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  Fiona walked over to the bed and all the bridal flotsam and jetsam strewn about, opened her mouth to launch into her ill-prepared speech, then shut it again, and opted to sit down. This had to be sister-to-sister, not party-planner-to-bride. She glanced at Alex, hoping for a last-minute compatriot, but she had the same damn glow Hannah did. Oh boy. “So,” she began, ever-so-thoughtfully, “I’ve been thinking.”

  Hannah’s smooth, elegant features immediately fell. “Oh no, what?”

  Fiona’s eyes widened. “Why oh no? I haven’t even said anything yet.”

  “Because your old room is right across the hall from this one. I know you. And I grew up knowing that face. That’s not an ‘ooh, I have an idea, let’s put on a show!’ face. That’s your ‘so, you’re not going to want to hear this, but’ face.”

  “Did you just call me butt face?” Fiona said in mock affront, half hoping the lame joke would rescue what felt like an already failed mission. Alex laughed along. Hannah did not.

  Hannah made a beckoning gesture with her fingers. “Come on, hit me with it. What’s wrong with the wedding ideas I told you about? Too stiff? Formal? Because I don’t think elegance and formal have to be the same thing. In fact, I think—”

  “I think you should wait to get married,” Fiona blurted out in a rush. Her statement was met by stunned silence on the part of both the soon-to-be-bride and the newlywed.

  Hannah looked hurt. “You love Calder. Everyone does. Why would you—?”

  “Not because of Calder, you boob.”

  “Don’t go flaunting your boobs at me,” she shot back, trying for the same teasing diversion Fiona had tried a moment ago.

  “I can’t help it if the boob fairy liked me best,” Fiona said, giving the automatic retort, but her expression grew serious and she shifted closer on the bed, taking Hannah’s hand. “Of course I love Calder. I’m thrilled you’re getting married. You should run to the nearest justice of the peace and tie the knot right now before he finds out what a tight-ass you can be about, oh, so many things.”

  Hannah stuck her tongue out.

  “How very lawyerly of you,” Fiona said mildly. “Do you do that when opposing counsel says something you don’t like?”

  Alex’s gaze followed them like a ping-pong match. “You know, just when I think I’m used to it,” she said. “I mean, with Kerry I always know, because, well, with Kerry, when isn’t she giving you a hard time? But with you two, it—I never know. You sound so serious, but you’re kidding, right? This is just sister speak.”

  Hannah and Fiona both looked at Alex, and then they both busted out laughing. “Seriously?” Fiona said. “Of course we are. It’s what we do. I think of it as a finely honed childhood survival skill.”

  “Speak for yourself, Fireplug,” Hannah said, grabbing the nearest pillow and flinging it at Fiona’s head.

  Fiona deflected it, thankful for the momentary block, because the sting of that recently resurrected nickname had surely been reflected in her expression. “You don’t get to call me that,” she said as she batted the pillow and watched it bounce onto the floor. “And, if I have anything to say about it, neither will Ben Campbell.”

  Alex laughed, but Hannah’s expression shifted to a more contemplative smile as she leaned down, grabbed the pillow back, and hugged it in her lap. She gave her sister a considering look.

  Now it was Fiona’s turn to say, “What? It was one thing when we were kids, but I don’t have to put up with it now.”

  Hannah laughed, then faltered. “You’re serious.”

  “Damn straight I am.”

  “It was a silly nickname, Fi. We were kids. You know he didn’t mean it in a bad way.” She immediately raised her hands. “I meant now, today, down in the kitchen. I know he could be an idiot back then. Him and Logan both. They were teenage boys. They were genetically wired to be jerks. But now it’s just . . .” She trailed off, lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. Like a cute childhood throwback. I thought it was kind of sweet.”

  “Says the woman who Ben looked at like the second coming of PlayStation 3 and Christmas morning all rolled into one, with girl parts thrown in as a bonus. You’ll have to pardon me if our shared childhood remembrances differ somewhat when it comes to the adorable qualities, or lack thereof, of Ben Campbell.”

  Hannah looked sincerely shocked and perhaps Fi had been the teensiest bit too fierce in her rebuttal, but dammit, it was the truth, after all.

  “He’s the nicest guy on the planet,” Hannah said, as if it were simply a fact. “Even at his jerkiest as a kid, he had a heart the size of the moon, you know that. Logan wouldn’t have latched on to him the way he did, and they certainly wouldn’t have become like brothers, if he’d been an actual jerk.” She laughed. “I can’t even believe I’m having to defend him. I mean, regardless of what you might have thought about him then, he left his thriving business to come home and take care of his sick dad, helped both his parents relocate, and has taken on the family business while still juggling his own. What about that says jerk? Nothing.”

  “Yes, counselor, he’s a virtual saint,” Fiona said, wishing she’d never taken the bait. Then she caught the considering look Alex was sending her way and little alarm bells went off. It was bad enough to be behaving like a thirty-two-year-old lovesick dork with her still oblivious sister, but the last thing Fi needed was for Alex to piece together the real reason behind her reaction and blurt that out. “Let’s get back to wedding talk, shall we?”

  Hannah held her in a considering light for another moment; then wedding lust won out. “Okay. So we all agree on the lovability of Calder, if not Ben. Why should we wait to make it official?”

  “Christmas is right around the corner,” Fiona said. “That’s, like, no time at all to put together a wedding. I know you weren’t able to be involved in most of what happened behind the scenes when I did Alex’s wedding, but she can back me up. Even a small shindig is no small amount of planning.” She held up her hand when Hannah went to interrupt. She’d learned early on. Never let the lawyer talk if it could be helped. “And, it’s Christmas, Han. Do you really want your happy wedding anniversary to compete with the lunacy that is the holiday season? Don’t you want your own special time? Perhaps one that’s not also paired with ass-freezing temperatures and days that end before five in the afternoon? Remember how lovely Logan and Alex’s wedding was? What a gorgeous memory to have.” She saw Alex’s blissful smile in her peripheral vision and kept on going. “Not to mention it might give your wedding planner, oh, a minute or two to get unpacked, set up shop, and plan the event you and Calder so deserve to have.”

  Now it was Hannah’s turn to reach out and cover Fiona’s hand with her own. “Is that what this is about? Fi, you know Calder and I don’t want anything elaborate. We want a simple—”

  “A Christmas wedding, by its very nature, is anything but simple.”

  “Okay, true. But it doesn’t have to be over the top, either. I mean, the holiday sort of lends itself to the pageantry, right? We are hoping for simple elegance. And by that I just mean—”

  “No tacky bridesmaid dress rehearsal parties?” Fiona said, eyes wide in feigned disappointment. “I’m sure Calder’s family would just love—”

  Hannah grabbed Fiona’s arm. “That’s just it. They’re—”

  “Uptight. I know. I was kidding, Han. I would never do anything to embarrass you with your new in-laws.” She shot a grin at Alex. “It was totally different with Logan. We had no choice but to make it hard on him. I mean, come on, when would we ever get that chance again? And Alex was game.”

  “They are some of our most favorite wedding photos,” Alex agreed.

  “They are uptight, yes,” Hannah allowed. “Some of them anyway. But that’s not what I was going to say. I was going to tell you this earlier, but we got sidetracked.” She paused, and for once, Fiona couldn’t read her expression. When Hannah wanted to, she aced the lawyer face.

  “What is it? Oh, no! Has Calder�
�s dad taken a turn for the worse again?” Calder’s father had had a mild stroke caused by a not-very-mild brain tumor, and though his recovery had been going better than hoped, it was still a slow and ongoing process.

  “No. The opposite.” She smiled, but it still didn’t reach her eyes.

  “That’s great news,” both Fiona and Alex said at the same time.

  “It is,” Hannah agreed.

  Fi frowned. “So why do you look like someone just told you that you were getting coal in your stocking this Christmas?”

  “Well, we were planning on having the wedding at their family church in Calais.”

  “Yes, I know. I spoke with the minister yesterday about setting up a time to come in and take measurements and do some sketches, so I can start working on the plan there. I like him.”

  “I do, too. But, well, we said his father’s health was the main reason we were having the ceremony there, but we all know that, while that was a concern, the real reason was it also helped to keep the two sides of the warring Blue clan apart.”

  “But?” Fiona said, feeling that same ball of nerves Hannah must be feeling starting to knot up inside her gut as she realized where this was going. “You’re getting married in the Cove now, aren’t you.” She didn’t even make it a question.

  Hannah just nodded, unable, it seemed, to say it out loud. Then she rushed to fill the stunned silence. “It will make everything a ton easier for you, though, right? No traveling back and forth to Calais to do the planning. And it really is dear of Calder’s family to want the bride to have her wedding in her own home town. I mean, I’ve relocated and done so much to bind myself to his family, and it’s going really well. Far better than I’d have ever thought, if I’m being honest—keep this just between the three of us,” she cautioned. “And I think this is their way of saying thank you to me, and that they see all I’ve been doing and appreciate it, and want to show me they’re willing to do the same.”

  “So the St. Croix River Blues are coming to Blueberry Cove for a wedding,” Fiona stated, just to make sure she had this right. “A wedding that will have a bunch of Cove Blues in attendance by virtue of the fact that our families have known each other for centuries. Blues who would have happily stayed home if you’d gotten married in Calais.”

  “Kind of,” Hannah said, in a very small voice.

  “Not just Calder Blue,” Fi went on, trying to wrap her head around how things had gotten oh so horribly worse than she could have ever imagined. “A man who is loved and accepted by all here for saving us from—well, you know what from. But you mean . . . all of them.”

  Hannah’s apologetic expression was accompanied by the briefest of nods.

  Fiona instantly beamed a bright and patently false smile. “Well, okay then! That settles the theme. Instead of Christmas, we can do something down-to-earth and homey with a sort of Hatfields and McCoys theme to it. Maybe little rifles and fish-gutting knives tucked into the table arrangements just to make sure we’re not short on weapons when the real reception fun breaks out.”

  Hannah smiled weakly and squeaked out a small, “Yay!” while giving a little Woohoo! finger wave.

  Fiona slumped, all feigned enthusiasm fleeing.

  “Fi, they’re willing to do this. All of them. For me. Mostly inspired, I think, by Calder’s sisters-in-law kind of ganging up on his brothers and dad, because it’s in the Christmas spirit. They want to bury the hatchet.”

  “Exactly my fear,” Fiona said dryly.

  Hannah just gave her a quelling look. “It needs to happen, and this is perhaps the one holiday that might inspire them to reach a little deeper inside themselves and do what’s right for the current generation. Calder’s whole family is willing to walk into a place where there will be a whole lot more of the other side, in their town, on their turf, and extend the proverbial olive branch. There couldn’t possibly be a better time for it than at Christmas and at a wedding.” She lifted a finger toward Fiona, silently warding off her response to that one. “I’m afraid if I wait, it will all collapse.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Fiona said dryly.

  “If I don’t take advantage of their willingness to do this, then the feud will continue to drag out, possibly for more generations. And that’s ridiculous. This is my future family, and I don’t want to live in this civil war between the two clan sides. If I can be part of bringing about an end to it, then I’m going to do that. For the good of this generation, and the ones to come. Including my own.”

  “Good closing argument, counselor,” Fiona said, then sighed, because her sister was right. If there was a chance to end the centuries-old battle between the two warring Blue factions, then it was worth trying. She waved her hand when Hannah’s expression threatened to crumple. “Okay, okay, don’t—oh come on, Han. We’ll figure it out.” She pulled her sister into a hug and Alex leaned in and wrapped her arms around them both.

  “I know it sucks,” Hannah said, her voice sounding thicker now.

  Fi stroked her sister’s hair and sighed, pressing her cheek to the top of Hannah’s bowed head. “The intention behind the gesture is a good one, and it speaks well for Calder’s family. But in all the ways of wedding planning? It does suck, I won’t lie. And I’m also not happy because it’s your wedding day, dammit, and you shouldn’t be stressed out about it. Not like this.” She straightened and pushed gently at Hannah’s shoulders until they were eye-to-eye. “But I promise you it’s going to be a beautiful Christmas wedding. If I have to hog-tie every Blue to a pew to do it.”

  “I knew I could count on you, Fiona,” Hannah said, bottom lip still a little trembly. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t worry about it. That’s what sisters do.” Bridesmaid Rule No. 20: Never agree to be in a family wedding. Ever.

  Chapter Five

  Ben pulled over and parked in front of Mossy Cup Antiques. He couldn’t say why, exactly, but much like a parishioner feeling guilt for not going regularly to confession, he felt a pang or two for not having been in to see Eula March in, well, it didn’t bear putting a number on it, really. Too long was long enough.

  He was back in town again trying to sort out and finalize the details for the Blueberry Cove tree stand. He had been on his way out when he’d impulsively pulled to the curb. He smiled as he always did at the croquet-mallet door handles that bracketed the twin doors leading into the whimsical antique shop. Mossy Cup had been a part of the Cove since its inception, some three hundred years earlier. A March woman had always been in charge of the place, though no one person seemed to know the exact details of that family tree. There had never been any other Marches in Blueberry Cove, at least none that the town’s rich and otherwise highly detailed history had kept track of.

  He stepped inside and stopped to take in the grandeur that was the live mossy-cup oak tree that grew straight up through the middle of the shop. It was the kind of tree folk tales were made for, and had inspired no small share of its own. Ben and Logan had all but terrorized the shop owner as children, doing whatever they could to try and distract her long enough so that one of them could climb it. Neither had ever been successful in that. For all that whimsy was one of the cornerstones of the historic shop, the owner and proprietor was anything but whimsical. Look up stern New Englander in any encyclopedia and it would be no surprise at all to see a photo of Eula March there as a prime example.

  “If you’ve come to sell me a tree, I think you can see, I already have one.”

  Ben grinned at the starchy voice. Eula’s Maine roots reflected strongly in her heavy down-east accent. “I think Campbell firs are some of the finest trees in the country, but even they bow down to your mighty oak,” he said, still smiling as he stepped farther into the shop and around the tree.

  Eula was a tall woman, and her gray hair of undetermined length was always pinned up in a neat bun at the back of her head. She was thin bordering on boney, but despite having run the shop for as long as any resident could recall, there was na
ry a hint of a stoop in her frame. If anything, he thought she was taller and stiffer than ever. She wore one of her trademark simple floral dresses, with one of her shop aprons tied over it. The apron pockets had been hand stitched with characters from The Calico Cat. Another whimsical anomaly on a woman who looked anything but.

  “Don’t patronize me, young Benjamin Campbell. You might fool some folks into believing you’ve grown up all responsible and successful, but I can and will still swat your behind and set you out on the street without so much as turning a hair.”

  Inside, he was chuckling at the familiar set-down, but he knew better than to let his amusement, much less his affection, show on his face. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, adopting the appropriate supplicating tone. “Wasn’t my intention.”

  She wiped her hands on the soft rag that was bundled into one of her apron pockets. It was clear she’d been working on one of the many beautiful pieces she personally restored and put up for sale. Her workshop was another part of the lore of the shop. From the outside, its dimensions appeared somewhat cramped and small, but that didn’t stop some rather spectacular pieces—both in their intricately detailed beauty and in their sheer physical scope—from occupying space on the shop floor.

  “What is your intention? Haven’t seen hide nor hair of you in longer than I care to think on. Guess your business in Portsmouth is keeping you all tied up. A shame when a man can’t even make it home over the holidays to visit his family.”

  “You know our family celebrates together at a less chaotic time of the year.”

  “Heard tell your mother and father picked up and moved south. It’s a hard thing, having to make that kind of choice. Long line of Campbells have run that farm. How is he?”

  With anyone else he considered more acquaintance than close friend—and though he’d known Eula his whole life, they weren’t what he’d call friends—he’d have said the same “hey, it’s all good, they’re doing great” thing he’d told Fiona, though Fiona had likely seen through it, or would have as soon as Logan told her what was going on. But Eula March was not someone a person could brush off, no matter how well meaning the exclusion. In fact, it was well known in the Cove and surrounding area that the March women had what some called a “special gift.” They tended to know things, things that oftentimes had yet to occur. Eula occasionally saw fit to impart a bit of what seemed like unasked-for wisdom or advice, but the recipient would do well to take heed. There was always something to it. Always. Maybe that’s why he’d come to see her, he thought. Hoping for some of that unasked-for guidance.