Page 160 of Save the Date
Cara gave him a look of reproof. “She’s half golden retriever. Most retrievers love the water.
“Come here, you,” Cara said, and Shaz propped her front paws on the edge of the washtub. She looked over at Jack. “Put out your hand.”
He did as he was told, and she squeezed a dollop of shampoo into his open palm. He gave a disdainful sniff. “Smells like flowers.”
“Deal with it,” Cara said. She trained the hose on Shaz’s head and then body, deliberately splashing Jack’s legs.
“Come on,” he said, choosing to ignore the water. “What did you tell Zoey?”
Cara scrubbed at Poppy’s coat with both hands, working up a thick lather of suds. “I told her my vet says all goldendoodles are subject to carsickness. Because it’s hereditary.”
“That’s bullshit. Shaz has never gotten carsick. I’ve taken her over to South Carolina, to Cabin Creek, plenty of times. It’s a forty-five-minute drive, one way. She loves riding in the truck.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Cara said. “I totally made it up. Luckily, Zoey was happy to buy my lies.”
“Luckily,” Jack said.
“In the end, she basically told me I was welcome to the guy, and the dog. I guess she decided you were both more trouble than you were worth.”
He got up from the chair and gazed down at Cara, still bent over the tub, washing her dog. He’d never noticed the fine sprinkling of freckles across her shoulders and the back of her neck. Then he stood up, grabbed the hose, and trained it on her exposed neck and back.
She gave a yelp of surprise. He grabbed her hands and pulled her to her feet. “I don’t know about the dog, but I do know that I’m definitely more trouble than I’m worth. I still can’t believe what you just did for me out there. Thank you. Thank you so much, Cara. You let Zoey take Poppy, not really knowing if she’d bring her back, if your crazy scheme would work. You risked everything for me.”
Cara sighed. “Sometimes, you just have to trust your gut.”
He took her hands and placed them on his own hips, then wrapped his arms loosely around her shoulders and tilted his forehead until it was resting on hers.
“Sometimes you have to trust your heart, too. You give what you think the other person needs, and hope they know that you’re doing it out of love.”
Cara raised her chin and smiled. “It took me a while, I’ll admit. I wasn’t very gracious about accepting your gift. But I think maybe I’m ready now, for whatever you have to offer.”
His lips found hers. He pulled her tighter, then whispered in her ear. “All of it. Everything. Darlin’, everything I have is yours.”
She felt her knees buckle, which forced her to clasp herself tighter against his chest. “I love it when you call me darlin’.”
There was a chattering just then, from the top of the crape myrtle. Poppy scrambled out of the washtub, and dashed after the squirrel in mad pursuit, with Shaz hot on her heels. The two wet, soapy dogs crouched at the foot of the tree, snouts pointed upward, barking in perfect unison.
“We are not taking those dogs on our honeymoon,” he muttered.
“Honeymoon?”
“Will you marry me, darlin’?” Jack asked.
She fluttered her eyelashes like a true Southern belle. “Since you put it like that, of course I will.”
Epilogue
Afterward, Ellie Lewis, the wedding coordinator, would swear that this was the sweetest, most romantic wedding she’d ever witnessed. But in the middle of the melee, she merely swore.
When she arrived at Cabin Creek shortly after five that sunny day in early October, all was chaos. She found the bride in the barn, dressed in blue jeans and a faded T-shirt, putting the finishing touches on the tables for the reception, and the groom, also clad in jeans and a T-shirt, standing at the top of a ladder, fastening the last of the vintage-wagon-wheel chandeliers he’d made under Cara’s tutelage.
A pair of nearly identical fluffy white dogs lounged in the vicinity of the kitchen, staring with hopeful black button eyes at the crew of caterers who were starting to chop the pork butts that had been on the smokers all afternoon.
Each of the fifteen handmade tables was draped in an artfully paint-spattered canvas dropcloth, and Cara was buzzing from table to table, fluffing the centerpieces of local wildflowers mixed with sunflowers, pink and coral dahlias, and lime-green bells of Ireland arranged in a variety of mismatched antique white ironstone vases, pitchers, and jugs.
“Cara!” Ellie was out of breath by the time she caught up with the bride. “What are you doing? Your guests start arriving in an hour. You’ve got to get dressed, get your hair and makeup done.…”
“Almost done here,” Cara assured her, pinching a less-than-perfect petal from a stem of blue salvia. Cara stood back, hands on hips, and nodded in approval. “Okay, that’s it. Now I can get dressed.”
