A Lowcountry Wedding (39 page)

“We’ll see. But I’ll tell you this, Rev. You’re on duty to marry us. One way or the other. Damn the prenup.”

“You’re a good man, Taylor. I have high hopes for your marriage.”

“There’s still the problem of the house.”

“Sea Breeze?”

He nodded. “I love the house. Who wouldn’t, right? But the house is solely in Harper’s name. Technically she’s the owner, it needed to be hers for the estate, blah blah blah. I get that. But between us men, you can see how I might feel like I’m a . . . What’s the word for a guy who’s kept by a woman?”

“A gigolo?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

Atticus stopped in the street. “Aw, come on, bro. No one thinks you’re a gigolo. They wouldn’t dare.”

Taylor stopped a few feet ahead, hands on his hips, and turned to face Atticus. “I don’t care about anyone else.” Taylor drew a huge breath. “It’s how I feel.”

Atticus walked toward Taylor and patted his back. They both started walking again. “Can’t argue with how you feel. So okay, then.” Atticus summed up what he knew. “You like the house but you feel like it’s Harper’s, is that it?”

“That’s it.”

“You know that’s not how Harper sees it. She sees the house as both of yours, together.”

“One thing you’ve got to understand about Harper.” The gravel crunched loudly underfoot. “She’s eager to please. Her mother would say jump and Harper would say how high. I don’t want Harper to feel like she has to make me happy at the expense of her own happiness. I’d leave Sea Breeze tomorrow. But it means too much to her.” Taylor walked a few steps. “So I’m going to stay. Harper says it’s our home, and I’m going to have to believe her, even if inside I’m not fully on board.”

“What would it take for you to make the house
feel
like yours?”

“Like, what could I do to it?”

“Yeah. If it’s your house, you can make it yours, right? You redid the kitchen already. That’s a start.”

Atticus could tell by Taylor’s expression that he had never before considered the situation in this light. He kept his gaze straight ahead while the muscles in his jaw worked. A few cars passed. A man walked by talking loudly on his cell phone.

Taylor’s green eyes were alive with an idea when he turned to look at Atticus. “Thanks, Rev.” He slapped his big palm on Atticus’s back with such enthusiasm he almost knocked him over. “I know just the thing.”

Atticus and Taylor showed up at Sea Breeze a couple of hours later, practically running into Blake on his way inside, looking just as disheveled as the other two despite his stop at home. Not until they reached the kitchen did Atticus realize they’d unwittingly walked into a party. The kitchen table was filled
with alcohol bottles, and dozens of tiny sip cups and plastic glasses were filled with amber-colored drinks. Girard was looking over Mamaw’s shoulder, telling her something as she poured champagne into two flutes. Carson and Harper were bent over a notepad on the counter, glasses in hands, and Dora and Devlin were debating about the contents of their glasses. Toward the back of the room, a strange woman was shaking a mixer as if she were dancing the cha-cha.

Atticus thought how the three men had not stopped talking all morning—as they ran, as they devoured a hearty breakfast, and later as he and Taylor had walked back to Sea Breeze. This sight, however, silenced them all.

Mamaw looked up and, seeing them, set down the champagne bottle and called out in her cheery southern drawl, “Well, it’s about time you boys joined the party!”

Everyone else turned his or her head, grinning.

“There you are!” Harper hurried over to Taylor to take his arm and drag him into the room, her gaze taking in their running clothes. “You look like you’re coming from the gym. Honey, I told you nine o’clock. We couldn’t wait any longer. Erinne only has so much time, you know.”

“The cavalry’s arrived,” Carson called out, waving Blake and Atticus into the room from where they hovered by the door. “We need some more men’s opinions.” She gave their running clothes a once-over. “And you guys look like you could use a watering hole.”

Taylor wasn’t smiling. “Can I just ask what in Sam Hill y’all are doing?” Taylor looked at the glass in Harper’s hand. “Are you drinking alcohol?”

“No, silly, of course not.” Harper giggled. “It’s ginger beer.
Carson and I are working on a nonalcoholic drink.” When Taylor still looked confused, she said with a huff of frustration, “We’re creating our signature drinks for the weddings. Don’t you remember? We talked about it.”

Taylor shot a glance to Blake. He lifted his shoulders in a classic
Huh?

“Men,” Dora called out with mock frustration. “Hopeless.”

“Nah,” Devlin called out, coming over to greet the men. He handed them each a glass. “Be gentle with them, ladies. They just realized that there’s no one less important during wedding plans than the groom.”

“Blake, meet Erinne,” Carson said as Erinne walked up with her shaker. “She’s from Firefly Distillery and brought all these goodies for us to taste.”

“I don’t need an introduction to Firefly.” Blake took a sip from his glass. “Sweet tea vodka is a staple in my house. Okay.” He set down the glass and rubbed his hands together, eyes feasting on the choices. “I’m at your service, ladies. Though I have to say, I don’t usually drink at nine thirty in the morning. What’ve we got here?” He picked up a smaller bottle in the shape of a large mason jar. “Moonshine?”

“Really?” Taylor came closer. “Nothin’ says wedding in the South like a little moonshine.”

“It’s a specialty of ours.” Erinne joined them at the table. “We have more flavors than just this one, but I brought some peach moonshine specifically for the wedding cocktail.” She offered them two flutes. “This is the drink the group liked for the wedding. Sparkling wine and peach moonshine. Now
that’s
lowcountry.”

Blake and Taylor each took a swallow of the wine.

“Good.” Blake looked at the glass. “Mama’s going to love that.”

“Real good,” Taylor agreed. “For the ladies. But we need something with more bite for the guys.”

“See?” Harper said. “That’s why we needed you. Get busy, boys.”

Dora leaned over to Mamaw and said in a stage whisper, “She didn’t say
chop-chop
.”

Erinne poured two more cups of liquid from her shaker. “Try this, guys. It’s not so sweet. This is a mix of Cannonborough ginger beer and Firefly sweet tea vodka.”

Taylor tried a swallow. “Now we’re talking.” He smacked his lips. He stepped closer, getting into the mood. “Can I get in here and mix a bit?”

“Look who just became a mixologist,” Blake teased.

Erinne laughed. “That’s what you’re here for. Both of you. Dive in.”

As they did so, Carson stepped closer to Atticus and handed him a glass of iced ginger beer. “You’re gonna love this. You won’t miss the alcohol, it’s so good.”

He met her gaze and they shared a look of mutual support. “Thanks.” He took a sip and it was extraordinarily delicious. Not too sweet. He looked at her again, noticed she looked better. She had some color from her time out on the water. But more, she’d lost the sullenness that had cloaked her features the last time they’d talked.

“How are you doing?” he asked. They both understood this was a follow-up question to the long discussion they’d had after her last argument with Blake.

“Good.” She couldn’t hide the sparkle in her eyes. She
looked around and saw that everyone was clustered around the table, talking, laughing, tasting. “Actually, do you have a minute?” When he nodded, she led them out the kitchen door to the porch, where they could talk privately.

The air felt warmer outside than it did inside. Atticus took a deep breath as he looked out over the majesty of the Cove. Spring had really set in now. He’d never realized that one could notice the change of seasons along the coastline as one could in the North. It was just more subtle, but when you knew where to look, the signs were obvious. The cordgrass was a deep green at the bottom, and as it grew, all the wetlands would be like the great prairies, waving green in the sun. The lowcountry was setting roots in his heart.

“That’s a new look for you, Rev,” Carson said, taking in his running shorts and sweaty T-shirt, his ball cap on backward. “I like it.”

“Yeah?” He chuckled. “We all met up on the beach. Had breakfast together. Have to say, they’re great guys. I really like them.”

Carson beamed. “Yeah, they are. They like you, too.”

“How can you tell?”

“I can always tell. If Taylor doesn’t like someone, he puts on his marine face to scare them away. Blake is more subtle. He just ignores you. Politely, of course. His mama raised him right. But you, they treat like one of the family.”

Atticus swallowed down the rush of emotion that comment elicited. “Yeah, we’re going to start some pickup games of volleyball or something. So, what’s up?” he asked, gently leading her back to the topic.

“I got a second interview with Charleston Waterkeepers. It’s
this really great nonprofit that focuses on local water quality. The pay is nothing, of course.” She laughed. “But I don’t care about that. It’s a job I can really sink my teeth into. I can make a difference, and that’s what I need.” She grinned with pride.

“Are you going to take it?” he asked, knowing full well what that meant.

“If they offer, yes.”

“Good decision.”

“I know.” She gave a short laugh. She took a sip of her drink, then after a minute said more seriously, “Thanks, Rev.”

“For what?”

“For helping me say yes. To the job, to Blake, to my future.”

Atticus thought he’d never been paid a better compliment. He reached out to slip his arm around her shoulders, feeling more than a minister to her or even just a friend. He felt like her brother.

“There you are,” Harper called from the doorway leading out of the kitchen. “The guys settled on a drink. They’re calling it the Firefly Cannonball. Has a ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“I like it.” Atticus grinned. “But I’ll stick to the straight ginger beer.”

“Atticus, glad I caught you.” Harper looked over her shoulder and let the screen door silently close behind her. She hurried over to where Carson and Atticus stood. “Listen,” she said in a low voice. “I need to ask you a huge favor.”

“Yeah?” Atticus’s voice rose slightly in anticipation.

“I told you about how bad the last session at the bridal salon was, right?”

He nodded.

Harper met Carson’s gaze and she nodded in agreement,
egging Harper on. “So we were thinking, Carson and I, on going to the salon again, only this time without the entourage.”

“Okay,” Atticus said slowly, not liking where this was going.

“We want you to come, too.”

“Whoa, ladies.” Atticus back-stepped with one palm up. “You’ve got the wrong guy for this. I don’t know the first thing about wedding gowns.”

“You have good taste,” Carson pressed. Then snickered. “Present outfit excluded.”

“You think we didn’t notice your fine wool suits? And your shoes,” Harper added wryly.

Atticus was feeling cornered. “But why me? Ask Dora.”

Carson glanced at the door, then lowered her voice. “Dora likes
all
the dresses, bless her heart. You don’t have to know anything. You’ll be like the tiebreaker in a sports game. Thumbs-up or thumbs-down.”

Atticus almost had to laugh at the idea of him in a bridal salon with his half sisters, who didn’t know they were his half sisters, giving dress advice. His buddies would never let him live this down if they found out. “Ladies, I don’t know.”

“We need you there more for moral support than your fashion opinion. Right, Carson?” Harper looked pleadingly at her sister.

“Right.” Carson put her hands together like in a prayer. “Pretty please?”

Atticus closed his eyes. They got him.

I’m only ever truly happy when you’re here with me. And I want you here with me every day. Every night. Isn’t that love? Isn’t that the basis of a good marriage?

T
he following afternoon Imogene carried a bottle of the Firefly sweet tea vodka in one hand and held the railing with the other as she painstakingly made her way down the front stairs. She was a fool to have overdone things as she had in the garden. She’d needed to work out her frustration. But now her old, tired body was certainly giving her what for about it, and she needed something to take the edge off. Only one person could help her.