The Summer Wedding: Groom Wanted / The Man You'll Marry. Debbie Macomber
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done that day on the beach. He’d kissed her and she’d known immediately, intuitively, that she’d never be the same. But knowing it didn’t alter her resolve. She couldn’t love him because the price would be too high. He would give her all the things she craved, but eventually she’d end up like her mother, lonely and bitter.
“I just can’t imagine Jordan Wilcox married,” Mark concluded.
“I can,” Shelly interrupted with unflinching enthusiasm. “To Jill.”
“Shelly,” Mark said, grinning indulgently, “listen to reason.”
“When has falling in love ever been reasonable?” She fired the question at her husband, who merely shrugged, then turned back to Jill. “Did you tell him about Aunt Milly’s wedding dress?”
“Good heavens, no!”
“All the better. I’ll bet you really threw the guy for a loop. Was he on this flight?”
“No, he returned four days ago.”
“Four days ago?” Shelly asked suspiciously. “There’s something you’re not telling us. Come on, Jill, fess up. You did a whole lot more than sit next to him on the plane. And Mark and I want to know what.”
“Uh …” Jill was tired from the flight and her resistance was low. Under normal circumstances she would’ve sidestepped the issue. “It isn’t like it sounds,” she said weakly. “We talked, that’s all.”
“Did you kiss?” The question came out in a soft whisper. “The first time Mark kissed me was when I knew. If you and Jordan kissed, there wouldn’t be any doubt in your mind. You’d know.”
Sooner or later Shelly would worm it out of her. By telling the truth now, Jill thought she might be able to avoid a lengthy inquisition later. “All right, fine. We did kiss. A couple of times.”
Even Mark seemed surprised by that.
“See?” Shelly cried triumphantly. “And what happened?”
Jill heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Nothing. I want to return the wedding dress.”
“Sorry,” Shelly said, her eyes flashing with excitement, “it’s nonreturnable.”
“I don’t plan on ever seeing him again,” Jill said adamantly. She’d more or less told Jordan that, too. He was in full agreement; he wanted nothing to do with her, either. “I insist you take back the wedding dress,” Jill said. Shelly and Mark’s eyes met. Slowly they smiled, as if sharing a private joke.
But in Jill’s opinion, there was nothing to smile about.
* * *
The first person Jill called when she got home was her mother. Their conversation was friendly, and she was relieved to find Elaine less vague and self-absorbed than she’d been recently. Jill told a few anecdotes, described the island and the hotel, but avoided telling her mother about Jordan.
She was strangely reluctant to call Ralph, even though she knew he was waiting to hear from her. He was terribly nice, but unfortunately she found him … a bit dull. She put off calling; two days later, he called her, leaving a message.
They’d kissed a few times, and the kisses were pleasant enough, but for her there wasn’t any spark. When Jordan took her in his arms it felt like a forest fire compared to the placid warmth she experienced with Ralph.
Jordan. Forgetting him hadn’t become any easier. Jill had assumed that once she was home, surrounded by everything that was familiar and comfortable, she’d be able to put their brief interlude behind her.
It hadn’t happened.
Wednesday afternoon, Jill returned home from work, put water on for tea and began reading the paper. Normally she didn’t glance at the financial section. She wasn’t sure why she did now. Skimming the headlines, she idly folded back the page—and saw Jordan’s name. It seemed to leap out at her.
Jill’s heart slowed, then vaulted into action as she read the article. He’d done it. The paper was reporting Jordan’s latest coup. His company had reached an agreement with a land-management outfit in Hawaii, and construction on the shopping mall would begin within the next three months.
He must be pleased. Although he hadn’t said much, Jill knew Jordan had wanted this project to fly. A hundred questions bombarded her. Had he heard from Andrew Howard? Had the older man joined forces with Jordan, after all? Had he asked Jordan about her, and if so, what had Jordan told him?
Jill had thought of writing Mr. Howard a note, but she didn’t have his address. She didn’t have Jordan’s, either; however, it was a simple matter of checking the internet for his company’s address.
Before she could determine the wisdom of her actions, she scribbled a few lines of congratulation, addressed the envelope, and the next morning, mailed the card. She had no idea if it would even reach him.
Two days later when Jill came home from work, she noticed a long luxury car parked in front of her apartment building. Other than giving it an inquisitive glance, she didn’t pay any attention. She was shuffling through her purse, searching for her keys, when she heard someone approach from behind.
She turned her head to see—and nearly dropped her purse. It was Jordan. He looked very much as he had the first time she’d met him. Cynical and hard. Detached and unemotional. His smoky gray eyes scanned her, but there was nothing to indicate that he was glad to see her, or if he’d spared her a moment’s thought since they’d parted. Nothing but cool indifference.
“Hello, Jill.”
She was so flustered that the newspaper, which she’d tucked under her arm, fell to the floor. Stooping, she retrieved it, then clutched it against her chest as she straightened. “Jordan.”
“I got your note.”
“I—I wanted you to know how happy I was for you.”
He was staring pointedly at her door.
“Um, would you like to come inside?” she asked, unlatching the door with fumbling fingers. “I’ll make some tea if you like. Or coffee …” She hadn’t expected this, nor was she emotionally prepared for seeing him. She’d figured he’d read the card and then drop it in his wastebasket.
“Tea sounds fine.”
“I’ll just be a minute,” she said as she hurried into the kitchen. Her heart was rampaging, pounding against her ribs. “Make yourself at home,” she called out, holding the teakettle under the faucet.
“You have a nice place,” he said, standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room.
“Thank you. I’ve lived here for three years.” She didn’t know why she’d told him that. It didn’t matter to him how long she’d lived there.
“Why’d you send me the card?” he asked while she was setting out cups and saucers.
She didn’t feel comfortable using her everyday mugs; she had a couple of lovely china cups her mother had given her and decided on those instead. She paused at his question, frowning slightly. “To congratulate you.”
“The real reason.”
“That was the real reason. This shopping mall was important to you and I was happy to read that everything came together. I knew you worked hard to make it happen. That was the only reason I sent you the note.” Her cheeks heated at his implication. He seemed to believe something she hadn’t intended—or had she?
“Andrew Howard decided to invest in the project at the last minute. It was his support that made the difference.”
Jill nodded. “I was hoping he would.”
“I have you to thank for that.”
Nothing in his expression suggested he was grateful for any assistance she might unwittingly have given him.