She named a small firm in the Boston area.
Matt nodded. “Whittaker Enterprises needs to get into the retirement community construction market.”
She wasn’t sure whether he was kidding or not, but she had to agree Pine Hill was an attractive place. Residents could choose from a variety of living arrangements, from small cottages to an apartment complex to an assisted-living center. The full range of amenities was provided and then some, from dog walking to lawn management to housekeeping. The recreational center hosted dances, parties, exercise classes and more.
Her own involvement had started in a roundabout way, after an older client, a widower in his fifties, had told her about his mother, a Pine Hill resident, who wished her community had a matchmaker.
She’d contacted the Pine Hill administrative office and was assigned a small space, where people could come in to meet her on weekends and tell her what they were looking for.
In the wake of the Parker Disaster—as she’d taken to calling the jilting—it had beaten sitting at home, watching a chick flick on TV and weeping into a bowl of popcorn.
Her role, though, had mushroomed from part- time volunteer to much more. She’d gotten to know and develop a soft spot for some of the residents—from Agnes who refused to date a man with a toupee, to Floyd and his collection of toy soldiers and battle reenactments.
She became a sort of part-time recreational director in her quest to get to know the residents and figure out who to match with whom.
Looking at Matt now, she wondered what he thought of it all, and realized with a jolt he was the first man who’d accompanied her to Pine Hill.
Just then, the music changed, alerting the assembled guests, some fifty in all, that the processional was about to begin.
She and Matt rose and turned along with the other guests to look at the back of the chapel.
As the bride, dressed in a simple gray suit, entered to the notes of Purcell’s “Trumpet Tune,” Lauren felt her eyes mist.
She blinked rapidly, hoping Matt didn’t notice. It would be horrifying if he knew what a closet romantic she was—still was.
She watched as the bride reached the groom and they joined hands before turning to face the officiant.
“Dear Friends,” the minister began, “we are gathered here today to join Veronica and Albert in matrimony….”
Beside her, Matt faced straight ahead, his expression inscrutable.
She sat, waiting for her turn, waiting to be called to say her piece for these two people she’d helped bring together.
Her own marriage had been stillborn, and she always found it cathartic to witness a wedding go off without a hitch.
When her turn came, she went up to the lectern and, her eyes straying to Matt’s, she quoted from memory Sir Edwin Arnold’s poem “Somewhere” about two lonely souls meeting and blending into a perfect whole.
When she got to the words perfect whole, she felt Matt’s eyes on her like a steady heat. A cleansing feeling washed over her, as if layers of concealment were falling away from both of them, and they were seeing each other as they were.
The spell broke only when a musician struck a chord, signaling the start of the next part of the program.
As she walked back to her seat, she didn’t look at Matt, not trusting herself with her surfacing emotions.
She looked straight ahead through the wafting strands of “Ave Maria” and up to the part of the ceremony when the vows were to be exchanged.
As the bride began with the words “I, Veronica, take you, Albert,” Lauren felt the tears begin to well.
She blinked to hold them at bay.
“…to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse…”
A tear escaped and trailed down her cheek. Then another.
“…to love and to cherish from this day forward until death do us part.”
Suddenly she felt Matt’s warm grip, engulfing her hand in his own. Surprised, she glanced at him, but he sat facing forward, his jaw set.
By the time the minister uttered the words “You may kiss the bride,” she’d become a leaky mess.
Matt glanced at her, and she turned to look back at him. Let him think what he wanted, she thought. She couldn’t hide the evidence of how much the ceremony had moved her, and there was no use trying.
But instead of sardonic amusement, or impassive lack of comprehension, she was greeted with eyes that were serious and intent.
Her mind turned to mush as he leaned in and kissed away one tear, then another.
“No tissues,” he murmured as he sat back and faced front again.
Dumbfounded, she stared at his profile for a moment before turning to look at the now-beaming bride and groom.
As she joined the rest of the congregation in applause, she wondered at Matt’s reaction. He’d reached for her hand and kissed her tears away.
Perhaps he was learning something about romance.
But was he simply showing her he was listening to her, or did his actions mean something more?
It was so confusing, and the last thing she needed, she reminded herself, was for her relationship with Matthew Whittaker to become more of a tangle.
He needed to learn how to think more with his heart than with his head, but she had the opposite problem, and this time she wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of what made logical sense: getting Matthew Whittaker married off and sealing her reputation as Boston’s premier matchmaker.
As they departed the chapel and made their way to the reception at a nearby restaurant, she caught the speculative looks of other guests, most of them residents of Pine Hill.
Belatedly, she realized just how much conjecture she’d provoked by bringing Matthew Whittaker as her date to the wedding.
In fact, once they reached the restaurant, it didn’t take long for the comments to flow like beer at a college party.
As one well-meaning lady said, glancing flirtatiously at Matt, “I’d marry him myself if I were twenty years younger and one husband short.”
Never mind, Lauren thought drolly, that twenty years would still leave her at least a full decade older than Matt.
Still, that comment was not as mortifying as those that followed. The residents of Pine Hill had a field day dissecting her social life.
“Sweetie,” one of the resident doyennes said, within earshot of Matt, “he looks like he’d be great in bed.”
She felt herself burning up with embarrassment, and the only thing that stopped her from dissolving into a pile of ash was the fact that Matt was engrossed in a conversation with a retired construction company owner.