For some reason, that made my heart feel a little bit too big for my chest.

I MADE IAN WAIT YET again once we got to the hotel…not on purpose, honest, but I felt I needed to start my hair from scratch, so that required another shower. Plus, I wanted to look incredible. Ian might not know it (or want it) but I was about to be the best date he’d ever had, and part of that involved being gorgeous. So I fussed with my hair, used the big curling iron to make it swingy and smooth. “Callie, time’s up!” Ian called from the hall.

“Two minutes! Almost ready, Ian,” I lied. Did my makeup to perfection, smoky eyes, easy on the lip gloss. A little perfume at the old pulse points. My grandmother’s pearl necklace and matching earrings. Then I put on the dress. It was long. It was red. It showed off the girls. And yes, my shoes were begging for it, slutty little strappy purple (I know!) things with three-inch heels. Oh, mommy!

“Callie, this time I’m really leaving without you.”

“You definitely don’t want to do that,” I said.

“We’re late. Again. You have five seconds, Callie, and if you’re not with me, that’s probably not the worst thing in the world. Five…four…three…”

I grabbed my little sparkly evening bag “…two…” glanced once more at myself in the big mirror “…one…” and opened the door. “Hi.”

Oh…God. He was in a tux. I’d sort of forgotten to think about that. He looked like an assassin about to infiltrate a state dinner…tall, blond, dangerous, and heavens, it was a turn-on! Those eyes of his were staring back at me, and you know what, it had been a long time since I’d had sex, and could we please just do it right here in this hallway? Holy. Guaca. Moley.

His eyes drifted down, slowly, assessingly, then back up, pausing at the girls for a gratifying heartbeat or three, then continuing up to my face. “Let’s go,” he said, then cleared his throat.

I snapped out of my haze of lust. “‘Let’s go,’ Ian? Can’t you do better than that? Here, I’ll give you an example.” I smiled and let my eyes drift over him once more. Frrrroooww! “Ian, you look…amazing. Wow. Okay, now it’s your turn.”

He almost smiled. “You look pretty. Let’s go.”

I sighed. “You’re a work in progress, Ian McFarland.”

Still, it was kind of a thrill, walking through the lobby of the prettiest hotel in Montpelier. Heads turned, people smiled, and I felt very Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, minus the prostitute factor.

Ian was quiet in the car. His GPS system guided us past the gold-domed Capitol, the charming brick buildings, inviting shops and luscious smells of downtown Montpelier.

“Nervous?” I asked as we drove over the bridge.

“Yes,” he answered.

“I am still totally game to pretend to be your girlfriend,” I reminded him.

“No, thanks,” he said.

“That’s so insulting. And to think I wore this dress for you.”

Ian was not amused. His eyes looked tight, if such a thing were possible. “Sorry,” I muttered, adjusting my bracelet. “Just trying to lighten the mood.” I glanced at the little GPS system, which was one of those handheld thingies. “Can I look at this?” I asked. “I’ve been meaning to get one.”

“Sure,” Ian said, taking a left as instructed.

I picked up the unit. Cute. There was an arrow at the bottom of the screen. I touched it. It showed our next four instructions. Yes, I definitely could use one of these things. Vermont roads were notoriously unmarked. I hit the button to exit back to the last screen. Escape? the unit asked. I hit yes.

“When do I make the next turn?” Ian asked.

“Um, let me check here…oh. Oops, I think I…there’s nothing.” Ian gave me the Siberian Freeze again. “I just touched an arrow,” I explained. “It asked if I wanted to escape, I said yes, that’s all.”

“You canceled the instructions,” he said, pulling over a tad abruptly.

“Oh. Sorry,” I said. “I don’t think I did, actually, but—”

He took the GPS from me. “You did,” he said. He stabbed a few buttons with unnecessary roughness, I thought. Growled. Stabbed some more. Finally got it back.

“Don’t touch it again,” he said.

“Okay, boss,” I said, sighing. “Sorry. Again.”

Ten minutes later, we pulled up in front of the Universalist Unitarian Church of Willington. Cars lined both sides of the street, but everyone already appeared to be inside. The dashboard clock read 5:06 p.m. Shit.

Ian opened his car door and walked around to open mine. He looked fierce, and tension rolled off him in waves. “Pretty church,” I said, and it was, a large, classic white church with a steeple, the foliage glowing around it, pretty much what you see on every Vermont postcard ever printed.

The church lawn was a little soft; I had to tiptoe so my heels didn’t sink into the earth.

“Can you…kick into gear or something?” Ian said, striving for patience.

“Sure, sure,” I said, almost trotting. We made it to the steps, and Ian ran up a few and held the door for me. Whatever his faults, he had nice manners.

I went into the foyer, Ian hot on my heels, then lurched to a stop, causing him to crash into me. “Callie,” he growled, then drew in a sharp breath.

Laura stood there, her back to us, peeking into the church through a slightly cracked door. She wore a calf-length white dress (Vera, I was thinking), and white roses twined in her pretty hair. At the sound of our little commotion, she whirled around, and her mouth fell open. No one spoke for a second. Until I did, of course.

“Hi there,” I said.

Laura’s eyes filled. “You came,” she whispered. Clearly, she wasn’t talking to me.

Ian swallowed.

The foyer was wide and bright. Three sets of doors led into the church. “I’ll…I’ll just find us a seat,” I said, drifting over to the farthest set of doors. Pulling on the handle, I found it was locked. I tried the next one. Also locked. The last set of doors would require me to push past Ian and Laura, who were just staring at each other.

Okay, I wasn’t actually meaning to spy, but I seemed to be trapped here. Trying to be as discreet as a woman in a scoopalicious red gown could be, I crept over to the far corner and wished I could be invisible. It almost worked…I might as well have been a ninja on a dark night as far as Ian and the bride were concerned.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Laura whispered, the foyer acoustics letting me hear just fine. “And it occurred to me while I was on the way here that I…I wasn’t sure I could go through with it without you being here. Without knowing you were really okay.”

Ian looked at the floor for a beat. Then he took her hand and looked at her. “Of course I came,” he said gently, and my eyes filled.

“I’ll always love you, Ian,” she said, tears slipping down her cheeks. “You know that, right? I’m so sorry that—”

“Shh,” he said, wiping her tears away. Then he took her in his arms, her head fitting right under Ian’s chin. “Don’t cry, honey. Whatever you needed to say to me, you already have.”

Being the kind who wept at dog food commercials, I bit down on a sob. Such…kindness! God only knew what humiliation and heartbreak Ian had been through—cheated on, lied to, quite probably laughed at—yet here he was, forgiving her, releasing her from the guilt she still obviously felt, and giving her the blessing she seemed to need.

I wished my mother could see this.

Then Ian kissed the top of Laura’s head and stepped back, still holding her by the shoulders. “You look so beautiful,” he said, smiling a little.

She took a shuddering sob.

“Oh, come on,” Ian murmured. “No tears. This is a happy day. Besides, you’re running late.”

“Leave it to you to keep an eye on the clock.”

He grinned. “Well, Devin’s waiting in there, so… better get moving.”

Her face scrunched, and she fished a tissue out of her sleeve. “Thank you, Ian,” she said wetly, wiping her eyes. Then a door opened on the other side of the foyer, and an older gentleman in a tux came in. His eyebrows bounced up when he saw Ian.

“Ian! Good to see you, son,” he said, shaking hands.

“John. Nice to see you, too.”

“Everything okay out here?” the man asked Laura.

She smiled, straightened her father’s boutonniere. “Everything’s great, Dad,” she said. “Let’s go.” She gave Ian one more smile.

“See you in there,” Ian said. He opened the door—sure, that one was unlocked—and ushered me in. A few people glanced back, and a collective murmur went up. Some nudging occurred. Ian ignored them. We found an unoccupied pew behind all the other guests and took our seats.

The lump in my throat was killing me. As the organ music started, I slipped my hand into Ian’s.

After a second, he looked at me, as if surprised. Then he reached into his jacket pocket with his free hand and withdrew a handkerchief, because of course, I was crying.

“What you did in there was just beautiful,” I whispered, taking a little shuddering breath.

“Get a grip, Callie,” he muttered.

“That was the first thing you ever said to me,” I said, wiping my eyes. “I’ll tell our children about that someday.”

He shook his head, but he was smiling, and he squeezed my hand. Didn’t let go, either.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

IN THE RECEIVING LINE, Laura hugged and kissed Ian, then turned to me. “Callie! Thank you so much for coming! I’m so glad you did.”

“Congratulations,” I said, smiling. I couldn’t help liking her.

“And oh, my God, that dress!” she exclaimed.

I smiled modestly, but hiked the hem up so she could see my shoes.

“Don’t tell me…Manolo?” she said in the hushed and reverent tone the shoes deserved.

“Yes,” I confirmed. “And I got them on clearance for only—”

“Okay, let’s move along,” Ian grumbled, giving me an ungentle nudge. He stood in front of the other bride. “Devin. Best wishes.” His voice was cool.

“Ian. Hello.”

My eyebrows raised. Well, of course they’d hate each other. Devin turned to me. She was wearing a cream-colored Hillary Clinton–style pantsuit (the horror, the horror) and no makeup, a far cry from her stylish and ultrafeminine new wife. Still, she was quite attractive in that good-bone-structure way. “So you’re Ian’s date, huh?” she asked, looking me up and down.

“We’re friends,” I corrected, suspecting he would if I didn’t. “Nice to meet you.”

At the end of the line, Ian introduced me to Laura’s parents. “John, Barb, this is Calliope Grey, a friend of mine from Georgebury. Callie, these are my…uh, Laura’s parents.”

The mother shook my hand. “Well, we certainly never saw this day coming,” she said, still holding onto my hand. “We were hoping for grandchildren.”

“You never know. They can always adopt,” I said. “My sister adopted both her girls.”

“We always thought Ian would make a wonderful father. He was so good to Laura, and honestly, he couldn’t have been—”

“That’s enough, Barb,” Laura’s father said. “Nice to meet you,” he said to me. “We’ll see you at the reception.”

“So,” I said once we were in the car. Ian put the key in the ignition. “I take it you weren’t the only one surprised by Laura’s, um…sapphic tendencies?”

Ian rubbed his eyes. “No. Her parents were just as…I guess Devin was the only one who… Can we not talk about this, Callie?”

“Sure. I’m sorry, Ian. Shall we stop for a drink first? A primal scream, maybe? Want to kick something?”

Ian tipped his head back against the headrest. “Maybe you could just…be quiet for a while.”

“Sorry,” I whispered, chastened. “I was just trying to cheer you up.”

“I don’t need cheering up,” he said. He started the car and pulled away from the curb, then glanced at me. “The hand-holding was nice, though.”

I waved my hand in the air. “Available whenever you need it. All part of the date package,” I said.

“We’re not on a date,” he said.

I sighed. “Right. Just friends.” Then, determined to give the man some peace, I shut my mouth.

The reception was at some old mansion on a hill. A wall of windows overlooked a long, sloping field. The sun sank into the horizon with an obligingly magnificent show of color. Candles flickered everywhere, the flower arrangements were opulent and waiters circulated with trays of cocktails and hors d’oeuvres. Pretty much exactly what I’d want for my own wedding, should that happy day ever occur.

Ian knew a lot of the guests, of course, and was doing his best to be sociable. But his shoulders were tight, and he wasn’t smiling or talking much. One couldn’t blame him. Even outside his ex-wife’s wedding, he didn’t smile or talk that much. Well. Ian certainly had other qualities. Like possibly the biggest heart in all of New England, if not the Eastern Seaboard. How many men would do what he was doing now?

There was much speculation, of course. Here he was, not only at Laura’s wedding, but at her wedding to a woman, to the other woman, for that matter. As Ian exchanged stiff pleasantries with people from his old life, I put my eavesdropping skills to use. There were plenty of “That poor slob, how could he not know?” comments. If Ian overheard any, he didn’t say a word.