The Wedding Dress (13 page)

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“But you know something, Daniel Ludlow, don’t you dare lie to me. Otherwise you’d have not intimated as much. I won’t be trifled with, hear me?” Emily slapped the table with her palm. The other Newman’s patrons lifted their heads, looking their way. “You know people. Your father is a police captain. Your chum is a reporter on the paper. Why, you know the old man Woodward yourself. He recruited you for his mighty Birmingham Barons.”

“So I might know a thing or two.” Daniel adjusted his hat, the scent of Emily’s skin seeping into him, stirring his affections. “You shouldn’t ask questions you don’t really want answered, Emily.”

“I asked because I want to know. Daniel—”

“Fine, then ask me a specific question. What is it you want to know?”

“Does Phillip keep a . . .” Her question faltered.

“A mistress?”

She nodded. Fast. Short.

“Emily, listen to me—”

“There you are, my dear, I thought you’d left the diner.” Mrs. Canton slid into the booth across from Daniel and Emily. “I’m sorry it took me so long, but Mrs. Caruthers cornered me and went on and on about her dressmaking qualifications. Daniel Ludlow, good afternoon.” Mrs. Canton tugged off her gloves. “What are you doing here?”

“Ma’am, it’s good to see you. I saw Emily enter the diner and thought I’d offer my congratulations on becoming engaged.” Daniel slid out of the booth, tipping his hat. “You and Miss Canton are two of the loveliest women in Birmingham.”

“Thank you. You are most kind.” Mrs. Canton set her hat on the table and tucked her gloves under the wide brim with a sigh. “Did you order my cold milk? It’s so warm out today.”

“I was waiting for you, Mother.” Emily peeked at Daniel. “I didn’t want your milk to get warm.”

“Well, there’s a good girl. Excuse me—waiter.”

“Have a good day, ladies.” Daniel backed toward the door. “Emily, best of everything.” Their staccato conversation left him uneasy.

“Excuse me, Mother.” Emily slid out of the booth, stepped around the waiter, and followed Daniel to the front of the diner. “Tell me,” she whispered. “Does he?”

“Have a mistress?”

She gazed into his eyes. He couldn Ses.n><’t . . . it would crush her. Her fingernails dug into his arm.

“Daniel.”

“Yes. So goes the word around town. But you should find out the truth yourself, Emily. You know how gossip gets all twisted and maligned.”

“No, no.” She jutted backward, shaking her head, her dark eyes narrowing. “You’re a liar, Daniel Ludlow. I don’t believe you.” Her accusation stung and Daniel regretted yielding to her desire for the truth. But he couldn’t change his path now. She snarled at him. “You’re just jealous, spiteful, and petty.”

“If only it were true. I’d be a liar ten times over if it meant Saltonstall didn’t cheat on you. I warned you not to ask if you didn’t want to know, Emily.” Daniel eyed her, hard, then jerked open Newman’s door so the bells rang out.

Emily stepped after him. “What did you hope to gain by lying to me?”

“What did you hope to gain by asking me if your fiancé had a mistress? You’ve made me hurt you, and I don’t like it.”

He stepped outside without looking back and stormed toward Loveman’s, heat rising in his chest. So this was it. His last encounter with Emily.

But then Daniel turned on his heel. He refused to let her last memory of him be when he cast shadows on the man she planned to marry. At Newman’s, he reached for the door but let his fingers slip from the handle.

Standing in front of the pane glass window, right beside the “Apple Pie 25¢” sign, he watched her speaking with her mother, no doubt telling her what a cad Daniel Ludlow was.

Look up, Emily
. His heart quickened when she reached for her lemonade. She caught him staring, so he raised his hand in greeting, mustering his best sympathetic expression.
Are you okay?

Emily’s weak and slight head tip relieved his heart. She sipped her lemonade, peering at him over the rim of her glass. Should he go inside? Speak with her? Demand a private audience and explain how he knew such a thing about her fiancé?

No, best to leave well enough alone. He’d done enough damage. Two women approached Emily and Mrs. Canton from another table. Daniel watched their exclamations, hands to their cheeks, bending to gaze at Emily’s ring.

Saltonstall was a louse. He’d bought that ring for another woman. Daniel knew it. He just couldn’t prove it. But whatever the price, it wasn’t enough to win a woman like Emily Canton.

Chapter Eight

 
Charlotte
Ves.n> Ei

 
C
harlotte crossed her living room, phone pressed to her ear, when a knock on the door beckoned.

“Thank you, Tawny. I’ll see you then.” Charlotte motioned Dixie into the loft, crossing back across the living room to her dining room table desk. “Lunch on Thursday, one thirty, at Bellini’s.” She hung up and tapped on her iPad, entering lunch on her calendar.

“Tawny?” Dix said.

“She’s invited me to a luncheon with her bridesmaids. She wants them to meet ‘the great Charlotte Malone,’ her words not mine.” Charlotte grinned. “Only one of them is already married and three others are in serious relationships . . . Bless Tawny for helping my business. Marketing is really all about word of—Dix, why do you have a hammer and screwdriver?”

Dixie clapped the tools together. “Never know when they might come in handy. I might see a protruding nail in your loft.” Dix mimed hammering a wall. “Or a find a loose screw somewhere.”

“Besides the one in your own head, you mean?” Charlotte finished adding lunch with Tawny to her schedule.

“Or we could use these to open the trunk.”

“Open the trunk?” Charlotte met her gaze, exhaling a small laugh. “It’s welded shut, Dix. A hammer and screwdriver can’t undo welded metal. If they can, I’m never driving over a bridge again.”

“Well, it’s all I had.” Dixie dropped the tools on the table. “Dr. Hotstuff deals in scalpels and scissors. His toolbox is pathetic. All it has in it is a fork, a hammer, and this rusty screwdriver.”

“A fork?”

“Yeah, left over from the piece of pie he ate while hanging the pictures in our loft. So, where’s this thousand-dollar trunk?” Dixie scanned the loft living area, around to the kitchen.

“In my room.” Charlotte gestured toward the short hallway.

“Char, how can you stand not opening it?”

“It reminds me . . . I can’t help but think that ugly thing was the catalyst that ended Tim and me.” Charlotte took a brief scan of e-mail, glad to have a focus besides Dixie and her tools. Though her friend had a way of barging past emotional welded locks with her tools of boldness.

“You know, you can’t avoid things because they’re difficult or welded shut.”

“I’m not avoiding anything. Just that trunk.”

[n> “Char, really, are you okay?” Dixie dropped onto a chair, hammer and screwdriver in her lap.

“You asked me that a hundred times this afternoon. I’m fine.”

“If Jared had broken off with me two months before our wedding, I’d still be in bed hugging a box of tissues.”

“You hole up in bed with tissues, I work. Move forward. Forget the past.” Charlotte set down her iPad. “When Mama died and I had to move in with Gert, I cried for a while, told Gert I was too sick to go to school. But after a month of crying every night, I stopped. Tears weren’t going to raise Mama from the dead. They weren’t going to bring me a father or grandparents. So I mourned Mama by doing something. I got up, went to school, conquered fractions, grasped grammar, became the first one picked for volleyball in gym class. I was going to make Mama proud.” Charlotte stared toward the dark-paned windows, the lights of Homewood beaming up from the ground. “Tears aren’t going to bring Tim back either. So I work. I make Mama proud.”

The silence between the friends gave Charlotte a moment to exhale and think, digest her own thoughts, put a picture to her feelings. She loved Tim, but something had made her second-guess.

Dixie reached across and squeezed her hand. “Are you hungry?”

“I could eat.”

“How’s Homewood Gourmet sound?”

“Let’s go.” Charlotte slung her bag over her shoulder. “I’ve been thinking about taking a Paris trip in the fall. A visit to Bray-Lindsay and our other designers. You game?”

“Game? I’m the whole party. Absolutely, I want to go to Paris. If you go without me I’ll burn the shop down.” Dixie sliced the air with the hammer and screwdriver.

“We don’t need tools tonight, Dix.” Charlotte started down the hall toward the elevator.

“I don’t know, we might.” Dixie examined the hammer as Charlotte pushed the first-floor button. “One thing we do know, it’ll be winter in hades before Jared notices they’re gone.”

Charlotte ordered pesto chicken with soup and salad, then took a swig of tea, waiting for Dixie to order. She loved the we-welcome-you atmosphere of Homewood Gourmet, the small hum of voices, the clatter of dishes, the anticipation of unique food.

She pulled out her iPad to look at the fall calendar, block off time for Paris. She’d need to contact her designers, determine a good visiting time, hire someone to watch the shop, so she’d best formulate a time frame.

Charlotte gazed up when Dixie finished ordering, ready to ask about her schedule. But as she took in the view of the front door, the words stuck in her throat and her weak heart tumbled to its knees.

Tim. With a beautiful woman.

“Char, what is it?” Dixie whipped around to see over her shoulder. “Oh wow, I don’t believe it.”

“Let’s just go.” Charlotte closed up her iPad and jammed it into her satchel. “Once they’re seated”—she ducked low to the table, hiding behind Dixie—“we can sneak out.”

“Sit up. You’re not going to hide, ashamed. He’s the one that ought to be ashamed.”

“Sure, but he’s with a gorgeous date and I’m sitting here with you.”

“I’ll take that like you intended, not like it sounded, Charlotte.”

“You know what I mean.” Charlotte made a face, sniffing back the sting of tears.

Tim surveyed the restaurant with his head high as a lovely, golden-haired woman—with a darn near perfect profile—linked her arm through his. He bent to whisper something in her ear and she smiled at him with an utterly flawless smile.

Charlotte felt the heat from the woman’s dreamy gaze across the room. She had to get out of here. Calculating how many steps to the front door, she figured ten giant steps would get her out the door fast.

“Dixie, you can stay and be brave if you want, hold your head high and all of that, but I’m leaving.” Charlotte yanked her wallet from her bag and left a twenty on the table. “That should cover my food.”

Dixie clamped down on her arm. “You’re not leaving. We came here to eat, get out, have fun. We came here to forget about him. And talk business.”

“How can I forget about him if I have to look at him. If every laugh makes me look around to see if it’s her? Wondering what he’s saying to
her
. Or why he’s here with
her
in the first place.”

“Charlotte, she’s probably a client, a colleague, something to do with architecture.”

“Why are you defending him? She’s a date, I can tell. No client gives him the dreamy-eye. Either way, I’m leaving and I don’t want him to see me.”

The server passed and Charlotte dropped two more twenties on the table. “Excuse me, miss, but we’re going to have to go. This should cover our bill.”

“What bill?” Dixie waved her hand over the empty table. “We didn’t even eat.”

“But we’ve ordered. Uneaten food still costs money.” Charlotte stood, hunching forward, eyes on Tim. He sat with
her
on the other side of the door. Charlotte could make a clean escape. Stooping down, hiding behind servers and patrons, she worked through a people maze to the door and burst into the cool April night with an exhale.

Dixie trailed behind Charlotte with an
I’m mad-I’m sympathetic-I’m mad-I’m sympathetic clip-clop
ring to her heels as they pounded the pavement. “This is ridiculous. He broke up with you and you let him drive you out of the restaurant?” Dixie aimed her remote key at the car. The horn beeped. The lights flashed.

Charlotte scrambled into the passenger seat, white-knuckled the door handle, and hugged her satchel to her chest. “I lied, Dix. I’m not so fine. I’m sad and this whole thing hurts.” Tears watered her words. “I can’t believe he has someone else. She must be the reason he has doubts.” Charlotte peered out her window, then turned toward Dixie. “She was pretty, wasn’t she? Yeah, she was gorgeous.”

“If you like skinny girls with too much makeup, sure. Charlotte, this doesn’t seem like Tim.”

“You’re
still
defending him? Dix, what do we know about him,
really
?

“We know he’s standing outside your window right now.”

“Charlotte—” Tim stood by her door, hands on his belt, head cocked to one side, peering down at her. “Can I talk to you?”

She angled toward Dixie, hand cupped around her eyes. “Do you think he’s seen me?”