Ian.
He didn’t look at her, his gaze focused on his sister and her groom, but his fingers curled around Samantha’s, warm and comforting.
Her breath caught, her heart pounding, and she wanted this moment to continue forever, frozen in her memory. A beautiful bride and groom, many of her friends and neighbors filling the seats around her and Ian and his children next to her.
She loved him. The undeniable truth of it poured through her like that fading sunlight on the water.
She had suspected as much for a long time, probably since that first kiss that had left her so shaken.
There was no denying it now, when he held her hand with such gentleness that she felt more tears spill out.
This wasn’t like anything she had felt before. It was raw and painful, as if her heart had been flayed open.
She loved him more than she imagined it possible to love another person. He was a good, kind, honorable, wonderful man who treated her with respect and concern and who cared deeply about his children and his family.
How could she not love a man like him?
His thumb rubbed against hers and she closed her eyes, trying to absorb every sensation of this moment to sear into her memory.
He was leaving in only a few days. How would she bear it?
This time, she feared, Starry-eyed Sam would never be the same. Impending heartbreak loomed on the horizon like a dark cloud filled with devastation.
She couldn’t stop him from leaving. The only thing within her power was right now, this moment. She would simply have to do her best to enjoy the rest of Gemma’s wedding activities.
Tomorrow would be soon enough to begin processing the pain.
SHORTLY AFTER THE CEREMONY—after vows and rings had been exchanged, a tender kiss had sealed the union and they had embraced nearly everyone there who was eager to offer congratulations—the chairs were moved to the edge of the large white awning to clear a space for dancing.
While Ian and his children helped move furniture, Samantha hurried toward the refreshment table to see if she could help with anything.
“The caterers seem to have everything under control,” Eliza assured her. “Just go enjoy yourself.”
She felt a raw, almost hysterical laugh score her throat at that advice. How could she enjoy herself with the heavy weight of impending sadness bearing down on her?
She grabbed a flute of champagne and took a sip just as Margaret approached her and grabbed her free hand in both of hers.
“That dress. Oh, Samantha. Thank you. My baby girl was the most beautiful bride. I can’t tell you how many people have mentioned her gorgeous gown to me.”
“Gemma would have been beautiful, no matter what she wore.”
“But that gown put everything over the top. You should know I consider you the heroine of this wedding. You not only designed Gemma’s gown, you altered my pitiful dress into something completely perfect and now you’ve turned Sally’s wardrobe disaster into a triumph. What would we have done without you?”
“Probably found another seamstress,” Samantha said.
“No one as good as you,” Margaret insisted staunchly. “You’re amazingly talented.”
“Thank you.” She couldn’t help but be honored and touched at the praise.
“You’re welcome. Look, I know this isn’t the time to discuss this, in the middle of the celebrations, but I feel I have to say this now while I’m thinking about it. Who knows when I’ll have another chance to talk to you. You really must consider expanding your operation.”
She stared, astonished at the unexpected suggestion.
“I’m quite serious about this, darling.” Ian’s mother beamed. “I consider you my own personal discovery. Well, technically Gemma discovered you but that’s neither here nor there. The point is, I have friends in the London and Paris fashion industry, friends who would be very excited about someone with your talent. I would love to connect you with them. What do you think?”
Samantha nearly dropped her champagne. “You want to connect me with designers in London and Paris?”
“Well, I have a few contacts in New York but I’m afraid most of my friends in the business are overseas. I promise, once I start posting pictures of Gemma’s gown, they’ll be begging me to tell them who designed it. If you’re strategic, you could leverage those contacts into entirely new markets.”
New markets. She could barely handle the dress orders she already had. How could she even think about expanding?
She could hire other seamstresses. It wasn’t a new idea but perhaps she had to consider it more seriously now.
She knew many talented seamstresses who would be eager for the work. She could focus on designing and let someone else handle the work of taking those designs and bringing them to life.
The possibilities started wildly spinning in her head. For a moment, she felt giddy, imagining it.
Just as quickly, she drew a breath and yanked down the curtain on the images.
She knew exactly what her mother would say if she were here. She could almost hear Linda’s echoing in her head.
Don’t get ahead of yourself, Samantha, and go all starry-eyed again. Why would she make you an offer like that? What’s in it for her? Anyone can promise you anything. But when it comes down to the nitty-gritty, will they deliver? Most of the time, no, and you’ll only end up hurt for dreaming too big.
What would she possibly be able to offer designers in Paris and London, a small-town boutique owner and wedding gown designer like her?
She was about to thank Margaret for her enthusiasm but tell her no thank you, that she had a safe, comfortable business here in Haven Point, where she knew her customers and could design bespoke gowns for them on a smaller scale. Before the words could come out, she caught herself.
What was she thinking? How could she turn down such an offer?
This could quite possibly turn into
