All That Really Matters by Nicole Deese (new books to read TXT) 📕

“They are,” Silas said, turning into a parking garage. “I’ve known them a long time. They attend my parents’ church, actually.”

“Really?”

He nodded, which I used as the only encouragement I needed to ask something I’d been burning to know since hearing Wren’s story. “Why wouldn’t they take Wren in, Silas? I know she’s nineteen, but she’s such a sweet girl, and she adores her brother so much. Why can’t she just live with him there? It would make everything so much better for her.”

Silas pulled into a spot and parked, and the computer once again told him all the updated statistics. He muted the volume and swiped to the display image of the engine.

“Silas?”

He twisted to focus on me fully, and I could almost see the neurons firing in his brain, pondering my question. “They have three young sons. Taking on an older teen comes with more responsibility and more liability than another boy who stairsteps their biological children.”

“But she’s not a risk at all. She’s wonderful.” His answer had done nothing to assuage my heartache. “And she still needs a family, parents who will guide and love her. Nineteen shouldn’t even be considered a legal adult in my opinion. I made all kinds of foolish mistakes at her age, and I grew up with both my parents and a brother.” I cupped my hands as if holding an invisible flower. “She’s like a delicate little daisy, and I just want to protect her.”

The smile Silas offered me was of a different breed this time. It wasn’t amused or enchanted or driven by the dry wit that often separated our two worlds. It was, in fact, an expression of empathy that seemed to say I get it. I understand.

“And that’s exactly why The Bridge exists,” he remarked softly. “Because age doesn’t replace the need for a hand up from someone who cares where you are or where you’re going. It’s why this expansion project to allow more kids to have a home after they age out of the system should matter more to our community, to our state and nation as a whole. We’re failing our youth every time we have to turn them away due to lack of funding.”

His words took root inside me, under layers of soil I once believed were too shallow for planting. I was wrong. “I wish I could do more to help.”

A twitch in his cheek drew my eyes to his lips. “You’re doing more than you realize.”

“It doesn’t feel like enough.”

“It never will.”

My eyes flicked to his again. “And what if I can’t accept that?”

His grin spread slowly as his gaze roved my face. “Then let’s hope The Event and the Murphey Grant will do more than either of us can imagine.”

25

Molly

By two in the afternoon, we’d been to three party rental stores. The first for linens—tablecloths, napkins, and chair coverings. All easy decisions, given the swatches and available stock they had for our chosen date at the end of August. Silas had stood beside me without complaint, patiently nodding as I asked the associate questions and compared sheens and combinations of fabrics to my notes and swatches. But the next two stores were not nearly as successful. Due to the high demand with summer weddings, the place settings we had to choose from were few and far between. And none of them matched the vision I’d sketched in my notebook.

Silas had made some phone calls in the parking lot while I’d begged the manager at Bridal Bliss to rush their backorder supply of the china I wanted in time for our event. Apparently, short of an act of God, it could not be done. Not even for the sake of the children. Which was exactly how we’d ended up here: a random rental store in a deserted strip mall in a town I’d never heard of.

A heavyset midsixties woman in a lavender maxi dress clasped her hands together at the sight of us walking into her tiny store. To be fair, Silas hadn’t said it was in a prime location, just that my plates were available for the coveted August twenty-ninth date. The woman greeted Silas by name, somehow knowing he was the man who’d called in.

“Aww, and you must be the bride-to-be. You’re positively glowing. I can always spot a young face in love, and you most certainly have been shot by Cupid’s arrow.” She laughed and rushed to shake my hand. “I’m Bea, like the bumble and buzzing kind.” Her grip nearly knocked me off my feet.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Molly, but we’re actually not—”

“Oh, Molly, your fiancé is an absolute sweetheart. Such a chivalrous man to call and check up on the place setting you’ve been searching for.” She grinned up at Silas, showing all her teeth as she did. “It’s so rare that I get to speak to anyone but the bride or her bouncer these days.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “That’s what I call the coordinators. A bride acting like a bridezilla is mild in comparison to the nicknames I’ve made up to describe some of the ‘wedding planners’ I’ve been subjected to over the years.” Bea used air quotes around the words wedding planners, and if not for the too-snug store, and Silas at my back, I would have taken a step back. Maybe two.

With one hand planted firmly on my shoulder, Silas reached around me and offered his other hand to Bea. Shockingly, the first words out of his mouth were not a correction on the whole fiancé bit. “It’s good to meet you in person, Bea. Thanks for putting a hold on those plates for us.”

“Wouldn’t you know, but I’ve had two calls for that same place setting since I hung up with you. It’s like the whole wedding world’s gone mad over blush pinks and rose golds. We’re a little shop, but our footprint is growing with each wedding season.”