A Fine Year for Love

With Gabe, she didn’t have much to go on. Of course, she’d heard about him nearly all her life. But that was either gossip or hearsay. What people said about Gabe was that he’d had dozens of girlfriends, though no one was ever mentioned by name. He was dating the “new blonde,” the “new redhead” or a woman vaguely identified by her profession.

Gabe’s supposed popularity with women didn’t surprise Liz. Most of her girlfriends thought he was the best-looking guy in Indian Lake, though none of them had ever dated him. None had even gone to a movie with him. Gabe had graduated from high school before any of her crowd had had a chance with him.

Gabe was nearly an icon by the time Liz had become a freshman. He had been Mr. Everything in high school. He was All-State quarterback and went to regionals for the five-hundred-yard dash. He was on the debate team and acted in several school plays. Some said he was better on stage than he was on the gridiron. She was sure Gabe had made it nearly impossible for his three younger brothers to keep up. Gabe had achieved every goal he set. He’d always won.

Back then, even her grandfather had said Gabe was a “golden boy.”

It stood to reason a person who had always been a winner would expect that kind of life to continue. Such an outlook would tend to make a person arrogant and bigheaded.

Pigheaded was more like it.

The more Liz thought about Gabriel Barzonni, the more intense the fire within her became. Apparently, his charms had always worked on women. Apparently, he’d lumped her into that group of easy-to-manipulate females, and apparently, he hadn’t tried to get to know her in the least. He didn’t have the slightest idea what it would take to impress her, and he obviously wasn’t interested in finding out. To a man like Gabe, she was just an object, a problem to be either solved or forgotten.

“Well!” she exclaimed aloud. “We’ll just see about that!”

She bounded out of her bed, tossing her grandmother’s counterpane quilt aside, and walked barefoot across the honey-colored hardwood floor to the window.

It wasn’t dawn yet.

Liz hadn’t slept, which made her angrier with herself. It wasn’t like her to dwell on inconsequential matters.

She combed her long hair with her fingers and then massaged her scalp. Something wasn’t right. In fact, it was all wrong. There was no good reason for Gabe to be on her land. And he hadn’t come clean about his real reason for trespassing. Then he’d sent her the flowers. But why?

She was beginning to hate that word.

There was only one smart thing for Liz to do.

I have to pretend he doesn’t exist. I never saw him on my land. He never brought me flowers.

* * *

LIZ WORE A fire-engine red bathing suit with white spaghetti straps and white river shoes as she helped her friends carry their sculling boat from the boathouse at Captain Redbeard’s Marina out onto Indian Lake.

The early dawn rays slid across the glass-like surface of the water, making it look like silver mercury. The sky was dotted with only a few clouds, now tinged in pink and lavender, a spectacle Liz knew would only last moments.

Placing the boat in the water, Liz went back for the oars and distributed them to Sarah, Maddie and Isabelle, and kept one for herself.

“Before we start,” Maddie said with an impish smile, “I have something to ask Liz and Isabelle.”

“Sure,” Liz said, pulling on a pair of rowing gloves she’d bought at the marina’s new gift shop. Sarah thought wearing gloves was cheating, but Liz didn’t care. Her hands were a wreck from thinning the grape vines the past week. She needed to give them a chance to heal, not torture them further.

“Would you both be my bridesmaids?”

“Are you kidding?” Isabelle whooped and nearly knocked Maddie down with a hug. “I’d love to!”

Liz beamed from ear to ear. “I’m honored, Maddie. Wow.” Then she looked at Sarah, who was smiling at them all. “What about Sarah? She’s not going to be a bridesmaid?”

Maddie playfully shoved Liz’s shoulder. “You goofball. She’s my matron of honor.”

Liz shook her head. “Of course! What was I thinking?”

“I’ve asked Olivia to be a bridesmaid, as well,” Maddie said.

“So,” Liz said, “you’ve set a date?”

Maddie waved her hands in the air. “Oh my gosh! I didn’t tell you, did I? It’s December twenty-eighth. It has to be after Christmas because I’ll be catering for weeks and I won’t get a wink of sleep. And Nate says the end of the year is booked solid with surgeries for him. It’ll be an evening wedding. I thought that would be pretty. All the snow and Christmas lights. The reception will be at the Lodge. Then Nate and I will fly to Paris to spend New Year’s Eve under the Eiffel Tower.”

Liz nearly melted at the idea of New Year’s Eve in Paris. “Perfect, Maddie. Just perfect. You’ll love Paris.”

“I can’t wait. Then we’ll fly to southern Italy and spend two weeks there. It’s like a dream,” Maddie said.

“You deserve it,” Liz said. “You’ve worked so hard for so many years. You deserve a great guy and a wonderful trip...”

“Oh, yeah? You’ve worked just as hard as Maddie,” Sarah quipped.

“Yes,” Liz replied. “But I’ve already been to France.”

“That’s right!” Maddie said. “She’s been to France, so she’s a step ahead of all of us. Right, Liz?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that, but I would say going there with someone special should be wonderful.”

They eased the boat off the shore, then climbed in and took their seats. Oars in place, in minutes they were synchronized and sluicing through the reflective water.

Sarah called out the strokes, as she always did. Liz concentrated on her muscles, the fit of the oar in her hands and the feel of the wind on her face.

Back straining, thighs tight in order to stay properly seated, the four friends worked as a team and became one.

As they rounded the north end of the lake, Maddie pointed to a heavily treed space. “See that, guys?”

“That’s the old Hanson lot, isn’t it?” Liz said, shielding her eyes. “I heard Mr. Hanson died back in May or June, wasn’t it?”

“Right,” Maddie said. “Nate and I bought the lot. We’re going to start building next month.”

Liz grabbed Maddie by the shoulders and shook her slightly. “You’re really doing this. Jumping in with both feet. First, all the wedding plans. Then a trip to Europe for a honeymoon and now building a house together.”

Isabelle laughed heartily. “They should be divorced by Valentine’s Day.”

“What?” Maddie screeched. “Don’t say that!”

“Oh, don’t listen to Isabelle,” Sarah said. “I say go for it. Charmaine and I can work out some blueprints for the interior.”

Maddie smiled wistfully. “I want it to look like a summer cottage—dark wood floors, rag rugs and lots of French doors overlooking the lake.”

“Sounds perfect,” Liz said as they rowed back toward the marina.

“So, do I get any vote on who will be my groomsman?” Isabelle asked from the back of the boat.

“You’ll be with Mica. Scott Abbot will escort Olivia.”