Christina Skye - The Accidental Bride

But here she was.

She’d have to find some way to occupy herself, but it wouldn’t be anywhere near balls of yarn and pointy sticks. No blue-haired grannies, either.

Red called out to a woman in a bright green and blue sweater that would have sold for a fortune at a trendy Aspen boutique. Jilly recognized the skill of the finished piece. The woman had a name tag and looked like she was in charge.

As she approached them, Jilly suddenly felt like a cornered animal. Piles of yarn waited to torment her with dropped stitches. Rooms of expert knitters would glare, studying her with pity and contempt.

“Sorry, Red, I, uh, just remembered. I have to return a call. A—business call.”

“But you’re supposed to be on vacation. And the retreat—”

“Better go.” Jilly darted back up the path, ignoring the questioning looks of Red and his friend.

WHAT WAS SHE SUPPOSED to do now?

Jilly couldn’t imagine sitting calmly and chatting with a room full of strangers, all of whom were better knitters than she ever hoped to become. She would only manage to twist her stitches and drop whole rows.

She’d be a basket case inside an hour.

Jilly kicked a stone out of her path, frowning. If she hadn’t gotten sick, she’d be back in Arizona perched on a sunny stool, overseeing produce deliveries and designing the next month’s menu. She’d be busy and productive, thrilled to be alive.

She sank down on a little bench, aware of an alarming—and absolutely unfamiliar—urge to cry. She recognized that she had a good chance for a healthy future if she was careful. She knew that she was lucky to be alive.

But how did you pull yourself up and start all over? Where did people find the courage for that? It was terrifying.

She sighed, watching mist gather and then tumble over the mountains on its way down to the valley.

You didn’t talk. You just did it.

Jilly squared her shoulders. No more whining or hand wringing. No more knitting angst, either. She was going out to find something fun to do. To heck with the yarnies and their cool projects.

TEN MINUTES LATER JILLY stalked up the steps to the main lodge.

The taxi service was unavailable. The hot tub was closed for maintenance. The tiny library didn’t open until noon. And she hated spa treatments.

Meanwhile, the resort internet service cost twenty dollars an hour. Were they kidding?

Jilly thought longingly of Summer Island and the bustle of the narrow cobblestone streets, where she knew everyone. There were the repairs to Harbor House to discuss with her friends, part of their ongoing plan to create a chic café and yarn shop right at the foot of the harbor. And Jilly missed Duffy. She missed his warm body on her bed and his sloppy kisses in the morning.

She tried not to think about all the other things she should be doing, like check on her tottering business in Arizona.

Something glinted in the sunlight. A laughing couple pedaled past her on identical red bicycles.

Bicycles that said Lost Creek Resort.

Who needed a taxi?

She swung around and collared the first resort employee she could find. She could already smell the extra-large cappuccino she was going to buy in town.

So what if it was cheating?

THE BICYCLE FIT HER perfectly. Its old-fashioned weight made Jilly feel safe and in control.

The wind combed through her hair as she turned onto the service drive and began to pick up speed downhill. How long had it been? Ten years? Fifteen?

Suddenly memories hit her, hard and fast. Her first bike.

Jilly was twelve when she’d been placed with her second foster family on Summer Island. She’d had pigtails and her own bedroom for the first time that she could remember. They’d tried to make her feel welcome, tried to show her the good points of the small, tightly knit community.

But she hadn’t fit in. When the family had moved, Jilly had been placed again. And then again three months later. She’d never really fit in. Not until she met Grace and Caro and Olivia.

In the course of a week Jilly had discovered what it meant to belong. That summer had changed her life, allowing her to pull down the heavy walls she had built for protection after being shifted from foster home to foster home.

To cap the summer off, Caro’s grandmother had given her a bike, bright green with a blue basket. At first Jilly had thought it was a mistake, that it was really meant for Caro. But when she saw that Caro had an identical Schwinn, right down to the blue basket and blue seat, Jilly was speechless at the generosity. She had tried to give the bike back, only to have Caro’s grandmother frown and ask if she preferred a different color. Then Caro had gotten teary and said that if friends couldn’t give gifts to friends, what good were they anyway.

That long, enchanted summer hung in her mind, clear as yesterday. She remembered every golden week of laughter, every shared secret. No complications, only lazy sunny days.

Then Caro’s mother had checked out of her detox program and vanished.

Then Grace’s grandmother had begun to show the ravages of lupus.

Then Olivia had revealed signs of panic attacks and stress at school. Through it all they had backed each other up completely. They had always known the best words to offer comfort and share pain.

Something burned at Jilly’s eyes. She had amazing friends, but they were all moving on. Caro was married with a baby now, worrying about her marine husband in a hostile country. Grace was engaged, trying to juggle the demands of a long-distance relationship with a man she adored. A successful architect, Olivia was finally breaking free of her father’s icy dominance and already planning a return trip to Europe.

It was all changing. They’d never be as close again. One day they might wake up and discover they had nothing at all left in common.

Jilly shuddered at the thought, unable to bear the possibility of losing something so precious. She rounded a turn, the wind whipping at her hair. Something flashed at the middle of the road, and she yanked the handlebars, braking hard. Before her lay a bright red square that seemed to be a wool tote bag with leather handles, cables and big silver buttons.

She picked up the bag and glanced inside. Two pairs of knitting needles, one crochet hook, three balls of yarn and a cell phone. She looked back up the steep road and saw she’d come much farther than she’d thought. She’d never make it to town if she went back to the lodge now.

She rolled up the tote and slid it into the saddlebag on her bike. When she got back, she’d turn the bag in to the resort lost and found. But first she had a dream date with a gorgeous cup of cappuccino.

THE TOWN OF LOST CREEK looked like a backdrop for a ski commercial. The main drag held twenty shops where locals seemed to mingle amiably with tourists.

Jilly pedaled slowly, taking in the sunlight reflected on the neat windows. The town wasn’t as small as she had first thought. There were nice shops and a cozy bookstore. Several of the restaurants looked promising.

Then all thoughts vanished in a rush of fragrance from a nearby door. Jilly careened to a stop and sniffed again.

Espresso. Dark roast.

Freshly ground.

Her brain short-circuited. She couldn’t stop her feet. Leaving her bike on the curb and drifting on autopilot, she followed the smell of roasting beans. Before sanity returned, she was sitting in a wooden booth by the window holding an extra large steaming espresso and trying not to swoon.

For long, delicious moments she simply drank in the smell.

“Is something wrong?” A lanky young man with bright green eyes gestured at the cup. “I notice you haven’t drunk your coffee. Is it okay?”