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“Sweetheart, I’m sure they’ll understand that this is your wedding. Don’t disappoint Andrea, dear. I even convinced the owner to stay open a few minutes late in exchange for some publicity.”
He wouldn’t hear the end of it if he said no. “Okay, I’ll be there soon.” He hung up with his mother. When he felt a presence behind him, he turned to find Chantelle. She laced her fingers together.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’m good. Look, I would love to catch up, but this wedding stuff won’t plan itself.” He stared into her eyes. “It’s good to see you, Chantelle. Tell your Mom I’m sorry I had to leave so soon.”
She nodded as he walked out the door. He paced the sidewalk for a moment. It was best to leave dinner early. Did he want to continue sitting next to his ex reminiscing? No.
Chapter 5
Chantelle watched as Lance left. Ripping her eyes away from the door, she caught Grant standing with his hands at his sides.
“You invited him?” She asked, releasing a cleansing breath. How did she hold it together with him at the table? She returned to the dining room. How much spaghetti did her mother cook? Her mother sat another pot on the table.
“He’s still a friend of mine. For the record, I didn’t know you were coming home today. Mom said tomorrow.”
“I know you’re still friends. I only wanted to tell him.”
“Tell him what?”
She sighed. “I’m not here for a regular visit, Grant. I’m here for a story.”
Her brother cocked his head to the side.
“Did Lance tell you his wedding’s being profiled?”
He bobbed his head and then his eyes widened like saucers. “No way.”
“Yes.”
Rubbing the back of his bald head, he returned to his seat at the table. “This can’t be good.”
“What?” Elise asked, carrying a pitcher of iced tea.
“Nothing.” Chantelle eyed her brother and mouthed. “Not one word.” She didn’t want to talk about it. It was awkward enough.
He mouthed back. “No promises.”
Elise and their mother joined them again at the dining room table. Chantelle breathed easier with Lance gone, so she could eat and taste her food this time. The scrape of cutlery and clink of glasses filled the room, while the radio continued playing in the background.
“So…” her mother said, “Lance couldn’t stay any longer?”
“He had a phone call and had to leave. He said he was sorry for having to leave so soon.” Chantelle twirled the noodles on her plate despite being famished getting off the plane. She had tapped her high heels, waiting at baggage claim, shifting and sighing. Though vending machine snacks ranged from honey buns to Little Debbie cupcakes, she didn’t want to spoil her dinner at home. Though her appetite left her after seeing Lance, her stomach’s sensitivity subsided.
His broad chest and chiseled face haunted her for years. Yet, his looks were only on the surface. It wasn’t the real him. The real Lance listened to her stories, even though he wasn’t an advent reader as she was. Though he grew up privileged, he didn’t act proud. He always treated people with respect. Chantelle had a problem meeting his eyes without her breath hitching.
“It’s too bad.” Her mother continued. “He loves our spaghetti nights.”
“Spaghetti night?” Chantelle’s eyebrows etched together. “I thought that was our thing. He comes over for spaghetti night? Since I left?”
Her mother bobbed her head. “He’s one of the family, dear. I hope he’ll still stop by after the wedding.”
Elise touched Chantelle’s shoulder. “Are you okay? We didn’t know you were coming this early and your brother…” She eyed her husband. “Grant didn’t tell me Lance was coming until after we left the house.”
Chantelle rolled her eyes. “It’s just Lance.”
Her mother waved a finger at her. “I don’t think so. You two were close.”
