By time he’s finished his story, I’m wearing a giant smile and I’m holding back tears. I sniff and dab the corners of my eyes. “That’s beautiful…it really is,” I tell him.
He cocks a grin. “I guess I just got lucky is all.”
I clear my throat. After a pause, I add, “I don’t mean to ruin the moment, but I have to ask…” I look back at him. “You and Mandy. What’s going on there?”
At Mandy’s name, Ray looks almost guilty, and he shakes his head. “I should’ve never let her get involved in the wedding, if you want the truth. I just figured…we were past this.”
“Past what?”
“We used to date. Mandy and I. I loved that girl. I really did. But Mandy is my past. Cora…she’s my present and my future. Much as I might like that past and think fondly of that time…there’s no way I can go back there.”
“Hear, hear,” I say. I have nothing to drink, so I extend my fist. “To letting go of the past for shiny new futures.”
Ray laughs and fist-bumps me. “I’ll honor that.” With that, he squints at me. “You’ve got someone who will do anything for you?”
“Oh, no, I don’t know…” But as soon as I start to talk, my tongue slows to a stop. In the back of my mind, I see Braxton. I see Braxton giving me his jacket when I’m cold, checking in on me, coming to my side when I’m stressed. I see Braxton kissing me, I see him telling me I’m beautiful, I see him confessing his dark secrets to me in the middle of the night. I see that look in his eyes every time he looks at me, the way he softens his hard edges when I’m around, the way he turns sweet and tender for me.
All the sudden, it hits me. Oh, crap.
Braxton loves me.
And I love him.
I can’t say when it happened—I can’t pinpoint it to one moment or one look. But somewhere along the way, I’ve gotten used to having him around. At some point, I became addicted to his smile.
I love him.
I laugh at the realization because it seems so easy all the sudden and so obvious. “Yes,” I tell Ray. “I do have someone special.”
Then I remember: Braxton. He called. I quickly reach into my pocket to pull my phone back out. “I’m so sorry…one second,” I tell Ray.
“Do what you’ve got to,” Ray tells me.
I flip through to my missed calls. Braxton called. Over and over. Now I’m starting to get worried. What if he really is pissed about stringing him up and leaving him on the bedpost?
Worse, what if my unhealthy obsession with the perfect wedding ruined yet another relationship?
I debate what to do when my phone lights up. Braxton is calling. Yet again. This time, I get to my feet and answer. “Braxton—I’m so sorry about this morning, it was a complete mistake—”
“Where are you?” There’s a dangerous firmness to his voice that puts me on edge.
“Listen to me, I had to do what I thought was the right thing, but the truth is I’ve been thinking a lot about us and—”
“Susie,” he says abruptly, cutting me off. “Is Cora there?”
I knit my eyebrows at that. “No…Ray just told me she was hungover and stayed home. Why? Is everything okay?”
“She’s gone.”
Panic starts to flutter in my chest. “Okay, what do you mean gone? Like, went out to get a bottle of wine and…”
“No, she’s gone, gone. She left an apology note on the bed. She’s running from the wedding.”
Oh no. I quickly walk away from Ray, out of earshot. “Braxton…”
“I know,” he says and finishes my thought. “We have to find her and bring her back. Tell me where you are and I’ll come get you.”
27
Susie
Braxton is here in record time. I honestly don’t know how he got the truck over to the restaurant that quickly without it falling apart, but before long, he’s waiting outside. I feed Ray a white lie and tell him we’re off on important wedding business. I don’t need him all worked up, not now, especially when he might be the one person Cora doesn’t particularly want to see at the moment.
We don’t know where to start, but Braxton and I start doing circles around the neighborhood.
“Did she leave any clues?” I ask. “Anything telling you where she might’ve gone?”
“No. Nothing.” Braxton’s shoulders are squared off and tight as his eyes flicker across the road. I’ve never seen him like this before. He’s sick with worry for Cora.
“Okay, so let’s retrace our steps,” I tell him.
“I already tried that. Simply Sweet doesn’t open for another hour. I called the airport, and they don’t have any record of her checking in or booking a flight. It’s like she just vanished.” The anxiety in his voice is palpable.
“Well, no harm in trying again, right?” I ask. Anything beats going in circles, anyway.
He watches me skeptically but then finally gives a grunt of acknowledgement. “Okay. First to Simply Sweet, and then to the wedding designer.”
“But why would she go to those places if she’s trying to forget about the wedding?” I counter.
“Beats me. I’m only working with what I’ve got. If you have any other suggestions, I’m all ears.”
I scan the street for any sign of Cora, but I don’t see her. We pass a gas station, a local boutique, a blue IHOP. And then it clicks. “Maybe she’s not trying to forget. She’s trying to remember. Pull into the IHOP.”
“You’re hungry? Now?”
“No…I think I know how to find her.”
We pull into a fifteen-minute-only parking space and jump out of the car. I push open the glass door and burst inside. There’s a drum of activity, half the patrons sitting around the diner’s old-fashioned counter, the other half stuffed into little red booths. I scan through the crowd hopefully, but I don’t see Cora. My heart drops.
“Take a look at this.” Braxton taps me on the shoulder and pulls me aside. He’s pulled up a maps application on his phone, and there are tiny little red pins all around our current location, marking the nearest diners.
“There has to be seven in this neighborhood alone,” he says. “Who likes breakfast food that much?”
“Everyone except you.” I pat his chest. “Come on. Let’s get going; we’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”
We hit up each diner, one right after the other. It’s not until we reach the fourth one, I can feel Braxton starting to lose hope. “This is ridiculous,” he snaps. “She’s not here.”
“Just three more,” I tell him. “Do you trust me?”
“You tied me to the bed and left me there.”
“Okay, so let me earn that trust back. Please.”
The pleading note in my eyes must get to him at least, because he exhales a tight breath and then says, “Let’s go.”
By time we hit number seven, I’m still holding on to hope. It smells like hot dough and sizzling bacon. Braxton is wound up tightly behind me, his shoulders tense, adjusting his glasses every couple of seconds. Please be here, I quietly beg Cora. Braxton needs you. I need you. I need some inch of hope.