Not Another Wedding. Jennifer McKenzie

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      The information had been emblazoned on her brain for six weeks. From the moment she’d received the invitation and the sparkling hearts inside the envelope had spilled across her beautiful walnut floors, clashing with her cream decor.

      Poppy still hadn’t found them all. One had been grinning at her, as much as an inanimate and juvenile cutout could grin, just this morning when she stumbled toward the kitchen for her first cup of coffee. She knew more lurked, hidden and waiting for the right breeze to waft in and blow them out. She wasn’t about to let them haunt her. Just as she wasn’t about to let a mistake haunt Jamie for the rest of his life.

      She pressed the gas pedal harder and watched her speed climb. She didn’t get to drive often in Vancouver, living close enough to her office to walk, so she enjoyed every opportunity she got to take her little blue convertible out. But today she didn’t appreciate it quite so much. Wind funneled through the open window, making her russet hair pop and snap like an angry bonfire.

      Jamie and his fiancée, Emmy, had only known each other two months. Hardly long enough to make parental introductions, and who in their right mind decided to get married after eight weeks? It was ludicrous. And Poppy should know. She’d only dated her last boyfriend for a month before they decided to move in together. And look how that turned out.

      Not that Poppy’d been able to talk to Jamie about her concerns over his rushing into marriage. No, because whenever she called Jamie, Emmy was with him whispering in the background or giggling and telling Poppy how she couldn’t wait to meet in person. And Poppy refused to tell him through email. This was a serious matter and deserved a face-to-face conversation.

      Her fingers tightened on the wheel. Time was officially running out. She had only eight days left to find a way to stop the madness.

      * * *

      IT TOOK HER longer than anticipated to get to Naramata, BC, the small town where she’d grown up and her parents and older sister still called home. Poppy blamed the out-of-towners who flooded the community during the summer months, tripling the population between June and September. They clogged up the roads driving either too slow—fearful of the twisty, mountainous route—or too fast, flying into the curves indifferent to the oncoming traffic and thousand-foot drop-offs.

      She’d left Vancouver before noon, refraining from stopping by the offices of her event planning business and limiting herself to checking email only. But by the time she pulled into her parents’ driveway, she had less than an hour before they were due at a welcome barbecue being held at Jamie’s boutique winery. All wedding guests had been invited, which was pretty much everyone who had ever called Naramata home.

      “Poppy, sweetheart.” Rose Sullivan came barreling out of the house, her arms wide, and practically knocked Poppy back into the driver’s seat when she reached her. “What took you so long? We expected you an hour ago.”

      “I know.” Poppy had planned her route down to the last detail. Almost. “I forgot how bad vacation traffic is on a Friday.” Apparently, half of Vancouver had headed for the area to spend the weekend lounging by the lake or touring the many wineries in the region.

      Her dad, Bob, stood stoically behind, waiting until her mom finished fussing before giving her one of his famous bear hugs that squeezed out any breath left in her lungs, but Poppy didn’t mind. She inhaled deeply, enjoying the pleasure of being back with her family even if just for a week.

      “Can I get you a drink?” Rose put an arm around her as she ushered her inside. “You look warm.”

      Poppy was warm. The interior of the province ran much hotter and drier than the coast. “No, I need to grab my bags and a quick shower though.” She hugged her mom again. They didn’t see each other enough living so far apart. They kept in touch through regular phone calls and emails, but neither took the place of in-person contact.

      “Your dad will get the bags,” her mom said. Poppy glanced behind and found her father already dragging her golf clubs and the three full-size suitcases from the trunk. “Let’s sit down for a minute and catch up.”

      Poppy would love to put her feet up and hash over everything in their lives, but she refused to show up at the barbecue with hair that looked as if she had been through a hurricane and mascara that had become a smeary mess on her cheeks. Unless the only thing she wanted to convince Jamie of was that she had turned feral.

      She managed to extricate herself after another long hug. “Tomorrow morning, okay?”

      “All right. I guess I should get ready for the barbecue, too.” Her mother embraced her again. “It’s so good to have you home.”

      It was good to be back.

      Poppy’s old bedroom was on the second level and hadn’t changed much in the СКАЧАТЬ