Читать книгу The Summer Wedding: Groom Wanted / The Man You'll Marry - Debbie Macomber - Страница 12

Six

“What do you mean, it’s me?” Jordan demanded. When she didn’t answer, he asked, “What’s wrong, Jill?”

“Everything,” she cried, shaking her head.

“I hurt you?”

“No,” she whispered, “no.” She sobbed quietly as she wrung her hands. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Why do you have to do anything?”

“Because … oh, you wouldn’t understand.” Worse, she couldn’t tell him. Every time he looked at her, she became more and more convinced that Shelly had been right. Jordan Wilcox was her future.

But she couldn’t fall in love with him, because she knew what would happen to her if she did—she’d become like her mother, lonely, bitter and unhappy. If she was going to marry, she wanted a man who was safe and sensible. A man like … Ralph. Yet the thought of spending the rest of her life with Ralph produced an even deeper sense of discontent.

“I’m not an unreasonable man,” Jordan said. Then he added, “Well, generally I’m not. If there’s a problem you can tell me.”

“It’s not supposed to be a problem. According to Shelly and her aunt Milly, it’s a blessing. I know I’m talking in riddles, but … there’s no way you’d understand!”

“Try me.”

“I can’t. I’m sorry, I just can’t.”

“But it has something to do with my kissing you?”

She stared at him blankly. “No. Yes.”

“You seem rather uncertain about this. Perhaps we should try it again….”

“That isn’t necessary.” But even as she spoke, Jordan was reaching for her, pulling her onto his lap. Jill willingly surrendered to his embrace, greeting his kiss with a muffled groan of welcome, a sigh of defeat. His arms held her close, and not for the first time, Jill was stunned by the effect he had on her. It left her feeling both unnerved and overwhelmed.

“Better?” he asked in a remarkably steady voice.

Unable to answer, Jill closed her eyes, then nodded. Better, yes. And worse. Every time he touched her, it confirmed what she feared most.

“I thought so.” He seemed reassured, but that did nothing to comfort Jill. For weeks she’d played a silly game of denial. They’d met, and from that moment on, nothing had been the same.

She didn’t, couldn’t, believe in the power of the wedding dress; she scoffed at the implausibility of its legend. Yet even Mr. Howard, who’d never heard of Aunt Milly or her dress, had felt compelled to explain Jordan’s past to her, had seen Jill as his future.

She’d spent only three days with Jordan, but she knew more about him than she knew about Ralph, whom she’d been dating for months. Their day on the beach and the dinner with Andrew Howard had given her insights into Jordan’s personality. Since then Jill had found it more difficult to accept what she saw on the surface—the detached, cynical male. The man who wore his I-don’t-give-a-damn attitude like an elaborate mask.

Perhaps she understood him because he was so much like her father. Adam Morrison had lived for the excitement, the risks, of the big deal. He poured his life’s blood into each business transaction because he’d never really acknowledged the importance of family, emotion, human values.

Jordan wouldn’t, either.

Dinner was a strained affair, although Jordan made several efforts to lighten the mood. As he drove her home, Jill sensed that he wanted to say something more. Whatever it was, he left unsaid.

“Have a safe trip,” she told him when he escorted her to her door. Her heart was pounding, not with excitement, but with trepidation, wondering if he planned to kiss her again.

“I’ll call you when I get back,” he told her. And that was all.

* * *

“I have a special fondness for this place,” Shelly said as she slipped into a chair opposite Jill. They were meeting for lunch at Patrick’s, a restaurant in the mall where Jill’s branch of PayRite was located. Typically, she was ten minutes late. Marriage to Mark, who was habitually prompt, hadn’t improved Shelly’s tardiness. Jill often wondered how they managed to keep their love so strong when they were so different.

Patrick’s had played a minor role in Shelly’s romance with Mark. Jill recalled the Saturday she’d met her there for lunch, and how amused she’d been at Shelly’s crazy story of receiving the infamous wedding dress.

The way Jill felt now—frantic, frightened, confused—was exactly the way Shelly had felt then.

“So tell me everything,” Shelly said breathlessly.

“Jordan stopped by. We had dinner. He left this morning on a business trip,” she explained dispassionately. “There isn’t much to tell.”

Shelly’s hand closed around her water glass, her eyes connecting with Jill’s. “Do you remember when I first met Mark?”

“I’m not likely to forget,” Jill said, smiling despite her present mood.

“Anytime you or my mother or anyone else asked me about Mark, I always said there wasn’t anything to tell. Remember?”

“Yes.” Jill thought of how Shelly’s face would become expressionless, her tone abrupt, whenever anyone mentioned Mark’s name.

“Well, when I told you nothing was happening, I was stretching the truth,” Shelly continued. “There was plenty going on, but nothing I felt I could share. Even with you.” She raised her eyebrows. “You, my friend, have the same look I did then. A lot has taken place between you and Jordan. So much that you’re frightened out of your wits. Trust me, I know.”

“He kissed me again,” Jill admitted.

“It was better than before?”

“Worse!”

Shelly apparently found Jill’s answer humorous. She tried to hide her smile behind the menu, then lowered it to say, “Don’t count on your feelings becoming any less complicated. They won’t.”

“He’s going to be away for a few days. Thank goodness, because it gives me time to think.”

“Oh, Jill,” Shelly said with a sympathetic sigh, “I wish there was something I could say to help you. Why are you fighting this so hard?” She grinned sheepishly. “I fought it, too. Be smart, just accept it. Love isn’t really all that terrifying once you let go of your doubts.”

“Instead of talking about Jordan, why don’t we order lunch?” Jill suggested a little curtly. “I’m starved.”

“Me, too.”

The waitress arrived at their table a moment later, and Jill ordered the split-pea soup and a turkey sandwich.

“Wait a minute,” Shelly interrupted, motioning toward the waitress. She turned to Jill. “You don’t even like split-pea soup. You never order it.” She gave Jill an odd look, then turned back to the waitress. “She’ll have the clam chowder.”

“Shelly!”

The waitress wrote down the order quickly, as though she feared an argument was about to erupt.

“You’re more upset than I realized,” Shelly said when they were alone. “Ordering split-pea soup—I can’t believe it.”

“It’s soup, Shelly, not nuclear waste.” Her friend definitely had a tendency to overreact. It drove Jill crazy, but it was the very thing that made Shelly so endearing.

“I’m going to call Jordan Wilcox myself,” Shelly announced suddenly.

“You’re going to what?” It was all Jill could do to remain in her seat.