The Summer Wedding: Groom Wanted / The Man You'll Marry

She glanced, not for the first time, at the man sitting beside her. He looked like the stereotypical businessman, typing industriously on a laptop, his brow furrowed with concentration. She couldn’t tell exactly what he was doing, but noticed several columns of figures. He paused, and something must have troubled him, because he reached for a calculator in his briefcase and punched out a series of numbers. When he’d finished, he returned to his computer. He seemed impatient and restless, as though he begrudged the travel time. Not a good sign, in Jill’s opinion, since the flight to Honolulu was scheduled to take five hours.

He wasn’t the talkative sort, either. In her enthusiasm before takeoff, Jill had made a couple of attempts at light conversation, but both tries had met with minimal responses, followed by cool silence.

Great. She was stuck sitting next to this grouch for the beginning of a vacation she’d been planning for nearly two years. A vacation that Jill and her best friend, Shelly Hansen, had once dreamed of taking together. Only Shelly wasn’t Shelly Hansen anymore. Her former college roommate was married now. For an entire month Shelly Hansen had been Shelly Brady.

Even after all this time, Jill had problems taking it in. For as long as Jill had known Shelly, her friend had been adamant about making her career as a producer of DVDs her highest priority. She’d vowed that men and relationships would always remain a distant second in her busy life. For years Jill had watched Shelly discourage attention from the opposite sex. From college onward, Shelly had carefully avoided any hint of commitment.

Then it had happened. Shelly met Mark Brady and the unexpected became a reality. To Shelly’s way of thinking, her mother’s great-aunt Millicent—known to everyone in the family as Aunt Milly—was directly responsible for her present happiness. She’d met her tax-accountant husband immediately after the elderly woman had mailed Shelly a “magic” wedding dress. The same dress Milly had worn herself more than sixty years earlier.

Both Shelly and Jill had insisted there was no such thing as magic, especially associated with a wedding dress. Magic belonged to wands or fairy godmothers, not wedding dresses. To fairy tales, not real life. They’d scoffed at the ridiculous story that went along with the gown. Both refused to believe what Aunt Milly had written in her letter; no one in her right mind, they told each other, could possibly take the sweet old woman seriously. Marry the next man you meet? Preposterous.

Personally, Jill had found the whole story amusing. Shelly hadn’t been laughing though. Shelly, being Shelly, had overreacted, fretting and worrying, wondering if there wasn’t some small chance that Milly could be right. Shelly hadn’t wanted her to be right, but there it was—the dress arrived one day, and the next she’d fallen into Mark Brady’s arms.

Literally.

The rest, as they say, is history and Jill wasn’t laughing anymore. Shelly and Mark had been married in June and to all appearances were blissfully happy.

Four weeks after the wedding, Jill was flying off to Hawaii. Not the best month to visit the tropics, perhaps, but that couldn’t be helped. Her budget was limited and July offered the most value for her money.

Her seatmate leaned back and sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. Whatever problem he’d encountered earlier had persisted, Jill guessed. She must have been correct, because no more than ten seconds later, he reached for his calculator again. Jill had the impression this man never stopped working; even during their meal he continued his calculations. Not a moment of their flight time was wasted. If he wasn’t studying papers from his briefcase, he was typing more columns of figures into his computer.

An hour passed. A couple of times, almost against her will, she found herself watching him. Although she assumed he was somewhere in his mid-thirties, he seemed older. No, she decided, not older, but … experienced. His face managed to be pleasing to the eye despite his rugged, uneven features. She wondered fleetingly how he’d assess her appearance. Except he hadn’t looked at her once. He seemed totally unaware that there was anyone in the seat next to him. His eyes were gray, she’d noted earlier, the color of polished steel. There was nothing soft about him.

This was obviously a man who had it all—hand-tailored suits, Italian leather shoes, gold pen and watch. She’d bet even his plastic was gold! No doubt he lived the way he flew—first class. He was the type who had all the answers, too. The type of man who didn’t question his own attitudes and beliefs….

He reminded Jill of her father, long dead, long grieved. He, too, had been an influential businessman who’d held success in the palm of his hand. Adam Morrison had fought off middle age on a gym floor. Energy was his trademark and death was an eternity away. Only it was just around the corner, and he hadn’t known it.

Ironic that she should be sitting next to him thirteen years after his death. Not her father, but someone so much like him it was all Jill could do not to ask when he’d last seen his family.

He must have felt her scrutiny, because he suddenly turned and stared at her. Jill blushed guiltily, bowing her head over her book, reading it with exaggerated fervor.

“Did you like what you saw?” he asked her boldly.

“I—I don’t know what you mean,” she said in a small voice, moving the paperback close to her face.

For the first time since he’d taken the seat next to her, the stranger grinned. It was an odd smile, off center and unpracticed, as if he didn’t often find anything to smile about.

The remainder of the flight was uneventful. Jill held her breath during the descent, until the tires bumped down on the runway in Honolulu. She wished again that Shelly was taking this trip, too. With or without her best friend, though, Jill intended to have the time of her life. She had seven glorious days to laze in the sun. Seven days to shop to her heart’s content and to go sightseeing and to swim and relax and eat glorious meals.

For months Jill had dreamed of the wonders she would see and experience. Tranquil villages, orchid plantations—oh, how she loved orchids. At night, she’d stroll along lava-strewn beaches and by day there’d be canyons to explore, tumbling waterfalls and smoldering volcanoes. Hawaii was going to be a grand adventure, Jill felt sure of it.

The man beside her was on his feet the instant their plane came to a standstill. He removed his carry-on bag from the storage compartment above the seat with an efficiency that told her he was a seasoned traveler. The smiling flight attendant handed him a garment bag as he strode off the plane.

Jill followed him, watching for directions to the baggage pickup. Her seatmate’s steps were crisp and purposeful. It didn’t surprise her; this was a man on the go, always in a rush to get somewhere. Meet someone. Make a deal. No time to stop and smell the orchids for her friend the grouch.

Jill lost sight of him when she purchased a lei at a concession stand. She draped the lovely garland of orchids around her neck and fingered the delicate flowers, marveling at their beauty.

Once again the reminder that adventures awaited her on this tropical island moved full sail across her heart. She wasn’t the fanciful sort, nor did she possess an extravagant imagination. Not like Shelly. Yet Jill felt something deep inside her stir to life….

Shelly had become a real believer in magic, Jill mused, smiling as she bought herself a slice of fresh pineapple. For that matter, even she—ever the practical one—found herself a tiny bit susceptible to the claims of a charmed wedding dress. Just a tiny bit, though.

Jill’s pulse quickened the way it did whenever she thought about what had happened between Shelly and Mark. It was simply the most romantic thing she’d ever known.

Romance had scurried past Jill several times. Currently she was dating Ralph, a computer programmer, but it was more for companionship than romance, although he’d been hinting for several months that they should start “getting serious.” Jill assumed he meant marriage. Ralph was nice, and so far Jill had been able to dissuade him from discussing the future of their relationship. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but she just wasn’t interested in marrying him.

However, Jill fully intended to marry someday. There’d never been any question of that. The only question was who. She’d dated frequently in college, but there hadn’t been anyone special. Then, when she’d been hired as a pharmacist for PayRite, a drugstore chain with several outlets in the Pacific Northwest, the opportunities to meet eligible men had dwindled dramatically.

Prospects weren’t exactly crowding the horizon, but Jill had given up worrying about it. She’d done a fair job of pushing the thought of a husband and family to the far reaches of her mind—until she’d made one small mistake.

She’d tried on Aunt Milly’s wedding dress.

Shelly had hung the infamous dress in the very back of her closet. Out of sight, out of mind—only it hadn’t worked that way. Not a minute passed that Shelly wasn’t keenly aware of the dress and its alleged powers.

On impulse, Jill had tried it on herself. To this day she didn’t know what had prompted her to slip into the beautiful hand-sewn wedding dress. It was so elegant, so beautiful, with row upon row of pearls and delicate lace layered over satin.

That it fit as though it had been specifically designed for her had been as much of a surprise to Shelly as it had to Jill. Shelly had seemed almost giddy with relief, insisting her aunt had made a mistake and the dress was actually meant for Jill. But by that time, Shelly had already met Mark….

No, Aunt Milly hadn’t made a mistake—the wedding dress had been meant for Shelly all along. Her marriage to Mark proved it. And really, she’d have to attribute Shelly’s meeting and marrying Mark to the power of suggestion, the power of expectation—not to magic. She shook her head and hurried off to retrieve her luggage.

Then she headed outside, intent on grabbing a taxi. As the driver loaded her bags, she stood for a moment, savoring the warm breeze, enjoying the first sounds and sights of Hawaii. She couldn’t wait to get to her hotel. Through a friend who was a travel agent, Jill had been able to book a room in one of the most exclusive places on Oahu at a ridiculously low rate.

The hotel was everything the brochure had promised and more. Jill had to pinch herself when she got to her room. The first thing she did was walk to the sliding-glass doors that led to the lanai, a balcony overlooking the swimming-pool area. Beyond that, the Pacific Ocean thundered against the sandy shore. The sight was mesmerizing, the beauty so keen, it brought tears of appreciation to Jill’s eyes.

She tipped the bellhop, who’d brought up her luggage, and returned to the view. If she never went beyond this room, Jill would have been satisfied. She stood at the railing, the breeze riffling her long hair.

The hotel was U-shaped, and something—a movement, a figure—caught her eye. A man. Jill glanced across the swimming pool, across the tiki-hut roof of the bar until her gaze found what she was seeking. The grouch. In a lanai directly opposite hers. At least she thought so. He wore the same dark suit as the man with whom she’d spent five of the most uncommunicative hours of her life.

Jill didn’t know what prompted her, but she waved. After a moment, he waved back. He stepped farther out onto the lanai and she knew beyond a doubt. Their rooms were in different sections of the hotel, but they were on the same floor, their lanais facing each other.

He held a cell phone to his ear, but slowly lowered it.

For several minutes they simply stared at each other. After what seemed like an embarrassingly long time, Jill tried to pull herself away and found she couldn’t. Unsure why, unsure what had attracted her attention to the man in the first place, unsure of everything, Jill looked away.

A knock at the door distracted her.

“Yes?” she asked, opening her door. A bellhop in a crisp white uniform stood before her with a large wrapped box.

“This arrived by special courier for you earlier today, Ms. Morrison,” he explained politely.

When he’d gone, Jill studied the package, reading the Seattle postmark and the unfamiliar block printing. She carried it to the bed, still puzzled. She had no idea who would be mailing her anything from home. Especially since she’d only left that morning.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she unwrapped the package and lifted the lid. Her hands froze. Her heart froze. Her breath jammed in her throat. When she was able to move again, she inhaled sharply and closed her eyes.

It was Aunt Milly’s wedding dress.

A letter rested on top of the tissue-wrapped dress. With trembling hands, Jill reached for it.

Dearest Jill,