LITMIR.BIZ

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Turner family had put their very heart—and their bank account—into this wedding, and the Donovans had, as well.

      “I know what we’ll do,” Alix said, feeling inspired. “I have a solution!”

      “What?” Jordan asked eagerly.

      Alix laughed and threw her arms around him. “Choose one,” she insisted. “Any one will do. Close your eyes if you want.”

      Giving her a puzzled glance, he opened the first binder and turned a few pages. He pointed to one of the more elaborate designs.

      Alix wrinkled her nose.

      “That one, then,” he said, pointing to one on the opposite page.

      “That’s no better.”

      “Okay, you choose,” he said.

      She picked out an invitation with Disney characters.

      Jordan grimaced. “That one?”

      “How about this?” She purposely picked out one she knew Jordan would object to.

      “No way.”

      “Good.” She beamed him a smile. “We can’t decide and we can’t compromise, right?”

      “Well … maybe we could?”

      “Right?” she reiterated pointedly.

      “Right,” he echoed. “That means …”

      “It means we’ll have to let your mother and Jacqueline decide for us.” The wedding was really for Susan and Jacqueline anyway, Alix reasoned. This way they’d be able to choose the invitations they wanted … and they could do it with Alix and Jordan’s blessing.

      CHAPTER

      8

       Colette Blake

      Colette woke from a warm and comfortable sleep, dreaming of Christian Dempsey. Alarmed, she opened her eyes, trying to banish his image from her mind. She’d worked hard to avoid any thought of him. And yet she’d forever be reminded of him through their child. Again, she felt torn, wanting to tell him about the baby, and realizing she couldn’t….

      Countless times, she’d gone over their last meeting, when he’d shocked her by coming to Susannah’s Garden. The day she walked away from Dempsey Imports, she was convinced she’d never see Christian again. She’d never wanted to see him again. She’d been appalled and angry at what he’d done. But the weeks since then had blunted her outrage; unaccountably she found herself making excuses for him, trying to invent reasons for such immoral, illegal activities. Maybe he had a misguided sense of compassion, she told herself hopefully; maybe his intentions were actually good. Maybe he was helping people find a better way of life….

      She shook her head, dispelling that idea, and got ready for work, dressing in loose jeans and a red cable-knit sweater. With her morning tea, she knit another row of the prayer shawl. The knitting was going well, and Colette was beginning to look at yarn in a different way. After only one lesson, she was already thinking about patterns she might one day attempt. Her next project, she decided, would be a sweater for the baby.

      The day before, Lydia had shown her a new shipment of alpaca wool as expensive as it was lovely. Recalling it now, Colette immediately pictured that yarn in a cardigan, a man’s sweater, and Christian Dempsey flashed into her mind. Irritated, she abruptly set aside her knitting. She had to stop thinking about him! He wasn’t the man she’d believed he was, and the sooner she accepted that, the better. Again and again, she mentally reviewed the computer file she’d read. There could be no other explanation.

      Susannah was at the flower shop when Colette got in and they worked together until noon. March had arrived the day before, and typical of late winter in the Pacific Northwest, one rainstorm had followed another all week long. Then—a thrilling surprise—the clouds parted and the sun peeked out, bathing Puget Sound in golden, glorious light. All at once, Colette felt an urgent need to get outside and breathe fresh air.

      “I think I’ll go for a walk,” she said when Susannah returned from her lunch break. After nothing but drizzle for two weeks, Colette craved the sun on her face.

      Taking her jacket in case the weather turned nasty again, she headed down the hill to the Seattle waterfront and the Pike Place Market. She loved the market and often used to shop there with Derek, although he’d never found the same pleasure in being downtown as she did.

      With the sun out, the city had surged to life. There was a new sense of energy, of well-being, and Colette felt invigorated. People seemed to move more quickly, laugh more loudly. She giggled at the antics of a troop of uniformed schoolkids, whose teachers merely smiled in resignation. Purchasing a decaf latte she sipped it while she wandered toward the market.

      “Colette!”

      At the sound of her name, she turned but didn’t see anyone familiar. After a moment, she gave up and continued into the market. Fishmongers tossed whole salmon back and forth, to the delight of tourists. She stopped to watch; it was a scene she’d witnessed any number of times but always enjoyed.

      “Colette?”

      Again she turned, and this time she caught sight of a man wearing a black overcoat. At first she didn’t recognize him. When she did, she came to a halt, an astonished smile on her face. “Steve?” she said as he hurried toward her. “Steve Grisham!”

      He stood directly in front of her and for a minute or two, all they did was stare at each other.

      “What are you—”

      “You moved and—”

      They started speaking at once, then paused and laughed.

      Steve motioned to Colette. “You first.”

      “Oh, my goodness, I can’t believe it’s you,” she said, hardly knowing where to begin. Steve had been a good friend of Derek’s, his first partner when Derek had joined the Seattle Police Department. The more experienced officer had been paired with her husband during Derek’s initial two years on the force. Then Steve had been assigned elsewhere and eventually he’d made detective. Derek and Colette had attended a party his wife, Jeanine, had organized to celebrate his promotion.

      “How are you?” Steve asked, his eyes serious as he studied her. His hands rested lightly on her upper arms, as if he wanted to hug her but wasn’t sure how she’d respond.

      “I’m fine,” she told him, and at that moment it was true.

      “What are you doing here in the market … now?” he asked.

      When they realized they were holding up foot traffic in the narrow passageway between the stalls, they started walking together, leaving the market entirely and wandering down Post Alley.

      “I’m on my lunch break,” she explained, dumping her empty latte container in a trash can. “What about you?”

      “Same thing. I came down to grab a quick bite. Join me,” he said. “I’d like the company.”

      “I’d love to.” He led her to a small hole-in-the-wall restaurant where the ambiance left much to be desired but the food was known to be exceptional. It was a police favorite, a place Colette had occasionally met Derek for lunch. Once or twice, Jeanine had come, too. Colette felt the predictable twinge of nostalgia but resolutely ignored it.

      The last time she’d seen Steve was at Derek’s funeral. With so many people in attendance, she hadn’t been able to acknowledge and speak to everyone. She’d seen Steve and Jeanine but hadn’t done anything more than thank them for their love and support.

      “I tried to call you,” Steve said after the waiter had taken their order. “You changed your phone number?”

      “I moved and … well, there didn’t seem to be any reason to get a phone. All I really need is my cell.”

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