Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 59489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
“A lot of that has to do with his ranch,” I said, bragging on him a little. “Camden’s business ventures have been very lucrative and are drawing people to this area.”
Camden shrugged. “I think my impact is less important than say, the Brewer’s rebuilt store or Graham running his baseball camp, but yeah, I suppose we’ve had some effect on revitalizing the town.”
Mom smiled at me and patted my leg.
“A modest man,” she said. “Reminds me of your father.”
I felt a warm rush of nostalgia run over me, and tears stung the corners of my eyes. I missed my father terribly. He had passed away in the line of duty as a state trooper when I was only fourteen. He’d missed so many things that he often talked about doing one day with me and walking me down the aisle was one I knew he would have wanted.
I wiped the tears away as we pulled into the restaurant and Camden got out to open our doors. Helping us both out of the truck, he then walked ahead and held open the door. It was the little things that I often took for granted that seemed to impress Mom. He wasn’t doing them for show; it was just how men acted down here. But to Mom, it was flashes of a bygone era and a time she missed with my father.
The dinner was spectacular, and Mom had a couple more glasses of wine than usual in celebration.
When we got Mom back in the truck and headed back to the bed and breakfast, she asked if I could stay with her for a little bit while she settled in.
“Go ahead,” Camden said, kissing my cheek. “Allison should have some extra pajamas and stuff she sells in the shop. Get what you need. I’ll pay them tomorrow. Stay with your mom.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
He looked over my shoulder and smiled at Mom, who was sitting on the edge of her bed.
“Yeah,” he said. “You two deserve some time. I’ll pick you up tomorrow when we go for lunch.”
“Thank you,” I said, reaching up on my toes to kiss him.
“I love you,” he said. “Nice to finally meet you in person, Mrs. Moyer.”
“Thank you, Camden,” she said. “Lovely to finally meet you too. And thank you for letting me borrow my daughter tonight.”
“Of course,” he said, grinning. “Good night.”
As he drove away, I watched him from the window until the taillights faded and then turned to Mom, who had pulled out a crochet bag from her luggage and was working on something pretty and pink.
“Oh,” she said, seemingly like she suddenly remembered something and put down her crocheting. “I almost forgot. Here, hold this so I don’t lose my place.”
She handed me the complicated ball of yarn, hook, and half-finished piece as she got up and went to her closet. She had hung a few things up in there, including something in a long dress-bag, and when she pulled it out, I instantly recognized it. She laid it on the bed and unzipped it, revealing the wedding dress I had seen several times during my childhood hung prominently in her closet. She often would remark about how she could still fit in it.
“You brought your wedding dress?” I asked.
She nodded, a slight smile on her face as she ran her fingers over the fabric. I could see how much she missed Dad in that gesture. In the years since I became an adult, she tried not to talk about him too much, especially after meeting Harold. But now that both of them were gone, I felt like she was finally letting herself miss him.
“I did,” she said. “I thought that you could incorporate it into your wedding dress. See this part right here?” She pointed to a section around the hips that glimmered in the lamplight. “These were from your grandmother and your great grandmother’s dresses. And these”—she pointed to a row of pearls that ran down the arms— “were from your great-great grandmother. You can use as little or as much as you like, but you should have the choice. Just like I had.”
“Oh, Mama,” I said, tears streaming down my face as the emotion of the moment hit me. I wrapped her up in a tight hug and we cried together, a mixture of sadness and happiness, joy and longing.
“You know,” she said, pulling herself away and crossing over to the little liquor cabinet in the corner of the room, “I said before how Camden reminds me of your father. I meant that. He reminds me of Al when he was young.” She opened the cabinet and brought out a tiny bottle of wine, opening it up and pouring it out into two glasses. She handed me one, and we clinked them together. “I figured if there was ever a time to live it up, it’s now.”