Feels Like Home. Beth Andrews
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Sheppard held a recyclable grocery bag in each hand, her smile small and polite. Detached. The same smile Yvonne often used when faced with an acquaintance she didn’t know very well. One she didn’t particularly care to know better.
“I thought I’d drop by,” Diane was saying. “Save you the trouble of coming over to the house and…” She lifted the bags. “I wasn’t sure when you’d have a chance to get into town so I picked up some groceries.”
Yvonne’s mouth popped open. “Oh. That was very…”
The other woman stepped forward, leaving her no choice but to move out her way.
“Thoughtful,” she finished lamely as Diane entered the house and headed straight for the kitchen.
Yvonne glanced from Diane’s retreating back to the porch and back again.
What just happened?
“Are you getting settled in all right?” Diane called from the other room.
The other room where Yvonne had piled boxes and papers and folders and files on the kitchen table to get them out of the way. Horrified, she quickly shut the door and a moment later found Diane unloading groceries onto the counter.
“Uh…yeah.” Yvonne winced and cleared her throat as she tried to straighten up the mess on the table. “I mean, yes. Thank you so much for asking.”
Heat crawled up her neck. So much for her hope that after seven years she’d be more at ease around her daunting mother-in-law.
Ex. Ex-mother-in-law.
They had no ties. Not anymore. Had really had none even when they’d been related. Diane had always been pleasant to her, but their relationship had been merely…cordial. Their only common ground had been their mutual love for Aidan. Now, facing Diane, Yvonne had no idea what to do next. Offer her hand? Too formal. A hug? Oh, God, that was inconceivable.
“Good.” Diane handed her a small bunch of green bananas. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call,” she said, somehow making what from anyone else would be a request sound like an order.
Yvonne stared down at the fruit. What was she supposed to do with it? She didn’t even like bananas. “I will,” she answered calmly, when what she really wanted to do was shove Diane out the door so she could compose herself. Tidy up the cottage. Realign her thoughts to accommodate the fact that her schedule, her plan for the afternoon, had been changed. “And thank you for the groceries. I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble, though.”
“No trouble at all.” Diane set a box of shredded wheat cereal in an upper cabinet. “I was at the store and tossed a few essentials in for you. And since I baked yesterday, I brought some cookies as well.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Chocolate chip.”
Aidan’s favorite.
“How…nice,” Yvonne managed to say lightly. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy them.”
And maybe as she ate them, she could remember how she’d gotten Diane’s recipe and made a batch herself. Because Aidan had asked her to. Her first—and last—attempt at baking had ended with smoke billowing from the oven, a visit from the local fire department and her feeling like a complete failure.
“Aidan mentioned you were at the carriage house this morning,” Diane said, opening the refrigerator door and putting away the milk and butter.
“I got in early and thought I’d check out the building.” She scraped off the sticker on the bananas and rolled it into a tube. “He seemed quite surprised to hear I’d been hired.”
“Hmm…yes…well, that’s probably because I hadn’t told him yet.”
Yvonne set the bananas on the only bare corner of the table. “He doesn’t want me here.”
“No. He certainly doesn’t.” Diane stacked one bag on top of the other and then folded them. “But I do.”
Ducking her head, Yvonne examined the bananas closer. “I appreciate your belief in my abilities. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure your wedding is perfect.”
“Oh, I have no doubt. Which is why I’m confident everything will turn out as I’d planned.”
Why Diane’s expression was just this side of sly, Yvonne had no idea. Wasn’t sure she wanted to know. It was enough that Diane had asked her here. She finally had the chance to make a real connection with a woman she’d always respected, but who’d never accepted her.
“That’s why I’m here,” she said with her most professional smile. “To make sure you get everything you want for your business and your wedding.”
“What I want is for my wedding to be the first official event held at the Diamond Dust—a sort of kickoff to our venture into hosting. Al and I have both been married before, so we don’t need all the pomp and circumstance this time around. We want a small, intimate gathering with our families and closest friends. And we want it to showcase the best of the winery so people can see what to expect if they hold their own special events here.”
Right. Could she pull this off?
Yvonne’s smile felt stiff and cold. Or maybe the panic squeezing her throat was cutting off the blood supply to her face. “No problem.”
Diane nodded. “I know this is short notice, so I’m sure you’re anxious to get started. Why don’t you stop by the house tomorrow for lunch? I’ll have a finalized guest list for you by then.”
“That’ll be fine,” she said, calculating in her head how much time she had to get the invitations ordered and sent. Not enough. Not nearly enough. She moved aside the scrapbook she’d made showcasing some of her most successful weddings, so she could pick up the large binder underneath. “I have some invitation samples here,” she said, laying the open binder on the counter. “Once you find a design you like, we can customize the colors and—”
“Whatever you pick will be fine.”
In the act of flipping to a design she thought Diane would like, Yvonne froze. “Excuse me?”
“Naturally Al and I will let you know the wording we’d like to use, but the design, the colors…” the older woman waved her hand. “Those are up to you.”
“You want me to choose your wedding invitations?” she asked incredulously.
This time Diane’s smile was warm, her eyes lit with humor. “Isn’t that what wedding planners do?”
“I help people make choices about flowers and color schemes and menus and music,” Yvonne said slowly. “Everything that enables them to have their dream wedding. Those choices are based on the client’s preferences and their budget.”
Diane crossed her arms over her ample chest and studied Yvonne over her glasses. “My preference is that you plan my wedding—all aspects of it, except for my dress, which I’ve already picked out.”
“But…but what about your attendants’ dresses? Tuxes for the men? Favors and—”
“Al and I are having our children stand up for us. It would probably be best if you let Marsha, Al’s daughter, pick her own dress based on the color scheme you choose, but the boys can wear suits. As for favors…” Diane grimaced, as if a token gift of appreciation was on par with finding someone else’s hair in your dinner. “I’ve never been big on that sort of thing. Let’s just skip that part?”
Yvonne realized she was staring at her with her mouth open. She snapped her lips together. This was crazy. She’d had carefree, laid-back brides before, but nothing like this.
“I’m not sure I feel comfortable taking over that way.” She was excellent at making a client’s dreams come true.
How could she do that for Diane if they didn’t work together?
“Why