Listen to Your Heart(28)

“Done.”

“And if Caleb’s there, I swear I’ll—”

“He won’t be there, Skye. He’s too busy looking for a new florist. Pansy owes me. Big time.”

I shoot her an icy glare. With a laugh, she links her arm through mine and leads me out of the office.



As wedding planners, we often get the chance to check out some beautiful locales. Majestic churches, plantation-style homes, historical landmarks, and mountain cottages are favorite spots for ceremonies. So, I’ve seen a lot of gorgeous places, but the Martinez estate—with its sprawling double staircase and European style chandeliers—really takes the cake.

“No wonder they didn’t give us a budget,” I whisper.

“That’s not the only reason,” Lynsey mutters.

The butler returns from . . . somewhere, and smiles at us.

“This way, ladies.”

To my great disappointment, he doesn’t lead us up the stairs. Instead, we follow him down a long hallway.

“We’ll need to keep this visit short,” he says softly. “Mrs. Martinez is pretty tired today. This week’s treatment was particularly rough on her.”

Treatment? I glance at Lynsey. She nods and continues looking straight ahead.

We finally stop in front of a pair of cream doors with fancy gold knobs. The butler waves us inside.

“Thank you,” Lynsey says.

We quietly step into the room.

The first thing I notice is the oxygen tank.

The second thing I notice is the woman.

She’s frail, with hollow cheeks and pale skin. A beautiful silk scarf is wrapped around her head. She appears to be sleeping, and I can’t help but think this is the worst possible time for a visit.

The butler quietly clears his throat. “Mrs. Martinez, your guests are here.”

Her eyes pop open.

“The wedding planners?”

We nod.

She smiles, and I swear it could outshine the sun.

The butler, who she calls Joaquin, helps her sit up and asks if she needs anything. Mrs. Martinez whispers something, and he helps her adjust her scarf. Lynsey and I pretend to check our phones, hoping to give her a small shred of privacy as she gets comfortable. After a few seconds, she invites us over to her bedside.

“Please make yourselves at home.”

“Mrs. Martinez,” I say softly, “we’re happy to come back—”

“Nonsense. I live for this. Have a seat, please. I understand I’m approving the invitation?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Lynsey offers her the sample invitation. Mrs. Martinez holds it reverently, trailing her frail finger along the embossed letters. Her eyes well with tears. Mine do the same.

“It’s absolutely perfect,” she whispers, wiping a stray tear off her cheek. “You have the guest list?”

I nod. “We’ll get them printed and mailed this week.”

“That’s wonderful. My Juliana is such a silly bride. Leaving town for a conference when there’s still so much to do. I’m sure you’ve noticed neither she nor Caleb are into the finer points of this wedding, but you know young couples today. They’re far too engrossed in their careers to enjoy the little things. They don’t realize that, someday, the little things are actually the most important things of all.”

It’s quite a speech, and she sags against the bed tiredly.

That’s our cue.

“Thank you, Mrs. Martinez. We’ll let you rest now.”

“No, thank you. This wedding . . . you just have no idea how much this means to me.”

My throat constricts with emotion as the butler helps her lie down. We offer to see ourselves out, and Lynsey takes my hand as we walk down the long hallway and out the front door.

The drive back to the office is a silent one, each of us lost in thought while I try to make sense of what I just witnessed. I now have even more questions than I had before, and I wouldn’t have dreamed that was possible. Clearly, Juliana’s mother is sick. To what extent she’s sick is a mystery to me, but I have a feeling her illness has something to do with the bride and groom’s complete lack of enthusiasm when it comes to this wedding.

By the time we get back to the office, I’ve made a decision.

“I’m ready.”

Lynsey nods. “I thought you might be. Call him.”

She heads inside while I gather my courage. This could be an epic mistake, but I have to know. I want to know.

With trembling fingers, I send him a text.

I’m ready to listen.



I want to meet somewhere neutral . . . a place I won’t be tempted to jump into his arms as soon as I lay eyes on him. We decide on the playground at Burger Palace—Eli’s favorite restaurant and where we ate the first day we met. Sure, it holds memories, but it’s a public place, and I’m hoping that being surrounded by a bunch of screaming kids will keep my emotions in check.

Naturally, the playground’s empty today.

I’m sitting on a bench, gazing at the playground equipment and lost in my anxiety, when I feel someone watching me. I turn around, and there he is, staring at me through the glass door. His eyes, usually so beautiful and blue, are cloudy today, mixed with sadness and just a hint of relief.

Caleb walks through the door and over to the bench.