Mischief & Magnolias (Magnolia Branch Book 2) Page 7

  “Hey, I am not that small,” I say. “Just because you’re the Jolly Green Giant.”

  She smacks me with the dishtowel. “Anyway, I thought I’d go to Memphis and take a look, but if I don’t find anything I like better, I’m going back and getting it. The mermaid dress,” she clarifies. “Not the ball gown.”

  “Yeah, got that. You sure you don’t want to go to New York and try Kleinfeld? You can stay with me. It’ll be fun. C’mon, you know you want to Say Yes to the Dress.”

  “Actually, that’s not such a bad idea. Except…I really loved that first dress.” She gazes out the window above the sink, looking dreamy. Probably picturing herself walking down the aisle in the mermaid gown.

  I blink away the image. “You really need to go back and get that dress. Like, tomorrow.”

  She nods resolutely. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

  “Hey, Nan, can I ask you a question?”

  “Of course. You know you can ask me anything. Except my weight. I have to draw the line somewhere.”

  “It’s just…how did you know? With Dean, I mean? How did you know that he was the one?”

  “You mean, as opposed to the one for now?” she says with a laugh.

  “Yeah, pretty much. You’ve known each other for a while.” They started dating in high school, though they broke up for a few years in college, only reuniting after her surgery. “So…why get married now?”

  Nan shrugs. “Because I know. It’s really that simple, Jemma. There’s nobody else I’d rather spend the rest of my life with—there never will be. Sure, our relationship isn’t perfect, but it’s perfect for us.” She studies me closely. “Is this about Ryder?”

  I shake my head. “No, not exactly. I mean, it is, but just hypothetically.” I take a deep breath, wondering just how much to confess. Then I decide to go for it. “Here’s the thing—I think I am sure about him already. And I worry that people will say that I’m too young to be so sure, that maybe we should date other people or something before we just ‘settle’. But here’s the thing, Nan—it’s not settling. Why should we risk ruining something special just because people think it’s weird?”

  She gives me a puzzled look. “Who’s saying you guys should date other people?”

  “Just a couple of my friends at school. Mostly my roommate Allie. I mean, she likes Ryder. She’s just one of those people who thinks you need a whole range of experiences or something. She thinks it’s weird that I haven’t…you know…” I trail off, my cheeks growing hot. “I haven’t been with anyone but him.”

  Nan leans against the counter, her arms folded across her chest. “Okay, say you’re playing golf, and you somehow manage a hole-in-one on the first shot. Do you go back and take a few more, just in case you might somehow make an even better shot? A more perfect hole-in-one? No, you don’t. Am I right?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “You guess so?” Her blue eyes widen with disbelief. “Of course I’m right. See, once you claim a do-over, that first hole-in-one is gone. Erased. And maybe you’ll make another one, but maybe you won’t. Maybe your next shot will suck. And the one after that, too. Maybe all the rest of your shots that day will suck. And now you’re stuck with a sucky score, wishing you’d kept that first, awesome hole-in-one. It’s like me, still out there combing through racks of dresses, looking for the perfect wedding gown, when I already tried on the perfect wedding gown. What if I go back for it and it’s no longer available? Discontinued or something?”

  “Hopefully that won’t happen,” I say.

  “Yeah, but if I’d just bought it the first day, I wouldn’t have to worry, would I?”

  I wave one hand in dismissal. “But then you’d just be worrying about all those other dresses that you never even tried, wondering if there’s a better one out there.”

  “True, because I’m a little neurotic that way.” She smiles, getting that far-off, dreamy look in her eyes again. “But trust me, when I looked in the mirror and saw myself in that dress, I knew it was the one. I just knew. Why waste the time and energy, just to prove myself right?”

  I nod. My heart soars at the very thought of being so sure about something that you can move forward with perfect confidence and no doubts whatsoever. No looking back, no second-guessing.

  Because that’s exactly the way I feel about Ryder.

  “Thanks, Nan.” I reach over and give her a hug. “This was a big help.”

  “Glad to be of service,” she says. “Now leave. I’ll finish up in here. You go sneak off to wherever it is that you go every night when you think no one’s paying attention.”

  I hurry my step, eager to do exactly that.

  “I told you he was the total package,” she calls out, laughing.

  Grinning, I turn and flip her off.

  Chapter 11

  “Just a sip?” I ask Ryder, sidling up to him with a half-filled, clear plastic champagne flute in my hand. I perch on the edge of the overstuffed armchair he’s sitting in.

  “Just a sip,” he answers with a nod. “Four more minutes till midnight. Stick close by.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I say. We’re all crammed into Morgan and Mason’s rec room—made festive with twinkling lights and streamers—staring up at the big flat screen TV, which is tuned to one of those New Year’s Eve countdown shows. The volume was muted most of the night, someone’s iPad and portable speaker blasting music instead, but they’ve turned it up again now that the ball’s about to drop.

  Mason makes a circuit around the room, passing out horns and streamers. All our friends from high school are here, plus a few people I don’t recognize. Maybe some of their new friends from Ole Miss?

  Even Rosie is here, but she’s clearly not with Ben. I’m not sure what’s going on there, and I make a mental note to ask about it later.

  Tonight’s been fun, but it’s bittersweet, too. Break has gone by way too fast. Tomorrow my family is driving down to the coast to visit my grandparents for a week, and then it will be time to pack up and head back to New York. Ryder and I probably won’t be back until Spring Break and the dreaded deb ball, two months away, and even then we only get a week off.

  I feel like I’ve just gotten used to being back here, settled into my own room, driving my little blue Fiat around town, seeing my friends whenever the mood strikes, shooting Delilah, eating at Ward’s. Still, there’s a part of me that’s looking forward to going back to school. I haven’t touched a camera or editing software the entire break, and I’m itching to get back to work, to get those creative juices flowing again. Also, Chipotle…oh, how I’ve missed my steak burrito bowls.

  “One more minute!” Tanner calls out, then blows a horn.

  I rise from the arm of the chair and re-settle myself into Ryder’s lap, his arms wrapped tightly around me. As the last twenty seconds of the year count down, I hold the champagne flute aloft in preparation.

  “This has been a great year,” Ryder whispers in my ear. “The best year of my life.” The enormity of this statement isn’t lost on me, considering what Ryder’s gone through the past few months with his shoulder. Yet, his proverbial glass is still half full. Typical Ryder.

  “Agreed,” I say, just as the lighted ball on the big screen ends its descent, confetti blasting everywhere.

  “Happy New Year, Jem,” Ryder says, his breath warm against my ear.

  Despite the raucous din—horns and other assorted noisemakers, cheers, music blasting—the room falls away as he kisses me. It’s just the two of us, and we might as well be outside under a thousand stars, not another soul in sight for miles and miles. There’s nowhere I’d rather be than right here in his arms.

  And then the illusion shatters. “Get a room,” someone yells.

  “Yeah, go suck face somewhere else,” comes another teasing voice, followed by laughter.

  Reluctantly, we break the kiss.

  “Aw, you guys are just jealous,” Ryder says with a laugh, but his eyes never leave mine. “Hate
rs, all of ‘em.”

  Morgan and Lucy rush over to clink their champagne glasses against mine. “Happy New Year!” they call out in unison as I take a sip of the sweet, bubbly liquid.

  Mason and Ben move in for a toast, nearly sloshing their drinks on my new dress—a Jemma/Lucy original, of course, made with some gorgeous scarlet tulle I’d come across while looking for Nan.

  “Hey, watch it!” I warn, shoving the rowdy boys away. Still, I can’t help but smile. These boys are nearly grown men now, but they still act the same as they did when they were twelve.

  “Hey, Mason!” I call out above the din.

  “What?” he says, looking out from under a sheet of shaggy blond hair.

  “Remember back when everyone thought you and Morgan were identical twins? Get a haircut. You look like a girl.”

  I won’t repeat what he says in reply—it’s way too filthy. “You’re a shady ho’, you know that, Mase?”

  “Come dance with me!” he calls back, beckoning to me as some old school ‘90s hip-hop starts blasting. “The old ball and chain won’t mind.”

  “Go on.” Ryder takes the champagne from me. “Trust me, I’m going to enjoy watching this.”

  So I do. I dance with my friends—with Mason, then Ben, then Tanner, then Morgan and Lucy join in and we’re all dancing together, sweating and laughing till we’re holding our sides.

  And then the music changes and a slow song comes on—Ed Sheeran, one of my favorites. My gaze meets Ryder’s and I crook a finger toward him. He rises with a grin, setting the champagne flute on a side table.

  It’s a little awkward slow dancing with Ryder since he’s a full six foot four, but my four-inch heels help a little. I wrap my arms around his neck and gaze up at him, admiring him. As always, his spiky dark hair is sticking up in several directions—he always looks like he’s just taken off a football helmet, even when he’s not playing. His dark eyes sparkle—with intelligence, with joy, with mischief, with love—and his smile is perfect, thanks to years of orthodontics. He is, quite possibly, the best-looking boy I’ve ever seen. He makes my heart race, my legs weak. I have no idea what I did to deserve him, but I am so glad that he’s mine.

  “Still the most beautiful girl in all of Mississippi,” he says softly. “New York, too. Hell, in the whole world.”

  “You want to get out of here?” I ask him, and he nods.

  “Where to?”

  I just shrug. It doesn’t matter, I realize with a startling clarity. Wherever I go, I’m right where I belong when I’m with Ryder.

  He takes my hand and leads me out, and I know without a doubt that I’ve hit my hole-in-one.

  Game over.

  You are a lover. Borrow Cupid’s wings

  and soar with them above a common bound.

  - William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

  Epilogue

  One month later, New York City

  Cuban restaurants know how to do Valentine’s Day right, I decide, glancing around at the surrounding tables filled with celebrating couples. Vases of roses and balloons decorate every table, rose petals are scattered about, and a live band is setting up in the corner.

  “Let me guess,” Ryder asks, glancing over the menu. “Vaca frita with rice and beans, and a side of sweet plantains.”

  I nod, my stomach grumbling noisily. “Yep. How ‘bout you?”

  “Garlic shrimp or roast pork, I can’t decide.”

  “Shrimp,” I say. “We can share.”

  “Sounds good.” He closes the menu and reaches for my hand across the table. “I’m starving.”

  “You’re always starving. Don’t they feed you on that meal plan of yours?”

  “Yeah, three meals a day. You know me, Jem. I need five. Maybe six,” he adds with a grin. “My mom sent us a caramel cake, by the way. For dessert tonight.”

  “She did not!”

  He nods. “She did. Had it shipped straight from that bakery you love in New Albany. It’s waiting for you back in my room.”

  “Have I mentioned lately how much I love your mom?”

  His eyes dance in response. “Just wait,” he says cryptically.

  “What?” I ask, squeezing his hand. “What else did she do?”

  Just then, the waiter interrupts to take our order. After he leaves, I excuse myself for a quick trip to the ladies’ room. On my way there, I have to walk past the band, who are still busy setting up their instruments.

  “Any requests?” one of them calls out to me—an older gentleman standing by a pair of bongos.

  I pause, thinking. “Hey, do you know that old song from the sixties, ‘Love is Strange’? I think it’s by Mickey and Sylvia? It was on the Dirty Dancing soundtrack,” I add, as if that clears everything up.

  The musician nods, smiling broadly. “We know that one. We’ll play it for you in the first set—for you and your young man.”

  “Wow,” I say, smiling gratefully. “Thanks, that’d be awesome.”

  I’m still smiling to myself when I return to my seat a few minutes later. The waiter has brought our drinks—a virgin piña colada for me, complete with paper umbrella and a stick of sugar cane. It’s only when I reach for it that I notice the gift-wrapped box sitting on the plate in front of me.

  “What’s this?” I ask, my heart accelerating. I know a jewelry box when I see one. Earrings, maybe, judging by the size.

  “Your Valentine’s Day present. Go on, open it.”

  “Okay,” I say. “But this really isn’t fair. Boys are impossible for Valentine’s Day, you know that? Even worse than Christmas. What kind of romantic gift can you buy for a guy? I blew through all my ideas in December.”

  I’d gotten him chocolate—very fancy, expensive dark chocolate, his favorite. Still, I could tell he’d gotten me something nice, just by the look on his face.

  “You better open it before they need that plate,” he warns, all but rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

  “Okay, okay. I’m opening it.” I pull off the red satin ribbon, which had been artfully tied, and take my time with the paper. It’s way too pretty to rip.

  “Oh, my God, Jemma. You’re killing me.”

  I just wrinkle my nose at him. The paper gone, I now hold a small velvet box in my hand. “What is this?” I say, hesitantly raising the lid.

  All the air leaves my lungs in a whoosh as I stare at the jewel nestled into the box—a perfect emerald-cut ruby set in gold, with two small triangular diamonds on either side of the main stone.

  “It’s Laura Grace’s ruby ring,” I say, looking up at Ryder for an explanation. For as long as I can remember, Laura Grace has worn this ring on her right hand. It’s as much a part of her as the tiny beauty mark above her mouth, or the faint scar on her left elbow.

  “Did you ever hear my mom’s story about this ring?” Ryder asks.

  I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Well, it goes like this. My mom and dad met their freshman year at Ole Miss, and my dad was instantly smitten.”

  “Smitten,” I repeat with a smile. “I like that word.”

  “By their junior year, he wanted to ask her to marry him,” he continues. “But my grandparents told him they were way too young, that they needed to graduate first. They talked him out of it. Instead, Grandma Marsden gave my dad this ring—it was hers, one of her favorites—and she told him to give it to my mom on Valentine’s Day. It was symbolic, she said. It meant that he was so sure that they’d get married one day, that it didn’t matter he was giving her a family heirloom. Because she would be family one day.” He pauses, gauging my reaction.

  I’m crying, of course. Who wouldn’t be? I can’t speak—can’t manage a single word in reply, afraid that I might start to sob, embarrassing us both right in the middle of a Cuban restaurant on Valentine’s Day.

  “And now,” he says, reaching for my hand, “I’m giving this same ring to you—with my parents’ blessing. You’re already family to me, Jemma, but someday I want to
make it official. Until then, you’ve got this promise from me. If you’ll accept it, that is.”

  I swallow hard, realizing that he’s waiting for an answer. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the tears to stop, but it’s no use—they won’t. So I just nod, one hand over my mouth.

  “So…that’s a yes?” he asks.

  I drop my hand from my mouth. “Yes! Of course it’s a yes!”

  He takes my right hand and slips the ring on my finger—a perfect fit. “Miss Shelby helped out with the sizing,” he says, answering my unspoken question.

  I hold my hand up, examining the ring on my finger. “I can’t believe you’re giving me this—I can’t believe your mom let you. It’s beautiful. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  He pulls out his phone. “I’m supposed to tell them what you said. And send a picture,” he admits, looking sheepish. “Sorry to ruin the moment, but you know how they are.”

  “I know. Go ahead.” I hold up my hand, ring facing out, the biggest, cheesiest smile ever on my face as he snaps a picture and quickly sends it via text. Yes, he’s got both the moms on a group text. Not five seconds after he hits send, both our phones light up with messages. “Well, that was fast,” I say.

  “I’m sure they were just sitting there, waiting. They knew what time our reservation was.”

  “’Course they did.” I examine the ring again. “It really is beautiful, Ryder. Thank you so much.”

  “Just keep in mind it has to stay in the Marsden family. No Marinis allowed.”

  “Ha, ha. Very funny. Don’t worry, I told Stefan to knock it off.” He’d acted all innocent, of course, as if it meant nothing. But I think he’s finally gotten the message. At least, there haven’t been any more pictures of me on his Facebook page.

  “Anyway,” I add mischievously, “why does it have to be the Marsden family? Why not the Cafferty-Marsdens? Maybe it’s time to shake things up.”

  “Maybe,” he says with a laugh. “I mean, it’s a mouthful, but it works.”

  I notice then that the band has started their set—a crowd has gathered on the small dance floor over by the bar.