The Goodbye Bride (7 page)

He held out his hand. “Zac Callahan.”

She gave a chagrined look. “Lucy Lovett.”

Her hand was small and warm, and he found himself reluctant to let it go. “Lovett—as in Audrey Lovett, the actress?”

“She's my great-aunt, actually.”

“No way. My mom used to watch her movies all the time.” He tilted his head, scanning her heart-shaped face, her big blue eyes. “You have the look of her.”

“Thank you. She was quite the star back in her day.”

His eyes dropped to the necklace she was toying with—a dainty silver heart with a cross inside. Was it too much to hope they shared the same faith?

“Like your necklace.”

She glanced down. “Thank you. My mama gave it to me the day I was baptized.”

“We have something in common then.”

“Your mama gave you a heart-shaped necklace?”

Her saucy smile made his heart race, and he smiled in return. “I was referring to faith.”

“Well . . . I am from the Bible Belt, you know. Can't throw a rock and not hit a church.”

“Not such a bad thing.”

“No, it's surely not.” Her gaze rose to the top of his head. “Are you really that tall, or do you have a platform back there?”

“I'm really that tall. Can I get you anything else? An appetizer?”

“I already ate. The chowder was really good. Have you worked here long?”

“Since high school. It's mine now. The owner retired, and I'm buying him out.”

“Isn't that something.” She looked around the restaurant, her eyes taking in the high rustic ceilings, the eclectic wall of license plates, the worn plank floors.

She seemed a little high society for his place.

“It's the gathering place, right?” she said. “Where everybody knows your name?”

He smiled. “Something like that.”

Her eyes smiled first, followed by her lips. “It's awful nice. Has a lot of energy, but it's warm too. Invitin'.”

Invitin'.
He was pretty sure men weren't supposed to swoon, but dang it all if he didn't feel like doing it anyway. “Glad you like it.”

“So, being the town's social hub, you must be connected. Know where a girl might find employment around here—if she
were
to stick around?”

“Whatcha looking for?”

She shrugged. “I'm flexible. I like people, so anything in retail would suffice. I have a sociology degree, but honestly I haven't had much use for it.”

“Sociology, huh? Where'd you go to school?”

Her eyes fluttered down, then back up. “Um, Harvard.”

He lifted his brows. “I think you might be overqualified for anything around here.”

She waved him off. “I'm not particular. And like I said, I probably won't hang around that long.”

“Well, I know they're looking for someone to run the visitor center. It was previously just the Natural History Center, but the town recently voted to make it a visitor center also. Lots of small-town controversy there, but I'll spare you the details. My
aunt manages it, and she's looking for someone to welcome tourists, hand out maps, point them in the right direction. Like I said, you're way overqualified . . .”

“No, it sounds fun. I'd learn about the area too, so that's a bonus. And at some point I'd love to hear the story of the controversy. I find such things fascinatin'.”

Fascinatin'.
That's exactly what he found her to be. He pulled a pen from his pocket and jotted down Aunt Trudy's number on a napkin. The restaurant phone was ringing, but for once someone else could get it.

He slid the napkin across the counter. “Give her a call if you want. Tell her I sent you. She's a little gruff, but don't let that put you off.”

She snapped up the napkin, her eyes sparkling. “Thanks. I'll do that.”

“Phone, Zac!” one of his servers called.

Lucy slid off the stool, hitching her purse onto her shoulder. “Well, I should get on and let you get back to work. Maybe I'll see you around.”

He gave her a smile. “Maybe you will.”

A humming sound pulled him from the past, and he leaned back against the desk chair. Across the office Lucy shifted on the sofa, the quilt puddling in her lap. She stilled, her eyes remaining closed.

He blinked away the remnants of the memory. It was a rude transition from that heady first meeting to today. Falling in love with Lucy had been as easy as drawing a breath. Falling out of love, not so much.

Chapter 8

L
ucy paced the office, her gaze swinging to Zac as she walked. He was on the phone with the people from county records. He'd made the call at the stroke of nine.

She hitched up her lost-and-found jeans. While they accommodated her generous backside, they failed to follow the curve of her waist. She needed a belt. Or a heavy-duty pair of suspenders.

“Yes,” Zac was saying. “Okay . . . I'm not sure . . . Thank you.” A long pause ensued. His expression gave away no more than his words. He ran a hand over his jaw. She could hear the rough scrape of his tightly trimmed beard in the quiet.

As curious as she was about her old life—and as much as she longed for some decent-fitting clothes and maybe a thriving bank account—she dreaded the answers he was about to find.

“Yes, I'm still here,” Zac said.

He wouldn't even look at her. Couldn't wait to get rid of her, obviously. And no wonder, after what she'd pulled. Her pulse pounded in her temples.

She let her eyes rove over his handsome face, the chiseled features that had melted her on the spot the second she'd seen him.
He had masculine brows that shadowed his deep-set eyes. Those gray eyes, so serious now, could light up so quickly. He had a goofy side. Could make her laugh until her jaw ached.

But he hadn't so much as smiled since her return. He was so distant. As if he were determined to keep her far away from his heart.

This whole situation boggled her mind. How could all her feelings for Zac be intact when she had a fiancé waiting in Portland? How could she possibly have fallen in love with someone else?

She couldn't. She refused to believe it. Whoever he was, he couldn't have captured her heart the way Zac had. She didn't want him. Didn't want to love him, didn't want a life with him.

And yet any moment the person on the phone was going to tell Zac his name, and Zac was going to escort her out to his truck, tuck her inside, drive her back to Portland, and hand her over to some stranger.

“Ayuh,” Zac said.

She stopped in front of his desk. Her heart rate accelerated, the headache thumping in her temples until she felt dizzy with it. Her fingers itched to hit the End button on the phone's base. She didn't want to know his name. She didn't want to go anywhere.

“I see,” he said. “When?” His lips pressed together as he listened to the county clerk. “Fine. Okay. Thank you for your help.” He turned off the handset and set it on the desk with a loud
thunk
. His eyes were glued to the desk. A shadow flickered over his jaw as it clenched, and his nose flared.

What?
she wanted to ask. But nothing came out. She watched him collect himself while her own heart threatened to explode from her chest.

“Their computers are down,” he said finally.

Her breath released in a quick puff. Thank God. A reprieve. Maybe a short one, but she'd take what she could get.

“They're hoping they'll be back up later today.”

“Hoping?”

He nailed her with a look. “They
will
be,” he said as if he could will it to happen.

“What—what do we do till then?”

“I have a restaurant to open. You should go . . . get a nap or something.”

“It's a little hard to sleep when my entire future's up in the air.” Edginess crept into her tone.

“You heard what the doctor said. You should take it easy. Maybe your memory will come back if you—”

“I don't want it back!”

He blinked at her, those inscrutable gray eyes giving away a flash of surprise.

“I don't! I don't want to go back to Portland, I don't want to know whose name was on that stupid marriage license, and I don't want—”

“We've been through—”

“—my memory back!”

They stared at each other, silence pushing in around them, thick and heavy like a fog rolling into the harbor. The same fog closed over her mind. She fought to hang on to her thoughts, but the wispy edges of them slipped away.

Her pounding head took front and center, stealing any rational thought she might have left.

Zac's chair squeaked as he got up. He skirted the desk, heading toward her.

Finally. Suddenly all she could think about was his arms around her. She ached for his embrace. She wanted to sink her
weight into him and pretend none of this was happening. Her heart sped as he neared, and she stepped toward him.

But he passed by her and went out the door.

Her breath escaped in a little whimper. Her eyes stung and her vision went blurry. Not from the concussion this time, but from the tears. She wouldn't cry, daggonit. She would. Not. Cry.

She counted the number of books on his shelves to distract herself. There weren't many, so she mentally alphabetized them. Why should she be so upset when he was apparently just going along like she wasn't in the middle of a crisis?

She might as well take control of her situation. Make a plan. Maybe she had a memory lapse, but she wasn't helpless. She'd walk right to the store and find some suitable clothes. Buy a curling iron and some decent conditioner. And lipstick. She'd feel so much better once she—

What was she thinking? She didn't have a cent to her name. She
was
helpless. Leastwise until she returned to Portland.

Zac walked back in and stopped, extending his hand. There were two pills in the bowl of his palm. A glass of water in his other hand.

Her eyes stung again at his kindness. What was wrong with her? Why was she so blubbery?

She took the pills and sank against the desk, weariness draping over her like a heavy mantle. She suddenly wanted to fall asleep for a very long time. Who knew forgetting could be so exhausting?

He stuffed his hands into his pockets. She could feel his eyes on her but didn't look at him. Didn't want him to see her vulnerability, not when he had that thick wall up between them.

“Lucy,” he said, his tone full of reason. “I know this is hard, but the last seven months happened whether you want to remember
them or not. You've moved on. I've moved on. Whether you remember it or not, that doesn't change that it happened. The sooner we figure this out, the sooner we can both get on with our lives.”

“What if I never get my memory back?”

“That doesn't change the fact that it happened. You have a job you can go back to. People who care about you.”

She sniffed. “I don't care about them.”

But a small part of her rejected the claim. She was the same person she'd been yesterday before the fall. Somewhere inside, she must care about this other man. Somewhere out there, he must be fretting over her. Whether she remembered him or not, she owed it to him to set his mind at ease.

“I've been thinking about yesterday,” Zac said. “Maybe it wasn't your actual wedding day. Otherwise, why would you have been alone in a diner? Maybe you were having your fitting or something. Did you notice if there was a wedding shop nearby?”

“I can't say as I did.” She pushed against the anxiety threading through her. Bridal shops had restrooms. Maybe she hadn't been thinking straight since she'd konked her head, but there was only one logical explanation why she was in that diner.

“I guess it's possible you hadn't even gotten a license yet. There's no waiting period, remember?”

He was wrong about all of this. She knew it deep inside, but she grabbed onto the thought like a lifeline. “That's true.”

“I guess we'll find out this afternoon.”

Zac hung the order and went to refill drinks at table eleven. Marci had missed her last two shifts.

Lunch rush was just about over, but a Red Sox game was coming on shortly and that meant extra customers. The retired population often stopped by to enjoy the afternoon games. They didn't order much, but Zac enjoyed their company.

By the time the restaurant cleared out, the supper crew was arriving. A quick check of his watch told him he needed to make that call to the county. He'd been too busy. At least that's what he told himself. Maybe somewhere deep inside, he didn't want to let go of Lucy just yet.

You're a regular masochist, Callahan.

He tossed down the rag he'd been using to clean the bar and strode to his office. He was going to get this over with, and he was going to do it now.

Seconds later he was dialing the number he'd jotted on a scrap of paper. It took forever to reach the right person, but when he did, he found that their computers were back up.