Love, Michael: A second chance romance Read online

  Love, Michael

  A story of regrets and second chances

  Gina A. Jones

  Copyright © 2019 by Gina A. Jones

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For my past. Thank you for making me who I am today.

  "But love is blind, and lovers cannot see what petty follies they themselves commit"

  William Shakespeare

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  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Now

  2. Then

  3. Now

  4. Then

  5. Now

  6. Then

  7. Now

  8. Then

  9. Now

  10. Then

  11. Now

  12. Then

  13. Now

  14. Then

  15. Now

  16. Then

  17. Now

  18. Then

  19. Now

  20. Then

  21. Now

  22. Then

  23. Now

  24. Then

  25. Now

  26. Then

  27. Now

  28. Then

  29. Now

  30. Then

  31. Now

  32. Then

  33. Now

  34. Then

  35. Now

  36. Then

  37. Now

  38. Then

  39. Now

  40. Then

  41. Now

  42. Then

  43. Now

  44. Then

  45. Now

  46. Then: Michael

  47. Now

  48. After

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Jill & Tammy’s Chicken Cacciatore

  The Playlist

  Also by Gina A. Jones

  Prologue

  After

  As she pulls something from her purse, my hands begin to tremble as I pick up my coffee. Through the tremors, coffee splashes over the rim and the hot liquid burns my fingers. But my apprehensiveness stops me for reaching for a napkin, and I begin with slow sips.

  She hands me the envelope, and I freeze when I see the name scribbled across the paper—my name. "I think you should read what is in this letter," she says.

  Setting the cup down, I wipe my hands on my jeans and reach for the envelope. My heart races and I slowly tear open the seal and pull out a letter.

  Dear Jill……

  Now

  I swing the veil and watch as it slowly floats down over my daughter's perfectly styled French twist. It falls in slow motion, and the years flash through my mind like old family films. The positive pregnancy test that changed our whole life. The ultra-sound that looked more like an alien than a baby—telling us she was a girl. Although, I couldn't see a thing. They've become so advanced, and now, they are big events. The big gender reveal parties, involving Mom and Dad with bouncy houses and ice cream machines.

  The day she was born, I couldn't believe she was real—and mine. Her first birthday party—cake all over her face. What was supposed to be a special day…well, it wasn't. But I made sure to make it special for her.

  Her first day of school. I think that's when she learned about divorce. I picked her up from school, and she wanted to enlighten me that some moms and dads live together. It was at that moment I realized she never remembered her father and I ever being married. And I don't know if that's a good thing or bad. Probably good.

  Her first crush—Davy Wells, the boy who lived across the street. Summers grew from playmates holding hands, to kissing in the dugout during travel league. I thought he was the one until we stayed up all night eating ice cream and using up an entire box of Kleenex as she cried reliving the horrid scene—catching Davy with Rachel Matthews in bed at a party.

  My chin quivered uncontrollably at her high school graduation. Although I hated the fact she was leaving for college in a few short months, I was so proud of her and me—we made it. Alone.

  My voice chokes as my throat tightens. "Monica, you are such a beautiful bride."

  "Oh Mom, don't start." Through the veil, I can see her eyes welling up. "There's no time to reapply my makeup." I pull the sheer veil over her head and touch her cheek. Her eyes bat rapidly as she looks upward, forcing the tears to dry up.

  "I'm sorry. You know I can't help it. That's what a mother is supposed to do—cry at every event in your life." We laugh out the tears and reach for the Kleenex box. Cautiously, she dabs under her lashes and then turns to admire her bridal reflection.

  "I just wish you would've had a wedding dress Mom, so I could wear it today."

  It's times like this when I feel guilty for how things ended up. "I know, but...we just didn't have a wedding."

  "But, do you ever wish you had? Didn't you have those dreams of planning your wedding when you were a little girl?"

  That look she is giving me drains my whole existence. Of course, I wanted that. The white dress, the music, the doves, the first dance as man and wife. To have someone look at me with tears in their eyes as I walked down the aisle to become his wife, thinking how beautiful I looked. I wanted all of that. "Yes, honey, of course, I did. But…we didn't plan things very well, and now it doesn't matter, because I get to experience it with the person, I love more than anything in this world. This, is what makes me happy, Monica." I straighten her veil, standing behind her as we look at each other in the mirror.

  "You look beautiful, Mom. I think you're going to steal my day." We laugh, and I give her a wink.

  "I'll let you have a little thunder."

  "I love you, Mom."

  I wrap my arms around her from behind and take her in a long hug. This will be the last day of only her and me. It hurts, but it feels so good for her to have this. A man who loves her to death. A man who stood in the rain, begging her to talk to him after he drove two-hundred miles after a fight one night on the phone. A man who tells her what his babies will look like with such a beautiful mother. A man who will stand with tears in his eyes, as she walks down the aisle to become his wife. "I love you so much, Monica."

  The door opens and Chelsea, her bride's maid, pops in her head. "Hey, I think the photographer is ready to get pictures of all of us brides' maids."

  "Okay. Just give me a minute with my mom."

  "Sure, no problem. Jill, you look smokin’ hot. Just a warning, my Dad is going to be all over this," she says, running her finger up and down in my direction. She smiles and then shuts the door. Chelsea's dad has been begging for a date—and it doesn't help that Monica gave him my number.

  "Mom, are you sure it doesn't bother you that...Dad is here? I never expected him even want to come…let alone…"

  "Yes, it shocks me too. No, honey, it doesn't bother me. It's what you wanted, and I'm just happy he has…for once is thinking of someone other than himself."

  "It's strange, you know—having a man walk me down the aisle of whom I haven't seen since I was three. Are you sure you don't want to walk me down aisle? It's always just been you and me, Mom. Please don't think that he will ever take your place."

  "Oh, honey, don't think that. This is what every daughter should have—her father giving her away on her wedding day. It's perfect—exactly how I
always wanted it to be for you."

  "Because…you didn't have a wedding?"

  "No, because you deserve it, baby. And besides, he could never take my place." I smile and kiss her cheek.

  She looks to me and then to her reflection in the mirror. She presses her lips and gives me a sweet smile. "No one will ever take your place, Mom."

  "You look perfect. Now, let's go take those pictures," I say, and lead her by the hand.

  Monica wanted a rustic wedding, and so six months ago, we found this beautiful historic round barn, which leased out for weddings—for a hefty price. It’s late spring—end of June, and trees are bursting with luscious green leaves. Cherry trees are exploding with white blossoms, and the winding creek is fully cresting its boundaries. It's a gorgeous sunny afternoon, and all the bridesmaids are polished to perfection.

  The photographer poses the girls around the cherry blossom trees and snaps several pictures. Next, we move to a bench that is set along the creek's edge, and he poses the bride on the court with the bridesmaids behind. Monica then insists on several of just her and me. Her smile is indeed genuine, and I couldn't be happier for her. I just wonder how that smile would look when it's time for her to pose with her father. A stranger.

  A few sillier poses and sentimental ones. Then comes the big moment—her father walking her down the aisle. Will anyone even know who he is?

  We rush back inside, careful not to let the groom spot his bride. As I walk past the reception hall, I stop. Waiters and servers work like busy little bees, setting white linen tables into stellar perfection. I gasp at the array of silver buffets and floral arrangements on each table. One would think this is an affair for royalty. My insides ache with happiness, just to think this is all for my daughter. I swallow the lump in my throat and make my way back to the bridesmaid's area.

  "Did you think he saw me?" Monica squeals from giddiness. “I'm so happy for her to have this moment—this day in her life. She deserves all of it.”

  "No, he didn't see you, Monica," Chelsea says, arranging her veil and straightening out the long train of her dress.

  "Mom, did you like the poses? How'd they look?" She indeed is beside herself.

  "I loved them, Monica. I know I'm going to want each one." I smile and help Chelsea with her dress.

  A knock on the door startles Monica. "Oh God, oh God, oh God," she says, her hands fanning her face. "Something's wrong. He didn't show up. Oh, God. Mom, how could he do this to me?"

  "Monica, calm down. Jordan would never leave you at the altar. He's crazy for you."

  "Not him, Mom." Her eyes fill with panic, and I realize the dread of abandonment is behind that look.

  Chelsea cracks open the door. "It's just the photographer."

  "Your father has requested pictures with you and your mother," she says. My head swings around, thinking I didn't hear correctly.

  "What? Are you sure…that's what he has requested?" I ask. I thought for sure that Michael would be bringing a…date, or whatever he calls them these days.

  "Yes, ma'am. Are you Jill?"

  "Yes."

  "Then I need you and the bride to come with me."

  I squint my eyes in Monica's direction as she shrugs her shoulders. Why would he want me in his pictures? My god, it's been over twenty years since we've seen each other. And now, I'm suddenly assessing my looks. Why would I care? I'm sure that with his lifestyle, he's aged horribly: late night parties, closing down the bars. I shake my head and inwardly yell at myself. This is Monica's day—not yours, Jill.

  We follow the photographer out onto the lawn, where she assures us that the groom and the groomsmen are all back inside. As she leads us across the garden, I see a man standing with his back to us between the cherry trees. Michael? When we are a few feet away, he turns around. I was wrong. He's still just as handsome as the day he left us. He's a little thinner than I would expect, and his hair has just the right amount of grey at the temples to give him that distinguished look. And, he still has that perfectly square jaw I so remember.

  "Jill," Michael says, reaching for my hand.

  I hesitate, feeling awkward. Is this a joke? Is there going to be some bimbo half his age calling out his name the minute I take his hand? Even though I'm ten years younger his junior at thirty-nine. Yes, that's what this is all about. He wants to rub in my face how he's still got it, dating women half his age.

  "Wow. You haven't aged a bit. You are just as beautiful, Jill."

  Me? Is he talking to me? "Ah…thank you, Michael. That suit wears you well." That suit wears you well? What the hell? "I mean…you look nice, too." I take his hand, with the expectancy of a firm handshake, sealing a business deal, and freeze when his lips gently press a kiss on the top of my hand. Desperately I try to look past his deep, blue eyes that are looking up at me through his lashes. It's a look I do not recognize—not from him, that is. It's…sincere. And… a bit of something else I can't put my finger on. I slowly pull my hand back and begin fussing with Monica's veil. "Doesn't Monica make a beautiful bride?" I say, bringing the attention to where it should be. Monica's smile is almost devious.

  "Yes, she is a gorgeous bride," Michael says, his eyes slowly moving from me to his daughter.

  "So, you want some pictures of…the three of us? Or…"

  "Please," he says. "Yes, I thought…" He trails off, and we both know why. He takes my hand and pulls the three of us together. "Whatever you think is best. I want lots of pictures," he says to the photographer.

  Lots? Well, he is the one paying for them. And that's another topic.

  The photographer poses us in several positions, and I only hope I don't look stiff, or bogus for Monica's sake. After ten or so snaps of the three of us, Michael suggests some of only he and I. Again, I look stunned, but try not to overly show it, and suggest they would be nice for Monica. However, when Michael wraps me in his arms, I know the look on my face only shows confusion and so I purposely not look at the camera. I hear the camera click several times, all while I look past Michael, over to the creek, and when I stare down the front of his chest, he kisses my forehead just as the shutter flashes.

  "Perfect," the photographer says. "It's like you never knew I was here. I think you're going to love these pictures."

  What? I thought she was just messing with her camera. We never posed. "Are you sure? I mean…I was waiting for direction from you."

  "Do you want me to take some more?"

  "Oh no, it's fine. It's best I was not looking at the camera anyway," I laugh under my breath. Lord knows what my expression must have looked like. Michael's arms are still wrapped around my waist, and I look up into his eyes and see that unrecognizable expression again. What's that look all about?

  "I better go check on Monica. She's a nervous wreck—although, everything is smoothly coming together." I say, breaking from his hold. He smiles and tucks his hands in the pockets of his trousers.

  "I'm glad. I want everything to be perfect for her…and you, Jill."

  I swallow and fight back wanting to ask him the big question—the thirty grand he has dropped on this wedding. Monica only reached out on Facebook, of which I'm surprised he was on as a dating site I'm sure and asked if he would come to the wedding. Next thing I knew, he told her the sky was the limit. He also is paying for their honeymoon in Paris.

  "Michael, thank you so much for making Monica's dream come true. And I don't mean all the money you have spent. I mean…yes, that is amazing too. But, just being here for her on this day. Well, it means the world to her."

  His blue eyes soften, and he blinks a few times. Are those tears he's fighting back? "It means the world to me too, Jill. You don't know how much."

  I find it hard to break from his sincere gaze. And so, I nod and smile politely at him and turn to walk back inside. I'm about to open the door and turn to look back at Michael. He is turned with his back to me and seems to be pondering over the beautiful countryside. I watch him walk to the creek and bend down to gather water
in his hand. He lifts his hand and then watches as it spills back into the stream. He turns and spots me watching him and smiles. I quickly turn my head and rush inside and smack right into Chelsea’s recently divorced father.

  "Hey, Jill," he says, grabbing me lightly by the arm. "Looks like you got the wedding jitters."

  "Ah, just a little," I laugh, pulling my arm from his embrace. "I need to go find Monica." I break from his hold and rush down the hall.

  "Better save me a dance," I hear him holler. I roll my eyes and make my way back to the bridesmaid's room. Opening the door, I then shut it and lean against the cool wood.

  "Mom, are you okay?" She walks over and looks at me with concern.

  "Oh, yes, honey. I'm fine." Her eyes scan my face, searching for whatever has come over me, but I don't want anything to take away from her day. "Hey, it's just about time," I say and take her in my arms. "You're going to be a married woman soon."

  Another knock on the door and I hear Michael’s voice. "Monica," he says, and I slowly open the door. His eyes shine as he looks at his daughter. I've never seen that look either. He holds out his elbow, and she graciously takes it. "I know we have a few minutes, but may I have a moment alone with you as just my daughter, before you're someone's wife?"