How to Make a Wedding: Twelve Love Stories

“Why didn’t you stay with your Granddaddy? Or one of your friends?”


“Dad refused. Insisted we move as a family. The night we packed up to go, Dad and I argued so much we almost threw punches. Then my sister came out of her room, hysterical, begging us to stop.” Ginger listened with her arms wrapped about her waist, the warm light of the homestead haloing her. “It scared me, humbled me, when I saw her pain. Then I saw the angst on my father’s face and I gave up my fight. I didn’t understand everything that was going on, or why we were heading out of town like bandits, but it had my dad, and mom, in knots. I’d never heard them so much as raise their voices to each other, but that night, they weren’t even speaking. Nevertheless, I still managed to be a major pain-in-the-backside. I barely spoke to him for two months after we moved. Though he tried really hard to make things right between us.” Tom winced at his confession. “Now I realize at the worst time in his life, his family was all he had and all he wanted.”

“Trust me, if you have family, you have everything.” She shivered but he wasn’t sure it was because of the cold, muddy water clinging to her jeans.

“I’m sorry I never called you, Ginger. Or e-mailed. You were my friend and deserved better. I thought maybe we’d become more than friends. But when we moved, I put Rosebud and everything about it behind me.”

“More than friends?” Her eyes glistened. “Even if you’d stayed in Rosebud, we’d never have been anything. We were barely friends. Your friends would’ve never allowed it.”

“Allowed what? For us to be friends? Or more than? My friends had no say in my relationships.” He took a watery step toward her.

“Are you sure? Seemed to me they had everything to say about your relationships. Who you hung out with, when and where. Every time we had study hall together, they pestered you to skip out. They barely spoke to me when we were together, forget when we weren’t.”

“Ginger, I could make up my own mind. Even then. They had no say. I asked you to the movies, didn’t I?”

She furrowed her brow, shrugging. “As a payback for math help.” She smoothed her sandy colored hair over her shoulder, and shoved her scarf into place. “We would’ve never been anything more.”

“If I wanted there to be more—”

A bold knock startled away the intimacy of their conversation and Tom opened to find Edward on the veranda, Scott and his four-wheel drive idling by the steps.

“We’ve come to rescue you.” Edward barged inside. “Passed the VW on our way . . .” He gave Tom the once over. “Man, what happened to you?”

“We tried to push the car out.” Tom followed Edward’s glance across the room where Ginger stood on the other side of the reading chairs.

“Ginger,” Edward said.

“Edward.”

“You know our boy here is starting a church?” Edward clapped Tom on the shoulder.

“So he said.”

“No offense, but considering all that happened with Tom’s dad, we can’t be too careful. Especially around you.”

“Around me?” She fiddled with her scarf, smoothing it higher up on her neck. “What are you talking about?”

“Edward, let’s go.” Tom tugged on his arm, reaching for the door knob.

But Edward remained planted, his smile neither warm nor pleasant. “You know what I’m talking about, Ginger. I realize time has passed and with Tom not being married the rules are different, but nevertheless, there are expectations. We have to protect him from scandal and gossip all the same. He needs a good start in Rosebud if the church is going to make it.”

“Edward, that’s enough.” Tom jerked him toward the door. “Ginger, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what? Edward, what are you talking about? ‘Protect him from scandal’?” Ginger gazed at Tom, her lips pressed in defiance. See? Your friends won’t let you.

“She doesn’t know?” Edward glanced at Tom, incredulous.

“Ginger, you’re freezing and muddy. We’ll get out of your hair,” Tom said. Ed and his big mouth. He never did have any tact. “Say . . . I’ll come get you in the morning. What time?”

“Don’t dismiss me, Tom Wells. What don’t I know?”

“Nothing, Edward is just talking. You know, how it’s probably not good for Rosebud’s newest, young, single pastor to be alone on a dark and rainy night with a beautiful woman.”

She snapped back, her expression sober, the sheen in her eyes a blend of confusion and what-did-you-just-say? But she stayed on task. “Edward, what are you talking about?”

“Don’t you know, Ginger?” Edward stepped around the wingback chair toward her. His voice was smooth, his movements calculating.

“Edward, enough.” Tom came around the other side, pressing his hand into the man’s chest. “Let’s just go.”

“Your mom was the reason Tom’s dad had to leave town. Or at least she was the final blow.”

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