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“Thank you for everything,” Susan said as she left the store.
“You’re welcome.” It was helping young women like Susan that Savannah enjoyed the most. The eager, happy ones who were so much in love they were willing to listen to their hearts no matter what the cost. Over the years, Savannah had worked with every kind of bride and she knew the signs. The Susans of this world were invariably a delight.
It was highly unlikely that Savannah would ever be married herself. Men were an enigma to her. Try as she might, she’d never been able to understand them. They invariably treated her differently than they did other women. Savannah assumed their attitude had to do with her damaged leg. Men either saw her as fragile, untouchable, because of it, or they viewed her as a buddy, a confidante. She supposed she should be flattered by the easy camaraderie they shared with her. They sought her advice, listened politely when she spoke, then did as they pleased.
Only a few men had seen her as a woman, a woman with dreams and desires of her own. But when it came to love, each of them had grown hesitant and afraid. Each relationship had ended awkwardly long before it had gotten close to serious.
Maybe that wasn’t a fair assessment, Savannah mused sadly. Maybe it was her own attitude. She’d been terrified of ever falling in love. No matter how deeply she felt about a man, she was positive that her imperfection would come between them. It was safer to hold back, to cling to her pride than risk rejection and pain later on.
A week later, Susan came breezing through the door to Savannah’s shop.
“Hello,” she said, smiling broadly. “I talked to Kurt and he’s as excited as I am.” She withdrew a debit card from her purse. “I’d like to give you the down payment now. And I have the signed contract for you.”
Savannah brought out her paperwork and Susan paid her. “My brother doesn’t believe we’ll be able to do it without his help, but he’s wrong. We’re going to have a beautiful wedding, with or without Nash, thanks to you.”
This was what made Savannah’s job so fulfilling. “I’ll order what we need right away,” she told Susan. Savannah only wished there was some way she could influence the young woman’s unreasonable older brother. She knew his type—cynical, distrusting, pessimistic. A man who scoffed at love, who had no respect for marriage. How very sad. Despite her irritation with the faceless Nash, Savannah couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. Whether or not he realized it, he was going to lose his sister.
There were just the two of them, so she didn’t understand why Nash wouldn’t support his sister in her decision. Luckily Susan had Kurt’s parents. Undoubtedly this was something her brother hadn’t counted on, either.
Susan left soon afterward. What remained of Savannah’s day was busy. The summer months used to be her overburdened time, but that hadn’t held true of late. Her services were booked equally throughout the year.
Around five-thirty, when Savannah was getting ready to close for the day, the bell chimed over her door, indicating someone had entered the shop. She looked up from her computer and found a tall, well-dressed man standing by the doorway. It had started to rain lightly; he shook off the raindrops in his hair before he stepped farther inside. She saw him glance around and scowl, as if being in such a place was repugnant to him. Even before he spoke she knew he was Susan’s brother. The family resemblance was striking.
“Hello,” she said.
“Hello.” He slid his hands in his pockets with a contemptuous frown. Apparently he feared that even being in this place where love and romance were honored would infect him with some dread disease. It must take a good deal of energy to maintain his cynicism, Savannah thought.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“No, thanks. I was just looking.” He walked slowly through the shop. His expensive leather shoes made a tapping sound against the polished hardwood floor. She noticed that he took pains not to touch anything.
Savannah nearly laughed out loud when he passed a display of satin pillows, edged in French lace, that were meant to be carried by the ring bearer. He stepped around it, giving it a wide berth, then picked up one of her business cards from a brass holder on a small antique table.
“Are you Savannah Charles?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied evenly. “I am.”
“Interesting shop you have here,” he said dryly. Savannah had to admit she found him handsome in a rugged sort of way. His facial features were strong and well-defined. His mouth firm, his jaw square and stubbornly set. He walked in short, clipped steps, his impatience nearly palpable. Naturally, she might be altogether wrong and this could be someone other than Susan’s brother. Savannah decided it was time to find out.
“Are you about to be married?”
“No,” he said disgustedly.
“This seems like an unusual shop for you to browse through, then.”
He smiled in her direction, acknowledging her shrewdness. “I believe you’ve been talking to my sister, Susan Davenport.”
So Savannah had been right. This was Susan’s hard-nosed older brother. His attitude had been a dead giveaway. “Yes, Susan’s been in.”
“I take it she’s decided to go through with this wedding nonsense, then?” He eyed her suspiciously as if to suggest his sister might have changed her mind except for Savannah’s encouragement and support.
“It would be best if you discussed Susan’s plans with her.”
Nash clasped his hands behind his back. “I would if we were on speaking terms.”
How he knew his sister was working with her, Savannah hadn’t a clue. She didn’t even want to know.
“So,” he said conversationally, “exactly what do you do here?”
“I’m a wedding coordinator.”
“Wedding coordinator,” he repeated, sounding genuinely curious. He nodded for her to continue.
“Basically I organize the wedding for the bride and her family so they’re free to enjoy this all-important day.”
“I see,” he said. “You’re the one who makes sure the flowers arrive at the church on time?”
“Something like that.” His version oversimplified her role, but she didn’t think he’d appreciate a detailed job description. After all, he wasn’t interested in her, but in what he could learn about his sister and Kurt’s plans.
He wandered about the shop some more, careful not to come into contact with any of the displays she’d so carefully arranged. He strolled past a lace-covered table with an elegant heart-shaped guest book and plumed pen as if he were walking past a nest of vipers. Savannah couldn’t help being amused.
“Susan hasn’t got the money for a wedding,” he announced. “At least, not one fancy enough to hire a coordinator.”
“Again, this is something you need to discuss with your sister.”
He didn’t like her answer; that much was obvious from the way his mouth thinned and the irritation she saw in his eyes. They were the same intense blue as his sister’s, but that was where the resemblance ended. Susan’s eyes revealed her love and enthusiasm for life. Nash’s revealed his disenchantment and skepticism. She finished up the last of her paperwork, ignoring him as much as she could.
“You’re a babe in the woods, aren’t you?”
“I beg your pardon?” Savannah said, looking up.
“You actually believe all this…absurdity?”
“I certainly don’t think of love and commitment as absurd, if that’s what you mean, Mr. Davenport.”
“Call me Nash.”
“All right,” she agreed reluctantly. In a few minutes she was going to show him the door. He hadn’t bothered to disguise the purpose of his visit. He was trying to pump her for information and hadn’t figured out yet that she refused to be placed in the middle between him and his sister.
“Did you ever stop to realize that over fifty percent of the couples who marry in this day and age end up divorcing?”
“I know the statistics.”
He walked purposely toward her as if approaching a judge’s bench, intent on proving his point. “Love is a lame excuse for marriage.”
Since he was going to make it impossible for her to concentrate, she sat back on her stool and folded her arms. “What do you suggest couples do then, Mr. Davenport? Just live together?”
“Nash,” he reminded her irritably. “And, yes, living together makes a lot more sense. If a man and woman are so hot for each other, I don’t see any reason to muddy the relationship with legalities when a weekend in bed would simplify everything.”
Savannah resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Rejecting marriage made as much sense to her as pushing a car over a cliff because the fender was dented. Instead she asked, “Is this what you want Susan and Kurt to do? Live together indefinitely? Without commitment?”
That gave him pause. Apparently it was perfectly fine for other couples to do that, but when it came to his little sister, he hesitated. “Yes,” he finally said. “Until this infatuation passes.”
“What about children?”
“Susan’s little more than a child herself,” he argued, although she was twenty-four—and in Savannah’s estimation a mature twenty-four. “If she’s smart, she’ll avoid adding to her mistakes,” he said stiffly.
“What about someone other than your sister?” she demanded, annoyed with herself for allowing him to draw her into this pointless discussion. “Are you suggesting our society should do away with family?”
“A wedding ring doesn’t make a family,” he returned just as heatedly.
Savannah sighed deeply. “I think it’s best for us to agree to disagree,” she said, feeling a bit sad. It was unrealistic to think she’d say anything that would change his mind. Susan was determined to marry Kurt, with or without his approval, but she loved her brother, too. That was what made this situation so difficult.
“Love is a lame excuse to mess up one’s life,” he said, clenching his fists at his side with impotent anger. “A lame excuse.”
At his third use of the word lame, Savannah inwardly flinched. Because she was sitting behind her desk, he didn’t realize she was “lame.”
“Marriage is an expensive trap that destroys a man’s soul,” Nash went on to say, ignoring her. “I see the results of it each and every day. Just this afternoon, I was in court for a settlement hearing that was so nasty the judge had to pull both attorneys into chambers. Do you really believe I want my little sister involved in something like that?”
“Your sister is a grown woman, Mr. Davenport. She’s old enough to make her own decisions.”
“Mistakes, you mean.”
Savannah sensed his frustration, but arguing with him would do no good at all. “Susan’s in love. You should know by now that she’s determined to marry Kurt.”
“In love. Excuses don’t get much worse than that.”
Savannah had had enough. She stood and realized for the first time how tall Nash actually was. He loomed head and shoulders over her five-foot-three-inch frame. Standing next to him she felt small and insignificant. For all their differences, Savannah could appreciate his concerns. Nash loved his sister; otherwise he wouldn’t have gone to such effort to find out her plans.
“It’s been interesting,” Nash said, waiting for her to walk around her desk and join him. Savannah did, limping as she went. She was halfway across the room before she saw that he wasn’t following her. Half turning around, she noticed that he was looking at her leg, his features marked by regret.
“I didn’t mean to be rude,” he said, and she couldn’t doubt his sincerity. What surprised her was his sensitivity. She might have judged this man too harshly. His attitude had irritated her, but she’d also been entertained by him—and by the vigor of their argument.
“You didn’t know.” She finished her trek to the door, again surprised to realize he hadn’t followed her. “It’s well past my closing time,” she said meaningfully.
“Of course.” His steps were crisp and uniform as he marched across her shop, stopping abruptly when he reached her. A frown wrinkled his brow as he stared at her again.
“What’s wrong?”
He laughed shortly. “I’m trying to figure something out.”
“If it has to do with Susan and Kurt—”
“It doesn’t,” he cut in. “It has to do with you.” An odd smile lifted his mouth. “I like you. You’re impertinent, sassy and stubborn.”
“Oh, really!” She might have been offended if she hadn’t been struggling so hard not to laugh.
“Really.”
“You’re tactless, irritating and overpowering,” she responded.
His grin was transformed into a full-blown smile. “You’re right. It’s a shame, though.”
“A shame? What are you talking about?”
“You being a wedding coordinator. It’s a waste. With your obvious organizational skills, you might’ve done something useful. Instead, your head’s stuck in the clouds and you’ve let love and romance fog up your brain. But you know what?” He rubbed the side of his jaw. “There just might be hope for you.”
“Hope. Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you. There just might be a slim chance of reasoning with you. You’re clearly intelligent and even a little witty. But unfortunately you’re misguided. Now that you’re dealing with your sister’s marriage, however, there’s a remote possibility someone might be able to get through to you.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, folding his arms over his chest and resting his weight on one foot.
“Your judgment’s been confused by your clients. By their anger and bitterness and separations. We’re at opposite ends of the same subject. I work with couples when they’re deeply in love and convinced the relationship will last forever. You see them when they’re embittered and disillusioned. But what you don’t seem to realize is that you need to see the glass as half-full and not half-empty.”
He frowned. “I thought we were talking about marriage.”
“We are. What you said earlier is true. Fifty percent of all married couples end up divorcing—which means fifty percent of them go on to lead fulfilling, happy lives.”
Nash’s snort was derisive. He dropped his arms and straightened, shaking his head. “I was wrong. There’s no hope for you. The fifty percent who stay together are just as miserable. Given the opportunity, they’d gladly get out of the relationship.”
Nash was beginning to irritate her again. “Why is it so difficult for you to believe that there’s such a thing as a happy marriage?”
“Because I’ve never seen one.”
“You haven’t looked hard enough.”
“Have you ever stopped to think that your head’s so muddled with hearts and flowers and happy-ever-afters that you can’t and won’t accept what’s right in front of your eyes?”
“Like I said, it’s past my closing time.” Savannah jerked open the shop door. The clanging bell marked the end of their frustrating conversation. Rarely had Savannah allowed anyone to get under her skin the way she had Nash Davenport. The man was impossible. Totally unreasonable…
The woman was impossible. Totally unreasonable.
Nash couldn’t understand why he continued to mull over their conversation. Twenty-four hours had passed, and he’d thought about their verbal sparring match a dozen times.
Relaxing in his leather office chair, he rolled a pen between his palms. Obviously Savannah didn’t know him well; otherwise, she wouldn’t have attempted to convince him of the error of his views.
His eyes fell on the phone and he sighed inwardly. Susan was being stubborn and irrational. It was plain that he was going to have to be the one to mend fences. He’d hoped she’d come to her senses, but it wasn’t going to happen. He was her older brother, her closest relative, and if she refused to make the first move, he’d have to do it.
He looked up Kurt Caldwell’s parents’ phone number. He resented having to contact her there. Luck was with him, however, when Susan herself answered.
“It’s Nash,” he said. When she was little, her voice rose with excitement whenever he called. Anytime he arrived home, she’d fly into his arms, so glad to see him she couldn’t hold still. He sighed again, missing the child she once was.
“Hello, Nash,” Susan said stiffly. No pleasure at hearing from him was evident now.
“How are you doing?” That was the purpose of this call, after all.
“Fine. How about you?” Her words were stilted, and her stubbornness hadn’t budged an inch. He would have said as much, then thought better of it.
“I’m fine, too,” he answered.
