would be a great space for a reception, and the administrators have recently opened up the pergola-covered patio at the back of the property for rentals. It’s not directly on the beach, but you do get the horizon in the distance. The nice blue of the ocean. Can’t you picture it? All of us in the middle of those large live oaks?”
Ginger nodded. She could picture it. She’d certainly seen enough weddings over the last year and a half for the idea to form easily. “It sounds beautiful. Did you call Kayla about it yet?”
It was a given that Seaglass Celebrations would coordinate the wedding, since Andie was part owner of the company. Andie’s mother owned the other half and ran the business with Kayla.
Excitement suddenly coursed through Ginger at the realization that Roni and Andie would both come in for the wedding. She would get to see her friends. The idea came like a cool breeze, and she slumped in her chair in relief, leaning into Patrick—who was still close at her side.
“Calling Kayla is on my list for tomorrow.” Her mother smiled secretly at Clint. “Today was spent . . . celebrating.”
Ginger gulped more wine. She didn’t need to know about her mother’s celebrating. She’d overheard too much of it during the last six months.
“So,” her mother continued, turning to Ginger and reaching for her hand. Soft light from flickering candles throughout the dining room gave her mother’s skin a warm glow, and Ginger couldn’t help but think that being engaged made her look ten years younger. “Assuming we can get the senior center”—her mother paused dramatically—“will you be my maid of honor?”
Her mother looked so happy. And Ginger’s heart pinched tight.
“Yes.” She nodded enthusiastically. “Of course.” She smiled so hard she just knew she’d get called out for being a fraud. Her envy shamed her.
Dinner finished with continued discussion about wedding plans, and Ginger found her wine topped off several additional times. She didn’t protest. It wasn’t every night she was treated to the best restaurant in town, with a good-looking man at her side.
“So, I’ll see you in the morning,” her mother said, and Ginger realized that everyone had stood from the table but her. Geez, maybe she’d had a little too much to drink.
She looked up at her mom.
“I’m staying over at Clint’s,” her mother explained. She stood, hand-in-hand with her fiancé, his size dwarfing her five-foot-two frame. Then she looked straight at Patrick—as if making sure he understood that Ginger would have the house to herself tonight—and Ginger did a full-body blush. “You’ll see her home?” her mother asked.
“I—” Ginger tried to suggest a cab, but Patrick cut her off. “My pleasure, Ms. Atkinson.”
Excitement warred with embarrassment as he held out a hand, and as Ginger rose, the room spun. Which was no good. She couldn’t go home alone with Patrick if she was drunk. He was cute, charming, and he’d been nothing but a gentleman all night. He hit all her qualifications.
Except now she was too inebriated to think straight.
“Mom,” she murmured, but her mother either didn’t hear her, or chose not to.
“You ready?” Patrick asked.
Ginger gulped. “Yep.”
All that kept running through her head was that it had been two years since she’d been with a man. Two years, and that length of time had not been fully due to lack of opportunity. She wasn’t one to sleep around.
Yet in her current state, she feared she’d have her pants off and be entertaining offers in no time.
“Thanks again for dinner,” Patrick said to her mom, then reached around her and shook Clint’s hand. “And congratulations on the engagement. I look forward to attending the wedding.”
A mixture of fear and anticipation coursed through Ginger as Patrick led her to his car, and five minutes later he was walking her to her front door. The night air had cleared her head, but only a little. She
Learning to Kill: Stories