Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
"Where to?" Sam murmured into Lola's hair. "Shopping for a wedding dress? Out to dinner? Off on a honeymoon and to hell with actually getting married?" Any of those things sounded good to him, although at the moment, skipping across the town square like six-year-old Noah sounded good, too. He didn't think he could actually do that, and the half-frozen, half soggy ground would ruin his shoes if he did, but that wasn't the point. It was a clear, crisp evening, and for once, absolutely nothing was wrong with the world.
Lola's smile bubbled up. "I'm still full from that ice cream soda, and unless things have really changed in Virtue, I don't think there's anywhere to buy a wedding dress at all, never mind at six-fifteen in the evening."
"Some of the stores are still open," Sam said with a wave at the square. Not many of them were, actually: Kate's Cafe did lunch and lunch alone, the massage therapy clinic closed at six, as did the toy shop, and of course, none of those were places you could get a wedding dress, anyway. His gaze came to light on a storefront that still blazed with light, although it did so from behind curtains that blocked any hope of seeing inside. "Somebody did say something about there being a fashion designer in town. Arthur Lowell's son. Maybe we could talk to him."
"Arthur Lowell's son is a fashion designer?" Lola's eyebrows arched high. "That must be difficult for him. Artie was a…" She wet her lips, cleared her throat, and didn't finish that sentence.
"Dick," Sam offered, and Lola let go one single bray of laughter before getting herself back under control.
"Yes," she said, voice restrained. "Only a girl from the wrong side of the tracks wouldn't dare say that in public. Even fifty years later, apparently."
Something tightened in Sam's chest, and without thinking about it, he stopped where they were—on the sidewalk, heading nowhere in particular—and tucked Lola into his arms. His own voice was strained as he whispered, "I don't think I understood until right now." Breathing hurt, like he had swallowed Lola's pain and had to ingest it before he could move on.
Lola stood quietly in his arms for a long time, fingers curled in his coat lapels, before eventually nodding. "I knew you didn't. You couldn't. You were Sam Todd, part of the…part of Artie's class . Virtue's so small, you wouldn't think it would have such class divisions, but you and Artie, the Whelans…. You were Virtue's old families, the old money, and I was literally from the wrong side of the tracks. I didn't think it ever bothered you, but I also knew you didn't… understand. "
"No. I didn't. I'm sorry." He'd been too protected by his wealth, and by his family's standing in Virtue, to really understand what it must have been like for Lola, pretty but poor, trying to fit into his world. He'd known she didn't have money, but from his side of things, it had been easy to treat her as if they were social equals. He hadn't really recognized how unequal she had felt until this moment, when, even decades later, she'd been reluctant to say something unkind about one of the old Virtue families. Even if it was true , saying things like that was a risk for somebody without the advantages he'd grown up accepting as natural.
Sam didn't think it had taken him a whole lifetime to realize the wealth disparity in his home town was a problem. He liked to think he had more empathy than that, and that he'd done better with his money and his social standing than people like his parents had. He had known it had been difficult for her, but age and a greater breadth of experience had finally given him the background to really understand . "You really are the bravest person I've ever known."
"Is it bravery if you have to do it?" Lola shrugged, and Sam tightened his arms around her momentarily before releasing the hug to take her hand.
"I think so, yes. People choose not to do things they think they have to do all the time, because they're afraid. I think you're incredible."
She smiled almost shyly, and leaned into him as they walked up the sidewalk. "I like the idea of being brave, so I'll accept it. We're heading that way anyway, so why don't we go over to Hold My Bear? I'll introduce you to Charlee."
"There's nothing I would like better. And after that we might need to go back out to the house so I can reassure Chase that I haven't lost my mind. Or at least, I need to."
"All right," Lola said primly, "but if he decides I'm a gold-digger, I'm going to kick his shins."
Sam laughed. "Fortunately for you he's not technically in charge of the trust. I am. I just have a lot of caveats about how I can access it. Oh!" Surprise surged through him. "Except those will all disappear if I get married. Good Lord. After all these years, my parents finally get their way."
Lola gave that little snort he found so endearing. "The last thing they wanted was for you to marry me . If there are stipulations, I'm surprised they don't say 'Sam gets his money as soon as he marries Victoria Vanderpoots.'"
The impulse to correct the name leaped to Sam's lips, but if he'd learned anything in his sixty-odd years, it was that sometimes he could manage to keep his mouth shut at the right moment. "They actually say I need a 'constant companion' and I got around it with the foster kids and eventually a series of secretaries, although at this point Chase has been in that position long enough that I should probably stop thinking of it as 'a series.' But I believe there's an entirely different set of specifications as to how I can access it all if I'm married. I never looked into it," he said with a shrug. "It didn't matter."
"Never?" Lola asked softly. They were nearly at the bar, but she slowed, looking up at him. "I wouldn't have asked you, or wanted you, to spend your life alone, Sam."
He sighed and kissed her forehead. "I know. And possibly if I'd put myself out there, I'd have found somebody else?—"
His fox snorted, not unlike Lola had.
"—but I not only never tried, I never wanted to. If I'd thought you were dead , like you thought I was, things might have been different. But I never really gave up hope that I might find you someday."
"People dream of that kind of romance, you know," Lola murmured, and stood on her toes to kiss him. His whole world came down to that kiss, to her nearness and warmth, to the scent of her, and to hopes for the future that he hadn't cared about for such a long time. "Now," she added, still in a murmur, "it's cold out, and Charlee is going to explode when we go in to see her, so why don't we do that?"
Sam laughed. "I'm not sure exploding grandchildren is really ideal, Lola, but if you say so." He took her hand again, and then went into the sudden bright loud warmth of the gastropub, where individual voices were lost in the babble and Sam's fox complained about the change in temperature.
Lola, smiling, led him to the bar, where she leaned over, said, "Excuse me, I—" to a large bartender—he was obviously a shifter, although Sam doubted Lola knew that—who very nearly vaulted the bar to sweep Lola, and in fact Sam himself, up in a hug.
"Congratulations! Charlee told me the news! That's absolutely fantastic! What do you want for your reception dinner? Steve Torben," he said as he put them down again and offered Sam a big hand. "I'm Chef Charlee's boyfriend. It's nice to finally put a face to the name."
"I had no idea I was notorious," Sam said a bit faintly. He wasn't a tall man, and had slightened somewhat with age, but he certainly wasn't accustomed to being picked up and hugged, nor would he have been if he was less of a hermit. At least Garius Beren, who was even bigger than Steve Torben, hadn't felt the need to…well…bear hug him.
"Oh, you are," Steve told him cheerfully. He was big and bearded, with sandy blond hair and a welcoming air that suited a pub owner. "At least in these parts. Charlee and I have been wondering about you for months. She's in the kitchen, let me go get her for you."
As he spoke, the kitchen doors swept open and a sweaty young woman with Lola's brown eyes and sweet smile burst out, throwing her chef's coat aside as she came in to first hug Lola, then, beaming, offer Sam a hand. "I'm Charlee. It's great to finally meet you. Let's talk about your reception dinner."
Lola's smile was so bright it looked like it verged on tears. "We really don't need a fuss, sweetheart. Have you called your mother yet?"
"I wasn't sure if I should or if you wanted to." Charlee's eyes widened and fixed a look on Sam. "Who is this guy who called me, though? Chase Todd? Your son? He sounded like he was in a full-on panic."
"My secretary," Sam said apologetically. "He probably thinks I've lost my mind."
"Well, he certainly did! I told him to go look up your yearbooks and he'd understand everything. I mean, obviously I told him the whole story—" Charlee ushered them through the pub and to an office that was unexpectedly quiet after the din in the main rooms. "—and he thought it was very romantic but obviously also insane and I'm not sure he really believed me—" She got them seated and took her own chair on the other side of the desk, whipping out a pad of paper and a pen. "—but he will when he sees the yearbook pictures. So! Reception dinner? What time? I can't be in the wedding and cooking at the same time," she said in a tone somewhere between scolding and apologetic, "but my crew is really good and they won't disappoint me. Or you."
"Charlee!" Lola said with a laugh. "We really don't need a fuss!"
"Are you kidding? We're deep in 'true love conquers all' territory here. You definitely need a fuss."
"Judge Owens said we don't have to wait the full twenty-four hours," Sam offered. "We could get married at, say, four? And come over here—or out to the house—at five?"
"Five o'clock," Charlee said, writing that down. "Here would be easier. I'm sure you've got a very nice house and everything, but I've got a professional kitchen and everybody knows where everything is."
"I would hardly argue with the chef," Sam murmured, and she gave him a grinning glance of approval.
"Good man. Do you want dinner or just finger food?"
"Which is easier?" Lola asked a little nervously.
"Finger food. Fussier, maybe, but easier than plating for however many people show up, and it's going to be half the town, so…"
"What?" Sam and Lola exchanged glances before he looked back at Charlee, shaking his head. "We aren't even inviting anybody except you and—well, Chase, probably."
Charlee gazed at him with a sort of ironic sympathy. "Do you really think that's going to stop everybody from coming to see? This is top tier romance novel stuff, guys. This is the stuff small towns survive on. You are getting married in the gazebo, right?"
"In March?" Lola asked, dismayed. "It could be snowing tomorrow! And the ground is soggy where it isn't frozen!"
"So that's a yes," Charlee said, making more notes. "I'll see if Jake can lay some plywood so people don't sink into the muck. His son's got something planned anyway, you wouldn't believe that kid. He could organize a fire in a windstorm."
She went on, taking notes and talking to herself as Sam leaned toward Lola, whispering, "Have we lost control of this already?"
She whispered, "I think we should have eloped," back, then, wide-eyed, asked, "Do you mind?"
"Eloping? No, we can go talk to the judge right now if you want to."
Lola shook her head. "A fuss."
Sam went soft all of a sudden and leaned closer to steal a kiss. "We've waited fifty years, Lola. We deserve a fuss."