Rushing Amy: A Love and Football Novel (14 page)

She hated women who whined about how they couldn’t make up their minds about some guy, or how they couldn’t stop thinking about him. Now, she was one of them.

Matt rounded the counter and reached out to stroke her cheek.

“It’s you, me, and a soccer match. I even have a team scarf for you. We can join the crowd walking to the pitch. If you play your cards right, I’ll buy you a hot dog and a beer. Think you can handle that?” He leaned over and murmured into her ear, “I promise there’s no Italian food there.” His arm slid around her waist.

“I can’t go. I got a last-minute order, and I need to take some flowers to the site.” She fiddled with the pens in her apron pocket.

“We’ll stop on the way.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Let’s go.” He laid his fingers over Amy’s lips.

“I—maybe another time,” she tried to say around his fingers.

“You promised.”

Amy pulled away from him. “I did not. I did nothing of the kind. You TOLD me—”

“Shh.” Those maddening fingers were over her lips again. “You’re going to hurt my feelings. Who will yell at the opposing team with me, huh? Plus, I’d like to see if we could get through an entire evening in public without a disaster.” He gave her his most enticing smile. Of course she was powerless to resist it, dammit. “C’mon, Fifi.”

So, Matt wanted to “stop by on the way”? She’d show him. After all, he told her he really hated weddings. Wait till he found out where she was going.

“Fine,” she said, smiling back at him.

“Ahh. Now we’re making progress. Where’s the stuff you need to drop off?”

“The cooler.” She grabbed her purse off the hook under the register. She yanked her work apron over her head, dropping it on the front counter.

He pulled the floral box out of the cooler, grabbed the ring of keys off Amy’s wrist, and nodded toward the front door. “You know where these have to go?”

“Yes. I don’t think you’re going to like this idea.”

“It’s an excellent idea.” He took her elbow in his fingertips. “Ready?”

M
ATT AND
A
MY
pulled up in front of a large, three-story, nondescript beige building about twenty minutes later. The sign out front advertised it as an assisted living facility. Amy resisted the impulse to laugh out loud when she considered what was waiting for Matt inside.

She opened the box to check everything was there one last time. It held one bridal bouquet of red and white roses, one boutonniere, and a flower for the retired judge that was performing the wedding.

“I take it these are wedding flowers,” he said.

“Yes, they are,” she sang out.

Amy barely stifled her laughter at Matt’s horrified expression. His brows knit. He passed one hand over his face and rested one hand on the small of her back. He actually appeared nervous. Wedding ceremonies seemed to be Matt’s Kryptonite for whatever reason.

“We’re just dropping the stuff off, aren’t we?”

“I think you’ll want to stick around. There’s supposedly cake, and the coffee here isn’t bad. Plus, the newlyweds may get a kick out of seeing you. Come on, Sparky. It’ll be fun.”

F
IVE MINUTES LATER,
Matt Stephens was officially in Hell.

He hadn’t seen the woman for almost thirty years, but he remembered the deceptively soft voice, and the black-and-white attire. Hopefully, someone had relieved her of her favorite weapons: Guilt, and a wooden ruler.

“Matthew Stephens! What are you doing here?” Sister Mary Margaret, his eighth-grade French teacher, gave him a brisk pat on the arm. “How’s your mother?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Matthew, I was surprised to get your flowers, and even more surprised at the note. It made me sound like some kind of trollop. Why would you do such a thing?” Even if she was stooped with old age, she reached up and grabbed his chin in her pincer-like fingers. “Have you been attending Mass? When was your last confession, young man?”

“I thought you’d like getting flowers, Sister Mary Margaret.”

“Oh, they were lovely. I shared them with some other people here. The note, though, was—Matthew, does your mother know about this?”

“I’m not living at home anymore. I haven’t lived there for a long time now.”

He was a grown man. He’d been out of school for a while. If it wasn’t bad enough that Fifi was dragging him to some kind of wedding, he was in hot water with one of his former teachers. This was
not
how he envisioned his Saturday night unfolding.

A flock of conservatively dressed, short-veiled women descended on him.

“Matthew! What a nice surprise!” one of them called out.

This just kept getting better. He saw the principal of his high school, Sister Theresa. He’d sent her flowers, too, and a card saying something to the effect that he missed their late nights together. It was actually more “late afternoons” because of detentions, but hell, who was counting? Sister Mary Helen was his art teacher. The card that came with her flowers read, “You are a work of art.” Sister Barbara was his math teacher; she still wore thick glasses and rubber-soled shoes, and he was sure she’d loved the card that read “It all adds up to you and me.”

By now he was surrounded by elderly nuns, who seemingly all remembered him, remembered more than he would like about his exploits in parochial school, and also remembered his mother’s phone number. Evidently his mom had already had an earful about the bouquets he sent from Amy’s shop, but she hadn’t mentioned it to him.

He might have made a few targeted donations here over the years at his mom’s request. She never told him why she wanted him to give money to this particular assisted living facility, either. He didn’t associate the name out front with the street address his mom gave him when he asked where some of his old teachers might be living now. He might have to make a few more donations—anonymously, of course. There had to be something they needed.

Maybe he should stop in here to visit once in a while, too. His former teachers and the school administrator always made sure his mom had a little extra help with his tuition via a “scholarship.” A few flowers were nice, but he wanted to know their last years would be worry-free.

Even Sister Mary Margaret’s.

“There’s a retired priest here, too, Matthew.” Sister Mary Helen had him by one elbow, steering him toward a doorway marked “chapel.” “He can hear your confession,” she told him.

Matt would hate to imagine the effect of his confession on an elderly priest, considering the fact he hadn’t been to confession at all in at least twenty years. It might take all day. Obviously it was best to distract them while he formulated some kind of plan. Of course, Fifi disappeared with the wedding flowers the minute they walked in the front door.

Revenge would be sweet.

He held out one arm for Sister Barbara to hook a thin, gnarled hand through. She moved more slowly than the others, who were all still trying to ask him questions about whether or not he’d been to Mass lately, and if he prayed the rosary. She’d always been so sweet to him when he was in school.

“Sister Barbara, how long have you been here?”

“Our convent had to close a couple of years ago, Matthew, and we all retired. The Church was kind enough to help us find a nice place to live. We were all surprised you still remembered us.” Her cheeks flushed a pale pink. “I loved the flowers. Your naughty message made me laugh, too.”

Matt settled his hand over her frailer one. “That’s good. I’ll have to send a naughty message more often, then.”

Maybe he could talk Amy into a weekly flower delivery or something.

The nuns stopped badgering Matt long enough to make a beeline toward Amy, who was pinning a boutonniere on an older gentleman in a military dress uniform. Sister Mary Margaret was in the lead.

“Amy,” she called out, “Katarina’s daughter brought a cake this morning. It’s all set up in the cafeteria. The coffee’s already made. She even made a nice punch for us.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Amy told her. “The bride must still be getting dressed.”

“Oh, yes,” Sister Theresa assured her. “She wants to make a grand entrance. The wedding should start in about fifteen minutes. We’d better get a seat.”

Sister Mary Margaret sat down next to Matt, in the chair he’d saved for Fifi.

“Sister, my date might want to sit with me.”

“I’ll shove over when she gets here. Did she tell you that she donated those lovely flowers? Katarina will be just thrilled. She and Bill don’t have a lot of money. We all chipped in to pay for the flowers, and Amy wouldn’t take a dime. Plus, she’s been here a couple of times already to help with the dinner service in our cafeteria.”

Matt was betting that Amy was coerced into it by the ex-nun goon squad, but he did his best to maintain a neutral facial expression.

“Your mother says you were married. You’re not married now?” Sister Mary Margaret said.

“No, Sister, I’m not.”

“Amy’s not dating anyone. She’s a nice girl. So sweet. She owns her own business, and she’s pretty, too.”

If his mother ever found out his former teacher was matchmaking him and Amy, he’d never hear the end of it. His mother was chomping at the bit for more grandchildren. Even better, the sheer entertainment value of Amy’s dodging his pursuit would leave his mother helpless with laughter.

Matt pulled the non-restrictive collar of his Sounders jersey off his neck for the fourth time in ten minutes. It was hotter than Hell in here. He could really use a beer. Even better, a tequila shot. Or five. If they didn’t move it, they were going to miss the game. They’d already missed the crowd that walked to the pitch before each Sounders game, singing and chanting. Soccer in Seattle approached religious fervor for the fans, who held up team scarves and sang through most of the match.

Maybe he was so uncomfortable because they’d turned up the heat for the old people. That’s it.

“Thanks. I’ll take that under advisement,” Matt said.

He heard a commotion in the back of the room. It seemed the other residents were making their way to their seats. It looked like a ten-walker pileup out there. If he went to help, he and Amy might have a chance of making it to the stadium before the game started.

“Hey, Sister, I’m going to go see if there’s anything I can do to help those people find a seat.”

“Well, aren’t you nice? Your mother would be so proud. She told me just the other day—”

Matt strode away before he found out what else his mom had to say about him. He took the elbow of an older gentleman who wore a military uniform jacket over hospital sweats.

“Hello. May I show you to a seat?”

The guy smiled and stood up a little straighter. “Are you Bill’s son? He talks about you all the time.”

“I’m Matt. I’m not Bill’s son, but I’d like to help. How about that end seat in the second row? It’s got your name on it.”

For the next twenty minutes or so, Matt acted as an usher. He seated men and women with canes, walkers, motorized scooters, and wheelchairs. They were in varying states of wedding-type finery, too. They expressed how happy they were about the wedding and how much they appreciated his help; the hot, sweaty, awkward feelings he’d had about being here in the first place began to fade.

His former teachers were amusing. He had to admit it; he was happy to see them. He friggin’ hated weddings, though. They reminded him of the one thing in life he’d failed at. He didn’t like being reminded of failure—especially his own—in any way, shape, or form.

Amy waved him over to the seat he’d gotten up out of.

“They’re going to start. Would you like to sit with me?”

One of the seniors sat down at the piano on the left-hand side of the altar and coaxed a passable version of Lohengrin’s
Wedding March
out of the instrument. An older guy in black robes took his place at the front of the room, and Bill the groom stood on his left. The best man, wearing what Matt would consider a go-to-hell sports jacket in an interesting burnt orange plaid, stood next to the groom.

The bride made her entrance in a cornflower-blue chiffon floor-length dress, clutched the rose bouquet Amy brought for her, and leaned on a cane as she walked. She never took her eyes off Bill. If there were family members there, nobody got to their feet to walk with the bride.

Matt made another split-second decision as she paused in the back of the chapel for her big walk up the aisle. Obviously, nobody here was going to do anything about this but him.

“I’ll be right back,” he told Amy. He stood, walked to the back, and offered his arm.

“May I escort you, young lady?” he asked in a low voice.

She beamed at him. Her pale blue eyes twinkled. “Aren’t you sweet? Yes, you may.” She slipped her hand through his arm, leaned against him, and they set off together on the slow trip up the aisle.

“I’m Matt,” he explained. “I’m here with Amy. The florist.”

“Oh, yes. We love Amy.”

The bride took two more slow steps. “Take all the time you need,” he said into her ear. She smiled at him again. “Now, I’ve heard I’m supposed to ask. Are you sure about this?”

She squeezed Matt’s forearm. “Absolutely.”

He patted her hand. “You could marry me, you know.”

“I don’t think so. You’re pretty handsome, but I’m in love with Bill. He’s the only one for me.”

Matt and Katarina took a few more steps, and they were at the altar. Bill shuffled forward, and Matt put Katarina’s hand inside of his. He waited for the justice of the peace to open his book.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the marriage ceremony of Katarina and Bill. Katarina, are you here of your own free will, and do you intend to be faithful to this man as long as you shall live?”

“Yes.”

“Bill, are you here of your own free will, and intend on being faithful to this woman as long as you shall live?”

Bill cleared his throat. “Oh, yes.”

“Who gives this woman to be married to this man?”

“I do,” Matt said. He kissed the bride on the cheek, turned, and went back to his seat.

Amy was dabbing at her eyes. “I can’t believe you did that,” she whispered to him.