Wind Chime Wedding (A Wind Chime Novel Book 2) by Sophie Moss Page B

the planning had started, and Tom had begun adding people, the guest list had taken on a life of its own. At this rate, close to half of Tom’s law firm would be showing up.
    Maybe that was why she was having so much trouble writing her vows.
    It wasn’t a fear of public speaking. She’d gotten over her shyness of talking in front of large groups of people a long time ago. But she was used to talking to students, parents, and other teachers. She was used to talking about the curriculum, teaching methods, and plans for the next school year.
    She was not used to talking about her feelings. She had never been very good at talking about her feelings, even with her closest friends, let alone in front of a crowd of people, many of whom she didn’t even know.
    But it had been her idea that she and Tom write their own vows. It seemed so much more personal to say what was in your own heart rather than recite the canned script everyone else used.
    Pressing the tip of her pen back to the paper, she scrawled, “Tom, I love you. I’ve loved you since we were sixteen. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you, to give you children, to grow old with you. I can’t wait for our lives together to finally begin.”
    That was it, right?
    That was all she had to say.
    Simple. Honest. True.
    A tug of uneasiness nagged at her as she reread the words. Something still felt off. Something…she couldn’t put her finger on.
    A knock on her door had her pushing the notebook aside. “Come in,” she called, relieved by the interruption. It was probably her father, wanting to borrow some laundry detergent or coffee for the morning. Or maybe one of her students. She had told Luke to come over if he ever needed anything.
    When whoever it was didn’t just walk in, as most of her friends and neighbors would without a second thought, she stood and crossed the room to the door, opening it. The last thing she expected was to find the man who’d been invading her every thought for the past few days filling her doorway.
    “Colin,” she said, surprised. “Hi.” Glancing down at the oversized flannel shirt she was wearing over a thin tank top and cut off shorts, she quickly wrapped the plaid material around her midsection. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
    “I should have called first.” His voice was low and deep. It rumbled through the quiet neighborhood streets.
    “No. It’s fine. You didn’t need to call. My door is always open.” She stepped back, motioning for him to come in.
    He walked inside, his gaze sweeping around her cluttered living room filled with wedding projects and packing boxes. Becca closed the door behind him, feeling suddenly self-conscious. Colin had never been to her house before. She imagined what it must look like through his eyes: the student artwork hanging on the walls, the antique knickknacks on the bookshelves, the hand-me-down furniture and mismatched lamps, the woven rugs covering worn wooden floorboards that squeaked when you stepped on them.
    To her, everything about this house was cozy, comforting, familiar.
    But she and Colin had come from very different backgrounds.
    “I’m sorry about the mess.” Gathering up an armful of magazines from the seat of the leather chair across from the sofa, she gestured for him to sit.
    He walked over to the chair, resting his hands on the back, but he didn’t sit.
    Becca paused, noticing his tense expression for the first time. “Is everything all right?”
    “No.”
    Her brows drew together at the hard edge in his voice. The sun had set and dusk was settling over the island. Even with a few of the table lamps burning, the lighting was dim, making his features appear harder, his eyes an even deeper shade of blue.
    She waited, watching him as the silence stretched on. She had never seen him like this before. He was usually so calm, so lighthearted, so quick to fill the silence with a question or a casually flirtatious comment. She could sense the restless