Abby Gaines - The Wedding Plan

He stepped into the workshop. The familiar smells of wood, mineral oil and polyurethane overlaid with salt hit him. High above his head, light filtered through salt-crusted windows, set below the roof trusses. The scale of the building dwarfed the overturned wooden hull in the middle of the floor, and dwarfed the man who was buffing it with sandpaper even more. Not for John Wyatt the electric sander, not once he got beyond the first stages. Wyatt Yachts created handcrafted wooden yachts, and it had a waiting list a mile long—even with Merry running the admin side so that John would be free to do what he loved most.

The older man must have heard the clank and rattle of the sliding door, but he didn’t look around. He wouldn’t, until he’d finished the line he was sanding. Back in high school, Lucas used to work here over the summer, so he knew John’s methods. The place hadn’t changed a bit.

Lucas veered right, toward the end of the workshop that had been closed off to make an office and kitchen. A large window allowed people in the office to look out, and vice versa.

No sign of Merry.

Relief mingled with irritation. Now that he’d decided to clear the air, and to ask for her help, he didn’t want to delay. Of course, he might have ensured a better response if he’d called her in the past six months. Or emailed. Or texted. He should probably have told her he was coming, at least.

He’d hoped it might all blow over if they didn’t speak for a while.

At last John straightened, one hand pressed to the small of his back. “Lucas, when did you get in?” He came over and clasped Lucas’s hand in both of his. “How’re you doing? Your dad tells me you’ll be out by year-end. Must be disappointed.”

That was more like it. John knew how Lucas felt.

“I am,” he said, returning the handshake. “But how are you?” John had always had a spare build, but today he looked almost skinny, and his grip was bony.

John rubbed his back again. “My kidneys are giving me trouble. I’m on the blasted dialysis twice a day now. At least the hospital has set me up so I can do it here, or at home.” It was a cheerful grumble, the way a guy might complain when someone drinks the last of the two-percent, forcing him to pour skim milk over his cereal.

Or when he’s being pursued by an enemy aircraft, faster than him and with more firepower, and he doesn’t want his buddies to know he’s terrified.

Lucas had seen a flash of terror in John’s eyes.

“Your blood pressure still bad?” he asked. It was the older man’s hypertension that had damaged his kidneys in the first place. “You seen the doctor lately?”

“The doctor can’t do a thing to knock my BP down.” John chuckled, as if it was all a joke. “Though Merry has me on egg-white omelets.” His heavy sigh suggested his only daughter had devised a particularly cruel form of torture.

“Tell it to Amnesty International,” Merry said from behind Lucas.

When he turned around, she was crossing the workshop. She must have squeezed through the sliding door he hadn’t managed to open very far. She wore skinny jeans and a pale green T-shirt that crossed over in front, creating a deep V. With her shoulder-length, light brown hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, she looked more or less the way he remembered her at twelve years old.

She’d been eyeing her dad with loving exasperation, but when she turned to Lucas, the loving disappeared.

To be replaced with an entirely adult glitter in her gray eyes. A woman-scorned kind of glitter.

I should have called.

“Lucas, I didn’t realize you were coming home.” Which was more or less the same as you should have called, uttered in a cool, distant voice that didn’t suit her at all.

“Surprise,” he said, forcing a smile. He stepped closer.

John would think it odd if he didn’t at least kiss her cheek. No need to broadcast their rift to her dad, and therefore to his own father.

Lucas pressed his lips to Merry’s cheek.

And was startled by a rush of sensation, of memory that he’d thought he’d put behind him, provoked by the scent of her skin. It was sweet, like the wild strawberries they used to pick at the start of summer. If he moved an inch or two to his right, to her lips…and if she opened her mouth…he knew she would taste of wild strawberries, too.

No, no, no. Not going there.

Merry took a step backward, away from his lips. Her face was stony.

With disconcerting slowness, Lucas’s brain resumed normal service. That concussion must have done even more damage than the doctors knew.

John chuckled as he looked from Merry to Lucas. “Have you two had another tiff?” he said indulgently. “Why don’t you go to dinner tonight, clear the air?”

Merry transferred her full attention to him, and her face softened. “Sorry to disappoint you, Dad,” she said. “But Lucas isn’t back in town to see me.”

Lucas’s eyes narrowed. She seemed mighty sure about that. “Actually, Merry, I do want to see you,” he said.

Her father chuffed with satisfaction. “You two have your ups and downs, but you always come back to each other. One day, you’ll sort yourselves out for good.”

Not the most helpful observation, after Baltimore.

“I’m busy,” Merry said. “I have a ton of supplier payments lined up this afternoon.”

“How about I come back when you’re done, and we go for a drink?” Lucas suggested. Not as big a commitment as dinner, but still in a public place. No room for misinterpretation.

She lifted her chin. “I have a date tonight.”

Lucas felt a niggle of irritation. He wanted to apologize, for goodness’ sake.

“Not with that Patrick again,” her dad said disapprovingly. “I thought you broke up.”

“He’s been away the past week or so,” she said. “That’s all.”

Who was Patrick?

Behind Merry, a collie dog rounded the sliding door and padded across the concrete floor.

“You have a visitor,” Lucas said.

“That’s Boo. My new dog.” She snapped her fingers. “Come on, boy, come to Mommy.”

Her voice went all gooey, much the way Dwight’s had when he talked to Mia. Even if it was only about the dog, Lucas figured any sign of softening had to be good.

“You dog-napped Lassie,” he said too heartily. “Way to go, Merry.”

Pointing out the resemblance was a nod to Merry’s favorite movie, a reminder of how well Lucas knew her. But it wasn’t without risk. Merry had insisted they see Lassie on their very first date; Lucas had never been so bored in his life. She’d decried his bluntly voiced opinion as a sign of a lack of emotional depth. He’d accused her of being out of touch with reality.

And there ended Date Number One.

The dog lurched from side to side like a drunken sailor.

“Why is he walking funny?” Lucas asked.

“Shh, he’ll hear you,” she said. “Boo can’t go.”

“Can’t go where?” Lucas asked. Her irises were flecked with gold…he’d never noticed that before.

“Can’t go. He’s constipated. Big-time, long-term. I’ve tried everything.”

“She sure has,” her dad said. “Not even the animal hypnotist could convince that thing to poop.”

The dog’s rolling gait suddenly looked less drunken sailor and more accident-waiting-to-happen.

“Have you tried feeding him whatever my baby sister’s eating?” Lucas asked. “That’ll fix it.”

“Patrick thinks it’s psychological,” Merry said. “Boo’s owner, Ruby, died of a heart attack late last year.”

Boo perked up at his owner’s name, his head swiveling between Merry and Lucas.

As if Lucas cared what her boyfriend thought.

“Patrick is Boo’s vet,” Merry explained. “Boo was boarding with him while Ruby was away on a cruise. After she died, her family didn’t want him, so Patrick offered him to me. He’s the sweetest thing.”