Make Me Yours (Bellamy Creek #2) - Melanie Harlow Page 0,44

for a moment. “Oh—no. It’s not that.”

“What is it?”

She stared out the passenger side window a moment. “I miss your dad. He should be here for this.”

Immediately, I felt horrible. Of course she was missing my dad. We all were. Griffin and I had talked about it at Thanksgiving, how sad we were that he’d miss all these big moments in our lives—weddings and babies being born and every milestone afterward—as well as just being around for the little moments, like Sunday dinners and telling dad jokes and the occasional beer after work.

I shook my head, ashamed I’d assumed her silence this week had been about me. “You’re right. He should be, and I miss him too.”

We were both quiet then, reliving our memories of a man who’d worked so hard all his life, loved his family so fiercely, and had deserved the easy retirement surrounded by grandchildren he never got. A heart attack had stolen everything from him—and him from us—six years ago.

“He’d like Blair, don’t you think?” I asked, attempting to lighten the mood.

“Oh, definitely.” My mother nodded. “But who wouldn’t?”

“It’s so incredible, the way they found each other, isn’t it? I mean, what are the chances that your soul mate is the mechanic who fixes your car after you get stranded in his town?”

“Probably about the same as your soul mate being the boy next door who’s been there all along,” she said breezily.

“Mom, don’t start. I told you. We’re—”

“Just friends. I know. Because he doesn’t date.”

“Exactly.”

“Although, I did hear the strangest rumor about Cole at the dry cleaners the other day.”

“You did?”

“Yes. Someone said they’d heard he’d recently come out as gay and was in a relationship with Enzo Moretti.”

I burst out laughing. “What? That’s ridiculous!”

She laughed too. “Apparently they were seen looking for a house together.”

“That’s because Enzo is helping Cole find a house for him and Mariah to move into.”

“Oh. Well, that makes more sense.” She paused. “But if he was gay, that would explain why he isn’t interested in you.”

“Mom. He’s not gay.”

She sighed. “Fine.” A minute later, she chuckled. “But they would make a handsome couple, don’t you think?”

“Definitely.” I laughed again too, then turned my windshield wipers on. “Looks like the snow is starting.”

“Oh, dear,” my mother fretted. “I wish they’d chosen a venue closer to home.”

“Well, Blair had her heart set on Cloverleigh Farms. And maybe they’re overestimating how much we’ll get. That happens all the time.”

My mother crossed herself. “I hope you’re right.”

But the snow fell steadily for the rest of the drive, thicker and heavier the farther north we got. I white-knuckled the steering wheel of my Honda, ramrod in my seat, glad I’d let Griffin talk me into new tires this year.

We should have arrived at Cloverleigh Farms around seven, but thanks to the weather, it was after nine. We checked into our rooms at the inn—my mother’s was down at the far end of the second floor, and mine was closer to the rest of the wedding party’s—and planned on meeting down at the restaurant for a quick bite, but I was still hanging things up in the closet when she called and said she was too tired and had decided to just order room service instead.

“Are you sure?” I asked. “Blair just texted and said she and Griffin are down there with some other people.”

“Positive. You go ahead. I’m pooped, and tomorrow is going to be a long day.”

“Okay, get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Night, honey.”

“‘Night.” I grabbed my purse, tucking my room keycard inside it, and headed down to the bar.

The inn was only two stories, and although there was an elevator at the end of the hall, I chose to use the lobby’s grand staircase, which was decorated for the holidays with fragrant evergreen boughs and white lights. As I descended the steps, I looked around and thought it was no wonder Blair wanted to get married here—the whole place radiated elegance, warmth, and romance. At one end of the room was a huge stone fireplace with logs ablaze inside it. In the corner stood a gigantic Christmas tree hung with white lights and colorful ornaments. In the air was the scent of woodsmoke and apples and cinnamon. From the bar came the cheerful sound of clinking glasses, the hum of conversation punctuated by bursts of laughter, and beneath it all, joyful holiday music.

I couldn’t help smiling as I entered the cozy, low-lit bar, which was styled like an English