A Wedding in December

Maybe it was good timing. The conversation had gone from uncomfortable to confusing.

And then Maggie realized that she’d forgotten the part they were playing. “The sofa—”

“I cleared the bedding away, don’t worry.” He threw another glance at the door. “Mags, are you sure we shouldn’t—”

“Yes, I’m sure.” She didn’t let him finish the sentence. “We’re here for a wedding, Nick. You don’t discuss divorce at a wedding. Even the most emotionally insensitive person should be able to see that.”

“Are you saying I’m emotionally insensitive?”

“I wasn’t, but if you genuinely think this is the right time to tell her then maybe you are.” She walked to the door as quickly as her headache would allow. Rosie stood there, looking sleek and chic in a tailored ski jacket, her jeans tucked into snow boots.

Maggie’s heart filled with love. Why didn’t people see that not all people were motivated by money and status? Some were motivated by love. The choices she’d made had been driven by love.

Even now, Rosie still seemed vulnerable to her. Perhaps because she’d been by her side for all those difficult moments when she’d struggled. It was hard to see beyond the young girl she’d once been. Or maybe it was because Rosie was so open to life and all it had to offer. She put up no barriers, and that was both a good thing and a bad thing.

Maggie opened the door and gulped as a blast of freezing air rushed toward her. “Good morning, sweetheart. Come in out of the cold.”

Rosie stepped inside and gave her an anxious look. Her long hair flowed from under her wool hat, and her cheeks were pink from the cold. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, and I’m sorry if I embarrassed you. Next time I’ll go for a general anesthetic to get me through the flight, not alcohol.” She hugged her daughter. “Forgive me?”

“Nothing to forgive.” Rosie kissed her and then tugged off her boots, scattering snow everywhere. “It snowed again in the night. Another couple of inches. Dan and Jordan went out early to get first tracks.” She saw her mother’s blank look. “First run of the day. Fresh powder. They’ll be down before the hordes of tourists finish breakfast and head out for the day.”

Maggie couldn’t imagine choosing the icy slopes of a mountain over her snug, warm bed. “Who is Jordan?”

“Dan’s closest friend. They met when they spent summers here growing up, and Jordan still lives and works in the valley. He built his own house. He’s going to be best man.”

“He built a house? So he’s a builder?”

“No. But good with his hands. Practical. He’s an arborist. Tree surgeon.”

“Well, there are plenty of trees around here so that makes sense.” Maggie brightened. It would be interesting to talk to someone with knowledge of trees. “I wonder if he’d know what to do about our old apple tree?”

“Ask him. Jordan knows everything. He’s obsessed with nature and conservation.” Rosie kissed her father. “Hi, Dad. Sleep wel

l? Isn’t that bed the most comfortable thing you’ve ever slept on in your life?”

Nick’s expression didn’t flicker. “Like sleeping on a cloud.”

“How’s your head, Mum?” Rosie grinned as she dropped the bag she was carrying onto the sofa. The sofa where Nick had slept a few hours earlier.

“My head is fine,” Maggie lied. “Does Dan still want to marry you or has meeting your family put him off?”

“Dan was amused to see you both behaving like honeymooners. Better than having parents who fight, right? Catherine always says that having divorced parents at a wedding can be the most awkward thing ever.”

“I can imagine.” Maggie’s laugh was pitched higher than she’d intended. “I feel terrible that we missed dinner with Dan’s family. I was looking forward to it.”

“You’re spending the morning with Catherine, so you’ll get to know her then.” Rosie opened the bag. “I have a few things here that might fit you. Dan’s aunt left them at Thanksgiving because she knew she’d be back for the wedding. Try them on. They’re probably not totally your style, but they’ll do until you can find something.” She pulled out a sweater in bright pink with a jeweled neck that caught the sunlight.

Maggie felt a stab of pain in her head.

Was Dan’s aunt a showgirl in Vegas?

“Thank you.”

“And jeans.” Rosie thrust them toward her. “Your feet are the same size as mine, so I’m lending you my spare snow boots.”

Maggie hadn’t worn jeans in at least two decades.