THE WEDDING BOX – Exclusive excerpt
By Toni Blake
A sleek, shiny black sedan glides past us as we stand next to the grave, directly beside one of the twisty, winding cemetery lanes. I glance up as the car slows down about thirty yards away and eases to a stop, then I return my attention to a yellow gingham ribbon tied to a branch and in need of a little straightening.
“Oh my,” Aunt Nan croons softly.
I peek over at her, pretty sure she’s not just admiring my bow adjustment, then follow her eyes to the stopped car. Or, more precisely, to the man who just exited it. With dark hair and a chiseled jawline, he’s remarkably handsome and clearly well-groomed, but he strikes me as austere. Wearing a black business suit—as sleek as the car—I find him intimidatingly attractive, even from that distance. The only soft thing about him is the fact that he’s accompanied by a cute little Yorkie on a hot pink—decidedly not austere—leash. The cute dog looks out of place with him.
I shift my glance to Aunt Nan. “What?”
“He’s a handsome one.”
Yeah, I noticed that. But so what? “I suppose.”
“You should go talk to him.”
Lowering my chin, I flash a pointed a look in her direction. “Surely you’re kidding.”
“Not at all. He’s handsome and looks like a man who knows what he’s about.”
I’ve never before heard Aunt Nan describe anyone that way—but then the proverbial lightbulb clicks on over my head. “Oh. Oh, I get it now.” It’s about my last boyfriend. Well, maybe even the last two.
Kirby was a wannabe singer-songwriter who Aunt Nan said from the beginning had his heads in the clouds too much for a girl like me. I disagreed, because my head is sometimes in the clouds, too—but in the end she was right. I was much more settled and responsible than him, and he broke my heart by whisking off to New York to pursue his dreams, with the parting words, “You’re a cool chick and I’d ask you to come with me, but you seem real into that bakery thing, so I figure you’re stuck here.” Yeah. Not stuck. I’m an entrepreneur and business owner, thankyouverymuch.
And then came Austin, an art professor at a local university. We liked the same things and we’re both creative types. We went to museums and bookstores together, and watched art house movies. He was that guy I could sit with at opposite ends of a sofa on a rainy day, both of us reading a book but sharing the same cozy throw blanket—feeling together even while we indulged in something separate. He seemed so much more grounded than Kirby and I fell in love quick. And things were grand…until I found out my boyfriend had a girlfriend—one who wasn’t me. Which meant I wasn’t actually his girlfriend.
Crushed for the second time in a year, I decided—we all did, my whole family including Aunt Nan—that I should take a break from dating and focus on other things. And that’s what I’ve been doing for months now. Focusing on the bakery—we’ve done some adorable redecorating—and focusing on just figuring out who I am. The truth I’ve had to admit to myself is that I really just don’t like arty films that much—I just liked the idea of them. And that I probably shouldn’t hitch my star to someone who has aspirations elsewhere because I do love the business my sister and I have quickly made into a vibrant part of our community.
So all things considered, I’m a little surprised Aunt Nan is suddenly suggesting I go throw myself at a stranger. “What’s gotten into you?” I ask. “I’m choosing to be happily single right now, if you recall. A decision you were very on board with until this moment.”
She shrugs in her easy Aunt Nan way. “Time passes, things change.”
I narrow my gaze on her skeptically. This guy—though I’ve only looked at him for about a second—is not my kind of guy. He looks so corporate and well-put-together that I’m almost as intimidated by his style and serious nature as I am by his good looks. My first impression is that he’s someone who never smiles. And I have no idea why that dog has a pink leash, but I almost suspect it’s borrowed since this is not a man who picks out a pink leash.
“Things haven’t changed for me,” I told her. “I think it’s wise for me to stay out of the dating pool for a while. I was drowning there, and it’s nice not to be in the throes of heartbreak for a change.” I cast a sidelong glance at Austere Man. He stands before a grave marker, peering somberly down. The Yorkie seems less interested, pulling uselessly against the leash. “And even if I were interested in dating right now, this guy? What on earth about him says approachable to you? Because I’m getting the opposite vibe.”
She appears undaunted by my arguments. “I think you’re being quick to judge. And there’s a time for all things. A time for not dating—and a time for moving on and taking chances and being bold. Life is short.”
I just look at her. This is an entire about face. But her last words hit me, reminding me where we are and why. Maybe this is about Uncle Philip and wishing she’d had more years with him. And whatever it’s about, it’s because she wants me to find love. Which softens my stance a little. Even though I still have no intention of walking up to this man and starting a conversation.
“Even so,” I say a bit more softly, “I’m pretty sure a cemetery is the last place one should approach a person and attempt to flirt. People come here to indulge in private feelings, and they expect to be left alone to do it.”
Nonetheless, she argues. “I wouldn’t mind if someone spoke to me here. In fact, people have. People sometimes stop to admire the tree.” She takes on a gentle look of pride. Then glances again toward Austere Man. “In fact, it might just make his day. Human interaction is a wonderful thing—it brings out the best in most people.”
I say nothing. She’s wearing me out, frankly. It’s unlike her to be so pushy about something like this. As a general rule, we’re not a family of women who go out chasing men. If any one of us has ever been a man chaser, it’s me—so if I think this seems like a bad idea, then it’s a bad idea. “This is a bad idea,” I tell her.
“No, it’s a lovely idea. Just a simple hello.”
“And then what? What on earth is it you think I should say to him? While he’s standing next to the grave of someone he loved, no less.”
“Ask him what kind of dog that is.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s a Yorkie.”
She sighs, as if I’m slow on the uptake. “You know it’s a Yorkie and I know it’s a Yorkie, but he doesn’t know we know it’s a Yorkie. Blame me. Tell him your aunt wants to know.” Then she makes a shooing motion at me, like I’m a fly on her picnic food. “Go on,” she says. Then she smiles. “Just do it. It’ll be fun.”
I’m actually taking a few steps backward in his general direction, from the shooing, even as I flash looks of doubt and contempt. But I’m not sure if the doubt and contempt are for her or for me, since for some reason I seem to be moving toward him.
Her smile widens, and she’s nodding at what she sees as her success. “There now—keep going.” She’s lowered her voice, though, so he won’t hear.
I turn to walk his way, one thought in my head. Am I really doing this? But then I see that he’s left the graveside to head back toward his car.
I spin toward Aunt Nan. “He’s leaving,” I say in a loud whisper.
“Then you’d better hurry,” she loud-whispers back.
Another eye roll from me. Again, at myself as much as her, for being manipulated into such madness for no other reason than thinking it’s sweet that she wants me to find romance.
I begin walking faster now, trudging up the slight incline that lies between Austere Man and me, because if I’m doing this, I have to do it—and once he sees me coming, the space between us only grows more awkward while I’m getting there.
He opens the passenger door and seems to be fiddling with the dog’s leash before putting her back in the car. Although he hasn’t looked up, I assume he’s aware of me as I get closer and closer. Yet an acknowledgement of some kind would be nice—so that I don’t feel as totally silly as I’m beginning to.
None comes, though, and then there I am, nearly at the back bumper of his car. So I say, “Hi. My aunt was wondering—”
He flinches, because I’ve clearly caught him completely off guard—and two horrible things happen simultaneously: He spins around, bringing an expensive-looking shoe down into a ridiculously-deep mud puddle, and the dog, now undone from the leash, darts.
“Bella!” he calls after the dog. “Bella, come back here!” And as he prepares to give chase, he steps completely out of his shoe, which remains in the mud.
So I give chase. I take off and chase that dog with fear and dread and passion in my heart. Because it’s my fault she’s loose, and if she gets lost and can’t find her way back, it’s on me. This guy was just minding his own business, visiting the cemetery with his Yorkie, and I’ve come along and created chaos.
The chase also comes with the need to escape him.
And that shoe in the mud.
And the look of bewilderment on his perfect face.
And the entire mess I’ve somehow created with a mere half-sentence.
I’m running—trundling really—awkwardly over hill and dale, catching glimpses of Bella bounding between one tombstone and next, behind bushes and into brush. Why did we have to bury Uncle Philip at such a foliage-rich cemetery? I occasionally slip or slide on wet grass, but I keep going. One time I fall—and I catch sight of a grass stain on my jeans, but still I persist. “Bella—here, Bella,” I call gently.
I have no idea if Austere Man has followed or if he’s still dealing with the shoe issue—dear God, I’ve single-handedly lost his dog and ruined his shoes—and I’m actually hoping for the latter. Maybe she’d be more likely to come to him, but I feel like a dolt and now prefer to stay as far away from him as possible.
Pretty soon, I realize that Bella thinks we’re playing—she repeatedly lets me get within a few yards of her and then takes off again. Then at other times she disappears entirely, scaring me to death, making me think she’s gone, that I’ve let the serious man’s dog get away, that she’ll be frightened and alone and lost and I’ll never get a good night’s sleep again.
“Bella, pleeeease,” I beg this dog I don’t even know. “Please let me catch you. Please let me return you to your owner guy.” She’s only a few feet away, and I approach her ever-so-gingerly, her leash just within my reach—yet there she goes, off to the races again.
When I lose sight of her completely, I find myself running this way and that, at a loss, near tears. I can’t lose this dog. I just can’t. I have to find her.
That’s when I catch a glimpse of her galloping full speed away from me across a stretch of cemetery toward…Austere Man. She and I have made a big circle somehow and I now hear him cooing, “Here, girl. Yes, there you are—there you are. Good girl. What a good girl.” He stoops down so the dog can leap into his arms, and of course she’s wet and muddy now and so his expensive-looking suit and tie are wet and muddy now, too. Then I notice he’s still one-shoed. But the main thing I’m aware of—besides my ongoing horror and humiliation—is the cute, affectionate voice he’s using with her. “Such a good girl. A wet girl, but a good girl. You gave me a scare there.” He’s petting and hugging and nuzzling her. It’s wildly endearing and my heart swells. He’s seeming less austere all the time.
Which kind of sucks for me. Since I’m pretty sure I’m not his dream girl. Especially as I come trudging toward the car breathless, dirt on my hands and jeans, and I catch a glimpse of grass stain streaked across the once-cute T-shirt I’m wearing, pale yellow and emblazoned with a daisy design. My hair was up in a fun, messy bun when this started and now most of it is blowing haphazardly in my face and probably every other direction as well.
“I’m so sorry,” I say. I’m past the hope of making any reasonable impression on him—I just need to express my sincere apology. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. Or scare your dog away. Or make you step in mud.” I sigh, then lower my eyes. It’s a lot.
“I’m just glad you found her.”
Okay, I wouldn’t exactly say I found her—I would say I’m lucky she ran in a big circle. And it’s not exactly forgiveness or absolution. But I’ll take it. Even though he sounds slightly stiffer talking to me than to the dog.
“She’s really cute,” I remark. It’s all I got. “And a fast runner.” I’m going for a joke there—but it doesn’t land; no smile. Guess I was right—he’s not a guy who smiles.
“She belongs to my girlfriend. She would have killed me if I’d lost her.”
Ah, okay. But not a big surprise at this point. Just a little more bitter icing on a rotten cake. “I’m sure.” I think I’ll change the subject. But it doesn’t help much since all the subjects we have between us are unpleasant ones. “Um, about your shoe.” It’s out of the mud now, but covered in brown slime. “Can I…reimburse you?”
He shakes his head. “Oh—no. That was my fault. You didn’t put the mud there.” What I hear is: The rest of it was your doing, but not the mud.
I feel beyond awkward and suspect I’m making weird faces and odd gestures as I say in a fumbling way, “Is there…anything I can…do? To help? Again, I’m so sorry.”
He shakes his head. Still no smile, but he replies, “Nothing to be sorry for. I should have been more aware.” Again, no blame—he’s a gentleman. Just not a happy, smiling one. But I can’t fault him. He’s had a fright over the dog and ruined a probably pricy pair of shoes. He’ll have to drive wearing only a sock on his gas pedal foot. And that suit will need to go straight to the cleaners.
“I hope you weren’t heading anywhere important.” I bite my lip, praying for that—because I’ve already messed up enough for him.
He shakes his head as he loads Bella into the car again, quickly shutting the door behind her this time. “No—just on my way home from work. Picked the dog up from the groomer’s and thought I’d make a quick stop at the cemetery.”
Oh, even better news—Bella just came from the groomer’s. Now that I think about it, she might have been sporting a little bright pink bow on her head when this started, but I’m pretty sure it’s gone now. He’s limping around the car toward the driver’s side, shoe in hand, as I offer up, “Well, I hope your evening gets better from here.”
“Couldn’t get much worse,” he mumbles—then pauses before opening the door. “Um, what were you saying about…your aunt or something—when the dog bolted?”
“Oh.” That seems so long ago. I point vaguely toward where Aunt Nan is still standing, after all this, next to Uncle Philip’s grave and say, “She was wondering what kind of dog Bella is.”
“A Yorkie,” he replies.
“I thought so,” I tell him with a weak attempt at a smile.
“Take care,” he says—in that quick I’m off sort of way, and then he’s behind the wheel, door slamming, driving into the distance. The lanes in the cemetery circle around so that he doesn’t have to drive back past me—which I’ll consider a small blessing.
I’m a little shellshocked as I make my way back toward Aunt Nan. It started out as such a normal afternoon. “Well,” I announce as I get nearer, “being bold really went well, didn’t it?”
She’s biting her lip, and I spy some combination of guilt and amusement in her expression. “Cheer up,” she tells me. “We had an extra little adventure today. And you have a funny story to tell Hannah at the bakery tomorrow.”
“Oh yeah—hilarious,” I say dryly. “And thank you for running to my aid, by the way.”
“What could I do?” she says with a shrug. “I’m an old lady.”
I roll my eyes.
“Come here—there’s a twig in your hair,” she says, reaching to pull it out.
“Of course there is,” I mumble. “Why would I expect any less?”
“Any sparks?” she asks.
And at this, I crack up laughing. Because it’s truly the funniest thing I’ve heard all day. And I suppose I need the release at this point. “I’m not sure he’s the twigs-in-hair, grass-stains-on-clothes type. Oh, and he has a girlfriend, by the way.” It hits me then that I was right—he hadn’t picked out a pink leash.
Aunt Nan gives yet another shrug. “It was worth a try. Ya win some, ya lose some. Que sera sera.”
Easy for her to say. Because somehow what stays with me is how sweet he was with the dog when she finally came back to him. And how sweet he wasn’t with me—again, not that I can blame him. And that I envy his girlfriend a little. Because he’s probably sweet to her. Which is exactly the sort of feeling I didn’t have before Aunt Nan practically shoved me up that hill. Which is why I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to know he could be anything I want if I can’t have him. And he was so devastatingly handsome. Even more than I’d realized from a distance. Another thing I wish I hadn’t noticed.
None of it matters. He isn’t my type. And he’s taken anyway. And I’ll never see him again. I just hope he doesn’t stay on my mind. Because sometimes it’s that simple—one little encounter stays on your mind and makes you think you want something you don’t have.
Copyrighted by Toni Blake, Oliver-Heber Books, 2024. Shared with permission from the publisher.
THE WEDDING BOX by Toni Blake
A feel-good story about marriage, making up, and miracles
MARRIAGE
Not even a bridal-veil-stealing dog can ruin Haley and Ben’s wedding day. And when Haley’s beloved Aunt Nan gives them a gift that’s not to be opened “until your first big disagreement,” Haley is sure the box will sit gathering dust for a lifetime. After all, she and Ben are the perfect couple. Aren’t they?
MAKING UP
But life comes with stresses. Architect Ben’s career dreams are rooted in losses from his past, while bakery owner Haley has her own firmly-set – and conflicting – plans for how to get to a happy future. Each time they decide to open the gift, though, something stops them, pushing them to solve the issue themselves, and before long, the mysterious box takes on almost mythic proportions. They can’t imagine what’s inside that could fix every marital woe, but they want to save it as long as possible.
MIRACLES
What happens when a problem comes along that can’t be solved and no gift could ever fix? This one might just take believing in miracles.
Romance Contemporary | Women’s Fiction [Oliver-Heber Books, On Sale: April 9, 2024, e-Book, ISBN: 9781648395550 / ]
THE WEDDING BOX offers something different for her readers.
Buy THE WEDDING BOX: Kindle | BN.com | Amazon CA | Amazon UK | Amazon DE | Amazon FR
About Toni Blake
Toni Blake’s love of writing began when she won an essay contest in the fifth grade. Soon after, she penned her first novel, nineteen notebook-pages long, and announced to her mother over breakfast one day that she was going to be a writer when she grew up. Since then, Toni has become the author of more than a dozen contemporary romance novels. Her work has been excerpted in Cosmo, she’s been a recipient of the Kentucky Women Writers Fellowship and a nominee for the prestigious Pushcart Prize, and she’s also had more than forty short stories and articles published. Toni lives in the Midwest and enjoys traveling, genealogy, crafts, and snow skiing.
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