Listen to Your Heart(44)

“He practically knocked me down to get in here,” Lynsey whispers as she sits down next to me.

I lean close to her ear. “Who is he?”

“Deacon Reese. Works for National Geographic. He’s thinking of freelancing, and we’re always looking for photographers. I told him to drop by and leave his book.”

“Shooting a wedding’s a little different than shooting the Australian outback.”

“I know, but he says he’s ready for something different, and his online portfolio looks incredible. He’s originally from Nashville.” Lynsey nods toward the two of them. “It seems he and Juliana met at that photographer’s conference she went to last month. It also seems like they really hit it off.”

It would seem so. His arms are still wrapped around her.

Deacon tells Juliana all about shooting Big Ben and Buckingham Palace while Lynsey and I sit at the table like a couple of eavesdropping idiots. It seems rude to just walk out.

Not that they’d notice.

“Maybe we should let him shoot Juliana’s wedding,” Lynsey murmurs. “Better yet, let him be the groom.”

I kick her under the table. Call it a hunch, but I have a feeling Deacon has no clue that the woman in his arms is engaged.

We watch them with fascination until they finally remember we’re in the room.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Juliana’s face flushes with embarrassment. “Skye, have you met Deacon?”

With a smile, I stand up and offer him my hand. “Not officially, no. It’s nice to meet you, Deacon. I look forward to seeing your work.”

“I appreciate you taking the time. I know a nature photographer is probably the last person you’d expect to be interested in weddings. I’m just . . . needing a change of scenery, so to speak. Plus, my parents are getting older, and I’ve been on the road a lot the past couple years. I’d like to work closer to home, and I thought freelancing might offer some new opportunities.”

Lynsey smiles. “We’re always looking for photographers, especially local ones. We can’t wait to see your book.”

“Thank you.” Deacon offers her his leather portfolio and his business card before turning his attention back to Juliana. “Are you dropping off some samples, too?”

Juliana nervously glances my way.

“We were actually just wrapping up when you walked in.” I smile at Juliana and offer her my hand. “Thanks for stopping by. Please expect to hear from us soon.”

Juliana clears her throat and plays along. She takes my hand in hers and gives it a squeeze. “Thank you, Skye. I look forward to it.”

Deacon and Juliana walk out together, and somehow, Lynsey and I make it until they’re out in the parking lot before we start giggling like teenage girls. When all you’ve done is cry for the past month, laughter really is the best medicine.

Lynsey wipes her eyes. “It’s official. Your life is a soap opera.”

I can’t deny it. It’s like our hearts are part of a gigantic puzzle and none of us know how to make the pieces fit. It’s obvious how they should fit, but making them correspond is driving us all to the brink of madness. Deacon Reese is the newest puzzle piece, and the poor guy has no idea.

When our laughter finally subsides, Lynsey notices the book of fabric swatches.

“Black, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Black can be elegant. Mrs. Martinez is right about that.”

I nod.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

With a heavy sigh, I turn to my best friend.

“We thought we had it all figured out. Juliana and Caleb told her the truth. Caleb said Mrs. Martinez was understanding and forgiving. A few hours later, she fainted. When she woke up, she had no memory of the conversation. I was standing by her bedside at the hospital, and she was talking to me about black bridesmaid dresses. It was so strange, Lyns. She even remembered the caterer’s name.”

Lynsey narrows her eyes. “The caterer we picked two months ago?”

I nod. “She even remembered the cucumber sandwiches she had for lunch that afternoon.”

“But she couldn’t recall the fact that her daughter’s wedding is a hoax?”

I shake my head.

“That’s . . . convenient, don’t you think?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on, Skye. I can’t even remember who we chose for a caterer. This woman remembered his name and the cucumber sandwiches she ate for lunch, but she has no memory of her daughter telling her the wedding’s off? Give me a break.”

“You weren’t there, Lynsey. You didn’t see the look on her face . . . the happiness that shined in her lifeless eyes when she started talking about this wedding.”

“I’m sure it was something to behold. I think Mrs. Martinez is quite the actress.”

“Stop it.”

Shaking my head, I gather my notes and head straight to my office. Lynsey follows me and plops down on my couch.

“We need to talk about this, Skye.”

“No, Lynsey. I am not going to talk to you about this anymore. That sweet woman is dying. Do you get that? She’s dying.”

“I do get that, and I’m sorry she’s sick. I’m just not sure how sweet she really is.”