Fairy Tale Weddings by Debbie Macomber

him.”
    â€œWe said goodbye,” she said, her eyes pleading with her aunt to drop this disturbing subject. Accepting that she’d live without Thorne was difficult enough; discussing it with her aunt was like tearing open a half-healed wound.
    â€œYou haven’t stopped thinking about him.”
    â€œNo, but I will.”
    â€œWill you, Cindy?” Theresa’s deep brown eyes showed her doubt.
    Cindy’s gaze pleaded with her. “Yes,” she said and the words were a vow to herself. She had no choice now. When she’d left Thorne’s apartment it had been forever. Although the pain had been nearly unbearable, it was better to sever the ties quickly than to bleed slowly to death.
    Â 
    â€œMother and I are planning a shopping expedition to Paris in March,” Sheila said enthusiastically, sitting across the table from Thorne.
    They were at one of Thorne’s favorite lunch spots. Sheila made it a habit to visit the office at least once a week so they could have lunch. In the past, Thorne had looked forward to their get-togethers. Not today. He wasn’t in the mood. But before he’d been able to say anything to Ms. Hillard, she’d sent Sheila into his office, and now he was stuck.
    â€œParis sounds interesting.”
    â€œSo does the chicken,” Sheila commented, glancing over the menu. “I hear the mushroom sauce here is fabulous.”
    Thorne’s stomach turned. “Baked chicken breast served with mushroom sauce,” he read, remembering all too wellhis last evening with Cindy and the meal she’d prepared for him.
    â€œI hope you’ll try it with me,” Sheila urged, gazing at him adoringly.
    His mouth thinned. “I hate mushrooms.”
    Sheila stared down at the menu and she pressed her lips tightly together. “I didn’t know that,” she said after a long moment.
    â€œYou do now,” Thorne muttered, detesting himself for treating her this way. Sheila deserved better.
    The waiter came to the table, hands behind his back. “Are you ready to order?”
    â€œI believe so,” Thorne said, closing his menu and handing it back. “The lady will have the chicken special and I’ll have a mushroom omelet.”
    Sheila gave him an odd look, but said nothing.
    During lunch Thorne made a sincere effort to be pleasant. He honestly tried to appear interested when Sheila told him about the latest fashion trends in France. He even managed to stifle a yawn when she hinted at the possibility of buying several yards of exclusive French lace. It wasn’t until they’d left the restaurant and were walking toward his office that Thorne understood the implication. French lace—wedding gown.
    Suddenly something caught his attention.
    There. The blonde, half a block ahead of him. Cindy . It was Cindy.
    â€œAnd I was thinking…”
    Sheila’s voice faded and Thorne quickened his pace.
    â€œThorne,” Sheila said breathlessly. “You’re walking so fast I can’t keep up with you.”
    Without thought, he removed her hand from his arm. “Excuse me a minute.” He didn’t take his eyes off Cindy, fearing he’d lose her in the heavy holiday crowds.
    â€œThorne?”
    He ignored Sheila and took off running, weaving in and around the people filling the sidewalk on Sixth Avenue.
    â€œCindy!” He yelled her name, but either she didn’t hear or she was trying to escape him. Again. He wouldn’t let her. He’d found her now. Relief flowed through him and he savored the sweet taste of it. He’d dreamed this would happen. Somehow, some way, he’d miraculously stumble upon her. Every time he stepped outside, he found himself studying faces, looking. Searching for her in a silent quest that dominated his every waking thought. And now she was only a few feet away, her brisk pace no match for his easy sprint. Her shoulder-length blond hair swayed back and