Marie Ferrarella - The Bride Wore Blue Jeans

Max looked down at the surface of his beer, as if contemplating a deep philosophy. He took a sip, then raised his eyes to Lily’s face.

“Wars aren’t won and lost on the first encounter, Lil, or even the second. This kind of thing takes a while. Don’t give up.”

“A while,” she echoed with a deep sigh. “How long a while? The North and South went to fight the Civil War over the weekend and that lasted four years,” she lamented. The most impatient in the family, she always wanted things to happen yesterday.

Max understood where she was coming from and why she felt the way she did. He’d harbored the same feelings about June, worried that his little sister was more interested in resurrecting defunct engines than having a home and family. But unlike Lily, he knew the worth of patience and exercised it every day.

“There’ve been records of wars ending in under a month,” he told her. She looked at him, petulant. He kissed her temple, loving her more. “I’ve spent a lot of time studying people. Not much else to do up here when you’re isolated from the rest of the world,” he qualified. “Your brother’s been in a deep freeze for the past twenty years, Lily. Give him time. Give them both time. June hasn’t exactly had it easy herself. It’s going to take a while for them to realize that they just might be the best thing for each other. Or not,” he threw in, then laughed as Lily’s eyebrows rose so high they almost disappeared into her hairline.

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