LITMIR.BIZ

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I explained. “It asked if I wanted to escape, I said yes, that’s all.”

      “You canceled the instructions,” he said, pulling over a tad abruptly.

      “Oh. Sorry,” I said. “I don’t think I did, actually, but—”

      He took the GPS from me. “You did,” he said. He stabbed a few buttons with unnecessary roughness, I thought. Growled. Stabbed some more. Finally got it back.

      “Don’t touch it again,” he said.

      “Okay, boss,” I said, sighing. “Sorry. Again.”

      Ten minutes later, we pulled up in front of the Universalist Unitarian Church of Willington. Cars lined both sides of the street, but everyone already appeared to be inside. The dashboard clock read 5:06 p.m. Shit.

      Ian opened his car door and walked around to open mine. He looked fierce, and tension rolled off him in waves. “Pretty church,” I said, and it was, a large, classic white church with a steeple, the foliage glowing around it, pretty much what you see on every Vermont postcard ever printed.

      The church lawn was a little soft; I had to tiptoe so my heels didn’t sink into the earth.

      “Can you … kick into gear or something?” Ian said, striving for patience.

      “Sure, sure,” I said, almost trotting. We made it to the steps, and Ian ran up a few and held the door for me. Whatever his faults, he had nice manners.

      I went into the foyer, Ian hot on my heels, then lurched to a stop, causing him to crash into me. “Callie,” he growled, then drew in a sharp breath.

      Laura stood there, her back to us, peeking into the church through a slightly cracked door. She wore a calf-length white dress (Vera, I was thinking), and white roses twined in her pretty hair. At the sound of our little commotion, she whirled around, and her mouth fell open. No one spoke for a second. Until I did, of course.

      “Hi there,” I said.

      Laura’s eyes filled. “You came,” she whispered. Clearly, she wasn’t talking to me.

      Ian swallowed.

      The foyer was wide and bright. Three sets of doors led into the church. “I’ll … I’ll just find us a seat,” I said, drifting over to the farthest set of doors. Pulling on the handle, I found it was locked. I tried the next one. Also locked. The last set of doors would require me to push past Ian and Laura, who were just staring at each other.

      Okay, I wasn’t actually meaning to spy, but I seemed to be trapped here. Trying to be as discreet as a woman in a scoopalicious red gown could be, I crept over to the far corner and wished I could be invisible. It almost worked … I might as well have been a ninja on a dark night as far as Ian and the bride were concerned.

      “I didn’t think you’d come,” Laura whispered, the foyer acoustics letting me hear just fine. “And it occurred to me while I was on the way here that I … I wasn’t sure I could go through with it without you being here. Without knowing you were really okay.”

      Ian looked at the floor for a beat. Then he took her hand and looked at her. “Of course I came,” he said gently, and my eyes filled.

      “I’ll always love you, Ian,” she said, tears slipping down her cheeks. “You know that, right? I’m so sorry that—”

      “Shh,” he said, wiping her tears away. Then he took her in his arms, her head fitting right under Ian’s chin. “Don’t cry, honey. Whatever you needed to say to me, you already have.”

      Being the kind who wept at dog food commercials, I bit down on a sob. Such … kindness! God only knew what humiliation and heartbreak Ian had been through—cheated on, lied to, quite probably laughed at—yet here he was, forgiving her, releasing her from the guilt she still obviously felt, and giving her the blessing she seemed to need.

      I wished my mother could see this.

      Then Ian kissed the top of Laura’s head and stepped back, still holding her by the shoulders. “You look so beautiful,” he said, smiling a little.

      She took a shuddering sob.

      “Oh, come on,” Ian murmured. “No tears. This is a happy day. Besides, you’re running late.”

      “Leave it to you to keep an eye on the clock.”

      He grinned. “Well, Devin’s waiting in there, so … better get moving.”

      Her face scrunched, and she fished a tissue out of her sleeve. “Thank you, Ian,” she said wetly, wiping her eyes. Then a door opened on the other side of the foyer, and an older gentleman in a tux came in. His eyebrows bounced up when he saw Ian.

      “Ian! Good to see you, son,” he said, shaking hands.

      “John. Nice to see you, too.”

      “Everything okay out here?” the man asked Laura.

      She smiled, straightened her father’s boutonniere. “Everything’s great, Dad,” she said. “Let’s go.” She gave Ian one more smile.

      “See you in there,” Ian said. He opened the door—sure, that one was unlocked—and ushered me in. A few people glanced back, and a collective murmur went up. Some nudging occurred. Ian ignored them. We found an unoccupied pew behind all the other guests and took our seats.

      The lump in my throat was killing me. As the organ music started, I slipped my hand into Ian’s.

      After a second, he looked at me, as if surprised. Then he reached into his jacket pocket with his free hand and withdrew a handkerchief, because of course, I was crying.

      “What you did in there was just beautiful,” I whispered, taking a little shuddering breath.

      “Get a grip, Callie,” he muttered.

      “That was the first thing you ever said to me,” I said, wiping my eyes. “I’ll tell our children about that someday.”

      He shook his head, but he was smiling, and he squeezed my hand. Didn’t let go, either.

       CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

      IN THE RECEIVING LINE, Laura hugged and kissed Ian, then turned to me. “Callie! Thank you so much for coming! I’m so glad you did.”

      “Congratulations,” I said, smiling. I couldn’t help liking her.

      “And oh, my God, that dress!” she exclaimed.

      I smiled modestly, but hiked the hem up so she could see my shoes.

      “Don’t tell me … Manolo?” she said in the hushed and reverent tone the shoes deserved.

      “Yes,” I confirmed. “And I got them on clearance for only—”

      “Okay, let’s move along,” Ian grumbled, giving me an ungentle nudge. He stood in front of the other bride. “Devin. Best wishes.” His voice was cool.

      “Ian. Hello.”

      My eyebrows raised. Well, of course they’d hate each other. Devin turned to me. She was wearing a cream-colored Hillary Clinton–style pantsuit (the horror, the horror) and no makeup, a far cry from her stylish and ultrafeminine new wife. Still, she was quite attractive in that good-bone-structure way. “So you’re Ian’s date, huh?” she asked, looking me up and down.

      “We’re friends,” I corrected, suspecting he would if I didn’t. “Nice to meet you.”

      At the end of the line, Ian introduced me to Laura’s parents. “John, Barb, this is Calliope Grey, a friend of mine from Georgebury. Callie, these are my … uh, Laura’s parents.”

      The mother shook my hand. “Well, we certainly never saw this day coming,” she said, still holding onto my hand. “We were hoping for grandchildren.”

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