Gabby frowned, thinking of just how true that was.
She picked up one of the centerpieces. “Speaking of two people who found love when they least expected it, if we don’t get these arrangements over to the reception and ceremony sites soon, Uncle Dennis and Candy won’t have the wedding of their dreams.”
Her mother didn’t argue, and they each began carefully transporting the centerpieces to the back of the van. Gabby’s mother had agreed to deliver the boutonnieres and bouquets to the bridal party, and Gabby would go to the chapel after she’d finished setting up the tent for the reception. It would be tight, but Gabby knew if she kept on schedule, she could handle it.
She brushed her hands on her apron front after she’d closed the door to the van. Her hair and makeup were already applied, and all she had to do now was quickly slip into her dress and make her way over to the lakefront.
“Well, I should get changed.”
Back inside, Miriam set her hands around the large box of items for the wedding party, seeming to hesitate. “Don’t you worry, Gabby. If something is meant to be, it finds a way of happening. If Doug’s the one, you’ll know in time.”
Would she? Gabby managed a smile as she held open the door and watched her mother disappear onto the sidewalk, where tourists were milling about, mostly couples and young families; many were hand in hand.
It seemed so easy for everyone else, but then, it had also been very easy to spend time with Doug these past few weeks.
She could only hope that her mother was right. That if she and Doug were meant to be, they’d find a way. But for today, she couldn’t think about her own romantic woes.
As usual, she had another person’s happy ending to worry about instead.
Doug unloaded his groceries onto the counter of his small kitchen and heaved a sigh. He’d been back in Blue Harbor for over two months now and the boxes were still stacked in the corner of his apartment, waiting to be unpacked. It wasn’t like him to be so unsettled, much less unorganized. He liked things in order. Liked to have a plan, something he could rely on, and every time he came back to this empty space it just felt temporary.
He pushed aside the nagging thought that maybe it was…maybe he hadn’t bothered to set up this apartment within the first few days, let alone the first few weeks, because he knew deep down that this wasn’t where he wanted to be.
Oh, he’d stay in Blue Harbor—he couldn’t bear to leave it again and he had no reason to, either.
But an empty apartment was another thing. And one he’d have to get used to or at least make the best of eventually.
Right. He put his groceries away first, feeling more than a little dispassionate by the numerous frozen dinners that he had to look forward to all week unless he relied on his stack of take-out menus or learned to cook—something he could do if he wanted to learn, he was sure, but not something that interested him greatly. There was something lonely about cooking just for himself. Something affirming about his place in life.
His chosen place, he reminded himself.
He started with the books that he could quickly transfer to the shelves in the living room, and then onto the few larger boxes that held various memorabilia he’d brought with him after high school and then after college—some to be displayed, like his debate trophy, others to be set in drawers, like his Notre Dame tee shirt collection.
He moved at a steady pace, breaking down the boxes as he went, happy for the task that kept his mind off last night, and soon enough, he was on to the last of the boxes, the ones that had been doubling as a makeshift coffee table in the living room. He made a mental note to buy a proper one, and soon. Tomorrow, in fact. Once this place was furnished and complete, maybe he would feel less depressed coming back to it. Maybe he’d feel less conflicted.
The boxes were unlabeled but heavy, and he knew as soon as he popped the lid what they contained. Photos—some loose, others in frames, carefully wrapped. He’d tucked them away, out of sight, but now, he picked up the album on top—it was one that Lisa had put together after one of their trips. Like him, she was organized. Everything had its place. This was a smaller album, full of photos from one of their trips to Colorado, a ski vacation that had been a nice enough time, with good weather and a nice hotel. He flipped through the book slowly, recalling more details of the resort, the town, some of the restaurants that they’d eaten in, some more than once. In each picture they were smiling, posed, seeming happy enough unless he looked a little closer. He knew Lisa—knew her laugh and the smile that came with it, and here in the photos, her smile was frozen, like the icy winter scape behind them. And his eyes were flat, his grin halfhearted, as if he were just going along with it for the camera rather than living life.
He flipped through a few more books—one from a trip to the Caribbean where they’d snorkeled and relaxed at the beach with tropical beverages. In each one, they leaned in, but not close. And in each photo, there was a force to their poses and smiles, as if they were trying to be something they weren’t.
And never could be.
He closed the box, deciding that this was one he would set in a closet, but not because it hurt too much to look back on it now.
All this time, he’d thought Lisa had broken his heart, but now, he was starting to wonder if
