Free Beach Wedding by Bella Cruise Page B

again, but my dating life since leaving
Pelican Key Cove has been nothing to write home about. I didn’t
really date in college, still too raw and heartbroken about what I’d
left behind, and then the whole New York scene just seemed too fast
and polished for me. Guys would keep one eye on the door and the
other on their phone in case something better came along. Or, worse,
the endless parade of first dates where you have nothing in common
and just awkward silence to fill until one of you finally calls for
the check.
    Love was real. I saw it every day in my work. Couples so crazy about
each other they would have eloped that minute rather than wait
another day. Couples who had found love after other, broken
relationships. Couples re-affirming their commitment after thirty,
forty, even fifty years together. After seeing all that devotion up
close, it felt like a lie to meet someone for casual drinks, or hook
up without any real connection. So I focused on my job instead,
dreaming of the day when I would feel that chemistry, that passion
again.
    The closest I came was the six months I spent with a guy called
James, a good-natured lawyer who didn’t mind me working
evenings and weekends on a new client’s wedding. He was sweet
and good to me, so I kept trying, thinking that maybe our connection
was something that would develop naturally over time. But the months
passed, and there was still something missing between us: that
friction, that spark. I liked him just fine, but that was as far as
it went. I felt like I was going through the motions, pretending to
be the perfect couple at his company dinners and my friends’
events, and all the while knowing that this wasn’t real love.
    After him, I decided I wouldn’t try to force it. Love would
arrive for me in its own time, and meanwhile, I had plenty to keep me
busy. Sure, I would feel that empty pang every time I saw my clients
kiss at the end of the aisle, and wake up on Sunday mornings wishing
I had someone in bed with me to snuggle and share the newspapers
with. But you can train yourself to ignore anything if you try hard
enough.
    Now that ache returns a hundred times stronger.
    I take another breath and start the engine. There’s no use
dwelling over what might have been. I’ll just do what I always
have done: focus on the love that is possible. Pixie and Clyde, and
their perfect wedding.
     
    *
     
    Back at the ranch, I pull up to find a production van parked next to
my aunt’s truck.
    “Hello?” For the second time today, I’m wandering
through a deserted house. Only this time, I have a very bad feeling
about what I’m going to find.
    I can hear Pixie laughing, the sound of my aunts’ voices, and
Enrique calling, “Cut! Print, perfect.”
    I step out onto the porch. The back yard has been taken over. The
crew is clustered around, filming Pixie with the injured pelican in
her lap. “Look,” she’s squealing. “He’s
so cute! Can we get a pet pelican, babes?”
    “Sure thing, sweetheart.” Clyde agrees. He’s
surrounded by pet goats, feeding them from a baggie of Chex Mix. He
puts his sunglasses on one of them, and stops to take a selfie. And
in the middle of it all my aunts are holding court, dressed to the
nines in their best crazy kaftans and costume jewelry.
    “Ginny!” Rae notices me, and gives a wave. “You
missed all the fun. We’re going to be stars!”
    “Great,” I call faintly. I find Marcie on the porch.
“What’s going on?”
    “Isn’t this freaking perfect?” She’s looking
happier than I’ve seen all week. “You didn’t tell
me your aunts were such characters!”
    “They’re not characters, they’re people.”
    “You know what I mean! They’re just made for TV! We can’t
let this chance pass us by. I’ve decided: Pixie and Clyde are
going to stay here. God, once the network sees this stuff with the
animals, they’re going to flip!”
    “Wait, stay here?” I imagine a month of sharing living
space with these two,