The Sometime Bride

Chapter Sixteen



Mike strode purposefully into his broker’s office, a broad smile on his face. “Colleen,” he announced. “I’m getting married.”

Colleen raised her eyebrows above the listings she was perusing but didn’t look up. “That’s nice.” She laid down the papers and pulled a pen from her desk drawer. “Mike,” she said, circling a few of the real-estate offerings detailed before her. “These are the ones I want you to call on first.”

Mike stepped forward and snatched the stack off her desk. “Colleen! Didn’t you hear me? I said—”

Colleen cocked her head to the side and called out in a big, bellowing tone that attracted the attention of two agents working at the copier, “Call a news conference! Send out the releases! Mike Davis is getting married…”

He glared at her.

“Again,” she finished more quietly.

The other agents, a man and a woman, both junior colleagues of Mike’s, went back to work with respective shrugs.

“Listen, Mike,” Colleen said, clearing her throat and looking combative. Her eyes were an icy blue that matched the color of the glasses’ chain around her neck. Glasses, Mike had noticed, she never seemed to wear but often seemed to look for. “Your little absences last week put us in quite a pinch here. You owe Megan and Kurt over there, and owe them big-time for picking up your slack.”

Mike sank down in the chair opposite her desk, figuring now might not be the best time to ask for a raise.

“You don’t watch yourself, young man, you’re going to be out of a job.”

Oh no. That would be even worse than failing to secure a promotion. Mike gave a pleading smile and strove to look humble. “I’m so sorry, Colleen. Really, I am. But the thing that came up last week was—unavoidable.”

“Unavoidable for five days running?”

“No, I came in on Friday.”

Colleen squinted.

“For half a day,” Mike said, hanging his head.

She sat there waiting like a Mother Confessor.

“Listen, Colleen. Haven’t you ever been in love? I mean, really in love?”

“Yes,” she answered flatly. “But apparently not as many times as you have.”

Mike leaned forward and accepted the real-estate listings she was extending in his direction.

“The top ones first,” she said. “They need screening for an out-of-town client. And since not all of them came with pictures—”

“No problem,” Mike said, standing. “I’ll get on it right away.”



Carrie had tossed and turned all night, excited at the prospect of her new project. But was she really doing the right thing? What if Mike hated the idea or resented her getting involved in his professional life? Unasked, no less.

Carrie looked in the mirror and tugged at her cheeks, dismayed to see the puffy bags under her eyes didn’t dissipate. Maybe she should just ask him. Flat out.

But no. That would completely ruin the surprise. Carrie had seen the way his eyes had sparkled at the mention of moving to the Caymans. Once, she was certain, that had been his goal. But now, with her in the picture, could it be he was planning to put it aside? He hadn’t even mentioned it since that early conversation back at the inn. Maybe he thought the idea wouldn’t appeal to her.

Carrie considered how awful it would be to have something, or even somebody, unwittingly discourage your dream. Since the time she’d entered college and worked her way through, Carrie had pursued everything that was important to her. Nobody had ever told her that she couldn’t. And her Grandma Russell, bless her, had always said that all she had to do was try.

Having been employed by a large New York investment firm right out of grad school, Carrie had been lucky in business. It wasn’t long before she was making good money, and, because she honestly didn’t have a lot of places to spend it, the money had amassed quickly. Before long, people were coming to her for favors, or opportunities for helping people just seemed to land at her feet. There was her favorite hot-dog vendor with his dream of opening up his own deli, her coworker whose aunt’s independent bookstore was on the brink of foreclosure and badly needed refinancing, her apartment manager who was quite sure, if he had the funds, he could turn his dilapidated building into some of the finest condominiums on New York’s Upper East side.

All of those dreams had become realities thanks to Carrie’s personal investment in each of these ventures. The results had given her more than satisfaction; they had given her purpose. Within a year, she’d become incorporated and established her own independent investment firm. Two years later, she made the cover of Forbes. But in spite of the increasingly lucrative opportunities that poured her way, Carrie stayed true to her initial calling of helping the small businessman. Though she’d never been precisely poor, her background had been modest. And she’d seen from her own experience that a “rags to riches” existence was possible. All so many people needed was just a chance to get them started. And if the man she loved needed that same kind of chance, she would move heaven and earth to make it happen.

Carrie scooped the morning paper off her front porch and sat down to browse the financial section over coffee. She had figured Mike for some sort of real-estate venture. High-end sales, perhaps combined with property management of some of Grand Cayman’s larger estates.

Carrie laid down her paper, a surprising thought taking hold. What if Mike hadn’t planned to work in real estate at all in the Caymans?

But what else was there? Certainly not early retirement for a man as clever and energetic as Mike. He still seemed way too ambitious, not to mention physically…

Physical! But of course, Carrie thought with a grin. Her “swim god” wanted to go to the Caymans to capitalize on his native expertise. And Carrie wasn’t talking about lovemaking… Though she was certainly hoping there’d be plenty of that.



The moment Mike stepped from the car, it hit him with a one-two punch. This was it, he thought, looking around. This was home.

The white Cape Cod was nestled in a quiet grove just west of the city. It was zoned for the best school system, one of his client’s priorities, and had enough bedrooms—four—to accommodate a houseful of children.

Mike stood on the front circular drive looking up at the dormer windows protruding from the second story. Those would give plenty of light, and most likely have window seats, to the children’s rooms.

When Mike stepped inside and walked through the foyer and directly to the back of the house, he was not disappointed. The high stone hearth made the open family room connecting to the kitchen look cozy. Mike’s trained eye swept over the kitchen appliances, which all looked to be less than five years old. A good sign for a house that had been built in the 1940s. It was an indication the owners had routinely kept it up and not just bandaged things at the last minute for the sale.

At the back of the kitchen area sat a large bay window looking out onto immaculately tended gardens. One hosting several rows of summer vegetables, another sporting colorful flowers surrounding a sparkling pond.

Mike’s heartbeat picked up a notch as he circled back through the formal living area and dining rooms, both of which needed painting but boasted gorgeous ceiling and chair-rail moldings.

Though it was his job, Mike felt surprisingly like Goldilocks as he took the stairs two at a time and hurried upstairs into the bedrooms. He went to the front of the house first, where he found, as he’d suspected, a couple of cheerfully decorated children’s rooms complete with sun-dappled dormer windows.

The master bedroom was good-sized but not so large a couple could get lost in it. And the fourth bedroom, which was currently used as an office, and two upstairs baths were inviting and well maintained.

Mike felt he was bursting at the seams as he took it all in. He’d always heard buying real estate was an emotional experience. Had witnessed that enamored expression on the faces of many of his clients. But never in a million years did he dream that besotted feeling would happen to him.

Carrie would love it. He just knew it. Though her current place was charming, it was nowhere near big enough to accommodate a large family. And this house here, situated at the crest of a sleepy knoll, was not only roomy enough for plenty of children, all the rug rats Mike secretly hoped he and Carrie would make—it also afforded the same stunning view of the mountains.

Mike went downstairs and walked out onto the back patio, eyeing the one accoutrement that had cinched the deal from the moment he’d hit the property line. Fanning the border of the house’s perimeter was a neat arrangement of flowers and shrubs. And behind those—gleaming in the sunlight—stood a freshly painted white picket fence.