to staying single. I'll probably be her bridesmaid when we're bunkmates in the nursing home, although by then I'll be adjusting the tapes of her adult diaper, rather than the tiers of her lace-edged wedding veil.

I agreed to be her maid of honor this one last time.

Of course, I didn't realize when I made the promise this would be Alexa's final chance to stand at the altar.

At the minister's signal, Alexa handed me her bouquet of cascading white lilies and then she faced Jordan, ready to promise to love, cherish, and obey the (fourth) man of her dreams. She beamed at him, eliciting a few more wistful sighs behind us at the evidence of true love. Or maybe it was for the handsome groom in his single-breasted designer tuxedo, beaming right back at her.

Reverend Deering asked Alexa to repeat the vows she most likely had memorized several ceremonies ago. I had heard them often enough that I could have stepped in to recite the words if either of them were prevented from completing their duties.

“I, Alexa, take thee Jordan — ”

A ray of June sunshine chose that moment to burst through the chapel windows, highlighting the promise contained in the newlyweds' expressions. Even I felt swept up in the optimism that accompanied each and every one of Alexa's weddings. My heart beat with hopefulness, and I wondered if someday I would —

Out of nowhere, gunfire erupted, a quick succession of
pop, pop, pop.

Screams quickly followed, along with the frantic sounds of the congregation scrambling for shelter under the wooden pews.

“Sonofabitch!” I tossed the bouquet over my shoulder, as I'd seen Alexa do millions of times, and darted toward my suddenly bleeding best friend, knocking her to the floor to prevent any further harm.

I looked up and saw the minister cowering under a pew, tugging at the tulle swag that moments ago had been decoration, not flimsy protection against wayward bullets. My heart pounded while my brain struggled with two wildly different thoughts.

One, the blood spurting from Alexa's shoulder ensured I would never have to wear this peach-yogurt-colored dress again.

And two, who could possibly hate weddings more than I did?

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