A Wedding on Lilac Lane by Hope Ramsay (best book clubs .txt) 📕

“No, but we should really—”

“You know, Doctor Disdainful,” she said, poking him in the chest with her index finger, “you should learn the golden rule.”

“What?” Her finger was as sharp as an arrow. His chest burned where it pressed against his sternum.

“You spend a lot of time telling folks not to be grumpy. You’re pretty grumpy yourself. Honestly, you could give Mom a run for the money when it comes to your frown-of-death technique.” She rose on tiptoes, the action bringing her breasts perilously close to his chest. He flinched away but not before she managed to snag his tie.

“Hold still, silly. I’m setting you free.”

“What? Stop.”

“Stand still. You look like a jerk walking down the boardwalk all buttoned up like that.”

She might be tipsy, but the woman sure knew how to undo a bow tie, not to mention the collar button. But when she went after the button below that one, he put his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her away.

“That’s enough,” he said, letting go. The bones in her shoulders were tiny and fragile under his palms. Why hadn’t he stopped her after the second glass of wine?

She was never going to forgive him for this. Tomorrow, he was going to get an earful about how he should have stopped refilling her glass over and over again. But right now Ella leaned forward, putting her palms against his chest. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “It isn’t nearly enough.”

And then she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

He took a step back, and she followed. He tried not to return the kiss, but he was a human male and she tasted exactly like the Sangiovese, all berries and plums and fruit, overlaid with her sandalwood scent and something darker and more complicated. For the first time in his life he understood the lyrics from that old country song about kisses sweeter than wine.

He stopped moving and let the kiss unfold, losing himself in it for a moment as he tangled his hand in her wild, untamed hair.

Oh yeah, he could enjoy this for a while.

Or not.

Damn.

He took her by the shoulders again and pushed her away. “That’s it,” he said in his most stern voice. “I’m taking you home.”

“Really?” Her unsteady gaze was full of promise. Dammit. She’d gotten the wrong idea when he’d said “home.”

“Yes, I am taking you home to the inn. Where I’m going to make sure you go to bed with a couple of acetaminophen for the headache you’re going to have tomorrow morning.”

Chapter Twelve

Some vengeful god, maybe Thor with his hammer, was using Ella’s head as an anvil when she awakened at 5:30 a.m. on Sunday morning. She cracked her eyes in the predawn gloom only to see the empty glass of water and the bottle of Tylenol on the bedstand.

And then the memories flooded in.

What had she been thinking?

Had she been thinking at all?

She rolled over, and her skull threatened to split open and spill her brains all over the pillow. She took a bunch of deep breaths as nausea roiled in her stomach.

What an idiot.

Beyond her closed door, Jackie thumped down the hall and into the bathroom. Boy, he was up early.  Oh, wait. Today was Sunday.

Palm Sunday. A day of obligation. And Howland House still served breakfast on Sundays, even if the service consisted of a simple help-yourself buffet that would end by 9:30 a.m.

Out in the hallway, Ashley quietly knocked on the bathroom door. “Jackie, don’t take too long. Ella needs to use the room.”

Right. She dragged herself up, but the room was still spinning fifteen minutes later when she stepped out of the shower, making her stomach uneasy. The scent of biscuits and bacon didn’t help when she finally made it to the kitchen.

But before Ella could say one word, Ashley turned away from the stove and said, “Here, eat this.” She pushed a bowl of oatmeal across the island’s sleek quartz countertop.

“I don’t—”

“Eat it. There’s no way you’ll make it to fellowship hour without something in your stomach.”

Ella took a seat on one of the counter stools and stared down at the oatmeal. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“Honey, you have nothing to be sorry about.”

“But I…” An unwanted memory of Dylan’s warm lips against hers invaded her thoughts, and she flushed hot. Was this lust, embarrassment, or some manifestation of dehydration brought on by binge drinking?

“He’s cute. And a doctor. So enough said.”

“What? No. He’s going to be my—”

“Well, yes, he is going to become a member of your family,” Ashley said, pulling a sheet of biscuits from the oven. “That’s going to make things complicated, I suppose. That could get awkward, although he doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who does affairs or summer flings. You know?”

“No, wait. You don’t understand. It’s not like that. I mean we don’t like each other. I was just…celebrating my success or something, and I had too much to drink. And he brought me home like a good big brother would.”

“Uh-huh.” Ashley nodded and pointed at the oatmeal. “Eat. Then you can put out the orange juice and the big self-serve coffeepot.”

Oh boy. This wasn’t good. If Ashley talked, then Granny would find out, and if Granny found out…Her goose was cooked. Mom would be furious.

Her deep unease hadn’t diminished later in the day when she took a seat in the pew next to Granny. But at least she wasn’t dizzy and nauseated anymore, and her headache had settled into a dull roar.

Which was a good thing because, it being Palm Sunday, there was a big processional this morning with Myrna Solomons playing away on the newly restored pipe organ and Mom leading the newly formed Heavenly Rest choir singing Hymn 154 in their loudest and most joyous voices.

All glory, laud and honor to thee, Redeemer, King!

To whom the lips of children made sweet hosannas ring.

By the time the last blast of organ music faded away, Ella was doubly glad for the Tylenol she’d