Picture Perfect (Weddings by Design Book #1): A Novel

A quick glance at my watch startled me to attention. Four o’clock. I still had a lot to do before tonight’s rehearsal. I should probably head home and get showered and changed.

  We moved to the front of the studio, and I reached for the door. At that very moment someone opened it from the outside and an unfamiliar woman stepped inside. For a second I thought she might be a potential client or something. Then, in an instant, I realized who it was.

  Jacquie Goldfarb.

  I did my best not to gasp aloud as she took several steps toward me. I recognized her face, of course. Same dark eyes and high cheekbones. Same gorgeous dark hair. But something else had changed, and it stunned me. Clearly the girl’s profile picture on Facebook needed updating. She was easily fifty pounds heavier in real life than in her photograph.

  “Hannah.” She opened her arms for a hug, which I gave. “Hope you don’t mind that I came inside. I saw the sign but could see you through the glass.” She gave me an admiring look, then shook her head, her eyes misty. “You haven’t changed a bit. You look just like the girl who tried out for the drill team.”

  Tried out but didn’t make it, you mean.

  “Jacquie. You look . . .”

  “No, don’t.” She put her hands up and smiled. “No point in acting like I’m the same girl. I’ve changed in a thousand ways, not the least of which is this body of mine.” She sighed. “It turns out I’m an emotional eater. Marrying Matt put me on a roller-coaster ride—one filled with cream pies, Ding Dongs, and Twinkies. Every time he would break my heart, I’d turn to food.” Jacquie chuckled. “But never fear. Now that he’s gone for good, I’ve been dieting. What you’re seeing here is the leaner, trimmer version of my former self. I’ve dropped twenty-three pounds since the fall.”

  “Congratulations.”

  She glanced at Drew and smiled, then turned toward Brock. For a moment she didn’t say anything. Then her eyes widened, and she finally managed, “Oh! Oh, oh, oh!”

  Brock grinned and turned my way. “Hannah? Friend of yours?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry, I should’ve made introductions. Everyone, this is my friend from high school, Jacquie Goldfarb.” Somehow I didn’t even flinch as I uttered the word “friend.” I really meant it.

  To my left, I noticed the look on Drew’s face as he took in Jacquie’s appearance—compassion laced with intrigue. No doubt this wasn’t what he was expecting.

  “Y-y-you’re B-B-Brock Benson!” Jacquie now stood in front of Brock, babbling.

  “I am.” He extended his hand, and she reached for it.

  “Hannah?” Jacquie turned my way. “You know Brock Benson?”

  I fought the temptation to brag on myself or my business, opting instead to simply nod. The old, insecure me would have given her an earful, perhaps, but not the new, improved me. Or should I say the Drew-improved me.

  Brock, it appeared, was happy to take care of bragging for me. “Oh, sure,” he said. “Hannah’s business is really taking off, so she’s got a lot of well-known clients. You know she’s shooting Sierra Caswell’s wedding, right?”

  “What?” Jacquie looked at me again. “Seriously? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It never came up.” I shrugged, hoping no one would make a big deal out of it.

  “You’re . . . you’re doing really well for yourself, Hannah.” She gestured to my studio. “I’m so . . . proud of you.”

  “Nah. Don’t be. Just doing what I love. God is blessing me, for sure.”

  “Still . . .” She paused, her eyes filling with tears.

  I slipped my arm through Jacquie’s, determined to turn this conversation around. No longer needing to prove myself, I simply wanted to be her friend. It certainly looked like she needed one.

  We spent the next several minutes laughing and swapping stories about the good old days. Strangely, they suddenly felt good. In fact, I could barely remember the pain of the past. Spending time with Jacquie Goldfarb in person put a lot of things in perspective for me. In only a few minutes I realized that all of my former jealousies and insecurities were pointless. Why had I ever compared myself to her in the first place?

  I thought about that Scripture, the one about putting away childish things. Maybe that’s all God required of me here—to put away my childish, petty feelings and live in the moment. Yes, that’s exactly what I would do, for in this moment Jacquie Goldfarb looked and sounded very much like someone I would enjoy getting to know.

  But I didn’t have a lot of time with her at the studio. By 4:30 I had no choice but to return home to prep for the wedding rehearsal. I changed into something presentable.

  Drew picked me up at 5:00. By 5:45 I’d met Sierra in person and found her to be as delightful as she’d been during our latest phone call. And even prettier in person than I’d imagined, in spite of the crooked nose. She gave me a hug that left no doubt in my mind about where she stood regarding our relationship. Then she greeted Drew with a handshake, gave me a wink, and mouthed, “He’s a hottie!” when he turned around.

  I had to agree. More than that, he was a great guy, and the perfect one for me. Still, this hardly seemed like the time or the place to share all of that information. Instead, I tucked it away in my heart and thanked God for it.

  The evening passed from one snapshot to the next. I managed to catch several great shots of Sierra and David during the run-through, and even more at the rehearsal dinner afterward. By the time Drew dropped me off at my house that night, I was so exhausted I barely had the strength to download the photos onto my computer so that I could start up again the next day.

  I’d just settled into bed when I realized I’d forgotten to set my alarm. I reached for my cell and had just set it when the phone rang. I almost dropped the crazy thing as it went off in my hand. When I finally stopped shaking, I answered it, tickled to hear Drew’s voice.

  “Hey, you.”

  The lilt in his voice made me smile.

  “Hey, you too.”

  “Long day, huh?”

  “Yeah, but a great one.” I sighed and leaned back against the pillows.

  “Still going to church in the morning?”

  “Mm-hmm.” I stretched. “Early service instead of our usual eleven o’clock one. Pick me up?”

  “Sure.” He paused. “Hey, I just wanted to tell you something, Hannah. For the record.”

  “What’s that?” I yawned.

  Another pause followed on his end. “We joke around a lot about Jacquie Goldfarb, but I wanted to tell you that I’m really proud of the way you acted when she showed up at the studio today.”

  “Oh?” This certainly got my attention.

  “Yeah. After all she put you through, you didn’t have to be so nice to her. It tells me a lot about your character that you were. And it’s obvious you weren’t just putting on a show or anything like that. You really care about her.”

  “I always did. Maybe too much. It’s a flaw I have.” I gave a nervous chuckle.

  “No. Caring about people, especially people who’ve hurt you, isn’t a flaw. It’s a sign that you understand God’s grace.”

  “That’s me. Hannah Grace. Full of grace and truth.” I stifled another yawn. “I guess I’ll never outgrow that phrase.”

  “Hope not. It’s perfect for you.”

  “Aw, thanks.” My eyes grew heavy, and within seconds I started to drift off.

  “Hannah? You still with me?”

  “Hmm?” I yawned. “Yeah . . . I’m here.”

  “Okay, sleepyhead. You go on to bed. But dream about me, okay? Not Brock Benson.”

  “Brock Benson?” I stifled another yawn. “Who’s that?”

  “Perfect answer. Now get some sleep. We’ve got a big day ahead of us tomorrow.”

  Sleep tugged at me like waves calling me out to sea. “Yes . . . we . . . do.”

  “And just for the record,” he said, his voice now softening, “I’m completely and totally twitterpated.”

  “Twitter? Hmm?” I mumbled, now half asleep
. “Oh, me too. But I’m more of a Facebook girl myself.” The phone slipped out of my hand, and I drifted off, all of the events of the day rolling together in a delicious, hazy dream.

  24

  Winter Wonderland

  Two shorten the road.

  Irish saying

  On Sunday morning I woke up shivering. At some point overnight a cold front had settled in over Galveston Island, bringing with it a dense fog and a bit of drizzly rain. Thank goodness Sierra’s wedding would be held indoors. And since it didn’t start until two o’clock, I had time to pray the fog would lift.

  My morning ritual moved along at double the usual speed. I showered and then dressed in my favorite skirt and blouse, then plugged in my curling iron and got to work on my hair, alternating the curling process with the task of putting on my makeup. Everything had to be perfect today. Well, the Hannah McDermott version of perfect, anyway.

  Still buzzing with anticipation, I headed downstairs for a bite to eat before Drew arrived to pick me up for church. I found Mama in the kitchen cooking scrambled eggs and bacon. On second glance, she appeared to be adding garlic to the eggs. Oy. What would my father say?

  As I opened the refrigerator, she looked my way, worry lines appearing on her forehead. “Um, Hannah?”

  “Yes, Mama?” I grabbed an orange from the bowl in the fridge, then reached for a container of yogurt, my thoughts tumbling. Should I eat heavy or light? Load up for the big day ahead, or avoid the calories and carbs so as not to feel overloaded? Decisions, decisions.

  “You going to church this morning before the wedding?” Mama wiped her hands on her apron and turned toward me.

  “Yep. Early service. Drew’s picking me up in ten minutes. I think he’s really enjoying our church.” I opted for the yogurt, setting the orange back inside the fridge and closing the door. “Why?”

  “Honey, have you looked in the mirror?” Mama pursed her lips and leaned against the counter.

  “Well, of course. I just finished putting on my makeup.” Goofy question to ask a girl who’d spent the morning prepping for the day of her life.

  “Ah.” The little crinkles around Mama’s eyes deepened. “Well, I guess it’s a new trend or something. Guess I’m just getting old. Don’t know fashion when I see it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your hairdo.” Mama turned back to the stove to tend to the eggs now sizzling in the pan. “Never seen anything quite like it.”

  “My hairdo?” I made a quick dash to the hallway to have a look in the mirror. A gasp escaped as I saw my hair—completely curled and styled on one side but straight and long on the other. “What in the world?”

  Mama, you just saved my life. And my reputation.

  My mind shot back to that awful day at the Starbucks on Harborside when I’d shown up in two different shoes. Nothing like a little public humiliation to get a girl’s day started.

  But not today. Oh no.

  I raced back to the bathroom, reached for my curling iron—still turned on, of course, since I hadn’t finished using it—and whipped the left side of my head into shape. By the time I arrived back in the kitchen, my parents were seated at the dining room table eating their breakfast, and Drew had arrived. Mama gestured for him to join them, and he took a large helping of bacon and eggs.

  Drew greeted me with a whistle and wide eyes. Guess I passed his test. Thank goodness he hadn’t shown up any earlier.

  “You guys coming to church?” he asked my father.

  “Of course. We go to church every Sunday. Never miss.” My father took a bite of his eggs, then pulled the fork out and examined it. He looked my mother’s way. “Did you do something different with the eggs today?”

  “Yes.” Mama nodded. “That’s for me to know and you to find out. But speaking of doing things differently, I want to talk to you about church.”

  “Talk to me . . . about church?” he asked.

  “Yes. It’s almost the new year.”

  “Right.” He scratched his head, then sniffed the plate of eggs, his nose wrinkling.

  “Things are going to be different around here this coming year,” Mama said. “I’m a new woman, transformed. And this new year is going to reflect that.”

  My father’s face paled a bit. “O-oh? In what way?”

  “For one thing, I want to go to the eleven o’clock service at church, starting this morning.” She took a large bite of the eggs and leaned back in her chair, a satisfied look on her face.

  “The contemporary service? The one Hannah usually goes to?” My father dropped his fork and gripped the table. “Are you serious?”

  “Very.” My mother dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, then looked him in the eye as if giving him an ultimatum. “I love contemporary worship music and would like to give it a try. I know it’s not your cup of tea, but you don’t seem terribly fond of the traditional service either, so what’s the difference?”

  “Who says I don’t like the traditional service?”

  “You leave every Sunday with a scowl on your face. Maybe this new music will liven you up.”

  “Give me an ulcer, more likely. Just like these eggs.” He folded his newspaper and stared at Mama. “What in the world has gotten into you, Marie? You’ve . . . changed.”

  “Thank you for noticing. I’m long overdue.”

  “Humph.”

  “I’m a new woman, Michael. Tired of doing the same old, same old. Just because our parents and grandparents looked a certain way or spoke a certain way or ate certain foods doesn’t mean I have to. I’m me. Myself. An individual.”

  He rose and tossed his napkin on the table. “But you’re a McDermott, and we McDermotts—”

  “That’s another thing,” she interrupted. “I married into the McDermott clan. If you recall, I was born a Lockhart. We Lockharts are amiable. Fun. Unpredictable. You’ve shaped me into a McDermott—and I haven’t objected—but the Lockharts have always been more free-spirited. Unique.”

  “You’re unique, all right.” He waggled his finger. “It’s those Rossis. They’ve gotten their hooks into you. I hardly recognize you anymore.”

  “Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  My father dropped back into his seat, completely silent.

  Drew looked back and forth between my parents and then glanced at me, worry lines creasing his forehead. I shrugged, unsure of what to do or say.

  Mama grinned, then rose and gave my dad a peck on the top of his head. I looked on, wondering if my father would blow his top. Instead, he jabbed his fork into the garlic-infused eggs and swallowed a huge bite.

  Mama moved back to her chair and took a seat. “We’re going out to lunch with our Sunday school class today, by the way. They’re eating at a Chinese restaurant.”

  “Chinese?”

  “Yes. And just for the record, I’m ordering chicken chow mein,” Mama announced. “You can get whatever you like. Or not. It’s up to you, of course.”

  My father began to mumble something about how a man should be able to eat what he likes.

  “I heard that, Michael,” Mama countered. “And just so you know, we’ve got leftover stew in the fridge, so you can help yourself to it when we get home if you decide not to join the rest of us. The microwave is that funny little rectangular box in the kitchen, on the shelf to the right. Push the button on the bottom to warm the stew.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of Drew snorting. He coughed, likely in an attempt to cover it up. Still, he looked like he might burst out laughing at any point.

  To his credit, my father said nothing, but his mouth, hanging wide open in surprise, left nothing to the imagination.

  “One more thing,” Mama said. “As you know, I’m on a quest to diversify our foods.”

  “Well, I’m willing to go along with that.” He glanced down at his plate and sighed. “To a point.”

  “I might ask you to watch Rosa and Laz’s show with me sometimes,” she said. “I rec
ord it and watch when you’re at work, but I’d rather watch it together. And you might as well know . . .” She squared her shoulders. “They’ve asked me to be on their show this spring.” Mama took another nibble of her eggs.

  “W-what?” My father’s eyes widened. “You’re going to be on television?”

  “Yes. And I would be thrilled if you would be happy about that fact. In fact, I’m hoping you’ll come along and support me when I’m on the air.”

  “I—I—” He couldn’t seem to finish his sentence. Still, I could see the admiration in his eyes and could almost hear “just wait till I tell my lodge buddies” clicking through his brain.

  Mama began to hum “Too-Ra-Loo-Ra-Loo-Ral” as she breezed from the dining room into the kitchen. I could hear pots and pans clanging and banging, not in an angry way but in a happy “let’s get this show on the road” sort of way.

  “She’s very happy.” I gave my dad a pat on the shoulder.

  “Glad someone is.” He groaned and took another bite of his eggs.

  “Isn’t that the idea, though?” I asked. “You want her to be happy. Seems like she’s been pretty quiet about her feelings for years now.”

  A pensive look came over my dad. “I always thought she enjoyed our quiet, simple life. Maybe I was wrong.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe she’s just at a new stage. She is an empty nester, you know.” I paused. “Well, almost. If I ever move out.”

  My father’s brow furrowed, and his eyes filled with tears. “Tell me you won’t do that anytime soon, Shutter Speed. Don’t think my heart could take that, not with all of the other changes happening so quickly. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it or not, but I don’t handle change very well.”

  I gave him a kiss on the forehead, but I couldn’t promise that things wouldn’t change in my situation, especially with Drew and me getting sweeter on each other by the minute.

  My father took another bite of his eggs, a satisfied look on his face. A little too satisfied, actually. I daresay his expression now spoke of mischief.