Back on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #4)

Back on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #4) Page 11

“Can we talk about something other than the wedding?” she asked. The inside of her elbow was beginning to itch and she suspected she was breaking out in hives. She hadn’t experienced hives since she was a kid and assumed she’d outgrown the tendency, which she’d learned to associate with stress. Obviously not.

“Sure,” he agreed readily. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Uh…” A few minutes ago she’d had a dozen different things she’d looked forward to discussing with Jordan. All of a sudden her mind was completely blank. “I went to the first knitting class for the prayer shawl.”

“How’d it go?”

“All right, I guess.”

“Tell me about the other people in the class,” he said.

“There’s only two other women. Susannah and Colette.” Alix enjoyed having a smaller class. She’d helped Lydia teach Susannah, who’d had some of the same problems Alix did when she’d started knitting.

“Susannah, from Susannah’s Garden?”

Alix stiffened. “I suppose your mother’s upset because I haven’t decided on the flowers yet?”

Jordan blew out an exasperated sigh. “Alix, we weren’t going to talk about the wedding, remember?”

“Right.” Actually that was a relief. It seemed there was always something she needed to be doing or should have done with regard to the wedding.

“Okay, so you’re knitting a prayer shawl.”

She nodded. “Lydia gave us a bit of the background on prayer shawls. Some church groups apparently take them to nursing homes and use them as part of their ministry. Lydia said the whole idea came about as a way of nurturing and caring for family or friends who’ve got health problems. I don’t think the recipient necessarily has to be ill, though. The shawls are…small displays of love,” she said on a burst of inspiration.

Jordan smiled in approval.

“I’m going to take your suggestion and knit mine for your grandma Turner.” Right away she could see that Jordan was pleased.

“Alix, she’ll adore you for that.” His brown eyes were soft with appreciation. “You made quite an impression on her, you know.”

Alix had begun to think of Sarah Turner as her honorary grandma. She couldn’t remember having grandparents of her own, although she must have. At any rate, neither her maternal nor paternal grandparents had played a role in her life. If they had, she might not have ended up in foster care.

She’d never spent time around elderly people, so meeting Jordan’s grandmother had been an experience. Grandma liked to talk and Alix had found her fascinating. Everyone in the family had heard Grandma’s stories, but not Alix and she hung on every word. Grandma talked about the Depression and World War II, when she’d worked as a school secretary for twenty-five cents an hour. Later, when her husband was in the army overseas, Grandma Turner had gone to work at the shipyard in Portland, Oregon, as a welder and saved five thousand dollars. At the time, that amount of money was a fortune. With her savings they were able to purchase the property on Star Lake, near Seattle, where she lived to this very day. The Turners had raised their two sons there; she’d been a widow nearly twenty years.

Jordan reached for Alix’s hand and entwined their fingers. “How about if we splurge and go to a movie?”

“Popcorn?”

“Why not?” He smiled and Alix leaned close to give him a lingering kiss.

They left soon afterward, stopping at Alix’s place just long enough for her to change clothes. She’d been tired and cranky when Jordan arrived, but no more.

Date night with her fiancé was exactly what Alix needed to lift her spirits and take her mind off the fuss everyone was making over their wedding.

Her irritation was a symptom of nerves, she realized. By the time of the wedding, she’d be past all of that and eager to settle into married life. It would be a piece of cake. Wedding cake! And she was baking her own. On that, Alix wouldn’t budge.

A few weeks ago, she’d tried to convince Jordan to elope. Now she understood how foolish that idea had been. Susan Turner would never forgive her if they got married in secrecy.

When they were back from the movie—a romantic comedy Alix had chosen—Jordan reminded her that they couldn’t put the invitations off any longer. They sat side by side at her kitchen table in the Donovans’ guesthouse and flipped through the huge three-ring binders, hoping to make a selection. Some of the invitations were elaborate and eye-catching, but those didn’t suit Alix’s taste in the least. She thought others were far too frilly and Jordan agreed. And some were just…silly. She couldn’t imagine who’d want Donald and Daisy Duck on a wedding invitation. The simpler examples seemed too plain. In the end, after going through each binder twice, Alix couldn’t find a single one she liked that would pass muster with Jacqueline and Susan Turner.

“What do you think?” Jordan asked.

“I wish I had time to make them myself.” Alix had looked forward to that. Something elegant, individual…

“I wish you did, too,” Jordan murmured, his head close to hers.

“You decide,” she told him tiredly. “Just pick one.”

“Me?”

“I can’t.”

“I can’t, either.” She didn’t want Jordan to think she wasn’t interested, because she was. But her choices weren’t acceptable to Susan and Jacqueline—Wedding Planners run amok, she thought with a sudden grin.

“What am I going to tell my mother?” Jordan asked. He sounded a bit desperate.

Unable to stop herself, Alix grinned again. Apparently she wasn’t the only one afraid to stand up to Susan Turner. Well, that wasn’t entirely fair. Susan was his mother and wanted the best for them. The Turner family had put their very heart—and their bank account—into this wedding, and the Donovans had, as well.

“I know what we’ll do,” Alix said, feeling inspired. “I have a solution!”

“What?” Jordan asked eagerly.

Alix laughed and threw her arms around him. “Choose one,” she insisted. “Any one will do. Close your eyes if you want.”

Giving her a puzzled glance, he opened the first binder and turned a few pages. He pointed to one of the more elaborate designs.

Alix wrinkled her nose.

“That one, then,” he said, pointing to one on the opposite page.

“That’s no better.”

“Okay, you choose,” he said.

She picked out an invitation with Disney characters.

Jordan grimaced. “That one?”

“How about this?” She purposely picked out one she knew Jordan would object to.

“No way.”

“Good.” She beamed him a smile. “We can’t decide and we can’t compromise, right?”

“Well…maybe we could?”

“Right?” she reiterated pointedly.

“Right,” he echoed. “That means…”

“It means we’ll have to let your mother and Jacqueline decide for us.” The wedding was really for Susan and Jacqueline anyway, Alix reasoned. This way they’d be able to choose the invitations they wanted…and they could do it with Alix and Jordan’s blessing.

CHAPTER 8

Colette Blake

Colette woke from a warm and comfortable sleep, dreaming of Christian Dempsey. Alarmed, she opened her eyes, trying to banish his image from her mind. She’d worked hard to avoid any thought of him. And yet she’d forever be reminded of him through their child. Again, she felt torn, wanting to tell him about the baby, and realizing she couldn’t….

Countless times, she’d gone over their last meeting, when he’d shocked her by coming to Susannah’s Garden. The day she walked away from Dempsey Imports, she was convinced she’d never see Christian again. She’d never wanted to see him again. She’d been appalled and angry at what he’d done. But the weeks since then had blunted her outrage; unaccountably she found herself making excuses for him, trying to invent reasons for such immoral, illegal activities. Maybe he had a misguided sense of compassion, she told herself hopefully; maybe his intentions were actually good. Maybe he was helping people find a better way of life….

She shook her head, dispelling that idea, and got ready for work, dressing in loose jeans and a red cable-knit sweater. With her morning tea, she knit another row of the prayer shawl. The knitting was going well, and Colette was beginning to look at yarn in a different way. After only one lesson, she was already thinking about patterns she might one day attempt. Her next project, she decided, would be a sweater for the baby.

The day before, Lydia had shown her a new shipment of alpaca wool as expensive as it was lovely. Recalling it now, Colette immediately pictured that yarn in a cardigan, a man’s sweater, and Christian Dempsey flashed into her mind. Irritated, she abruptly set aside her knitting. She had to stop thinking about him! He wasn’t the man she’d believed he was, and the sooner she accepted that, the better. Again and again, she mentally reviewed the computer file she’d read. There could be no other explanation.

Susannah was at the flower shop when Colette got in and they worked together until noon. March had arrived the day before, and typical of late winter in the Pacific Northwest, one rainstorm had followed another all week long. Then—a thrilling surprise—the clouds parted and the sun peeked out, bathing Puget Sound in golden, glorious light. All at once, Colette felt an urgent need to get outside and breathe fresh air.

“I think I’ll go for a walk,” she said when Susannah returned from her lunch break. After nothing but drizzle for two weeks, Colette craved the sun on her face.

Taking her jacket in case the weather turned nasty again, she headed down the hill to the Seattle waterfront and the Pike Place Market. She loved the market and often used to shop there with Derek, although he’d never found the same pleasure in being downtown as she did.

With the sun out, the city had surged to life. There was a new sense of energy, of well-being, and Colette felt invigorated. People seemed to move more quickly, laugh more loudly. She giggled at the antics of a troop of uniformed schoolkids, whose teachers merely smiled in resignation. Purchasing a decaf latte she sipped it while she wandered toward the market.

“Colette!”

At the sound of her name, she turned but didn’t see anyone familiar. After a moment, she gave up and continued into the market. Fishmongers tossed whole salmon back and forth, to the delight of tourists. She stopped to watch; it was a scene she’d witnessed any number of times but always enjoyed.

“Colette?”

Again she turned, and this time she caught sight of a man wearing a black overcoat. At first she didn’t recognize him. When she did, she came to a halt, an astonished smile on her face. “Steve?” she said as he hurried toward her. “Steve Grisham!”

He stood directly in front of her and for a minute or two, all they did was stare at each other.

“What are you—”