Best Man for the Wedding Planner
“Did you really love him?” Harper asked, and Adele nearly choked.
She coughed for a minute and then took a breath. “Sorry. I guess I’m not quite over my bug yet.”
“Well, did you? Was this a big deal?”
She could lie, but what was the point? “It was,” she admitted. “Throughout most of university. We were together three years.”
“That’s a long time.”
“He was going to propose.” The words slipped out before she could stop them. Harper’s eyes widened, and Adele bit down on her lip. “I didn’t know that until yesterday. But I... Our lives were going in different directions. I knew letting go was for the best.”
“And you broke his heart.”
And my own, she thought, but kept the words inside.
“Regrets?” Harper asked, reaching into the basket for a handful of plump green grapes.
Did she have regrets? A week ago she’d have said none. But now, after having seen him, after being f
ace-to-face and remembering everything, she wasn’t so sure. “I don’t know. It’s been hard seeing him. I thought leaving him was the right thing to do, but it still hurts.”
“And now he’s back here.”
Adele nodded. “Just for this week. I’ll be fine. I have work and the cat and it’s all good.”
Harper took the grape stems and her cup to the sink. “Well, I need to get back and finish touching up the photos from the wedding. But you call me if you need anything, okay? I mean it. We can do girls’ night in or go out or just...whatever.”
“Thanks, honey. And for the soup, too. I appreciate it.”
“I know. Otherwise I wouldn’t do it.” Harper chuckled and gave Adele a hug. “Take a nap. You still don’t look a hundred percent.”
“Yes, Mom,” she replied.
Harper was gone in a whirlwind, the way she seemed to do everything. But once the door shut and all was quiet again, the smile slipped off Adele’s face.
What did a fruit basket mean, exactly? And how was she going to answer his invitation?
CHAPTER EIGHT
HE WAITED FOR her in the bakery/café, wondering if they’d still be able to get one of the small tables by the time she arrived. They could always go somewhere else, but he was nervous.
He shouldn’t be. It was Delly, after all. He knew her better than he’d ever known anyone, really. Well, he knew the person she’d been back in Toronto. The new Delly looked the same but acted differently. She was more efficient, more...subdued. Serious. Maybe they’d simply grown up.
He checked his watch again and sighed. Yes, he was early. But that didn’t make the waiting go any easier.
He saw her through the window before she came through the door and his heart gave a solid thump in response. It had been like that each time he’d seen her over the past several days—that traitorous, initial reaction that said he’d never gotten all the way over her. Then his brain would catch up and remind him that she’d broken his heart. But that first glimpse...it reminded him of when it had been the two of them against the world, making plans and laughing in the dark.
She came through the door, cheeks rosy from the cold, her eyes brighter and more alive since the last time he saw her. The flu seemed to have run its course. She smiled at him, her eyes made bluer by the pale blue of her thick scarf. Lord, she was pretty.
“Hi,” he said, smiling back. “Thanks for meeting me.”
“No problem,” she answered, unwinding the scarf from around her neck. “It’s a great choice for lunch.”
A table opened up and they snagged it before anyone else had a chance. “Busy,” he observed.
“It’s a tourist town, and this is ski season. You get a blend of locals and visitors in here. Tourists for lunch, locals for the baked goods. I’ll be leaving with a loaf of sourdough.”
They ordered sandwiches and drinks and he looked at her again. How could she be so relaxed when he was in knots? “You look recovered,” he said.