insley tossed her briefcase onto the passenger’s seat and slid behind the wheel. She stared at the glass, four-story medical building in front of her. If only she could take back the past hour of her life.
Dr. Senske’s words replayed in her mind, spoken with the warmth of a salamander. “And why should I prescribe Voltex, Miss Meadows, when Neurostockton provides more relief with less risk and half the side effects, at a fraction of the cost?”
And that after she’d explained the results of the double-blind study conducted by Hausenburg University. Had she presented the data wrong or was this medication really that unpredictable? Either way, she’d just lost her chance at receiving a Christmas bonus, the money of which she’d hoped to use for future college expenses.
But for now, she had much greater concerns—like finding a public restroom. If things had gone better at the doctor’s office, perhaps she would’ve used their facilities, but she’d swallowed enough humiliation for one day.
She glanced at the clock—12:30. That gave her thirty minutes to make it across town during lunch hour traffic. Which didn’t leave a lot of time for potty breaks, but if she didn’t find one soon, she’d have much bigger problems on her hands.
Easing onto Troost, she scanned the adjacent buildings in search of a bathroom. Hopefully one that didn’t totally creep her out—a tall order in this part of town. Five minutes later, she settled on a gas station with peeling paint and a broken sign. She pulled beside a red two-door and stepped out.
A dented Honda with rusted and corroded metal parked beside her, 1980s rock music blaring. A lanky man got out, cigarette in hand. He took a drag then flicked it on the ground, watching Ainsley. Her breath caught, and she froze. It was the man from the apartment. His lips twitched into a cruel smile.
He recognized her.
It felt like forever passed as she stood there, icy feet frozen to the cement, eyes wide.
Lifting his hands like a clawed animal, he lunged forward. “Boo!”
She gave a high-pitched cry and jerked backward, her spine smacking against the car door. Laughing, the man muttered curse words and entered the convenience store.
Ainsley returned to her car and locked the doors. She inspected the man’s empty vehicle, hoping to see the boy from the apartment but hoping not to at the same time. She wanted to believe he and his mom were long gone and making a new life for themselves somewhere. As unlikely as that was.
Oh, Lord Jesus, please bring someone into that woman and child’s path. Someone safe, someone who can help them.
Continuing to pray, she remained in her car until the abuser was long gone and her churning stomach had settled.
Five minutes later, she perused the sparsely filled isles in search of a token purchase. She settled on a cup of stale coffee then filed behind a long line of customers. The clock on the far wall read 12:40. Lovely. Maybe she should call Richard to let him know she’d be late. He’d be thrilled.
The line inched forward one pack of cigarettes at a time until Ainsley stood at the counter.
“That all?” A woman with a blotchy face and dirt-colored hair flashed a millisecond-smile.
“Yes, thank you.” Ainsley handed over twenty dollars then waited, fidgeting, as the woman counted out each bill.
She tucked her wallet under her arm and rushed to the door, pausing to study a magazine displayed on a nearby rack. The cover showed a single story log cabin nestled between towering maples. Ivy wove around large, red stones lining the gently sloping landscape.
What is it about this Cabin in the Woods that keeps families coming back year after year? Page 18.
Now that would make a lovely place for a wedding. Absolutely enchanting.
She turned to the cashier. “Are these free?”
The woman squinted then shrugged. “Yeah.”
Back in the car, Ainsley set her cup in the console then flipped through the magazine until she reached the featured article.
“Cabin in the Woods, nestled in the heart of Kansas City, is the perfect place for your wedding, reunion, or corporate function.”
She smiled as an image of herself dressed in a Victorian lace gown, seated next to a flowering vine, emerged. Yes, that quaint little cabin looked perfect. Oh, she couldn’t wait to tell Richard! She set the magazine aside and grabbed her phone in one hand, holding the coffee in the other. Without thinking, she took a large, tongue-scorching sip.
“Ouch!” She jerked her head back and dropped the cup. It ricocheted off the steering wheel to the floor, splattering hot coffee everywhere, including all over her white blouse.
“Oooh! Oooh! Ahhhh!” She pressed her back against the seat, her skin throbbing. Brown stains splattered across her blouse and skirt.
“Great. There’s no way I’m going to Marlique’s now.” She searched her car for tissue, gloves, anything to sop up the sticky mess pooling beneath her. She settled on an old scarf tucked in the glove box and cleaned up as best as she could.
She grabbed her phone, which flew to the other side of the car during her coffee fiasco, and dialed Richard’s number.
“Hello?”
Soft piano music drifted across the line. Apparently he was already at the restaurant, likely seated at his favorite table.
“Hey, honey, I’m so sorry, but I’ve had an accident.” She eased onto Troost.
“Accident? What kind of accident?”
“No, nothing like that. I . . .” A giggle bubbled in her throat, gaining momentum with every word. “I’m covered in coffee.”
He didn’t respond right away. “Coffee?”
Between giggles, she explained her mishap. “So, as you can imagine, I’m not quite up for a five-star restaurant. I’m going home to change.”
He sighed. “So lunch is off then?”
“Not necessarily. Why don’t we stop by that little coffee place near my house? The crowd might be a bit . . . peculiar . . . but they serve an amazing turkey-avocado sandwich.”
Another extended pause. “If you don’t want to come to Marlique’s, just tell me.” His voice took the tone of a father scolding a wayward child.
“Are you serious? Great way to start forever, darling. Accuse your fiancée of lying over something as trivial as turkey.”
Richard chuckled. “Of course not. I must be more tired than I’d thought. What time would you like me to meet you?”
“Give me twenty minutes to get home and another fifteen to clean up.”
“One thirty it is.”
Once home, she traded her starchy dress suit for a softer variety, and headed to the coffee shop. Once again, Richard beat her there, his silver Lexus parked along the curb. She eased between his car and a red convertible, grabbed the coffee-splattered magazine, and got out.
She entered through the back door and headed straight for Richard, sitting near the far wall. “Hi.”
“Good to see you.” He stood and kissed her cheek.
She smiled and dropped her magazine on the table. “So, what would you like? I’ll go place our order.”
“I knew our time was short, so I already took the liberty.” Sitting, he leaned back, hands folded in front of him. “Two turkey-avocado sandwiches, fat-free mayo, extra sprouts; two salads, no dressing; and two decaf lattes with skim milk.”
Ainsley raised an eyebrow. “Wow, thanks. I guess.”
He picked up the coffee-splattered magazine with his thumb and index finger. “Evidence of your fiasco?”
She settled into the chair across from him, unable to contain her smile. “Oh, Richard, I found the perfect place for our wedding.” She flipped the pages to the article about the Cabin in the Woods. “Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve had this dream—sort of like Snow White, I suppose, of getting married in a quaint little cabin tucked in the woods.”
“You’ve never mentioned anything of the sort.”
“I guess I never put much stock in it, until now. Until this.” She pushed the picture of the cabin toward him. “Isn’t this place beautiful?”
He studied it. “A delightful place for an afternoon outing.”
Not exactly the reaction she expected, but then again, it always took Richard a while to warm up to new ideas. “Or a wedding.”
“Now, Ainsley, certainly you can see the difficulties in using such a facility.”
“Actually, I don’t.” She crossed her arms. “Enlighten me.”
“I agree with you, this little cabin is quaint. But you deserve more, my love. I already booked the most exquisite location for our wedding and reception.”
Ainsley stared at him. “You’re kidding, right?”
He shook his head and retrieved his briefcase.
“And when were you planning on discussing this with me? Or are my opinions irrelevant?”
“I thought I’d mentioned it.”
“I bet.” She rolled her eyes. “From where I sit, it seems you are perfectly content to run the show. Is this how things are going to be for us? You calling the shots and me following like an obedient wife?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I was merely trying to treat you like the princess you are.” He produced a glossy brochure. On the front, a towering nineteenth-century cathedral with stained-glass windows stood in the center of a meticulous garden lined with symmetrical shrubs and spiral-trimmed bushes. “Only the best for my beautiful bride.”
She studied him for a moment before allowing her tense shoulders to go slack. “This place looks enchanting, really. But I hoped for something a bit smaller, more low-key.”
He laughed and bopped her on the nose. “You are simply adorable, my dear, but we both know you deserve much better. Still,” he shrugged, “Perhaps we can go to that cabin for a second honeymoon. Or our first anniversary.”
Adorable? Like a puppy? “How about we check the cabin out this weekend, then if you still don’t like it, we can discuss other options.”
“I appreciate your intentions, but I worry a cabin this small will never accommodate our guest list.”
“What guest list? I thought we decided to keep things small and intimate.”
Richard focused on his BlackBerry. “And I thought we were still discussing the guest list. There are obligations to consider, you know. Certain personalities I need to include, especially considering my upcoming book launch.”
“What are you talking about?”
Richard lifted his gaze, his lips pressing into a firm line. She turned to see her neighbor, Chris Langley, standing behind them, laden food tray in his hand, apron tied around his waist.
“Ainsley, Richard, good to see you both again.” The corners of his eyes crinkled into a genuine smile.
Warmth crept up Ainsley’s neck and face. How long had he been standing there? “Chris, I didn’t know you worked here.”
“As of today.” He arranged the food and coffee on the table then widened his stance, tray dangling at his side, free hand tucked under a muscular bicep.
She cleared her throat, pretending the guy hadn’t just caught her and her fiancé on the verge of a squabble. “So, are you settled? At the house, I mean.”
“Not by any means. But you know, little by little, right?”
“Well, if you need any help . . .”
“I’m good, but thanks.”
An awkward silence ensued.
Richard cleared his throat. “Thank you for your assistance, Mr. . . . ?”
“Langley.”
“Langley. We have everything we need.”
Chris’s eyebrows shot up, his mouth going slack. But then a hint of a smile emerged. “Right. Enjoy your lunch.”
Ainsley waited for him to move out of hearing then glared at Richard. “That was rude.”
“What?”
“We have what we need? As if he were intruding.”
“Well, he was.” Richard crossed his arms. “There’s something unsettling about that man.”
“Like what?” She picked up her latte, inhaling the rich aroma.
He shrugged. “I can’t say for certain, but he appears too . . . happy.”
“As if that’s a bad thing.”
He glanced at his watch. “I need to go.” Rising, he gave her hand a squeeze then grabbed his food and coffee. “In regard to our wedding location—let’s discuss that in more detail over dinner.”
With that, he left, leaving Ainsley to reconcile her dreams of the perfect ceremony with what, quite likely, would be a series of mutual compromises. And maybe even a few tears.
Why did weddings have to become so complicated?
Studying her engagement ring, she rubbed the diamond with her thumb. Lord, am I doing the right thing here?
Chris tucked his dishrag into his apron and leaned against the counter. Across the café, Ainsley sat with shoulders hunched forward, eyelids blinking so rapidly they looked ready to take flight. She was obviously worried about something. Poor girl. Not that it was any of his business.
He grabbed a dish tub and headed toward a dirty table.
A large crash sounded behind him. He dropped his tub on a nearby table and turned to see an old woman reaching for a shattered mug. Coffee and salad pieces littered the floor, covered in sticky cream.
“No, please, allow me.” He hurried to her side, grabbed her elbow, and led her to a nearby table. She trembled, likely with the onset of Parkinson’s. An image of his mother, face contorted with the fear of dementia, came to mind. He shook it away. “I’ll clean this up then we’ll get you another salad and coffee.”
He made eye contact with Lawrence then gave a jerk of his head. The man nodded and disappeared around the corner, returning with a mop and bucket. Offering a smile, Chris began picking up the broken glass. He glanced up to find Ainsley watching him. Once again, he felt a tug to reach out to her, make sure she was OK. But another crash, louder this time and followed by a slew of curse words hurled by one of his employees, stole the opportunity. Suppressing a moan, he wondered for the hundredth time since selling his law practice if he’d done the right thing.
Richard paused in the parking lot of his office complex to read through the Holy Trinity Cathedral brochure again. He really should have spoken to Ainsley before booking it, but he thought she’d welcome the surprise. Wasn’t that what women longed for? To be swept off their feet with the unexpected? True, she’d mentioned her desire for a small wedding, but that was her past talking. He’d seen it in countless patients raised in similar circumstances. A life of disappointments made it difficult to dream.
That was why the cathedral was so important. It’d make her feel like a radiant princess, and would go a long way toward replacing that negative self-talk that likely dominated her thinking. She’d thank him for it later.
His cell phone rang, and his publicist’s number lit the screen. “Eric, you must have good news for me.”
“I . . . well, yes and no.”
He stepped onto the pavement, hit the door lock button twice, then strolled across the lot. “I’m listening.”
“I haven’t had much luck with those television stations we mentioned, but I did manage to secure an interview with a local radio station.”
“Which one?”
“KCGW.”
“Never heard of them.”
“They’re an AM talk show.”
“What kind of talk—academic or Jerry Springer?”
“Well . . . I wouldn’t call them academic. More entertaining, in a rural sort of way.”
“How rural?”
“I believe the station is located in Holt. Maybe Kearney.”
Richard snorted. “You can’t be serious.” The glass doors opened in front of him.
“I know they’re not your first choice—”
“That’s an understatement.”
“And yet, it’s a start.”
This wouldn’t do. This wouldn’t do at all. Certainly Eric could do better than a small-town, no-name radio talk show. “I’ll call you back.” He ended the call and tucked his phone into his front pocket.
Inside his office lobby, his secretary sat hunched over her desk, pen in hand, phone tucked between her ear and shoulder. She glanced up and raised a hand as if beckoning him to wait. He paused, shifted; checked his watch.
She hung up. “Heather McGahana called three times already. I told her you’re not taking any additional appointments this month, but she says it’s urgent.”
Richard frowned. There was nothing more he could do for that woman, except perhaps prescribe her new meds. Not that she’d take them.
Candace tore a sheet of paper off a yellow notepad and handed it over.
“Thank you. I’ll call her.” And suggest she find a new therapist.