“I think you look like you’re in a birdcage.”
“It won’t look like this, obviously. We’ll layer it with vines and flowers…make it look pretty.” She scales the thing with her eyes, fingertips dancing over the frame. Planning. “What do you say? Could you see yourself getting married under something like this?”
I touch the wire frame on the top. “That’s a complicated question.”
“Why?” She looks up at me. “Wait, don’t tell me. Are you too cool to ever get married?”
“No,” I say. “I think marriage works. For some people.”
“Some people,” she interrogates. “Not you.”
“It’s never been in my plan.”
“That’s the point of falling in love,” Susie argues. “It’s never something you plan. It just…happens.”
“You’re the expert,” I tell her.
“Because I organize weddings?”
“No. Because you’ve been there.”
That dims some of the spark in her eyes. To Susie’s credit, her smile remains intact. “You’re right…I’ve had a wedding. Half a wedding. I’ve never been married, though. We didn’t get that far.”
“Did it feel right when you were standing under the altar?”
Susie shrugs. “It did. For me. Not for Ace, apparently.” She runs her fingers through her hair. She does that, I’ve noticed, to brush off whatever complicated thoughts are going on in her head. “Anyway, I think Ray and Cora will look great under it. But you’re the one paying for it, so…”
“I defer to your judgment,” I tell her. That, at least, brings back some of the spark in her eyes.
“Great—hey, Thom!” she calls the Brit over. “Come check this out…!”
“That’s wonderful,” Thom says when he lays his eyes on it. “We’ll need something to cover it—”
“Flowers?”
“I think I saw some ribbon and such in the aisle over there. Why don’t you check?”
Susie goes scampering off in the direction that Thom points. The man shifts to stand beside me as we watch her go.
“She’s amazing, isn’t she?” Thom says.
“One of a kind,” I agree.
“Susie has a big heart,” Thom continues. “The biggest heart I’ve ever known. Always has.”
My guard goes up when I hear a protective edge slide into Thom’s voice. He knows. I glance over at him, but he doesn’t look mad. Instead, he turns to me and smiles. It’s a shark’s smile, all teeth. “If you break her heart, I will kill you. Do we understand each other?”
“Crystal clear.”
“Good.” And like that, Thom’s entire demeanor changes. He gives my arm a friendly pat and says, “Let’s go make sure our kitten hasn’t gotten herself tangled up in a ball of yarn.”
We spend another hour at the thrift store before they’ve accumulated everything they need. By time we’re ready to check out, we have a couple of huge stacks of stuff.
Nearly a thousand dollars for trash. Trash that Susie and her team can turn into gold. I swipe my card.
We drop Thom and Marlee back at the hotel before making our way back to the farmhouse. When Susie and I get back to the house, we part ways. I go to my room briefly and rinse off for the night. I turn the shower on hot and feel the grime and rust from the store leave my skin.
By time I’m out of the shower, the house is quiet. Everyone has gone to bed.
Almost everyone. Except Susie. She stays up. I go downstairs and I can hear her through the window. She’s on the outside patio, pacing on the phone. She’s in nonstop work mode. She’s wearing her jacket, at least. It’s a start toward self-care.
“Yes, Thom, I know it’s last-second—we all know it’s last-second.” A pause. “Well, what can they offer us?” Another brief silence. “Okay, we can make that work. If we move the dress fitting to Thursday, that should give them enough time to set up during the day tomorrow…I’ll let Roxanne know you’re coming over…you can coordinate…”
I decide she needs a break. I go into the fridge until I find a bottle of unopened white wine chilling. I snag a wineglass, make my way out of the kitchen, and slide open the screen doors.
The mountains are black now and nearly blended into the darkening sky. The crickets wake up, and an owl hoots in the distance. Susie is off the phone now. She’s currently made herself at home on the wooden porch swing. Her shoes lie empty underneath the swing, her legs tucked underneath her, bare toes poking out. She’s texting away on her phone, the bright glare illuminating her face in the near dark, but she glances up when I step outside.
“Your phone works,” I comment.
She shrugs. “I found the sweet spot.”
“Apparently.” I lift the bottle and glass in offering. “I thought you might want to relax.”
“God, yes. You read my mind.”
I take a seat beside her. The porch swing rocks briefly under our combined weight before settling back down again. I reach into my back pocket, pull out a wine key, and uncork the wine before I give her a small pour. I hand the glass over. “Try that.”
She puts her lips around the rim and swallows. I focus on her reaction. She seems to be considering something, taking another sip, and lets this one linger in her mouth a moment longer before swallowing.
“That’s good,” she says and hands the glass back over to me. I fill her up this time.
“It’s a Riesling. The fruit comes from the Finger Lakes outside of New York, which gives it that honeysuckle and citrus note. A dash of lemon to balance it out…and there you go.”
Her eyes are locked on me now. “You know a lot about your wine.”
“I should hope so.” I twist the bottle around so she can see the label. “Sea Glass Vineyard. That’s mine.”
“Yours.” She rolls the word around her mouth as though tasting it. “You made this?”
I feel an edge of a smile tug my mouth. “It’s what I do.”
“You’re full of surprises, Mr. West.”
You have no idea, sweet one. I keep my tongue behind my teeth, however, and let out a brief laugh before leaning back.
She takes the bottle in her hand and investigates it. Even I like the packaging on this one—the bottle itself is teal green and cloudy, as though it’s been sand-beaten.
“Why the name?” Susie asks as she puts the bottle back down. “Sea Glass?”
“Cora and I grew up on Montauk. When I was a kid, we used to walk up and down the beach collecting sea glass and pretend it was pirate treasure. I always liked the stuff. It takes a beating and just gets prettier. Not a diamond, but rough and beautiful in its own right.”
I can hear Susie’s smile in her voice. “I think that’s romantic.”
“Maybe. For a nine-year-old.”
Through the screen, I can see bright stars poking holes in the inky night sky.
“Aren’t you sharing?” she asks and swivels her glass.
I shrug lightly. “I don’t drink.”
“What?” Here we go. “But…”