A Wedding At Two Love Lane Read online

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  To Kathy

  My angel who came to my rescue

  I’ll never forget!

  XOXO

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  To my publishing team at St. Martin’s Press, especially my editor Eileen Rothschild, who is so supportive, smart, and fun to hang with; to Tiffany Shelton, a ray of sunshine every time we chat; and to Marissa Sangiacomo and Meghan Harrington: thank you all for helping make my life as a writer such a pleasure!

  To Annelise Robey, my lovely agent, thank you for being you. And to everyone at the Jane Rotrosen Agency, I’m so glad you’re back home in your gorgeous office! Hurrah!

  To Dr. H—you probably never dreamed you’d see your name on the acknowledgments page of a romance novel, so I’ll abbreviate it now—thanks for being such a great mentor last year. You kept me on my toes as a writer and reader. And to Laura and Katie, my comrades in the Crazyhorse office, it was an adventure, wasn’t it? Miss seeing you around the table! Best of luck, Laura, at the new Orange Spot coffeehouse (http://theorangespotcoffeehouse.com), and with your writing. You’re so talented! Katie, you’re on your way to being chair of an English department somewhere, I just know it!

  To my readers, who always make this journey extra special, thank you for your incredible enthusiasm for my stories. I love writing about love, community, laughter, and friendship—we need them more than ever. Come visit me at kierankramer.com anytime!

  And as always, thanks to my family, especially to Chuck, who gave up almost fourteen months of my home cooking (which is better than I think, according to him) and my obsession with the Real Housewives franchise to serve his country in Afghanistan. Welcome home, honey! And thanks to Steven, Margaret, and Jack for being such troupers while their dad was away. I love you all!

  CHAPTER ONE

  Greer Jones closed the iron gate with the heart and lovers’ initials wrought into it in front of the two-hundred-year-old house at Two Love Lane. “He wasn’t the man for me, Mom,” she said into her phone. Behind her the house stood tall and proud beneath a canopy of oak and pecan trees. Its windows—three stories of them—sparkled in the sunlight. Love is everywhere, it seemed to say. Come in and we’ll help you find it.

  It was Greer’s job—and her passion—to help people find love. She was a very successful matchmaker. Every day she was lucky enough to work at Two Love Lane with her best friends and business partners Ella Mancini and Macy Banks, and their office manager and good-luck charm Miss Thing. Greer’s specialty was tweaking the secret algorithms they used to make matches to make them as helpful and accurate as possible. She was the brain, the computer whiz, the one with a graduate degree from MIT.

  No one knew about her secret hobby—not even her best friends. When she was stressed, she worked on planning her Perfect Wedding. She always thought of it that way: with a capital P and a capital W. At Two Love Lane she’d sit at her desk and happily cut out photos of her favorite wedding gowns, bridesmaid dresses, and wedding cakes, and glue them in a scrapbook. She also had a secret Perfect Wedding Pinterest page she’d stray to when the number crunching got to be a little much.

  Her latest Perfect Wedding endeavor was coming up with a playlist for the reception on Spotify. She wanted a band, for sure, not a DJ. But the band had to be really good. The best, in fact. She was more worried about the music—and whether to have cupcakes or a cake—than she was about finding true love.

  Perfect Wedding planning wasn’t about that. You know, finding a partner. It was about the party stuff! And the girly stuff! The desserts, and the dresses, and the honeymoon location, and the invitations, and the bachelorette parties, and the showers. The list could go on and on.

  It was nine in the morning in May, and she’d left the office empty and locked with a sign on the door—BACK AT ELEVEN—to attend a special charity event, an auction for the homeless shelter that Two Love Lane was partially underwriting. So she was anxious to go and support the effort. Ella, Macy, and Miss Thing were in California at a taping of The Price Is Right, celebrating Miss Thing’s fiftieth birthday. Greer got stressed watching loud, hyper TV contestants who made ridiculous bids without even thinking about them—especially when they won—so she told the girls she’d stay behind and run the business and attend the auction. They agreed her idea was probably prudent, especially because the spring wedding season had just ended, and lonely people were calling them off the hook, looking for love.

  She was walking down King Street toward Wentworth Street in Charleston, South Carolina, the spring sunshine warm on her face, and the scent of jasmine and gardenias filling the air. It was Wednesday, Hump Day. Yay! She was especially glad since she was running the office alone this week. On Monday, she’d had to ask Pete at Roastbusters to come down the alley and help her get Oscar, Macy’s cat, out of a tree in the backyard. And on Tuesday, one of Ella’s clients had had a huge meltdown about a terrible date. Greer had also forgotten to mail the electric bill Miss Thing had left out on her desk.

  But she was surviving. And thriving. Who couldn’t when you lived in one of the prettiest, most romantic cities in the world and you worked in the love business?

  So on the phone, she gathered from her mother, Patricia, that it was forty-two degrees in her small hometown of Waterloo, Wisconsin. At first Greer thought that was why her mom was in a foul mood. But she soon came to find out it was something else entirely, something that had rocked Greer’s world when she’d first found out on social media. Her ex-boyfriend Wesley—a guy she’d dated for ten years—was getting married to someone else.

  “He was the one for you, I’m sure of it,” her mom said. “And now it’s too late.”

  Too late for what? To be happy? Greer didn’t believe it. Her Perfect Wedding scrapbooking had completely stopped by the time she’d finished with Wesley. If that wasn’t a sign to her he was the wrong man, she didn’t know what was.

  “What’s your reason?” her mom asked. “Your father and I can’t figure you out. Neither can the whole town of Waterloo.”

  “You’ll just have to get over it, Mom. We broke up four years ago.”

  “And he’s been pining away for four years! You know this woman he’s marrying is his second-best choice. All you have to do is snap your fingers and he’ll come running.”

  “I don’t want to,” said Greer, and peeked at the time on her phone. “We dated up close. We dated long-distance through college, my grad school, and his med school, and we tried to make it work. But it didn’t. I have to go. I’m heading to an auction. Two Love Lane is one of the sponsors.”

  Her mother sighed.

  “Isn’t my success good enough for you?” Greer asked. “I’m doing really well.”

  “That’s fine,” said her mother with all the enthusiasm of a NASCAR driver being told to go under the speed limit.

  “It doesn’t sound fine. I know you worry—”

  “You bet we worry.
”

  “But you and Dad don’t have to.”

  There was a miserable beat of silence.

  “You match other people.” Her mother sounded on the verge of tears. “Why can’t you match yourself? You’re thirty years old, Greer. You’re logical. Organized. Brilliant, in fact. What’s holding you up?”

  Her words cut deep. “Mom, we’re living in the twenty-first century. I can be perfectly happy without a man. But if a nice one comes along, of course I’ll leave my options open.” Her Perfect Wedding scrapbooking was in high gear again, after all.

  “I hope so.” Her mother sniffed. “But Greer…”

  “What?” She was running out of patience.

  “Try harder. Weddings don’t just happen by themselves.” And with that, Patricia Jones, queen of patience and polite behavior, was gone.

  Wow. Her mother had never hung up on her before.

  Greer guessed she should have seen it coming. She’d felt a growing resentment from her parents brewing about Wesley for the last four years, which was a big reason she didn’t go home often. Her parents were practical dairy farmers who didn’t like conflict. All three of them pretended that everything was fine. Yes, over the dinner table they’d told her they were disappointed she’d broken up with Waterloo’s favorite son, but they’d also never acted angry. Now Greer could see that it was because they’d still held out hope she and Wesley would get back together.

  But that bridge had now burned, and burned completely.

  Greer was long over Wesley, even if her parents and everyone in Waterloo couldn’t forgive her for leaving him. It seemed that all her worth—according to them—was tied up in her getting married to him. And now that he was officially out of the picture, her mother had made it clear she wanted Greer to marry someone … anyone.

  Weddings don’t happen by themselves.

  At the auction, which took place at the beautiful Alumni Memorial Hall in historic Randolph Hall at the College of Charleston, she sat down and tried to get interested in the items up for bid. There was the Wedgwood blue china plate paired with the simple sterling silver candelabra. A butler to a contemporary British prince visiting Charleston had brought them to remind His Royal Highness of home when he had his morning toast. The prince had left the items behind as a gift to his hostess, a true Southern magnolia with a generous heart and an eye for the perfect donation to a fund-raiser. And then there were vacations and restaurant packages and lots of other home décor items: sofas, chairs, fine lamps, and some gorgeous original artwork. She sat through it all, bidding on nothing, buzzing all over with humiliation.

  She was not a loser for being single!

  So why did she feel like one?

  And then an auction item came up that had just been added to the program. It was a wedding gown that had a name! She never knew dresses could have names. How had she missed that, especially with wedding dresses, which she looked at all the time in magazines and online?

  It was called Royal Bliss, which instantly made her heart beat faster.

  Royal … Bliss. Two perfect words, put together!

  The auctioneer, an energetic older woman in a purple suit, was Fran Banks, the famous New York talk-show host who’d moved to Charleston. She was the guest celebrity hostess at a lot of charity events in Charleston these days. Greer knew her well, since her nephew Deacon had married Greer’s business partner Macy last spring. Fran didn’t suffer fools lightly, however well she knew them, and let the world know it.

  “There’s a bit of extraordinary lore associated with this brand-new gown dubbed Royal Bliss,” said Fran, “and it’s sewn by one of Charleston’s own designers who’s making a huge splash in New York. She was kind enough to donate her exquisite creation at the last minute. A small heart-shaped patch of this gown’s beading, on the center bodice…”

  And she explained that those beads were taken from a shorter bridal veil worn at the wedding reception of a late, great American icon and actress who became a European princess. The tulle on the veil tore that day, but recently the princess’s grown children realized that even in its imperfect condition, it was valuable. The beads attached to it were divided into five groups and sold at auction to benefit the late princess’s favorite charity. The provenance of this particular set of royal beads accompanied the gown, making it a one-of-a-kind garment and extremely valuable.

  Fran let the crowd stir. Greer’s heart pounded. What a story! She wished Ella, Macy, and Miss Thing were with her.

  “But the best part of the story,” Fran said into the microphone, “is that the beads for the original veil were handmade especially for the American princess by an elderly citizen of the prince’s country, a woman who was known to be a good witch. She put a spell of sorts on the beads, a wish from the heart specifically designed to beckon true love to the wearer of the gown. And as you all know, the princess did, indeed, have her happily-ever-after with her prince. She lived to an old age and left behind a large, loving family, as well as her Hollywood acting legacy.”

  The crowd once again murmured its excitement.

  “So,” Fran said, “whoever wins this lovely dress tonight is going to be very fortunate. Do we have any brides in the audience?”

  Only two women raised their hands.

  “I’ve already got my gown,” said one. “My mother’s.”

  Everyone said, “Awwww.”

  And the other said, “It’s so tempting, but my dream gown has always been strapless. Sorry.”

  Royal Bliss had capped sleeves.

  “Perfectly understandable,” said Fran, “but where are all the other brides?” She scanned the room. “I’ll bet there are a few shy ones right here who didn’t speak up.”

  “The rest are probably at the big bridal show in Charlotte,” the bride wearing her mother’s gown called out.

  Fran shook her head. “My goodness. Bad timing for them … no gown at a bridal show in North Carolina can compare to this one, can it, people?”

  “No!” several audience members shouted.

  Weddings don’t happen by themselves.

  Greer couldn’t get that out of her head! Of course, she didn’t believe the beads on that dress would guarantee the wearer true love, but …

  How could she be sure?

  And the dress itself was so gorgeous—and those beads had been worn on the veil of such a famous American actress-turned-princess! Wow! That alone was amazing.

  Greer got little tears in her eyes. If she were a bride, Royal Bliss was exactly the dress she would want. Part of her felt a twinge of regret that she’d given up her chance to live the fairy tale, at least for now. She’d never felt that way before. Not until her mother’s phone call today, and now, this dress—this special, gorgeous gown.

  Her wistfulness became discomfort, building and building into a sort of panic.…

  “Okay, let’s start the bidding,” said Fran, “at a humble five hundred dollars. Even if you’re not a bride, you can bid on this and become a fairy godparent to a bride you know, or if you’re extra generous, even a bride you don’t know. And remember, every penny from this auction goes to adding beds to the homeless shelter. So think big, people!”

  Greer might not have a partner, but she could have a bridal gown. Weddings didn’t happen by themselves, right? She was normally so logical and pragmatic, but she was hit with a crazy feeling of utter determination and lust. If she could get this dress, she’d be one step closer to making a wedding come to her.

  To heck with having a partner!

  She wanted that gown. She wanted it so much, she threw off the voice of reason that usually led her docilely through life and let an impetuous part of her rule the day.

  She jumped to her feet. “Five hundred dollars!” she cried.

  Fran’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head—she had to be wondering how there was even the slightest chance Greer was getting married when she wasn’t dating anyone—but she recovered quickly. “That’s a fine starting bid. We’ll go much hi
gher, I’m sure, but thanks for getting us going.”

  Greer nodded, aware that she was surrounded by about a hundred people staring at her. She hated being the center of attention, but she often was in Charleston. There was her neutral accent, for one, which had taken her years to cultivate. Now almost no one guessed she’d grown up in Wisconsin (she’d even stopped calling Coke “pop”), but it was clear she was no Southerner, either. She favored monochrome Stella McCartney pant suits and severe yet opulent Chanel briefcases. She didn’t have a single monogrammed handbag—Southern women monogrammed everything, including their cars—and she wouldn’t be caught dead in a vibrant Lilly sheath.

  She smiled at the crowd without really seeing them, which she could do by looking over the top of her signature ivory eyeglass frames. She had four pairs through which she regularly rotated, the same way her mother regularly rotated through vintage farmhouse kitchen aprons she picked up at church jumble sales.

  Greer plopped down in her seat. She would have to explain later to Fran that she wasn’t engaged. But not now, not in front of all these people.

  “Nine hundred,” a mild, thin male voice drawled from Greer’s left, like a sleepy kitten calling for its mother, and held up his right hand with the fingers spread to clarify the amount because he knew very well no one could hear him.

  Greer’s insides shrank. That was Pierre Simons—pronounced Simmons, which conveniently identified people who weren’t local when they said it wrong. He was a Charleston native whose family arrived in the Lowcountry before the Revolutionary War, and the city’s leading fashionista. His family’s clothing store for women was called La Di Da. The store had been open in the same location on King Street for a hundred fifty years, although until 1949, when Pierre’s mother took it over, it had been called nothing more than Simons Fine Apparel. Pierre was a world traveler and frequent visitor to Milan and New York, where he picked up extravagantly priced frocks and accessories to bring home to Charleston.