Lauryn Chandler - Just Say I Do

Before Mrs. Costello could justify such a potentially aromatic idea, the door to Annabelle’s office burst open.

The Wedding Belles office was located on the first floor of the large Victorian house Annabelle shared with her sister, Lianne. Working at home had many advantages, but privacy—particularly with a gregarious seventeen-year-old in the house—was not one of them.

Lia stood in the doorway, full of the fire and drama only a teenager could project within the first five seconds of entering a room.

“Have you seen this?” she asked theatrically, holding up an issue of Collier Bay News and Views, the local throwaway paper that came out every Friday.

“Lia,” Annabelle admonished, her eyes darting meaningfully to Mrs. Costello, “I have a client…”

Lia looked at the silver-haired woman.

“Oh, hi, Mrs. Costello. Did you tell Annabelle my idea about the oysters?” Without missing a beat, she shook the paper at her sister and demanded again, “Have you seen this?”

Mrs. Costello craned her fleshy neck to get a glimpse at the newsprint. “Is that the ‘Ask Effie’ column? Is there anything in there about my Maria?”

Each week Collier Bay’s resident society maven— the ubiquitous Effie—chronicled the local doings in a column for her loyal readers. She was especially fond of weddings and frequently highlighted one of Annabelle’s clients. Mrs. Costello had been waiting with bated breath for Effie to focus on Maria.

“No.” Lia shook her head broadly, and Annabelle had to marvel at her sister’s gift for ominous fore-shadowing. “There isn’t anything about Maria. It’s all about Annabelle.”

“Annabelle?”

“Me?”

“Yes.” Lia nodded. “And it amazes me after everything we’ve been through that I would be the last to know!”

“What are you talking about?” Annabelle took a nervous step forward. “What’s in the paper?”

Normally, Annabelle clipped the “Ask Effie” column and posted it on her bulletin board Friday evening. She hadn’t gotten around to it last night. “What does it say?”

Lia handed the newspaper over with a slight frown. “You haven’t seen it?” She watched Annabelle unfold the crackly pages. “I thought you’d seen it and you just weren’t telling me.”

Annabelle scanned the large print. “What are you talking about? Telling you wha—” Her eyes widened and her jaw fell, then clamped shut again. “Oh, my God,” she whispered.

“What? What is it?” Never one to bow to discretion, Mrs. Costello huddled next to Annabelle and peered around her shoulder. “What does Effie say? Is there any news about—Oh, my Go-od.” Her painted lips pursed. She pressed a hand to her chubby cheek.

Silently, Lia and Mrs. Costello waited while Annabelle scanned the awful story:

After a nearly yearlong engagement, local wedding coordinator Annabelle Simmons and city councilman Steven J. Stephens have called it quits barely two months before D day. If you Ask Effie, this turn of events is a blow to Collier Bay, which would have been host to one of the loveliest weddings of the year had the councilman and Ms. Simmons tied the knot. Already local florists are calling this a major financial setback. But not to worry. Councilman Stephens has been seen squiring a striking new lady. A romantic dinner, a stroll along the boardwalk… Perhaps wedding bells will ring by year’s end, after all. Just don’t look for the lovely Ms. Simmons to coordinate the wedding!

The silence that followed was pregnant until Lia offered weakly, “I thought you saw it already.”

Mrs. Costello clucked her tongue. She patted Annabelle’s arm. “Listen, darling, about the cake…So what if the top tier looks like a cake and not the Vatican? The Pope, God bless him, gets enough publicity. Better you shouldn’t get too worked up.”

She shook her head and edged to the door, practically vibrating with the need to share the awful news—with everyone she could find. “When I think of what you’re going through…” She put a hand to her head. “And with the whole world watching yet! It’s a wonder you can plan what to eat for breakfast, much less someone else’s wed—” She stopped herself, pressing her lips together, miming locking them and tossing away the key. “No. I won’t even say the word. Not today. Today we’ll pretend the whole world is single.”

With a fervent “God Bless You,” she opened the door and bustled out.

Annabelle stared at the paper until her vision grew blurry. Two weeks ago Steven had told her he feared they were mismatched and already he’d been seen with a “striking new lady.”

“I’m sorry, Belle.”

Remembering abruptly that Lia was watching her, Annabelle looked up from the paper. Her sister’s pretty face was awash with pity and guilt; she looked miserable. Taking a deep breath, Annabelle tried to muster a smile. The corners of her mouth trembled.

“Steven and I broke up…a while ago.”

“A while ago?” Lia took a moment to digest this information. “Then you were keeping it from me?”

“No, I just didn’t tell you right away, because I didn’t want to upset you.”

“Didn’t want to upset me? Do you think I’m that shallow?” Lia flapped a hand in frustration. “I want to be there for you, like you’ve always been there for me. You’re going through this horrible, painful, awful time, and you can’t even confide in your sister?”

“Lia—”

“I’ve failed you!” Tears sprang to her eyes.

“Lia, please, you’re exaggerating this whole situation. It is not that awful. Steven and I were… mismatched.”

Lianne shook her head, disgusted to the core. “That’s ridiculous. You can stand there and act brave if you want to, Annabelle. I know you’re crumbling inside.”

“I am not crumbling!”

“She doesn’t look like she’s crumbling.” The smooth baritone that interupted into the girls’ conversation was richly ironic. Annabelle’s attention snapped to its source, but Lia spoke first.

“Adam!”

Just inside the French doors that led to the patio, Adam Garrett stood like a tawny-haired Mel Gibson, tall and lean, with a wicked smile that looked as if he’d just heard a blue joke.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Lia rushed to his side. “When did you get home?”

“Last night. Good to see you, scruff.” He ruffled her hair, the only person who could still treat Lia like a twelve-year-old and get away with it. “I missed you.”

Unconsciously tightening her grip on “Ask Effie,” Annabelle watched her sister and her neighbor, one thin and fair, the other tall and imposing and more deeply tanned from the time he spent at sea than anyone else she knew in Oregon. As always when she saw Adam after he’d returned from one of his adventures, she felt a strange combination of conflicting emotions: exhilaration, resentment, curiosity and relief.

His career as a marine videographer kept him moving all over the world, and his latest expedition had kept him away for five months.

“Hello, Belle.” He met her gaze with eyes as green as the trees dividing their two properties. “How are you?”

Her heart hammered in a way it should not have, not from a question so banal. “Fine,” she said, striving for nonchalance. “Welcome home.”

“Thank you.”

“Where were you this time?” Lia asked, keeping her arms around his lean waist, evincing none of the awkwardness Annabelle felt, but then, Lia’s relationship with Adam had never been as complex as her sister’s.

“New Zealand,” Adam responded, and Lia gasped in awe.

“Wow. What’d you bring me?”

“Lia!” Annabelle admonished, but Adam merely laughed.

“Not so fast,” he said, glancing at Annabelle with a raised brow. “Mind if I sit?”

He moved to the chair, and for the first time Annabelle noticed that his right foot was encased by an ungainly rubber shoelike contraption with straps that buckled up the front of his leg from ankle to knee.

“What happened?” Lia exclaimed, noticing, too, and following him to the chair. “Did you break it?”

“One bone.” He shrugged, wagging his head with good humor over the indignity of such an injury. “Not even enough for a good cast.”

“Can you still dive?”

“Not if I want it to heal.”

“How did you do it?” Lia breathed, ready to be impressed. “Were you stung by a man o’ war? Chased by a shark that didn’t want to be photo-graphed?”

Adam grinned. “I slipped while I was swabbing the deck.”

Lia’s expression was so crestfallen he laughed out loud. “I’m a wharf rat for the time being, ladies. Will you take pity on me?” He cocked a brow, addressing the question to both the women, but keeping his eyes on Annabelle.

“Sure.” Lia plopped her jean-clad tush on the edge of Annabelle’s desk, answering for them both. “How?”

Adam pretended to consider the possibilities. “You could have dinner with me one night this week.”

Quickly, Annabelle turned to fiddle with some papers on her desk. She wanted to say yes—immediately. The intensity of the urge no longer surprised her—wanting to say yes to Adam had long been a habit with her, a bad one. She ducked her head, unwilling to let him read the response on her face.

He could charm the leaves from the trees; it had always been that way. Fortunately for her, she no longer gave in to impulses that were better off checked.

In high school Adam had wooed the very teachers who ought to have suspended him for some of the pranks he’d pulled: riding his motorcycle into the morning assembly and offering a ride to the principal—for a dollar; turning the senior lunch area into “Senior Bay,” carting in sand and flooding the center with a garden hose. He’d been Collier Bay’s answer to James Dean in Rebel without a Cause.

For a hopelessly level-headed girl like Annabelle, who for her freshman class project had taught her homeroom how to organize a day planner, Adam’s bold impetuosity had been irresistible.

“I warn you,” Adam said now, “I intend to take no prisoners. If you’re sticking to salad and diet soda, you can forget it. I’m in the mood for the biggest cheesiest Italian meal we can find.”

Lia offered a mock groan. “If you insist, but just this once.” Italian food was her all-time favorite.

“Which evening is good for you?”

Annabelle glanced around in time to see a hint of satisfaction in Adam’s chiseled features. He knew that without Lia she would find a reason to say no.

Sliding off the desk, Lia shrugged. “I’m free. You and Belle can decide.” She shot her sister an uncomfortable look, a silent reference to the argument they’d been having before Adam walked in. “She’s in charge,” the girl mumbled as she crossed to the door leading into the main part of the house. “I’m going for the mail.”

She closed the door behind her and, paradoxically, the room seemed smaller after she left.

“Good to see you, Belle. It’s been a while.” Adam’s voice flowed like Southern Comfort, mellow and rich.

The air between them crackled.

“A few months.” Annabelle shrugged, forcing a breezy smile. “You’ve been gone longer than that before.”

“True.” Relaxing back in the chair, Adam folded his arms and regarded her through lazy, half-closed eyes. “But you were avoiding me for at least two months this time before I left.”

“No, I wasn’t!” Telling the lie made her face feel hot. “Not intentionally. I was very busy. There’s a lot of work to do around here.”