Free Wind Chime Wedding (A Wind Chime Novel Book 2) by Sophie Moss Page A

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    Stepping over a crack where shoots of flowering thyme were breaking through the cement, she wrapped her arms tighter around the plastic container of deviled eggs she was carrying. She had been up until 3AM last night, unable to sleep, trying desperately to remember if there had ever been a time when Tom had made her feel the way Colin had when he’d touched her.
    It was normal for the spark to wear off at some point in any relationship. She had been with Tom for fifteen years—since her sophomore year in high school. Of course she didn’t still feel fireworks when he touched her now.
    But she must have felt something in the beginning.
    She must have.
    A knot formed in her throat and she forced it back. Or…maybe they had just skipped that step. What mattered was that they had something to hold onto after the spark died, right?
    She and Tom had a history. A past.
    When everything in her life had fallen apart, Tom had been there to pick up the pieces.
    She would never forget that.
    Even if they’d been moving in different directions lately, they still had that past. They still had that memory of the people they had been before—the people they had been to each other.
    Everyone changed. She and Tom were just going through a strange cycle right now…one where they weren’t changing in sync. But they would get back on track again. They would.
    It was only a matter of time.
    Resolved, she climbed the steps to the porch where Della and Annie were laying out dishes of food on a long row of folding tables.
    Della turned. Her curly, gray-blond hair was sticking up in a million directions. An apron dusted with flour was tied around her ample waist. She smiled as she took the container from Becca’s hands and opened the top, peering inside.
    “I got a little carried away,” Becca said, feeling the need to explain herself when Della lifted a brow at the number of eggs inside.
    “You didn’t have to bring anything,” Annie said, smoothing a pink cloth over the table by the window. “We have plenty of food.”
    “I know,” Becca said, “but I always make deviled eggs on Easter.”
    “Of course you do, honey,” Della said gently, setting the container down between a roasted vegetable quiche and a coconut cake. “But everyone would have understood if you didn’t have time to make them this year. Don’t you have enough to do with the wedding and the move?”
    Becca felt a prick of annoyance. She always made deviled eggs on Easter, just like her mother had before her, and her grandmother had before her—from their family recipe with Old Bay Seasoning instead of paprika.
    It was tradition.
    She wished everyone would quit pushing her away and telling her that she didn’t have time to do the things she loved anymore.
    “Where’s your fiancé?” a familiar voice slurred in her ear.
    Becca stiffened when Jimmy’s arm came around her and his sour, whiskey-scented breath brushed against her cheek. Disgusted, she pushed him away. “It’s not even noon and you’re already drunk.”
    He smiled, his arm tightening around her waist. “You need to lighten up, sweetheart.”
    “And you need to leave,” she said coldly. “You have no business being here, around all these children, when you’ve been drinking.”
    “Can’t.” He grabbed a sugar cookie off one of the trays on the table. “Courtney got called into work at the hotel. I’m watching Luke.”
    Becca scanned the yard for Luke. She found him sitting on the curb beside Jimmy’s truck, his back resting against one of the wheels. His head was bent over a notebook as he focused on a sketch he was working on. Becca felt another wave of frustration. He should be dyeing hard boiled eggs with Taylor or hunting for plastic ones with the rest of the kids down at the marina, not sitting by himself, drawing. “I’ll watch Luke. You need to go home.”
    He reached up, touching her cheek. “I like the view better from here.”
    “That’s enough,” Ryan