Ignoring him, she approached the bed. “What are your symptoms? Do you have a fever?”
She reached out to feel his forehead, but he jerked away from her and headed for his bathroom. “I’m about to throw up again. Go, Gillian. I’ll call you when I’m better.”
He didn’t look well. He was pale and his eyes were glassy. “You shouldn’t be alone,” she called as he shut the bathroom door. “Let me stay. I’ll bunk in the guest room and—”
“No. No, I want you to go. I want to be alone.”
The vehemence in his voice told her he meant it. She listened for sounds of retching, but the only thing she heard was the sound of water running in the sink. She sighed. “All right. I’ll go. I’ll check on you tomorrow. Promise me you’ll call if you need anything before then.”
“Okay.”
She turned to leave, but hesitated when a question occurred to her. “Jeremy, did you ever get your flu shot?”
“Good night, Gillian.”
Well, that was her answer, wasn’t it? They had a flu season wedding! Everyone in the bridal party had been instructed to get their flu shots. For the groom to ignore it? What did that say about their relationship?
They seriously needed the premarital counseling they had scheduled. She hoped this illness of his wouldn’t delay it, because she could no longer deny that these jitters were serious doubts.
She’d planned to pay another round of deposits this week. Maybe she should hold off on that until after she and Jeremy met with the counselor. If they called off the wedding …
The thought made Gillian feel a bit fluey herself.
“You okay?” Tucker asked as she climbed back into his truck a few moments later.
“I’m tired. I’m just really tired.” Physically and mentally. “Thanks for waiting for me, Tucker.”
“Like I said, I’m happy to do it. Can’t think of anyone I’d rather ring in the New Year with.”
She gave a sad little laugh. “This isn’t much of a ring.”
He drove half a block before replying, “Actually, for me, it is. I’m in a good place, have some good plans going forward, and I’m making some good new friends here in Redemption. You and I can be friends, right?”
She cut him a sidelong glance and scolded, “No more kissing.”
“Hey, it was New Year’s Eve at midnight. And I kept it friendly, didn’t I? That’s well within the allowable lines.”
He reached over, took her hand, and gave it a squeeze. “Happy New Year, new friend. I’ve been told by someone who claims to be in the know that it’s gonna be a great one for you and me both.”
“Someone in the know?”
“Angelica.”
Gillian smiled. “In that case, I’m not going to worry. Angelica knows things.”
The innkeeper’s comment really did make her feel better, and as she unlocked the front door of her house and turned to give Tucker a wave, her smile was genuine.
Two weeks later, her smile was nowhere to be found. She stood beneath the threshold of Jeremy’s bedroom door with her arms folded and her foot tapping. He’d used his illness to keep her away for two full weeks. They had not seen the counselor nor had the heart-to-heart talk they desperately needed, and their wedding date was now only a month away. “I think you should go back to the doctor.”
He lay in his bed, on his stomach, and spoke into his pillow. “Don’t worry. I’m better.”
Then why was he still in bed? You’d think the man had the plague. “If you’re feeling better, then we have some things we need to discuss. Our premarital counseling needs to be—”
“Leave it alone, Gillian,” he snapped. “I don’t have time for this. I have to go to work today, and I need to get ready.”
Hurt by both his words and tone, and out of patience with the patient, she snapped back, “Fine. I won’t bother you anymore. You call me when you’re feeling more yourself, and we can discuss our future.”
She left the house in a full-blown snit. She did not spin her tires as she pulled away from his house, and she gave herself a gold star in self-restraint. She drove to Bliss with her radio blaring hard rock, grateful to have the distraction of work. She had window design on her calendar, and she dove right into it.
Shortly before the shop opened at ten, her mother joined her in the courtyard outside of Bliss Salon. The two women stood side by side with their hands on their hips and gave the display window a critical study. “What do you think, Mom?” Gillian asked. “I was going for subtle Cinderella.”
She’d used a backdrop of shimmering silver and added a Louis XIV chair upholstered in snowy velvet to the scene. Rhinestone embellished Jimmy Choo shoes sat beside a chair leg, the right shoe tipped over on one side. A fingertip veil was draped over the chair, a tiara propped crookedly atop it. Fanned across the chair’s seat was a trio of books: The Princess Diaries, The Princess and the Pea, and The Princess Bride.
“You might have overshot subtle,” Barbara observed. “But I love it.”
“Should I have used a wire dress form instead of the new mannequin? It might be a little more romantic that way.”
“No, I don’t think so. The clear molded plastic is sleek and elegant, and the silver neck finial is classy. This window is very Princess Grace. I think it’s perfect. You have such an eye for design, Gillian.”
“Thanks, Mom. I got it from you.”
“We make a good team.”
Hearing a peculiar note in her mother’s voice, Gillian gave her a sidelong look. Barbara’s hazel eyes had filled with tears. Oh, no. I’d hoped I was done with drama for today. And no way was she going to voice her concerns before she had a chance to talk with Jeremy.
“That’s not going to change, Mom,” Gillian said as she slipped her arm around her mother’s waist and gave her a hug. “We’re just growing our team.”
“I know. I know. Don’t mind me. I’m a little emotional this morning. And I’m glad our family is growing. You know I am. I’m excited for you to start your new business—I know you’re going to make it a huge success. It’s just that, I don’t know, this is an ending of sorts and a bittersweet time. Working with you to build Bliss has been a joy.”
“For me too, Mom.” Gillian’s gaze shifted toward the hand-lettered sign beside the shop’s door. BLISS BRIDAL SALON. PROPRIETORS: BARBARA THACKER, GILLIAN THACKER.
Barbara reached into the pocket of her black slacks and pulled out a clean tissue. Dabbing at her eyes, she said, “I’m the mother of the bride. I’m allowed to be a little emotional.”
“That you are.”
“Thank goodness you have it all together as usual.”
Not hardly. Gillian’s mouth twisted in a rueful smile. “Hey, I have my bridezilla moments.”
“Few and far between, and nothing like She Who Will Not Be Sold Another Gown.”
Gillian winced. Yesterday’s fitting appointment with Lindsay and Erica had been even more awful than the last. They’d stayed until almost nine. Lindsay had been a terror, unhappy about everything. When she’d snapped at Barbara over a zipper that wouldn’t zip due to the holiday pounds she’d put on since the previous fitting, only a warning look from her mother had stopped Gillian from poking the witch with a straight pin. Erica hadn’t helped the situation one bit either. Rather than attempting to soothe the bride’s nerves, she’d sat like a sullen lump in the corner, saying no more than a dozen words the entire time.