Page 52 of Never Marry the Best Man (Whatever It Takes #4)

Things to do when I get home:

Knitting class

Read The Light We Carry

Learn to make sushi

Buy bike, ride to work

Ranney

Well, she’d resolved that problem.

Damn it.

She had definitively explained to him that this relationship was going nowhere, had no future, was nothing more than a piece of paper with an expiration date.

Now she could go back to her peaceful, undisturbed existence, doing whatever it was she used to do with her free time before she was using it all to agonize.

She had checked him off her to-do list. Now she could move on to learning how to knit.

Such a relief.

Putting all her feelings inside a neat little box named Tom, she tucked it away in a closet inside her heart, closing the door so she could breathe.

“I’m going to knit you a sweater,” she told Nessa. “What color would you like?”

For a long moment, Nessa stared at her blankly. “Since Matt moved in, I don’t have much closet space,” she answered evasively. “Maybe Mame would like one. Or Charlene. Don’t most people start with a scarf?”

“Would you rather have one of those? Blue, maybe?”

“Maybe,” Nessa said vaguely. “Are they serving dessert yet? Dessert, speeches, dancing, departure. But they’re South American. This could go very late.”

“I know.” Ranney was the oldest employee at Wedding Protectors–senior in more ways than one–and she wondered briefly how long she wanted to go on working into the early hours of the morning.

Maybe she could specialize in daytime events and leave these all-nighters to Nessa and Marlo and their cohort.

She could stay home and drink tea and knit.

Her peaceful new life. Maybe she’d get a cat for company.

“Could you use a new sweater?” she asked Archie, who had just appeared.

“My wife is knitting me one.” Archie was newly married, and the novelty hadn’t worn off. He used the words ‘my wife’ whenever possible. As a rule, Archie was a private guy, but his pride in Maureen could not be contained.

“That’s so sweet,” Nessa said, turning thoughtful. “I haven’t been posting much lately. Maybe I could do something on hand knits. Maybe I could make something for Matt?”

“Seems perfect for your new emphasis,” Ranney encouraged.

Nessa’s side gig as an influencer was originally very much focused on a high-end lifestyle, but when she fell in love with her fiancé–a minister–she realized that she was more interested in a deeper, more lasting kind of beauty.

As an intensely visual person, she couldn’t ignore designer fashion entirely, but she was more likely to feature a vintage handbag or a hand-me-down coat than the latest thing from The Row.

A sweater handmade for a loved one was, no pun intended, a perfect fit.

“We can take a class together, that would be fun,” Ranney suggested.

She was becoming painfully aware that since Las Vegas, she’d been running a sort of parallel scenario in her head.

There was her real life, and then there was an imaginary–but not impossible–life in which she was happily married to a handsome (and slightly younger) Englishman from a noble family who had appeared out of nowhere, declared his undying love, and transformed her life.

It was not entirely lost on her that this basic plot had been selling very well for centuries under the title Cinderella .

But she had just put an end to it, once and for all. The reasons she’d given him, the reasons it would never work, were all true, and there were plenty more besides. It was, after all, a fairy tale.

She certainly didn’t believe in it.

If only she’d never let herself fantasize about it, though, not even for a second. Because now it was gone. If she had a bad day–a broken toaster, an unexpected tax bill, a huffy bride–there was no mental vacation she could take by picturing herself lying next to Tom on the pink Bermuda sand.

What she did have, what she needed to concentrate on, was her family, her friends, and a good–no, great –job that was rewarding and well paid. She was happy before Tom came along and she knew she’d be happy again.

Someday.

The only thing to do was keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Figuratively, but also literally. Archie had already moved off on his rounds and she should do the same.

Giving Nessa’s arm a squeeze, she headed for the ladies’ room, not because she needed to use it but because long experience had taught her that simmering trouble could often be detected by sitting quietly in a stall and listening.

Somebody weeping, somebody talking on their cellphone, two friends gossiping–numerous disasters had been headed off with bathroom intel.

It wasn’t glamorous but it was surprisingly effective.

Also, it let you sit down and rest in relative peace for fifteen minutes.

Tonight she used the time to start typing up notes for her final report, one less thing to worry about later.

Traffic was low, presumably because dinner was in progress.

Eventually the door opened and heels clicked across the floor, but when she heard the sound of a breast pump motor, she stood, flushing the toilet for cover.

The noise of the device would prevent her from overhearing much, and anyway, it was time to get going.

An unusual hush, then a wave of laughter from the tent told her that speeches and toasts had begun. All eyes were on Ani’s sister, the maid of honor, who was telling a childhood story involving horses, unsurprisingly.

Trying to move inconspicuously, Ranney edged along the perimeter of the tent, looking for the best vantage point. Evidently, Nessa was doing the same thing, because they arrived at the same point simultaneously, tucked into the folds of drapery but with clear sightlines in every direction.

Unfortunately, Ranney’s clear sightlines meant that Tom was never out of her view. Prominently seated at the wedding party table, he was fiddling with his silverware, head tilted down, as he listened. Also in plain sight, adding to her discomfort, was his mother.

Human beings seem to have an extra-sensory ability to perceive when someone is looking at them, even from another direction, and Tom’s mother was no exception.

At the moment Ranney’s gaze rested on her, she looked up and their eyes locked.

Caught, Ranney gave her an apologetic little shrug with a half smile.

She fervently hoped that the woman had a sense of humor: Please smile back!

No such luck; an icy stare was the response.

Perhaps not surprising; she’d had the woman pulled aside and questioned by security, after all.

And she didn’t know how much Tom had shared with her, either.

Was that the icy stare of the unjustly accused, or the icy stare of a mother protecting her son from the predatory woman who had entrapped him into a sham marriage?

Even on her best day, Ranney did not resemble the age-appropriate girlfriend that Tom’s mother had been looking for.

But , she reminded herself, it made absolutely no difference . She would never see this woman again. For that matter, she might never see Tom again. When he decided to dissolve their legal union, she could probably docu-sign the no-fault divorce papers.

Applause, cheering, raising and clinking of glasses startled her and she realized she was paying no attention to the goings-on. Ani and Charlie were laughing and kissing, and the wedding planner was signaling to Tom, who got to his feet. For a moment, he stood waiting for quiet.

“For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Tom Phillips, Charlie’s cousin and as you perhaps noticed, best man. Although I’ve been wondering about that: If I’m the best man , shouldn’t I be the one getting married? And what does that make Charlie?” His audience chuckled.

“Lucky!” Charlie called out. “It makes me very lucky!” More laughter.

“Indeed,” Tom agreed, smiling. “Those of us who are still searching for what you found know all too well that luck plays perhaps the biggest role of all. It’s quite terrifying to consider.

How very lucky you are that Ani spilled her coffee that morning in Paris, and there you were to grab a napkin and mop it up.

Suppose you’d gone to a different café or your meeting had been canceled?

We wouldn’t be here, enjoying the barbecue on this beautiful Austin evening.

” He turned his focus away from Charlie, now addressing the assembled guests.

“Think of your own love story. On the night you met your beloved, what if you’d had a head cold and decided to stay home from the party?

Or if you’d chosen a different seat at the movies, or arrived at the dog park with your irresistibly cute puppy, but she left five minutes before you got there and your paths never crossed? ”

Pausing just briefly, he added, “What if you’d taken an earlier flight?”

At that, Ranney’s eyes snapped to his face, but he wasn’t looking in her direction. All across the huge tent, couples old and new were gazing at each other, smiling bemused smiles, thanking their lucky stars.

What if I’d never met you? Unthinkable!

“Everything would be different, wouldn’t it?

Your children, most importantly–had you never met, they would never have existed.

Some aspects of your life might have been much the same, of course.

You might have lived in the same place, taken the same trips, perhaps had the same job.

But your memories would be completely different.

You’ve shared all these experiences with someone, seen the world through their eyes as well as your own.

“You’re right, Chunk, not everyone is as lucky as you and Ani. Sometimes it takes longer to find your person. You might make a wrong choice along the way; you might get your heart broken, possibly more than once. This is not uncommon.”