The Accidental Bride

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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?”

Jilly gave a guilty smile, painfully aware of the promise that she was about to break. “I’m having a transformational experience here. No point in rushing it.”

“Cool.” He smiled and pointed to the painted blackboard covered with local ads. “Mind if I go write that down for a testimonial?”

“Be my guest.”

Jilly still didn’t drink the coffee. She was pleased at her restraint. Waiting was good.

Meanwhile, a phone rang somewhere in a back room. Two women in jogging pants came in, ordered lattes and left. More people came and went. Sunlight poured in a golden cloud over the narrow street. Jilly cradled the coffee between her hands, fighting an urge to drain the frothy cup in one greedy gulp.

But she closed her eyes, counted to five and then regretfully pushed the steaming cup away.

Another phone rang. Three more customers came in, ordered coffee to go and then wandered out. You could make a lot of money with a good business in a town like this. Both locals and visitors appeared to be spending money, and every parking spot on the street was taken. There were no For Rent signs or closed-up windows. And in ski season, with good staffing, a restaurant could—

Jilly shook her head. There she went, building another business empire.

“Would you like a refill?” the young man asked.

“No. I’m just fine.”

“But … you haven’t drunk any yet.”

“Just taking my time.”

The lanky worker hesitated. “In that case, if you aren’t in a hurry, would you mind keeping an eye on things here for a few minutes? They just called me from the bank and I need to run over to sign some papers.”

Jilly would have been more surprised at this trust afforded a stranger, but growing up in Summer Island she had seen the same easy manner. “I guess so. But are you sure—”

“I’d really appreciate it. Unlimited coffee on me as a thank you.”

Great. Add torture to temptation, Jilly thought. “No need. I can stay for a while. Nothing special to do.”

“That’s cool. What did you say your name was?”

“Jilly. But—”

“Great. Thanks, Jilly. Just tell any customers that I’ll be right back, okay?”

Jilly had barely managed a nod when he waved once and strode outside. The silence pulled at her, calming and deep. She studied her coffee, bemused.

The door opened. “Uh, is Jonathan around?” A small girl in a jean jacket glanced at Jilly, frowning. “I wanted to get a coffee.”

“If Jonathan is the man with the red hair, he just left. He said he’d be right back. Something at the bank.”

The girl looked anxiously out the window. “I have errands to finish. My brother will be waiting.”

Jilly stood up. “What do you want? I can make it.”

“I’d love a mocha latte, please. And some of Jonathan’s hazelnut syrup. But I thought you were a customer.”

Jilly walked around and checked out the serving area. “No problem. I can work the machines.” After two summers working at a coffeehouse in Portland, she knew her way around an espresso machine and a steaming wand. “Have a seat while I make it.”

She filled the silver coffee filter, pulled a shot and then went to work on the steamed milk, efficient and precise. The girl looked surprised at the frothy milk design that Jilly poured over the top of her drink.

“Wow, that looks great. You should teach Jonathan that. He always has problems with that new espresso machine.” The girl pulled some froth onto her finger and licked it thoughtfully. “Wow,” she said again.

The front doorbell chimed but Jilly barely noticed as she finished cleaning the small filter, rinsed the milk wand and leaned down to check the heat level on the boiler. Nothing ruined fresh beans faster than high heat or a bad grind.

She heard a man clear his throat. “Is anyone here? Jonathan?”

Jilly shoved back her hair. The air seemed dense, too heavy to breathe. She was painfully afraid that she was blushing as she turned and saw the tall man by the counter with the well-behaved brown dog right beside him.