The Wedding Shop (5 page)

C
OLE

January 3

Heart's Bend, Tennessee

C
hange required courage. Even the smallest steps. Like meeting a friend of a friend for dinner. Casually. Not a date. Just a prearranged meeting with a woman he barely knew.

He'd determined to make this year a good one. Shake off guilt, doubt, the lingering stench of death, and move toward his future. Build his business. Maybe find love.

Besides, what else would he be doing on a Sunday evening other than watching football with his brothers if not meeting a friend of a friend for dinner?

His head told him it was time. Though his heart still lingered at the weigh station.

He snatched his keys from his dresser and headed downstairs, exiting the bottom steps into the living room where his middle brother, Chris, a Georgetown MBA student home on break, sat in a Barcalounger with a large cheese pizza on his lap.

Baby brother Cap was a Vanderbilt sophomore and was working tonight at their mother's diner, Ella's.

Cole flicked his hand against his brother's foot, his fingers landing against a wet, soggy sock. “Dude, seriously?” Cole made a face, wiggling his fingers in the air. “Where've you been?”

“Playing a game of touch in Gardenia Park with Kiefer and
some of the guys. I texted you about it.” Chris worked his way out of the chair, carrying the pizza into the kitchen, offering Cole a slice. “Where you been? And where are you going?”

Cole hesitated, washing his hands at the sink. Tonight's venture was private to him, something he needed to explore on his own without Chris, Cap, or Mom butting in.

“Meeting a friend.”

He'd wanted to meet this friend of a friend in Nashville where she lived, away from the prying eyes of his hometown, but she'd insisted on coming here. Said she loved Heart's Bend and hadn't visited in a while.

“A friend?” Chris shoved the last bite of his pizza into his mouth. And continued speaking. “What friend?” Little brother leaned forward, sniffing. “Wearing cologne? You're going on a date.”

“No, no, not a date. I'm meeting a friend of a friend.”

“A date.” Chris hooted, reaching for another slice of pizza. “Bro, this is good. Tammy's been gone nine months.”

“Hey, a little respect.” Cole yanked a bottle of water from the fridge.

“I'm showing respect. But you can't hole up here forever. Tammy wouldn't want it.” Chris gestured to the glass-encased guitar hanging on the wall over the dining table. “Unless you want to do your heart like you did that guitar.”

“
That
guitar is a classic. Worth a lot of money.” Cole didn't have to tell Chris it was a rare Fender Stratocaster. Purchased with his dad when Cole was thirteen.

“How'd you meet this girl? Which friend is setting you up? Are you taking her to Ella's? 'Cause you know Mom will be all over it.”

Their mother, Tina Danner, owned the old Heart's Bend diner, Ella's. Worked there as a waitress after Dad left . . . by invitation of the FBI.

“I'm going on a blind meeting, okay? And not to Ella's. You think I've lost my mind?”

“Blind
meeting
?” Chris said, his face lit with a sloppy grin, an arrogant grad student glint in his eyes. “Bro, it's a
date
.”

Of course he was right. But Cole couldn't quite admit it yet. That being said, he should've insisted on a Nashville location. The trouble with living in small-town Tennessee was everyone knew your business, your name, how cute you were in the first-grade Christmas pageant when you sang “Away in a Manger” too loud and off-key.

“I'm meeting her at the Burger Barn.” Cole reached for a napkin and flicked it toward his brother. “You have sauce on your chin.”

Chris snatched the napkin with swagger. “Are you kidding? Everyone in town goes to the Burger Barn on the weekend.”

“Technically, this is Sunday night. Not a weekend. And the Barn is on the edge of town, on the other side of that old wedding shop. Tucked away. Less likely to have foot traffic.”

“Oh, right, the church crowd goes right home after Sunday-night services. I
forgot
.”

“They'll be cleared out by eight.”

“Reverend Smith closes the place down with rounds of root beer and a medley of ‘The Old Rugged Cross' and ‘This Is My Story.' ” Chris shoved the pizza box toward Cole. “Take a piece. You look like you need some sustenance.”

Cole eyed a small slice. Now that he was ready and waiting to go, his empty stomach played ravenous notes against his ribs. He'd been too busy to stop for lunch, working on Sunday to finish a remodel that was over schedule and over budget.

The holidays had put his crew behind, and he wanted to finish up lingering projects to get ready for new business. He had a lot of bids out, and he expected a full work queue by the middle of the month. He had to because Danner Construction was running out of jobs and out of money.

He bit into the pizza with a glance at his brother. “Does Mom know you're here? She might have fixed dinner.”

“She's working. She and Cap are both covering a shift for
someone out sick.” Chris moved between Mom's house and Cole's like a flowing river. “I thought I'd hang here, watch football. You're on for the bowl games tomorrow, right? I've got some guys coming over. Oh, hey, you remember Jason Saglimbeni? He's back in town. We were thinking of getting up a jam session before I go back to DC. I haven't played drums in over a year.”

“You guys go ahead.”

“Come on, Cole. Take that Stratocaster out of its glass tower and jam with us. You know that's what Dad—”

“I don't need you to tell me what Dad would want.” Cole checked the time. “'Cause I don't really care what Dad would want.”

“You can't hide from him forever.”

“Who says I'm hiding?”

“I do. When was the last time you played? Talked to Dad?”

“Hey, look at me.” Cole stretched his arms wide. “I'm going on a date nine months after my fiancée died. I think that's accomplishment enough.”

Actually, she was his ex-fiancée, but no one really knew that. Except maybe Haley, Tammy's best friend. The breakup and her diagnosis happened at the same time. And the whirlwind took over. Then death and grief. He didn't have the emotional bank account for “jamming” or talking to his deadbeat dad.

Cole paused at the door leading out to the breezeway and garage. “Don't leave your pizza box out. Clean up when you're done.”

Into the cold evening, the air doused the heat of Chris's random confrontation. Dad and music. He hadn't jammed since Dad's incarceration.

After his arrest, the FBI took years to bring their case to court. Meanwhile, Mom, Cole, Chris, and Cap grew hopeful. Maybe the charges of fraud wouldn't stick.

But a new trouble brewed. Dad lost his construction company, so he took to drinking, wrinkling the family name with a new kind of shame.

Sitting astride his Harley 750, Cole fired up the engine, shifting his emotions away from the conversation with Chris. The past was the past. Dad's reputation was not his.

Old things have passed away . . . all things become new.

Shifting into gear, snapping on his helmet, he breathed in the night, the air pregnant with snow. The
Farmer's Almanac
predicted a lot of winter precipitation. If so, it would be bad for business, and Cole didn't have the bank account for a long, lean winter.

One shift of the clutch and a little gas, he'd be out of here, off on a
date
.

Yet he didn't have to go. He could cancel, go inside, watch bowl games with his brother, and order another pizza.

Wait, that's exactly what he'd been doing the past year. Hiding. Retreating. This was a
new
year. Time to move forward, get on with life.

He eased out of the garage, closing the door behind him. He'd be warmer in his truck, but he felt the need for speed. For the cold to press through his leather jacket and jeans, to wake up his dull, sleeping self.

Down the street, past golden windows where families gathered, past the festive flicker of a few remaining red, blue, and green Christmas lights, Cole turned right on River Road, heading for town and First Avenue.

He eased off the gas as he drove past the old wedding shop, a three-story brick construction sitting alone under a sentry of shading elms. The large front windows were dark, a pair of sad eyes watching the world go by.

He'd always liked the charm of the place, appreciated the shop's role in Heart's Bend's history. Both of his grandmothers and a great aunt bought their wedding dresses from Miss Cora.

But the shop's days were numbered.

“Sorry,” he whispered against his helmet. “But you had a good run, no?”

A wind gust happened by and the no-good For Sale sign, barely visible under the amber street light, swung from its white post.

The city had tried to sell it to a business-minded person who might finally turn the space into a viable part of the downtown commerce, but so far only Akron Developers ponied up any money. But they wanted the land. Not the building. They needed a parking lot for their new lofts and outdoor shopping mall.

Demolishing 143 First Avenue was one of the jobs Cole had bid on for the winter.

It was time. The old shop had stood empty more than not in the past thirty-five years. Whatever it once stood for—brides flooding in to purchase their trousseaus from noted Heart's Bend citizen Miss Cora—had long been forgotten.

Tammy had some emotional attachment to the shop. Something about playing there with Haley as kids. How the two of them decided, at age ten, they were going to reopen the old wedding shop someday. Return it to its former bridal glory.

But Cole had doubts. Tammy talked about law school and Haley was off with the air force, fighting a war. And frankly, he couldn't see
that
girl running a wedding shop for nothing.

He'd been beaten up twice in his life. Once in first grade by Jeremy Wayne for calling him a cheater. And once in fifth grade by Haley Morgan—the more humiliating of the two—for telling her she looked pretty.

Cole gunned the gas, moving on. The time for reminiscing had passed.

When he pulled up to the Burger Barn, he saw a woman waiting on the front bench, her slender legs peeking out from the hem of a pink, fur-trimmed coat. She stood as he rolled up.

Cole cut the engine and removed his helmet, smoothing his hair in place. “Betsy?”

“Mariah told me you were hot, but I didn't know you rode a Harley.”

“Mariah likes to exaggerate.” But he'd take the props.

Joining Betsy at the bench, Cole could see her face in the restaurant's light. She was beautiful with her raven hair and full lips. A subtle, wild fragrance bounced in the air around her.

“No, I think she was right this time.” She beamed and slipped her arm through his. “Maybe you could take me for a
ride
later?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Bold, this one. “You hungry?”

“Starving.”

Her breath brushed over his cheek and she squeezed his arm. Yeah, she was starving all right, but for what?

Cole stepped to the front door, holding it open for his lovely, if not racy, date. This was good, right? A change of pace. A woman very different from his last. This was so much better than staying at home with sweaty-socks Chris.

He ordered a table for two at the hostess stand, then eased back, giving his nerves a rest.

Betsy may not be the one for him, but here she was, in the moment, wrapped in a beautiful pink package. The first moment of Cole's new tomorrows started here and now.

C
ORA

She stood eye to eye with him. A riverboat captain. But not
her
riverboat captain. Not Rufus St. Claire.

“Hello?” he said, a spark of amusement in his eyes.