Her Maine Squeeze (When in Maine)

Chapter Two

Charley clutches a miniature jar of pickle chips to her chest and squeals with glee. “These are so cute! You’ve outdone yourself, Lindy.”

I can’t help but laugh. “I haven’t even decorated the jars yet. I still have to put a label on each one, so people know what kind of pickles they are, and I’ll tie a piece of twine around each jar.”

“Perfect,” Charley says, beaming at me. “Can you believe we’ll be sisters in just over a week?”

I flash a grin at her. “I’m glad my oaf of a brother came to his senses and realized how awesome you are.”

She laughs. “To be fair, I did spend a lot of time making his life miserable when we were kids.”

“He gave as good as he got,” I point out, reaching for the ball of twine and snipping off a segment. I tie a tidy little bow around the jar and hold it up for Charley to see. “What do you think?”

Her eyes brim with tears and she shakes her head.

“I can remove the bow,” I say quickly. “There’s no need to cry.”

“They’re happy tears,” she says with a laugh, using her hands to wipe the tears from her face. “You were right. It’s even more adorable now.”

I shake my head, incredulous. Charley Corbin is a tough-as-nails businesswoman. She owns a contracting firm and primarily works with men. She does not cry over jars of pickles. “Who are you, and what have you done with my friend?”

Her shoulders rise and fall. “I can’t help it. I’m in—”

“Love,” I say in unison with her. “I’m aware.”

She smiles apologetically. “Sorry. I know it’s annoying.”

“It’s not,” I assure her. And I mean it. “I’m happy for you. Truly.” I place the pickle jar back onto the counter and pick up another, wrapping it with twine. “How are the rest of the wedding arrangements coming along?”

“Good. Everything is mostly in order. I’m getting the final fitting for my dress tomorrow. Luke still needs to finish crocheting the flowers for the bridesmaids’ bouquets, but he finished mine, and it’s to die for. It’s seriously the most beautiful thing in the world.” She pulls her phone from her pocket to show me a photograph. “It’s even prettier in person.”

“Wow, Luke,” I breathe, taking in the meticulous work he’s put into the wedding bouquet. My brother’s been crocheting since we were kids, and I have countless things that he’s made me over the years. He’s made me gorgeous sweaters and cardigans, amazing blankets and throws, and even a pair of beautiful, tailormade pants with a playful pickle pattern. He’s even made me an adorable Emotional Support Pickle that I’ll treasure forever. But this ? It’s truly a work of museum-quality art. He’s used a variety of stitches to crochet delicate roses, ranunculus, dahlias, and baby’s breath, all wrapped with an intricate ribbon of crocheted lace.

“I know, right? He’s so unbelievably talented.” There’s an unmistakable tone of pride in her voice.

I nod in agreement. “And to think, he kept his crocheting a secret for most of his life because he was afraid of what people would think. He may even be better at this than he was at hockey—but don’t tell him I said that. His overinflated ego couldn’t take it. I bet he’s still in shock that the Thoroughbreds are able to continue playing without him.”

“Hush,” Charley says with a laugh, swatting my arm. “That’s my fiancé you’re talking about.”

I grin at her. “True… but he was my brother first.”

“Have you seen the boutonnières he made for his groomsmen? They’re amazing, too.” She scrolls through her phone and holds it up to show me a picture. I lean forward to take a look, expecting to see a boutonnière.

Instead, it’s a photograph of Oz. A lot’s changed in the eleven years since I’ve seen him. The baby fat has completely melted away, making way for a chiseled jawline. His wild curly hair has been tamed, too—or at least beaten into submission with hair product. He’s wearing a tuxedo and looking more like 007 than any of the actors who’ve ever played the character. I briefly note the crocheted boutonnière pinned through the buttonhole of the tux before my gaze homes in on his piercing green eyes. Those haven’t changed. Not even a little.

“Oh,” I gasp. The jar of pickles I’m holding slides from my grasp and hits the tile floor. The jar bounces off the title before landing again, this time exploding with a spray of pickle brine and shattered glass. Charley and I both leap backward. Nevertheless, we’re each casualties of the pickle bomb. It’s a good thing we’re both wearing pants.

Charley stares at me with wide eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. You? You’re not cut?”

She glances down at her legs. “No, but I’ve been pickled.”

A shaky laugh escapes my mouth. “S-sorry about that.”

She gives me a weird look. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

I guess she’s only unobservant when my brother’s around to distract her. I fight the urge to reach for my hair. If I tie a knot in it, she’ll know something is up for sure. “Like what?” I ask, faking a tone of innocence.

Her eyes narrow as she closely inspects my face. Oh, no. Is it turning red? I bet it’s turning red… “I showed you a picture of Oz, and you practically went into convulsions. Is there something between you two?”

I wave a hand dismissively. “Don’t be silly. I didn’t go into convulsions. I just dropped a jar. It happens. It’s a shame that those pickles were utterly wasted, though. And I’m so sorry about your pants.” I walk past her to grab a broom and dustpan from the pantry. “I can pay the drycleaning bill, if you’d like.” I hope she doesn’t take me up on the offer. I’ve never actually taken anything to a drycleaner since everything I buy is wash-and-wear, but it’s what they always say in television shows and movies.

“It’s just pickle juice. No harm done.” She watches me closely as I sweep up the broken glass and pickle chips. “So, about Oz…”

“What about him?” I ask, careful not to meet her eyes. “I haven’t seen him in years. Have you?”

“Not since high school graduation,” she says. “I know he was Luke’s roommate in college, and they still get together a couple times of year to go on a camping trip with your cousins, Benson and Maddox.”

I nod. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“So, when was the last time you saw him?” Charley presses.

I raise a shoulder noncommittally. “I don’t remember.”

“You know,” she says slowly, like she’s about to serve up the world’s hottest gossip, “I always thought he had a thing for you in high school. I thought he might even ask you to prom.”

“He didn’t,” I point out. “No one did. Luke made sure of it.”

Charley’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and she forgets about her line of questioning about Oz. For now. “What do you mean?”

I sigh. “He was my twin brother, and he’s overprotective. Plus, he was a scary hockey player. He’d never admit it, but more than one guy in high school told me that Luke threatened to pummel anyone who dared to break my heart within an inch of their lives.”

A little smile plays on Charley’s lips. “That’s sweet.”

I glare at her. “It wasn’t sweet for me. I had to go to every dance alone.”

“So, nothing ever happened between you and Oz?” Guess she hasn’t forgotten about that line of questioning, after all.

“Nope.” It’s true. Mostly. Except for the pact that we made…

Her face lights up. “But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t interested in you.”

“If he was, he was over it by college.” I can’t mask the hard edge in my voice, and Charley hears it.

“What happened in college?”

I sigh. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

She gives me a don’t-you-know-me-better-than-that look. “Not a chance.”

I sweep the floor for a minute, debating how much to tell her. “So, I went to visit Luke in college, and, as you said, he was roommates with Oz. When I got to their dorm, I knocked on the door, and no one answered.”

“Go on,” Charley says, encouraging me to finish the story.

“So, I decided to try the door to see if it was unlocked, figuring that I could just wait for one of the guys to get back from class. I saw a sock on the floor in the hallway, but I didn’t think anything of it…” My voice trails off, and I feel the heat rise to my cheeks.

Charley’s hands fly to her mouth. “Oh, no! It fell off the doorknob?”

I nod. “When I walked in, Oz yelled, ‘Dude! Didn’t you see the sock?’”

Charley’s eyes are the size of donuts. “Was he, you know…” Her cheeks are pink now too.

I roll my eyes. “He was with a girl, but they both had their clothes on. It was still mortifying, especially after Oz yelled at me. And as I was turning to leave…” I stop talking abruptly. I hadn’t intended to tell her this part. It still stings too much.

“What?” she prompts.

I take a deep breath and release it. “The girl said, ‘Who’s she?’ And Oz said, ‘Just my roommate’s kid sister.’”

“Kid sister?! You’re the same age,” Charley exclaims.

“Right? And then the girl said, ‘She’s kind of pretty, don’t you think?’ and Oz said, ‘Her? Are you kidding?’”

Charley winces. “Ouch.”

“Yeah,” I say bitterly.

“It was a long time ago, though,” Charley says quickly, “and he was young, dumb, and with another girl. Most guys at that age probably would have reacted the same way.”

“I know.” But it hurt. A lot.

Her icy blue eyes bore into mine. “And you never saw him again?”

I shake my head. “Nope. Not long after that, Luke went to the major league.”

She bites her lip. “I should probably tell you that he’s in Fog Harbor now. He went with Luke to be fitted for his tux.”

“I assumed he’d be at the wedding. It’s fine. I can be civil for a few hours. Don’t worry.” I paste a cheery smile onto my face, but my pulse is racing. Oz is already here? What are the odds I can avoid him until the wedding? Slim to none.

“Actually,” Charley says, “Luke says he’s thinking about moving back to town.”

I stare at her. “Oh?” My voice squeaks. “Wonder why? I heard his architecture business was thriving in California.”

Charley shrugs. “According to Luke, he was kind of cryptic about it. He just said he’d made a promise to someone, and he intends to keep it.”

My heart slams against my ribcage. A promise? Could he be referring to the promise he made to me?

Surely not. He’s forgotten that promise by now. He must have. We haven’t even talked to each other in over ten years. And that last time was so awkward and painful.

No. It must be another promise. One he made to someone else. It can’t be the pact we made in high school.

The one where we promised that if we were both still single at thirty, we’d marry each other.

My eyes flicker to Charley’s. “So, what’s new with Oz? Is he, um, married? I know he probably didn’t marry the girl from his dorm room.” I force a laugh, but it sounds hollow to my ears.

A knowing smile dances on her lips. “He’s single. And he’s looking much better than he did in high school. He looks a little like Superman, with big, muscled arms, and—”

“Wait a second,” I say, slamming my hands to my hips, “I thought you said you hadn’t seen him since high school.”

Charley laughs. “I haven’t, but I’ve seen pictures. And the man is gorgeous. The two of you would have beautiful babies, with his piercing green eyes and—"

“I saw the photograph on your phone,” I say quickly, feeling the heat rush to my face again. “So, know what he looks like.”

Charley’s smile stretches into a grin. “He’s Luke’s best man, you know. So, you’ll be walking down the aisle together.”

We’ll be walking down the aisle together…

On my thirtieth birthday.

If Oz has forgotten the pact, will that be enough to remind him? If so, will he mention it?

And what on earth will I say if he does?