Wedding Vows: I Thee Wed. Shirley JumpЧитать онлайн книгу.
Cade hadn’t. In the last few years, Cade had grown more and more frustrated with his job, with working for his father, and for the first time ever, wondered if he’d made a mistake by following in his father’s footsteps. Cade was a good lawyer—but lately not a happy one.
For a second, he envied Carter’s ability to chuck it all, take a chance. Pursue a dream that might not work out. Just as Melanie had.
Cade shrugged off the thought. It was probably some early onset midlife crisis. He’d buy a convertible and highlight his hair and be over it.
But as he looked at his twin brother, at the excitement in his eyes as he talked about the toy company between racket swings, Cade had to wonder if he needed more than a few hundred horsepower to erase this feeling.
“Anyway, the company’s been struggling for a while,” Carter said. “Morale is in the toilet, sea turtles have faster production than I do. I have to do something, but toys aren’t quite my strong suit.”
“They aren’t mine, either,” Cade said, sending another serve over the net. “We didn’t exactly have a lot of playtime when we were kids.”
“Yeah, that being responsible thing kind of kills the opportunity for a little cops and robbers in the backyard.”
Cade missed the shot and cursed. He had no desire to revisit his childhood. Once had been enough. It hadn’t been happy, it hadn’t been fun and no one knew that better than Carter. No need to reopen old wounds.
“Anyway,” Carter said, pausing to take a breather,
“I was wondering if you knew anyone who specialized in that whole revitalizing a company thing.”
“I heard about a firm in Lawford, Creativity Masters. The client I met with, Homesoft Toilet Paper, was singing their praises.”
“They found a way to make toilet paper creative?” Carter chuckled, then swung and hit the ball back.
“My toy company should be a piece of cake after a few rolls of squeezably soft.”
Cade cut off a laugh as he returned the ball with a hard, swift swing. Once again, the feeling that he was missing something returned. Maybe Cade needed a little creativity boost for his own life.
He wondered vaguely what he would have done differently, had he been able to go back to prom night and change the course he and Melanie had taken. Would he have gone into another field? Tried another avenue?
Carter reached to the right, smacked the yellow ball with his racket and let out a curse when it sailed outside of the white lines, bouncing against the fence. He paused, dropping his hands to his knees and inhaling, sweat beading across his brow. “I’m getting my butt beat. Can’t you let a man win once in a while? Protect his ego?”
Cade retrieved the ball, then bounced it on the court a couple of times before readying it for serve, giving each of them a breather. “Lay off the doughnuts in the break room and you’ll be able to reach those high shots.”
“It’s not the doughnuts. It’s the receptionist.” Carter grinned. “Late night with Deanna. I’m not operating on all cylinders.”
“When have you ever operated on all your cylinders?”
“That was always your job,” Carter said with a grin.
That was true. Cade had shouldered the paternal expectations, gone into the family firm, fulfilled the next generation of Matthews lawyers. Carter, however, had been the one with charm, who smiled his way through college, with job offers falling at his feet like starry-eyed coeds. He’d had options—something Cade had never even considered.
For a moment, Cade envied his twin, the freedom he had to quit the accounting firm for a spin at toy making. Cade shook it off. It was simply a restlessness, maybe brought about from another birthday that edged him closer to forty. He didn’t need an escape from his job, he just needed a way to deal with the fact that his perfect life had disintegrated.
Cade slammed the serve over to Carter’s side, making him dash to the right and dive to return. “To win back a woman like Melanie,” he said, undeterred by the conversation detour, “you’re going to need a hell of a lot more than your navy Brooks Brothers and a spray of roses, you know.”
“I know how Melanie’s mind works.” The ball sailed into Carter’s side of the court, an inch past the reach of his racket. Carter cursed again.
“I hate to tell you this, Cade,” Carter said, lowering his racket and approaching the net, his breath coming in little gasps. “But you’re a detail guy. When it comes to women, detail guys have no chance. You need to be a concept man, so you can see the whole picture and fill in the blanks you’ve missed with her. It’s not about red roses over pink, Cade, it’s about seeing what’s bugging her.”
“I was married to Melanie for nineteen years. I know the whole picture.” But clearly, he’d missed something behind the canvas.
“If that’s so, why is she divorcing you?” Carter gave him a sympathetic glance. All their lives, Carter had been the only one who knew what made Cade tick, and how to get right to the heart of Cade’s problems.
“Sorry to say it, man, but that’s the one fly in your ointment. Until you figure out what’s behind her leaving, you’ll never be able to convince her to stay.”
“So now you’re the expert on women?”
“Hey, I never said I knew how to keep one.” Carter grinned, the same grin that had stolen—and broken—dozens of female hearts. “Just how to get one.”
Five minutes later, they called the game a draw. As Cade retrieved the tennis ball and headed toward the locker room with Carter, he knew his twin brother was right. Whatever had caused Melanie to leave was still there, the eight-hundred-pound relationship gorilla in the room.
If his twin could chuck his career and go into toy making, then maybe Cade could untangle the yo-yo string around his heart.
He was, as Carter said, a detail guy. If he could find the one detail he’d overlooked, then maybe he could restore the life he’d had.
And if not, there was always Chicago.
MELANIE STARED AT THE reflection in the mirror. She’d have to be a magician to make this work.
There was no way she could pull off eighteen again. She wasn’t sure she could even pull off thirty-seven, not with those crow’s feet and hips.
“I’m insane for doing this,” she told Kelly, who had volunteered to go dress shopping with her on Saturday morning. Emmie was running the shop, Kelly’s kids were at a sleepover party for a cousin, leaving the two free to enjoy a rare couple of hours in the mall. Well, enjoying wasn’t exactly the word, considering Melanie was in a dressing room standing in a front of a three-way mirror that made painfully clear the effects of one too many mocha lattes.
“That’s a great dress,” Kelly said, standing behind Melanie. “It’s got a lot of va-va-voom.” For emphasis, she gave her hips a little shimmy.
“I don’t need va-va-voom for a class reunion.” Melanie pivoted to go back into the dressing room, take the dress off and go for something more in her usual style—meaning something totally un-voomed.
Before she could, Kelly caught her by the shoulders and turned her back to the mirror, waiting while Melanie took in the image of the dress. “Look at yourself,” she said softly.
Melanie did, shaking off the doubts of a nearly forty-year-old woman, and gave herself a second, less jaded look. The deep maroon fabric hugged along her curves, slipping down her hips before flaring out in a flirty skirt that begged for twirling. The halter top had