Daughters Of The Bride(73)

He didn’t sound mad. More curious, which was better than angry, but also confusing.

“I’m not sure we’ll ever know,” she said.

“Probably not.” He stood. “Let me help you clear the table, then I’ll get out of here. I’m sure you have things to do.”

She’d had a plan for the evening, but she was a whole lot less interested in it than she’d been. She wanted Greg to stay. She wanted to curl up next to him on the sofa and watch a movie. Or talk. She wanted him to kiss her and hold her, then take her upstairs and make love to her.

Because she missed him, she thought sadly. What a tragic revelation over cartons of kung pao shrimp and egg rolls. Two years after the divorce, she was still in love with her ex-husband.

They worked in silence, then he went and said goodbye to Josh. She waited for him by the front door.

“Thanks for dinner,” she told him. “And doing my lawn. I appreciate both.”

“I’m glad. I like the plan we have for Josh.”

“Me, too.”

The door was open and the porch light on. The evening was still. Cool, but clear, and she could smell the salt air of the ocean only a few blocks away.

She wanted to say something clever or funny or interesting. Something that would make him laugh or wish they were still together. Something that would make him want to stay. But her mind was totally blank, so she could only cross her arms over her chest and smile tightly.

“Have a good rest of your evening.”

“You, too.”

He leaned in and brushed his mouth against hers. The act was so unexpected, so quick, she didn’t have time to respond. Before she realized what had happened, he had straightened and was walking down the porch steps.

She closed the door and told herself it had been a friendly kiss. It had meant nothing at all. But that didn’t stop the tiny bubble of hope that settled deep in her chest. She wasn’t going to overthink the situation, she promised herself. She was simply going to go on with her life and wait to see what happened next.



Courtney stared at the box on her bed. It was addressed to her, with a Nordstrom’s return address label. She hadn’t ordered anything from Nordstrom. With paying for her car, her insurance and her college, she wasn’t sure she could afford much more than a sock there. Not a pair—just a sock.

So why was there a Nordstrom box on her bed?

She had a feeling she already knew the answer, but there was only one way to be sure. She picked up the box and headed for the stairs. Two minutes later she was knocking on Quinn’s bungalow’s front door.

He opened it and smiled. “Oh, good. They arrived.”

“What did you buy me?”

“Look inside and see.”

She took the package over to the wet bar and opened it. Inside the shipping carton was a black shoe box. On the lid it said: Saint Laurent Paris.

She looked at him. “You bought me shoes?”

“So it would seem.”

“From Paris?”

“Technically from Nordstrom’s website, but I think they originally came from Paris, yes.”

“How do you know my shoe size?” She winced. “You don’t have a weird foot fetish, do you?”

He laughed. “No. I asked my grandmother to find out your size and she did.”

She stared at the box. It was the most beautiful shoe box she’d ever seen—which made her nervous about what was inside. “Why did you buy me shoes?”

He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her until she faced him. “I’ve watched you walk. You hunch your shoulders as if you’re trying to be smaller. Maybe even invisible.”

“You noticed that?” Talk about humiliating. She sighed. “I’m very tall. Freakishly so. I don’t want everyone to notice.”

“It’s impossible to miss. You need to embrace your height. You’re beautiful and tall. Work with it.”

Had he just called her the B-word? For real? Could he please, please say it again?

“Open the box.”

Apparently, he wasn’t going to repeat the compliment, but she would remember always. She turned back to the counter, sucked in a breath, then raised the lid.

All her air came rushing out as disappointment flooded her. Oh, not in the shoes. They were stunning. A pointed toe, peacock suede pump with what had to be a four-inch heel.

“I can’t wear these,” she said. “I can’t.”

One eyebrow rose.

“I’m already six feet tall.” She pushed the box toward him. “I’m not interested in being six-four.”

“Why not?”

“It’s awful. I don’t want to be that abnormal. Besides, I don’t know how to wear heels.”