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

toward Dylan. “And you need to learn that, young man. Why, just the other day, Donna Cuthbert was all over me, wanting to know if Brenda was going to abandon Heavenly Rest and become the director of the choir at Grace Church. Shame on you, Dylan. You’ve been living here for a while.” Nancy turned toward Ella. “And I know you’re new here, but your mother is not going to abandon the Episcopalians.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Ella said, staring daggers at Dad, who was contemplating his uneaten slice of German chocolate cake. “This isn’t Dylan’s fault. The minister told us on Wednesday that Jim booked the church a week ago. He suggested that Mom and I should both leave Heavenly Rest.” She glanced at her grandmother. “Sorry Granny, he didn’t mention your name, but maybe that’s a good thing. Anyway”—she turned her gaze on Mom—“he’s clearly trying to get you as the new choir director over there.”

Brenda’s mouth dropped open right before she turned on Dad, who was still looking down at his cake with the guiltiest of expressions. “You let Reverend Pasidena think I might consider directing the Grace Church choir? How could you do such a thing, Jim?”

“It was a trade-off. I couldn’t confirm the room otherwise.”

“Oh my god.” Brenda stood up, her face white as a sheet. She didn’t look well, but then she’d just had a shock. Dad was losing it. Maybe he needed a physical or a mental acuity test or something. Dylan was suddenly more concerned about his father than he’d been before. What in the world had Dad been thinking?

“Momma, I’m going now,” Brenda said in a tight-lipped voice, right before she turned and rushed for the door, stopping at the coat tree in the hall to grab her purse.

Dad mumbled, “Excuse me,” and rushed after her.

*  *  *

“That went well,” Granny said in a louder-than-normal voice as she collapsed back into her chair, casting quick glances at Dylan and Ella.

Ella stared back at her grandmother because she didn’t want to set eyes on Dylan. She was furious with him for the way he’d raised the Grace Church situation. Hadn’t they agreed to run the idea by Mom and ask her opinion? And she’d never intended to let Mom know that Jim had acted unilaterally. But once Dylan spilled the beans, she’d had no other choice.

 “What is wrong with you?” she finally asked, turning toward him with her best angry stare. “We had a plan, and you—”

“Don’t blame Dylan, sugar,” Granny interrupted.

Ella turned toward Granny so fast it almost gave her whiplash. “Are you taking his side? He just blew up Easter dinner by not following the plan.”

“I’m not taking anyone’s side,” Granny said in that tiny voice of hers. “But I know we couldn’t have gone on much longer talking about the sailing regatta or violin pieces the way we were.” She gave Dylan a hard look. “I don’t know as I would have done it your way, son, but you certainly did move us on to more important topics of conversation. And good for you trying to take the blame for your father’s misstep. I admire that.”

Ella stared at her grandmother. “Granny, Mom just stormed off in a huff. How is that—”

“She needed to storm off. She’s been under a lot of pressure lately. If you want my advice, y’all should give up trying to host a big party and do something informal on the beach the way we talked about the other day.”

Granny tossed her napkin onto the table. “I’ve got a blazing headache. I think I’m going to lie down for a bit.” She turned and headed into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

“How could you ruin Easter?” Ella said, getting up from her place and picking up her dishes. She moved into the kitchen, intent on washing up before she left. No way she was leaving this mess for Granny to clean.

She turned on the faucet and began rinsing the dishes before loading the dishwasher. She didn’t expect Doctor Dishonorable to hang around. In fact, she wanted him to—

Not be clearing the dishes from the table and bringing them into the kitchen, as if he intended to help. That was not something she wanted him to be doing. She wanted him to leave.

But instead, he took off his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, exposing the rope-like muscles of his forearms, which were attractive and made her insides melt a little. He kept making trips back and forth to the table, as if he knew how to help. What a concept. Had Cody washed a dish ever?

No.

Damn.

She put her head down and concentrated on loading dishes. There were more dishes than space in the washer. So she started a cycle and then filled the sink with warm water and dish liquid. In the meantime, Dylan made himself busy wrapping leftovers.

And when she’d rinsed the soapy water from the first pot, he materialized at her side with a clean dishcloth and started drying. She became uncomfortably aware of his body heat. The man was like a walking furnace.

“Missed a spot,” he muttered, way too close to her ear as he handed back one of the casserole pots.

“Uh, thanks,” she said, as a medley of emotions settled over her—annoyance and attraction and remorse and guilt and a bunch of other overwhelming feelings. Her eyes watered up under the assault. And through the haze of confusion, one thing rang true. Having him help was…nice. Pain-in-the-butt Dylan was nice.

Maybe he hadn’t blown up Easter. Maybe he’d just been covering for his father, which he didn’t have to do. She’d been the one who’d blown up Easter by telling the truth.

Another tear escaped and rolled down her cheek.

Dylan noticed the waterworks. “I’m sorry,” he said in a contrite tone.

“For what? I’m sorry. I’m the one who blew things up.”

“Doing what? Telling the truth about my father’s dumbass move?”

She’d refused his apology once when all he’d done was speak the truth. She stopped washing dishes