LITMIR.BIZ

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the drink menu, Brie opted for a Napa Valley Merlot; Caleb ordered a draft beer and an appetizer sampler.

      “How was the wedding?” Brie asked, after their drinks had been delivered.

      “Short and sweet. And...nice,” he admitted. “I had some reservations, but Joe and Delia seem really happy together.”

      “I still can’t believe it. I never imagined Joe Bishop as the marrying kind.”

      “Seven years ago, he wasn’t,” Caleb agreed. “But most of our mutual friends are married or in committed relationships, some even with kids, and Joe decided he wanted the same thing.”

      “But why the quick ceremony in Vegas?”

      “I guess not every bride dreams of a big fancy event,” he remarked.

      But they both knew that Brie had done so, because they’d spent hours talking about the wedding they planned to have one day. Of course, that had been a long time ago—before she’d gotten pregnant, when they’d let themselves believe that their families would celebrate their love rather than object to the nuptials.

      Back then, she’d envisioned riding to the ceremony in a horse-drawn carriage and walking down the aisle in a designer dress with a bouquet of pink roses. Instead, she’d traveled more than four hundred miles in an old pickup truck to exchange vows in front of a fake Elvis wearing tattered blue suede shoes.

      “And a positive pregnancy test can change a girl’s dreams,” she noted.

      He wondered if her casual tone was an accurate reflection of her feelings or merely a balm to cover old wounds. “I’m sorry you didn’t get the wedding you wanted,” he said to her now.

      “It wasn’t your fault, Caleb. And it’s ancient history, anyway.”

      Which was his cue to speak up. “Actually, it’s—”

      “So why did Joe and Delia decide to elope?” she interjected to ask again.

      He suspected that she wasn’t as interested in the details of a wedding between a groom she’d lost touch with a long time ago and a bride she’d never met as she was in not hearing what he wanted to say. And though he couldn’t let her walk away from him again without knowing the truth he’d kept hidden for too long, he allowed her to steer the direction of the conversation, at least for now.

      “Delia lost her father a few years back, and she didn’t want a traditional wedding without him there to walk her down the aisle,” he explained.

      “What about Joe’s family?” she asked. “What do they think about the elopement?”

      “Well, his mom gave him his grandmother’s ring, so I have to assume she knew what he was planning and didn’t have any objections.”

      “An engagement is different than a wedding,” she pointed out, perusing the appetizer platter that had been set on the table and selecting a deep-fried ravioli.

      He swallowed a mouthful of beer before venturing to ask, “Do you think your parents would have been okay if we’d announced an engagement before we got married?”

      “It doesn’t really matter at this point, does it?”

      “Maybe it matters to me.”

      She dipped the ravioli in marinara sauce and popped it into her mouth. “Well, my grandfather might have had his heart attack before we ever exchanged vows,” she said, when she’d finished chewing. “And then we wouldn’t have needed to get a divorce.”

      Though her tone was deliberately light, he sensed the lingering hurt beneath her words. “Yeah, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” he said.

      Her brows drew together as she lifted her glass to her lips and sipped her wine. “My grandfather?”

      He shook his head. “The divorce.”

      She set the glass down again and traced a fingertip slowly around its base. “I’ve spent enough time today dredging up our past—can we talk about something else instead?”

      “We need to talk about this,” he told her.

      “Tell me about the Circle G,” she said, ignoring his entreaty.

      “Really?” he asked dubiously. “You want to know what’s going on at my family’s cattle ranch?”

      “I want to hear what you’ve been doing over the past seven years,” she said. “I know, from conversations with my sister, that your brother’s been busy with The Stagecoach Inn, Katelyn’s law practice is booming and Sky’s still tending bar at Diggers’, but I haven’t heard much about you.”

      “Have you asked?” he wondered.

      “That would be a good way to start the gossip mill churning, wouldn’t it?”

      “The gossip mill never stops,” he pointed out.

      “Well, I have no desire to add grist to the mill.”

      “I heard you were back for the baptism of Regan’s twins,” he remarked.

      “Proof the gossip never stops. But yes,” she said, and smiled then, obviously thinking about her infant nieces. “I’m not just Piper and Poppy’s aunt, I’m also their godmother.”

      He wished he could ask her if she ever thought about the baby they’d lost, and all the ways their lives would have been different if their baby had lived. But he bit back the question, instinctively understanding that, even after seven years, bringing up the subject would rip a scab off a still-raw wound for both of them.

      Instead, he snagged a cheese ball from the plate and washed it down with a mouthful of beer while Brie nibbled on an onion ring.

      She wiped her fingers on a napkin when a chirp sounded. “Grace said she’d text to let me know the dinner plan,” she explained, retrieving her cell from her purse.

      He nodded as she unlocked the screen to read the message.

      “Apparently there’s been a slight change of plans,” she remarked.

      “What’s happening?” he asked.

      “They got tickets to the seven o’clock show of Cirque du Soleil.”

      He glanced at his watch. “You have to go now?”

      She shook her head. “No, they only got two tickets.”

      “Your friends didn’t get one for you?”

      “Grace said there were only two available, but Grace has a habit of thinking she knows what’s best for her friends without consulting them.”

      It took him a moment to read between the lines. “You think she didn’t try to get you a ticket?”

      “She feels pretty strongly that I need to spend some time with you, to achieve relationship closure in order to move on with my life.”

      Which was similar to what his brother had said, so maybe there was some validity to the argument. “Is that what you want—to move on with your life?” he asked.

      “It’s been seven years,” she reminded him. “I think I need to move on with my life. We both do.”

      “How do you know I haven’t?” he challenged.

      “Maybe you have. But the fact that you’re here with me now would suggest otherwise.”

      He nodded in acknowledgment of her point. “I guess I just always thought—hoped—that you’d eventually come back to Haven and we’d work things out.”

      “There’s nothing left to work out,” she said gently.

      “Do you really believe that?”

      “It’s been seven years,” she said again.

      “Which

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