CHAPTER 2
Finn
The sun is beginning to set, just as planned.
The vows are timed to occur just when sunset is at its peak, spilling its colors on the surface of the lake behind Cal and Victoria’s place.
I’m standing on the dock with Jasmine, waiting for our cue.
I’m Cal’s best man. Summer—our favorite ranch hand—is Victoria’s maid of honor. Our family’s reverend is the officiant.
Jasmine is the flower girl. It’s a job she takes very seriously, and one she’s approached with a great deal of enthusiasm.
It’s the way she does everything. I glance down at her.
She looks so much like Amy today, with that sparkling smile, her pretty face, and the way her hair is swept back and held in place with flowers.
Amy should be here for this moment in Jasmine’s life.
Amy should be alive.
I pull myself together. This is Cal and Victoria’s special day, a joyous occasion. The last thing anyone needs is a grieving, guilt-ridden, sorry-assed widower ruining the vibe.
“You look very beautiful today, Jasmine.”
She looks up at me and rolls her eyes. “Yes, I know, Dad. But thank you.”
Victoria calls this stage of Jasmine’s life her “pre-tween years.” All I know is that I can’t tell what end’s up with my kid these days, what will annoy her, what will make her feel as if I’m babying her, or what will indicate that I haven’t been paying attention to the changes she’s going through.
It’s worse than hell week of SEALs training. I think I’ll ask the good reverend for an extra prayer on my behalf.
We’re waiting for the service to start, and I have to admit, they sure picked a perfect day. It’s a warm seventy-five degrees but with no humidity. A flawless blue gemstone of a sky shelters us from above. The lake is a crystal sheen, disturbed only when the ducks and geese take off or land.
I’ve spent much of the day trying to get the groom to cool his jets. It’s been a thankless task, and an impossible one because my oldest brother refuses to admit he’s feeling nervous.
There’s nothing to be nervous about, he said. Victoria is the love of his life. He never thought he could be this happy. He’s the luckiest man on Earth.
He said all this while his hands shook so badly I had to tie his tie for him.
We almost came to blows when I tried to help him with his cufflinks.
But it worked out. His Armani suit matches the one I’m wearing today and is also similar to what Evander, Declan, and Special K are wearing.
Cal’s tie is a cream satin to match Victoria’s dress, while the rest of ours are black.
Except for Evander, who chose a dusky blue tie that he says accents his eyes.
I haven’t seen Victoria’s gown, but Jasmine tells me it looks a lot like her own flower girl dress, except without sleeves or a pink bow tied in the back.
My little girl is so proud of that dress that I took several photos of her before we walked to the lake.
Then I took a few selfies of the two of us.
A girl and her dad.
Staring at those photos afterward, I wished I could freeze this moment in time. Jasmine is growing up. She no longer wears her princess dresses on a daily basis. She chose to go shopping with Victoria instead of catching frogs down at the river with me.
She’s beginning to need what I can’t give her.
I’ve been father and mother to her since the moment she drew her first breath. That was the best day and the worst day of my life, all rolled into one. It was the day I said goodbye to my wife and met my child.
Eight years later, I worry I’m failing them both.
Jasmine grabs my hand and squeezes it tight. “I love weddings,” she says to me. “I love my shiny shoes, and the gift bag Victoria gave me with lip gloss, a hair scrunchie, and ten Reese’s peanut butter cups.”
I smile down at her. “And don’t forget that you get to dance with your dad later.”
She shrugs. “Summer says that if anyone tries to dance with her at the party, she’ll kick them in the ’nads, but when I asked her what ’nads are, she told me to ask you.”
My eyeballs bug out. I’m going to throttle that girl. “I’m duly warned,” I say, raising my hands in surrender. “No dancing with Summer.”
“She’s wearing a dress, though,” Jasmine whispers. “But she said no way to high heels. Auntie Phyllis had to fight her to put on a bra.”
“This is too much information for me.”
“Oh, Dad,” Jasmine says, chiding me. “You’re such a guy.”
Jasmine used to call me Daddy. Recently, she’s started making the switch to Dad. I think I’m being demoted.
“What do you mean I’m ‘such a guy’?” I find that she’s turned away from me, facing the house. She doesn’t want to miss it when Victoria and Summer make their appearance.
Cal comes walking down the lane. He spots me and makes a beeline in my direction. He’s suited up. A barber arrived this morning to give all the MacLaine men shaves and haircuts. Cal doesn’t have a hair out of place, and I wonder if he’s got gel in it because it’s not moving in the breeze.
When he reaches me, he grabs my lapels and pulls me toward him. “Don’t tell a soul what I’m about to tell you. Got it?”
“Uh, sure?” I try to remove his hands from my suit, but it’s no use. He’s clamped on tight.
“’Cause if you tell another living soul, I’ll bludgeon your kneecaps.”
“That’s pretty specific. And Medieval.”
“I’m going to throw up, Finn.”
“Don’t do it on my suit. So what did you want to tell me?”
He gives me a hard shake. “That’s it. I’m telling you that I’m going to throw up. Do not share that with another soul.”
“Take a deep breath, SEAL. Pull yourself together.” I finally manage to remove his hands from my lapels. “But if you’re going to blow chunks, do it right now, over the side of the dock and into the water. And do it downwind, because I happen to look really great in this suit.”
Cal bites his lip. “I just want it to be perfect, man. I want it perfect for her.”
“It already is.”
From the back deck, a string quartet begins to play Bach. I see Jasmine joining Summer. “All right. That’s our cue. We gotta stroll down this pier so you can get married.”
He manages to take that walk with me. I turn to see my daughter in her official duties, the light playing in her hair as she distributes rose petals on the pier.
Summer is behind her, in a dress. Behind them is a dazzling Victoria, as beautiful as a painting.
The man walking her down the aisle is our dad, Jamie MacLaine. He looks incredibly proud.
Cal’s face lights up at the sight of his bride. The nerves are instantly gone. He’s not green around his gills. Instead, his eyes fill with wonder. I’m looking at a dude who’s astonished that he got this lucky.
I know that look. I had it once.
The ceremony is moving and sweet, and two hours later, we’re finishing up the formal sit-down dinner that cost Cal the price of a house in the South of France.
The meal is served in an outdoor ballroom tent that costs Cal more than a Cadillac Escalade.
That’s followed by a wedding cake that probably set him back…
I have no idea how much it cost. Whatever he paid, it was worth it, because that is the most bomb-ass delicious cake I’ve ever bitten into.
The string quartet packs it in for the night and the disc jockey takes center stage. Almost immediately, the guests are burning up the dance floor and the DJ is getting slammed with requests.
About a half hour later, everyone hears him say: “This next one is a special request from our flower girl, Miss Jasmine MacLaine, who wishes to take a spin around the dance floor with her dad.”
My mouth falls open as Jasmine walks over to me and takes my hand. She leads me out to the center of the parquet while everyone cheers. “Let’s do this, Daddy,” she says. And the place starts rockin’ out to “Stayin’ Alive” by the Bee Gees.
It’s the best moment I’ve had in a very long time, but I don’t get a second dance. Instead, she moves on to her uncles, then the chocolate fountain, followed by Ripley and Sarah Connor, the Golden Retrievers who belong to Cal and Victoria.
I dance with Aunt Phyllis, and Victoria and her assistant, Millicent, who is a very nice woman. Eventually, I take a seat next to Summer at table number two.
“Don’t even ask me to dance,” she growls.
“I wouldn’t dare. My ’nads are far too important to me.”
She hands me a shrimp puff. She has a plate piled high with them and some sort of French pastry. I snag one of those too, and pop it into my mouth. Summer pulls at her dress and tips her head from side to side, like she’s loosening up for some hand-to-hand combat.
“I can’t wait to get out of this straightjacket,” she complains. “Why do women do this to themselves? I wanted to wear jeans and a T-shirt, but Victoria insisted I wear this itchy thing.”
“Jeans? To a wedding?”
“What? They’re nice jeans. I was going to iron them, you know, put a nice crease down the center. Not like that chick.”
I turn to see who she’s talking about.
A young woman is peeking her head into the tent. She looks lost and curious. Summer’s right—her jeans have seen better days, and she’s wearing a shapeless green jacket that’s way too big for her. Her long raven-black hair slips forward, and she pushes it behind her shoulder absentmindedly.
I suck in air.
She’s absolutely beautiful. There isn’t a speck of makeup on her. No jewelry or piercings. Not even a hair barrette. She’s an exquisite wild creature. She shines. She glows.
“I swear I’m just gonna rip this shit off and skinny-dip in the lake,” Summer says, fidgeting. “More shrimp puffs?”
“No thanks.” I can’t take my eyes off her.
“Declan said he’d give me a bonus if I wear this dress on steer castration day.
I’m not sure if he was joking, but I plan to do it, just to see his reaction.
” Summer snorts with laughter. “What I’d really like to do is find the heifers who used to give me shit in high school and make them wear this scratchy-ass thing.
You know, wishing it on my worst enemy and all that. ”
Summer holds a pastry under my nose. “Macaron?”
I take it from her and toss it in my mouth. I still can’t pull my gaze from the woman with the shiny dark hair. Who is she? Why in the world is she here? Is she lost?
I watch her take a few tentative steps inside the tent, scanning the faces of those on the dance floor, at the tables, or mingling with drinks. She’s searching for someone in particular. In one hand she holds a tattered duffel bag, and it looks heavy.
I stare. Stare some more. What’s wrong with me?
This is beyond strange, but I want to know her. I have to know her. She’s absolutely stunning, but that’s not all. Something about her fascinates me.
And that thought fills me with intense guilt. I’ve had women since Amy passed away. I’m a healthy male, after all, and I’ve needed a few hours of companionship from time to time. But never have I found myself so mesmerized by a woman.
Never.