WEDNESDAY, 2:40 P.M.
Maybe it’s God’s way of telling us to wait…
The words gutted Boone.
He held up his hands. “Wait? For what? For some dress? For everything in the world to be perfect so the team is never activated? Maybe”—he shook his head, the words almost unbearable—“we shouldn’t get married.”
She stilled. “We’ll still get married.” She blinked. “What are you saying?”
“You keep talking about the dress. My duties. Maybe I can’t live up to what you want, Vivie.”
“That isn’t true. You know that isn’t true.”
Oh, his heart wanted to believe that, but how could he marry Vivien knowing he couldn’t live up to her expectations? Knowing that the first time duty called him away from a special event, it might unravel the tender fabric of trust in their relationship.
“It sure seems true.” He stared at her, willing her to contradict him.
No. Instead, her eyes filled with fresh tears, and she picked up the soiled dress.
He couldn’t stand here and watch his life unravel. “I need to go help Peter. He’s expecting me. I’ll make sure you have a ride.”
She said nothing, even then.
So he walked away. Couldn’t look back.
Just got into his truck and drove straight to the antique store, numb. He punched out a text to Vivien’s mom and chucked his phone into the back seat. No more messages. No more calls.
He needed to clear his brain.
Peter’s truck pulled up behind him, and he met Peter on the sidewalk.
“Sorry to pass this off on you. I know you’re crazy busy.”
“No. It’s fine.” Except nothing was fine. He hadn’t imagined any part of this Christmas that didn’t include getting married to Vivien.
In truth, he was still trying to sort out what had just happened.
Peter unlocked the front door, stepped inside. “Man, this place is dusty. I’d love to see it opened up again.”
Boone closed the door behind them and followed him through the shop.
“Is Vivien coming? She’s the one I figured would know where to look and what to look for.” Peter pulled open the door to the basement.
“No. Just me. I’ll figure it out.” This mystery, at least, he could solve. How hard could it be to find a few shepherd and angel robes?
Peter studied him a beat. Nodded. “Follow me—just watch that stairwell door. It likes to lock on you.”
He bent down and used an antique iron to hold the door in place, then flipped the light switch on the opposite wall. It illuminated a single bulb hung in the stairwell and a dull yellow glow from below. Peter proceeded down the steps.
“Okay, it should all be in one of these.” He gestured toward an inordinate stack of boxes. “Or one of these.” He waved his arm in the opposite direction toward several more boxes. “I’ve been trying to reorganize them. I apologize they aren’t in better order. We’d moved a bunch of stuff over here before Gustav passed away, and it all got put on the back burner after that.” He pointed to the two lightbulbs protruding from the low ceiling. “And that’s the best light you’ve got too. Do you need me to scrounge up a flashlight?”
“No, it’s fine.” Because he really just needed something to keep his mind busy.
“Everything okay? Vivien didn’t sign you up for Christmas karaoke, did she?” Peter laughed.
Boone shook his head. “It’s fine.”
Peter stopped. “Okay, that’s the third time you’ve said that. Everyone knows ‘it’s fine’ is code for ‘I’m going to pretend it’s okay because I don’t want to talk about it.’ Spill it.”
Boone sized up Peter—Vivien’s cousin by marriage—and, well, he’d hear about it sooner or later. “I don’t know that we’re getting married in three days. Or, well, ever.”
Peter choked out a cough. “Excuse me?”
Boone rubbed his temples. “The storm has made a mess of things, and Viv was stressed about that. She kept saying how everything had to be perfect. She has a list. And then her dress was gone—her wedding dress. Then I found it. Except it has a stain on it. And honestly, I don’t see what the big deal is. But she went off about us waiting because of the storm and the dress. Then the CRT. I guess I just don’t know that she really wants to marry me.”
A nod from Peter.
“And she said it had to be perfect because…I don’t know. She said something about being in labor—someday in the future, of course—and being in the bathtub or on the floor or something. It didn’t make any sense. But being alone and me being with the team.”
“Oh.”
“What do you mean, ‘oh’? You said that like you understood what all that nonsense meant.”
“I kind of do. I mean, not exactly about the whole bathtub-floor thing. I got lost there a bit, but this is Vivie we’re talking about.” He rubbed his hand over his beard. “That sounds like maybe she feels like she’s competing with the team for your attention.”
“But I love her. I’m marrying her. The team is my job.”
“Yeah, but that’s probably where her whole tub-floor-whatever thing comes in. Ronnie and I deal with that too, but since we’re both in service positions, we get it. It still hurts sometimes, though, to know that duty supersedes other priorities. Even a spouse or significant other sometimes.”
“But we’ve been dating all this time. This isn’t new.”
“You know how her dad bailed on them. Wasn’t there for those milestones and holidays in her life. And she always felt like she was competing with her half sister for his attention.” Peter grimaced. “And her half sister always won out.”
“This isn’t like that.”
“Not to you, but ask her. My guess is she has the expectation that you’ll be there for all those things.”
“But I’m not going to leave her or pick the team over her.”
“In her mind, it’s all the same and it’s all related. Vivien’s been planning this wedding pretty much since she was a tween with acne.”
“I highly doubt Vivien ever had acne.”
Peter laughed. “Okay. Well, she probably believes the perfect bride becomes the perfect wife. And in the perfect marriage, she’s always the priority.”
“Of course she’s my priority.”
“Are you really hearing me though? Her dad walked out on them—had a whole different family, another daughter. Vivien wants to feel emotionally safe. And she’s going to cling to any sense of control she has because that’s her lifeline. That’s what’s going to tell her you won’t stray. You won’t leave.”
“But I won’t. And she’ll still be my priority, even when I can’t be home.”
Peter nodded. “You know that here”—he pointed to his temple—“but she doesn’t feel it here.” He patted his chest.
“So, what, I’m supposed to leave the team?”
“I don’t know what you need to do. But I think you need to talk to her.” Peter’s phone buzzed and he snagged it off a nearby box. “Oh boy. I’m sorry, but I have to go see about a donkey.” He gestured toward the boxes. “I can send someone else to look for the costumes.”