Free The Wedding Gift by Sandra Steffen

you.”
    Madeline stopped so quickly the couple behind her had to veer around her to keep from running into her.Riley waited for her out of the wind as if he had all the time in the world. “Something wrong?” he asked.
    â€œDon’t mind me, I’m having a revelation.”
    â€œTake your time.”
    Oh, that brash self-confidence, she thought. He wore black chinos today and a shirt in a fine, woven broadcloth the same shade of gray as the clouds. The spring in his step, the light in his eyes, and the grin lurking around the corners of his mouth, it was all fitting together in her mind. “You didn’t have the nightmare last night, did you?”
    â€œThe nightmare, no.”
    Some might insist it was a coincidence that he’d stopped having the dream after she’d arrived in Gale. It was easier to believe in a divine order when goods things were occurring. The bad experiences were harder to understand. She didn’t have to understand everything. Some things, she had to simply accept. Perhaps this was one of those things.
    Feeling a little more lighthearted herself, she said, “For months, my best friend has been telling me I need to have more fun.”
    â€œNo one can tell you how much fun to have. Me? I have standards and limits.”
    â€œWhat kind of limits?” she couldn’t help asking.
    â€œI never do anything I wouldn’t want to have to try to explain to the paramedics.”
    His tone was teasing but somehow she believed there was a grain of truth in what he’d said.
    â€œAren’t you going to ask about my standards?” he asked.
    With a start she realized he’d caught her staring. She tried to look away, but couldn’t. She was reminded of last night when he’d stood in her living room, his eyes heavy-lidded, his voice deep, his jaw darkened with a day-old beard.
    â€œNot on your life,” she said.
    â€œIn that case, how about lunch?”
    Â 
    The scents of herbed butter and sautéed mushrooms wafted on the air as Madeline and Riley left the restaurant an hour later. Tucked on the hill between First Street and Shoreline Drive, Fiona’s Bistro had round tables and white linens, rough plastered walls and polished wood floors. The food was superb.
    In her mid-thirties, Fiona herself had stopped by their table. She had dark hair and hazel eyes, wore large diamonds in her ears and had a figure that strained the buttons on her white French blouse. “Hello, Riley,” she’d said with a sultry French accent. “Is everything to your liking?”
    He’d let his gaze light on Madeline as he said, “As a matter of fact, it is.”
    Madeline had wanted to nudge him under the table.
    â€œThe woman’s in love with you!” she told him now as they waited for a car to pass so they could cross the street.
    â€œI highly doubt that,” he said.
    â€œI didn’t see any dogs lying under anyone else’s table. Obviously she’s willing to make an exception for you.”
    â€œKipp and I did the renovations on the building two years ago,” he said. “I haven’t been back since I moved to Gale.”
    â€œMaybe you should.”
    He said nothing, and Madeline wondered if he’d ever been in love. Somehow she doubted it. If he had, he would know that loving someone wasn’t a conscious decision. It wasn’t even a choice. Sighing, she found herself wanting to fill the ensuing silence.
    â€œYou could have been anything. Why architecture?”
    â€œI like houses. No matter how grand the mansion or humble the hut, each begins with walls and a roof. The construction process involves basic physics, joinery and craftsmanship, but there’s a point when a house becomes more than the components of its parts.” He looked at her, and didn’t continue until she looked back at him. “When it’s right, it feels right. You know it the way you know to