Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
“Oh, hello,” the woman said. “I remember you from way back when. We’re Enzo’s parents, Carlo and Marisol Moretti.”
“Nice to see you,” I said, shaking both their hands.
“Maddie lives across the street from us,” Mr. Weaver said. “But she’s at our house all the time. If my son had any brains at all, he’d marry her.”
The Morettis laughed politely while I turned beet red. “Actually I’m heading back to Cincinnati right after the wedding. But it’s been a lovely visit.”
“Returning to your hometown is always lovely, isn’t it?” Mrs. Moretti sighed. “No matter how far away you go, whenever you feel lost, you can always find yourself at home. You’ll always belong there.”
My throat grew tight. I wasn’t sure I had a place like that anymore. “Yes. Should we find somewhere to sit, Mr. Weaver?”
“Sure,” he said. “Let’s go up front. My eyes aren’t the best.”
“Okay.”
“But not because I’m old,” he said, taking me by the arm. “Just because they’re a little worn out.”
I hid a smile. “I understand.”
We moved up the aisle to the second row and took two chairs on the right. Once we were seated, Mr. Weaver looked around. “This is a nice yard.”
“Yes, it is.”
“You could play some good ball games back here. Elliott would like it.”
I was surprised he recalled Elliott’s name. “He would, you’re right. But I don’t think we’ll have time.”
Mr. Weaver looked at me. “You’re not really leaving, are you?”
“I’m afraid I have to.”
“But why? You live here. This is your home.”
“It’s not,” I said, shaking my head. “Not anymore.”
He was quiet a moment. “Cynthia Mae left too.”
“I’m—I’m sorry.”
“She said it wasn’t her home either. She said she’d made a mistake.” His gray-blue eyes studied me, remarkably clear. “Is that what you think too?”
I thought carefully before I responded. “I’m trying to stop myself before I make a mistake.”
“She said she loved us, but she had to go. I never understood that. If you love someone, you stay. Right?”
So much for the repair job. I grabbed a tissue from my purse and dabbed at my eyes. “Right.”
“She said it was more complicated than that, and maybe it was.” He sighed heavily. “I don’t know.”
I smiled through my tears.
“But I thought I knew my son. And I don’t get why he’d want to spend the rest of his life looking for you when you’re right here.”
My throat hurt, it was so tight. “Maybe he won’t even look for me.”
Mr. Weaver laughed. “Of course he will. He’s been looking for you for years.”
I wasn’t sure if the clarity was slipping from his mind or not, so I simply changed the subject. “The weather is beautiful, isn’t it?”
“It sure is. Perfect temperature.”
The chairs began to fill up, and the Morettis smiled at us as they took the seats to our right.
The harpist, who was seated on one side of the floral arch at the head of the aisle, began to play a classical tune, signaling the guests to quiet themselves. A warm breeze ruffled my dress, and I closed my eyes for a moment, willing my tears to stay at bay during the next twenty minutes or so, or if they wouldn’t, at least let them be for Cole and Cheyenne.
The skin across the back of my neck prickled with the heat of awareness, and I glanced over my shoulder. My breath caught when I saw Beckett standing over to the side of the yard with Cole and Enzo, his eyes on me, his expression serious but unyielding. For several seconds, I couldn’t breathe. My pulse raced, and my vision clouded slightly. I looked to the front again, taking in several deep lungfuls of warm summer air.
However, my heart beat erratically again just seconds later as I watched Cole, Enzo, and Beckett appear to the right of the floral arch and take their places. As if drawn by magnetic force, our eyes locked, and I was dizzy again. I had to force myself to look away.
A moment later, Mrs. Mitchell came up the aisle on the arm of a guy who might have been Cole’s older brother. They both sat down in the row right ahead of us, which was already occupied by a woman and a couple kids.
Next came Mrs. Dempsey on Griffin’s arm, and he kissed his mother on the cheek before seating her and heading back down the aisle with long-legged strides.
The harpist transitioned into a different song, a tune I recognized as “A Thousand Years,” and like all the guests, I turned my attention to the foot of the aisle.
Bianca came first, her red hair gleaming like a ruby in the sun. The bridesmaids wore tea-length dresses in deep champagne silk and carried bouquets of roses in cream, navy, and apricot. Bianca was grinning brightly, her steps sure and quick, like she couldn’t wait to get to the good part of the show. As she passed our row, she made eye contact with me and winked. I smiled and touched my heart.