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Luke loved this old house. As a kid, if he wasn’t in school or playing sports, he was here with Gramps—taking the Martha Sue, Gramps’s old boat, out on the Gulf of Mexico to fish. The place wasn’t fancy. It was more like a two-bedroom fishing shack, really, but it sat on prime beachfront real estate, which made it worth even more than the upscale condo he owned in downtown Atlanta.
He could easily rent the house out, but he preferred not to. He kept all the stuff he didn’t want in his Atlanta condo stored here and he didn’t want a bunch of strangers pawing through his things. One day, he’d retire and come live in this house. He’d buy a new boat and spend his days out on the water, fishing and enjoying small town life again. Hell, maybe he’d even get a dog.
He unlocked the front door, pleasantly relieved to be walking into a semi-cool house. The Florida summer was too hot to not have the air conditioner on even with the place empty. He turned on a light in the living room and found the wall thermostat set to seventy-eight, flipped it down a couple more degrees, and took a look around.
He blinked. Shook his head. And blinked again.
Someone had rearranged his furniture.
That would be his mother, of course. Or Mimi. Not that he minded. He was grateful they took the time to watch the place for him. There were other changes, too. His brown leather couch had some kind of frilly blanket draped across it and there were at least a dozen candles everywhere. The slightly sweet vanilla aroma lingering in the air betrayed their recent use.
He picked up a discarded towel that had been carelessly tossed on the wooden floor, then, what the—? He tripped over something, nearly losing his balance in the process. He bent over to retrieve the offending item—a bucket filled with seashells.
Huh. Now that was weird. His mother wasn’t the collecting seashells by the seashore type. More like the sitting in her lounge chair sipping on a cold martini type.
The place wasn’t exactly messy, but neither his mother or his sister would leave a damp towel lying on the floor. Maybe Mimi had let the kids use the house. Or maybe they were using it without her knowledge. His niece, Claire, was almost eighteen and had just graduated from high school, and his nephew, Cameron, was…what? Thirteen? Could they be using the place without anyone knowing?
On the upside, if they were using the beach house, then maybe they’d left some grub behind. His stomach let out an angry growl. He flung open the refrigerator door. There was a carton of milk, a few sticks of butter, some suspicious looking Chinese takeout and half a pepperoni pizza. Not exactly the healthiest food on the planet but, under the circumstances, he couldn’t complain.
He reached in for the pizza, then noticed a plastic container with some macaroni and cheese and opted for that instead. Add in a neat inch of the Glenlivet he kept in the cupboard above the stove and he’d have himself a semi-proper meal. But when he checked the cupboard, his bottle of scotch was gone. He knew for certain that neither his mother nor Mimi would have touched it. Which meant…
The idea of Claire sneaking in here and drinking his liquor brought out the protective uncle in him. He hoped to hell she wasn’t using this house to throw any wild, teenage parties.
He zapped up the mac and cheese, grabbed a fork, and plopped himself down on the sofa. Steinbeck’s novel, Travels with Charley, sat spine up on the armrest and, according to the back cover, it was the property of the Whispering Bay Public Library. Definitely pre-college summer reading material. Good to know his niece wasn’t spending her entire summer partying before heading off to Duke.
He put the book aside and found the remote, then hit his favorites button expecting ESPN. The Hallmark channel popped up instead.
The messy towel, the seashell bucket, hell, even his missing scotch he could forgive. But reprogramming his remote? Whatever happened to a man’s home being his castle?
He switched over to the Golf Channel, and took his first bite of the mac and cheese. Damn, but this was good. And homemade. Not any of that boxed crap he’d lived on in college. Had his mother made this? Nah. Mac and cheese was more Mimi’s style. His sister was a good cook, but her culinary skills had definitely gone up a notch since he’d last eaten her food.
He wolfed down the rest of the macaroni, then toed off his sneakers and propped his feet on the coffee table, too tired to move. Maybe he’d fall asleep right here on the couch. He was thinking about how great it was to finally be doing absolutely nothing when his gaze wandered over to the side table and a collection of framed photographs that made him immediately sit up.
There were at least a dozen photos of him and Torie at various stages in their relationship, as well as a couple of him by himself, all arranged carefully, like some kind of shrine.
This was definitely his mother’s handiwork.
Two photos were laid face down, as if on purpose. He flipped them over. One was a picture of Torie and him taken in New Mexico last year during a ski trip. The other was a photo of them at a wedding a couple of years before that. They’d only been together a few weeks at that point, but he was the best man and he’d needed a date and she’d completely wowed all his friends. He put down the framed photo and thought about the email he’d received from her a few weeks ago.
I’m getting married, Luke! I know it sounds crazy, because Jeff and I have only known each other a few months, but it just feels right. It’s a lot to ask, but in a lot of ways, you’re my closest friend and I’d really love it if you could be at the wedding (invitation to follow!). I hope life is treating you well. Hugs!!
PS Could you tell your mother that I’m getting married? I’d like to invite your parents to the wedding, but the last time we spoke it seemed like she thought you and I were still together (ha ha!).
And then there was yesterday’s text.
Luke, your mother just emailed me and asked if we could come down for Labor Day weekend. WTF!? Doesn’t she know we’re broken up and that I’m getting married to someone else????
Before he could respond, she’d texted again a few minutes later.
Sorry if I sounded a little hysterical. It’s this wedding! There’s so much to do and so little time. But I promise I haven’t turned into a bridezilla. By the way, I still haven’t gotten your RSVP. You did get an invitation, right? Please let me know if you can come (I won’t take no for an answer) and feel free to bring a date!
PS Please tell your mom about the wedding ASAP. I can’t keep avoiding her calls forever. Hugs!!
He’d texted her back: Going home to WB tomorrow. Will tell her then.
He’d told his family about his breakup with Torie six months ago. His father had seemed resigned but his mother had immediately predicted they’d get back together. This latest bit of news about Torie’s upcoming marriage, however, was something he’d have to tell his mother in person. She wouldn’t take it well, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.
And as for Torie’s wedding invitation? No way in hell was he going to her wedding. He was happy she’d found someone. He really was, but despite what she’d written in her email, it didn’t seem right for him to go to the ceremony. Besides, if all went as planned, in a few weeks he’d be on his way to Alaska to work on a new project. He made a mental note to call Ethan in the morning for an update on the job.
