Picture Perfect (Weddings by Design Book #1): A Novel by Thompson Janice

Author:Thompson, Janice [Thompson, Janice]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Weddings—Fiction, Christian fiction, FIC042040, Wedding photography—Fiction, FIC027020, Love Stories
ISBN: 9781441240620
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2013-02-14T23:00:00+00:00

14

Ac-Cent-Tchu-Ate the Positive

May you never forget what is worth remembering,

Nor ever remember what is best forgotten.

Irish proverb

After a long day, I arrived home anxious to have a quiet dinner and enjoy Dancing with the Stars. Knowing that Brock was coming to Galveston—Really, Lord? I get to meet him in person?—made me want to watch the show more than ever.

Unfortunately, my father had other ideas. He groaned as Mama and I introduced the idea of watching the show once again. “Are you serious?”

“Of course we’re serious,” my mother said as she served up our usual Monday night dinner. “This is going to be our new routine for the next several weeks.”

“I cannot believe you’re going to make me watch it again. Has my life really come to this?”

“Yes, it has.” Mama wrinkled her nose. “Besides, you didn’t really watch it last time. You read the paper. That hardly counts.”

He rolled his eyes and reached for his plate.

“Brock made it through last week, and tonight he’s dancing the tango,” I explained. “The judges are merciless on the tango, especially that one judge.”

“The older man?” My father took his fork and jabbed at his potatoes.

“Yes. I’m sure Brock will do well. But how did you know one of the judges was older if you weren’t paying attention?”

And trust me, Dad. You will appreciate the fact that I’ve introduced you to the world of Brock Benson once he arrives in town.

My father stared at me and sighed. “You know what your grandpa Aengus would say right now, don’t you, Shutter Speed?”

No, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.

“A married man should never iron a four-leaf clover. He doesn’t want to press his luck.”

I placed my fork on the table. “Which, interpreted, means . . . ?”

Dad stuck the forkful of potatoes in his mouth and spoke around them. “Means I won’t be pressing my luck with you two by insisting on having my own way.”

This got a chuckle and a warm smile out of my mama, thank goodness.

Before long our conversation got back to normal. We ate our dinner, then settled down in front of the television. The show got under way with lots of fanfare and zeal from both the television audience and the McDermott clan. Well, all but one McDermott, who grumbled a bit from behind his newspaper. Still, I couldn’t help but notice that he lowered the paper every time the judges offered their comments and critiques.

About halfway into the speed skater’s awkwardly choreographed waltz, the doorbell rang. Mama looked at me. I looked at Dad. He looked at Mama. None of us seemed to know what to do. After all, our doorbell never rang on Monday nights.

“I’ll get it.” I rose from my spot and made my way to the door. When I opened it, I felt my heart jump. “Drew?”

“Hey, Hannah.” There were touches of humor around his mouth and near his eyes as he offered one of those cockeyed grins of his.

“Is everything okay?” I gestured for him to come inside.

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