A week later, Brant still hadn’t heard from Talulah. She’d simply gone silent. He knew Paul was scheduled to be back this past Thursday, but he couldn’t even get her to confirm that he’d returned. Brant could only assume she felt too bad to tell him the truth—that she’d decided to stay in Seattle for the sake of the diner, and she must not want to be with him, or he would’ve heard from her.
He deserved all the misery. He’d known from the beginning that Talulah wasn’t likely to stick around Coyote Canyon. Why he’d let himself fall for “the runaway bride” in spite of all the warning he’d had, and then hope against hope he’d be different from Charlie, he couldn’t say. Arrogance had gotten the best of him, he supposed.
“I’m a fool,” he told Kurt as they ate dinner together on Saturday night. Ranson and Miles had already left to go somewhere else for the evening—Brant had no idea where—leaving them alone with the meat loaf and mashed potatoes and gravy his mother had dropped off. “I can’t believe I did this to myself.”
“You’re giving up too soon,” Kurt told him.
“She’s not responding to me. I haven’t heard from her for a week. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that’s a hard no.”
Kurt shoveled another bite into his mouth. “If she’s saying no, she should tell you that.”
“Maybe it’s too hard for her. Maybe moving on without bothering to say goodbye is the easiest way to go.”
His brother took a big drink of milk. “Or she got back with Paul...”
“She was never with Paul!” Brant said, nearly yelling. But that didn’t mean Paul hadn’t finally prevailed. Had she decided to get into a relationship with him at last? Brant had admitted all along that Paul would be the easiest and most convenient choice.
“Forget about her,” Kurt said. “She’s not worth what you’re going through.”
“Don’t say anything negative about her,” Brant warned, but that only made his brother laugh.
“Come on, bro. Let’s get showered and go out. We’ll have some fun. And if you’re not having fun, we’ll drink until you won’t have to think about her anymore, at least for tonight.”
“I don’t feel like going out,” he grumbled.
“Don’t let Charlie gloat. Show your face around town and act like what’s happened doesn’t bother you.”
Brant swallowed the potatoes in his mouth, even though he didn’t feel much like eating these days. “I don’t care enough about what Charlie thinks to put on a show.”
“Then I don’t know what else to say. Maybe we should get you laid.”
“No, thanks,” he said. “I’m not interested in that, either.”
Kurt gaped at him. “Holy shit. She’s really done a number on you.”
Brant shot him a dirty look. “I’d love nothing better than to find a deserving target. You should keep that in mind.”
Kurt scraped his plate clean. “Don’t get mad at me. You’ll move on and find someone you love as much as Talulah eventually. There are plenty of other fish in the sea.”
“Is that how you feel about Kate?” Brant asked.
His little brother lost some of his cockiness. “No, but...”
“Just don’t offer me any advice,” Brant told him. “You’re not helping.”
“Fine,” Kurt snapped. “Stay here and feel sorry for yourself if that’s what you want to do.”
The doorbell rang.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Brant asked.
Kurt didn’t even look up. “Nope. I’m gonna rinse off my plate and get ready. You’re not doing anything tonight. Why don’t you grab it?”
Cursing under his breath, Brant went into the living room. He wasn’t in the mood to be social, and Kurt could’ve saved him this encounter—if he wasn’t being such an ass. Even as Brant reached for the door handle, he had half a mind to go back and haul his little brother out of the kitchen to make him handle it. But Kurt would be gone in a few minutes. Then, as soon as he could get rid of whoever was at the door, Brant would have the house to himself.
No one was standing outside when he opened the door. “Hello?” he called.
No response.
He was about to step out so he could see the driveway but caught himself before he nearly crushed a large bakery box on the doormat. It looked like someone had delivered some sort of food.
He hoped to hell it wasn’t Averil. After he’d given Charlie the satisfaction of knowing he’d been right, Averil had texted to say she was sorry about what Talulah had done. Brant hadn’t responded to her. But then, he hadn’t responded to Charlie, either, who’d also sent him a surprisingly conciliatory message: I’m sorry. I know what it feels like. Call me if you want to talk.
It’d be a cold day in hell when he called Charlie to discuss Talulah, Brant thought as he picked up the box and carried it inside.
Kurt twisted around from where he was rinsing his plate at the sink as Brant came back into the kitchen. “What’s that?”
Brant set it on the table. “I’m about to find out,” he said and grabbed a knife to slit the tape holding the top shut.
Once he lifted the lid, he put the knife down and stepped back.
“What is it?” Kurt, hands dripping water, came over to see what was inside the box, too.
“It’s a carrot cake,” Brant replied. One of Talulah’s carrot cakes. Brant had eaten enough of them to know. But the most shocking thing wasn’t that she’d baked him his favorite cake, or that she was probably in town to deliver it.
It was what she’d written across the top.
Will you marry me?
Talulah waited in the driveway, nervously pacing next to her SUV. Paul hadn’t been happy when she’d confronted him about what she’d learned. At first, he’d tried to deny it—had been adamant that there was no way he’d thrown that rock. But he had no answer for the flight he’d taken and, in the end, had finally sagged against the counter and stared glumly at his feet, only finding his voice again several minutes later to say, softly, that he’d meant to come and win her back, but the idea of her being with someone else had upset him so badly he’d reacted impulsively when he saw her—had never meant to hurt her.
He’d begged her to forgive him and to stay, but she’d packed up all the belongings she could fit in her vehicle and left for Coyote Canyon. She’d had to do it. She felt like she couldn’t breathe in Seattle anymore—that was how desperate she’d become to get home to Brant. Still, even after ten hours of driving, there were moments when she couldn’t believe she was doing what she was doing. The risk of it, the daring, made her queasy. At least the uncertainty she’d always felt when it came to whatever man she was seeing was gone. She’d made her choice—and it gave her peace of mind because it felt right.
When Brant came out of the house again and walked in her direction, she wiped her damp palms on her jeans.
“You’re proposing to me?” he said, obviously stunned.
She felt a sheepish smile tug at her lips. “Well, I knew better than to expect you to propose to me.”
He laughed as he reached her, pulled her into his arms and buried his face in her neck. “God, you scared me,” he said as he twirled her around. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“I’m sorry.” She placed her hands on his cheeks as he set her down. “I had to shut out the noise. Close down all communication with you and Paul and just...search my heart.”
“And this is what you want?” he asked beseechingly. “You’ve decided for sure? I can count on it?”
The words were surprisingly easy to say, considering the angst she’d gone through to get here. “You are what I want. No matter what happens, I’m there. You can count on it.”
She admired the beautiful blue of his eyes as he squinted against the sun sinking behind her. “How did you finally decide?”
Part of it was finding out that it was Paul who’d thrown that rock. But she knew if she said that it would only tempt Brant to knock some sense into him, so she decided not to tell him about that today. Instead, she was going to focus on the more positive catalyst. “I guess, in a way, Phoebe told me what to do.”
“Since Phoebe’s dead, I think I could use an explanation,” he said with a laugh.
“You know I was reading her journals, right? Well, I came to a part where she met this amazing man while she was serving in the military—a doctor.”
“They fell in love?”
“They did but never married. After the war, he went back to Georgia, and because my grandmother was getting old and sick, and my mother was still only a young teen and didn’t really have anyone to look after her, Phoebe decided her place was here in Coyote Canyon with her family.”
“And that was it? They were doomed, she and the doctor?” Brant said. “Why couldn’t he have come here?”
“He was divorced and had an ex-wife and two children in Georgia. Phoebe hoped to join him eventually, once my mother got a little older. But Phoebe couldn’t quite pull loose from what she felt was her responsibility as a sister and an aunt, and he eventually met someone else. Phoebe wrote in her journal that choosing Coyote Canyon over going to be with him was one of the hardest decisions she ever made. She couldn’t regret it because she truly felt my mother needed her. But I read the rest of her journals this past month, and she mourned that doctor—Jim Fritz—for the rest of her life and never met anyone else she loved nearly as much.”
“Wow,” he said. “That’s a sad story.”
“It is. And I didn’t want that to be our story. I figured I could try to build another business, but there’s only one of you. We might be looking at the chance of a lifetime.”
“You’re everything I’ve ever wanted,” he told her frankly. “But what about Paul and the diner? Did he agree to buy you out?”
“No. He won’t even make me an offer. He’s too pissed off that I’m leaving the area and that we won’t be opening another location together. But over the past month, I trained our best employee to help him with the baking, so he’ll be able to get by without me. And I’ll take him to court, if necessary, if he won’t pay me a fair price for everything I’ve contributed to the business in terms of money, ideas, time—even my recipes. I won’t let him or anything else stop me from being with you.”
“I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear it,” Brant said. “No matter what happens, whether he buys you out or not, I’ll help you start another diner right here in Coyote Canyon. I promise. And we’ll do all we can to make it a success.”
“You already work hard enough. I’ll do it on my own. And even if it doesn’t succeed, at least I’ll have you.”
He touched the compass tattoo on her forearm—as if he was remembering what she’d told him about how it represented her internal compass that had led her away from Coyote Canyon—and she felt compelled to explain. “I followed my heart when I left this place,” she said. “And now I’ve followed it back home.”
Kurt startled Talulah by interrupting them when they were kissing. “Damn, that’s a good cake!” he said.
Brant whipped around to confront him. “You’re eating my proposal cake?”
“Didn’t think you’d mind.” He gestured at Talulah. “You’ve got what you want.”
“That’s true,” Brant said, immediately backing off. “I guess nothing could really make me mad right now.”
Talulah drew a deep breath. “So...what do you say?” she asked Brant, drawing his attention back to her. “I’m offering you everything I’ve got. Will you marry me?”
A wry grin twisted his lips. “Will you show up for the wedding?”
“I will if you will,” she said, and they all started to laugh.
It was only the third time in Brant’s life that he’d worn a tuxedo. He’d rented one for junior prom, and he’d gone to the same dance as a senior. Now he was in a simple black tux without tails for his own wedding.
“Don’t be nervous,” Charlie muttered. “She’s coming.”
Brant couldn’t help being nervous. They were standing in Talulah’s parents’ church—Charlie’s family’s church, too—and Talulah was ten minutes late for the ceremony. Normally, ten minutes wouldn’t be a big deal, not at a wedding. There were always last-minute details that slowed things down. Ten minutes was merely a hiccup, a heartbeat. He’d been to one ceremony that’d started thirty minutes late. But the memory of being in the same place fourteen years ago, while they waited just like this and Talulah didn’t show up, loomed large in Brant’s mind.
Like they had before, her mother and brother-in-law sat in the front pew, only this time Debbie’s children were with them. According to Talulah, her mom had absolutely refused to miss the wedding, so her dad had agreed to return from Africa. They were staying in town for Christmas, which was only a week away, before going back to finish their mission in Sierra Leone. Carolyn had been more assertive than usual, which had surprised Talulah, so Brant didn’t want Carolyn to be disappointed—or embarrassed again.
Brant’s parents sat on the other side of the aisle. A professional photographer snapped pictures as Brant struggled with the temptation to loosen his bow tie. A videographer smiled encouragingly, trying to get him to smile every time Brant’s anxious glance sought the doors at the back where Talulah was supposed to enter, and flowers adorned the aisle at every pew.
Brant told himself it was the overpowering scent of so many white roses and not the fear that he and Talulah had stupidly set themselves up for an epic failure that was making his stomach roil.
“Yeah. She’ll be here,” he confirmed to Charlie. He’d responded belatedly, but he had to say something. Why he’d asked Charlie to be his best man, he had no idea. Any one of his brothers would’ve happily taken that role. But how would he have chosen between them? And it’d seemed petty not to let bygones be bygones with Charlie, who’d paid him a visit more than two months ago to apologize and ask if they could reclaim their friendship.
Brant had apologized, too, for falling in love with the woman Charlie had always wanted, and healing the rift had somehow entailed asking Charlie to be his best man, since Brant had once been Charlie’s. That it was the same bride was...weird—ironic even—so having Charlie next to him in this moment only made Brant more uncomfortable. Their friendship wasn’t quite the same as before, and realistically, Brant knew it probably never would be—although, once Charlie fell in love with someone else and got married, maybe any underlying jealousy and resentment would disappear. Brant supposed that was the hope that’d led him to include Charlie in the wedding. He’d done it for the sake of the past and the future.
Talulah would show up, he told himself. He was just experiencing déjà vu, standing at the same altar with mostly the same people in the same church waiting for the same bride. He and Talulah should’ve eloped. He’d suggested it. But Talulah had said she was only going to say “I do” once, and she wanted to do it right. For Phoebe. For her parents. For everyone in Coyote Canyon who’d ever doubted her.
Brant knew he’d forgive her even if she stood him up. They’d been happy together, living in Phoebe’s house, which they planned to buy, for almost three months. During that time, Talulah had proved how much she loved him. But he sincerely regretted letting her talk him into a big wedding. There’d been no need for it...
From the corner of his eye, he saw Debbie’s smile grow strained. As Talulah’s maid of honor, she was searching for any sign of her sister and father starting down the aisle. She kept turning to murmur to Jane, Ellen and Averil, Talulah’s bridesmaids, all of whom were beginning to look as concerned as she did—except Averil. Even though it was Paul who’d thrown the rock, Brant couldn’t quite trust that she sincerely had Talulah’s best interests at heart. He could tell by the way she looked at him that she was hoping he’d change his mind. Still, he hadn’t argued with Talulah when she’d said she wanted to include Averil as one of her bridesmaids. She felt the same as he did with Charlie—was simply hoping this might lead them back to real friendship at some point.
At last, Talulah’s father appeared. After a moment of relief, however, Brant’s heart sank. Talulah wasn’t with him.
What was going on? Brant knew from the rehearsal that this wasn’t how the wedding was supposed to go.
He watched as Talulah’s dad came down the aisle and leaned over to whisper to Carolyn, who quickly handed off little Abby and followed him back out of the chapel.
The level of ambient noise rose as the congregation whispered among themselves. Everyone was obviously wondering about the holdup. Brant could almost hear them asking each other: Has the runaway bride taken off again?
He wanted to know what was wrong himself. Was Talulah okay? Having second thoughts?
She didn’t have to go through with this if she didn’t want to. He’d just marry her in Vegas one day. He loved her enough to wait, if that was what he had to do.
He was about to follow her parents to make sure she understood that when Talulah and her father appeared at the entrance, and “Here Comes the Bride” swelled so loudly he could hardly hear himself think. The organist was playing such an enthusiastic rendition that Brant got the impression she was afraid Talulah would bolt if she didn’t get down the aisle fast enough.
Talulah looked stunning—gorgeous enough to take Brant’s breath away. She’d shown up, after all. For him.
But he could tell that something was still off when people in the audience started to laugh as she passed by. The chuckling grew so loud it could almost compete with the music.
It wasn’t until Talulah’s father grinned as he put her hand in Brant’s and said, “Finally,” that Brant started laughing, too.
“What’s going on?” he whispered to Talulah.
“I had a little wardrobe malfunction,” she explained and turned to show him what their guests had already seen. The zipper on the back of her dress had broken, and her mother had used pins and even some duct tape—to make sure everyone knew what had been going on—and to hold it closed long enough for her to get married.
“Would you rather go back and fix it?” he asked with a halt gesture to the pastor to give her time to make the decision. “You’ve put so much work into this wedding. I want it to be exactly as you envisioned it.”
“Seeing you in that tux is exactly how I envisioned it,” she said. “I’m not walking out of here until I’m your wife.”
Impulsively, he kissed her, even though it wasn’t time for that, and everyone started to clap.