Fairy Tale Weddings by Debbie Macomber

her. “I’ll take you home. Don’t worry about missing your ride—I’ll see you safely home.”
    Tears filled her eyes as she handed him his coat and paused to throw her arms around him, hugging him fiercely. “You don’t understand.”
    She was right about that, Thorne mused. She looked stricken—frightened and so unhappy that he longed to ease whatever pain she was suffering.
    â€œIt was the most wonderful night of my life. I’ll…remember it, and I’ll always…always remember you.”
    â€œYou won’t get a chance to forget me.” He tried to keep her with him, but she whirled around and picked up herskirts, racing off as though there were demons in wild pursuit.
    Bewildered, Thorne watched her race into traffic. She’d crossed the busy street and was halfway down the sidewalk, when she turned abruptly. “Thank you,” she yelled, raising her hand to wave. “Thank you for making my dreams come true.” She covered her mouth with her hand and even from this far away Thorne could see that she was weeping. She ran in earnest then, sprinting to the corner. The instant she reached it a long black limousine pulled up. As if by magic, the door opened and Cindy slid inside. The limo was gone before Thorne could react.
    â€œSir.”
    For a moment Thorne didn’t respond.
    â€œShe dropped this.” The carriage driver handed Thorne a pearl comb.
    The older man in the black top hat stared at Thorne. “Had to be home by midnight, did she?”
    â€œYes,” Thorne answered without looking at him.
    â€œSounds like Cinderella.”
    â€œThat’s who she said she was.”
    The driver chuckled. “Then you must be Prince Charming.”
    Thorne still didn’t move. “I am.”
    Apparently the carriage driver found that even more amusing. “Sure, fella. And I’m Donald Trump.”

Four
    T he first thing Thorne thought about when he woke early Sunday morning was Cindy. He’d drifted into a deep, restful sleep, picturing her lovely face, and he woke cursing himself for not getting her phone number. Being forced to wait a whole day to see her again was nearly intolerable, but she’d left in such a rush that he hadn’t managed to ask her for it. Now he was paying the price for his own lack of forethought.
    After he’d showered, he stood, wearing a thick robe, in front of his fourteenth-floor window. Lower Manhattan stretched out before him. He couldn’t believe how much he felt like singing. In fact, he’d been astonished to find himself humming in the shower. He gripped the towel around his neck with both hands and expelled a long sigh. It was almost as if…as if he’d been reborn. The world below seethed with activity. Yellow cabs crowded the streets. A tourist boat cruised around the island. Funny, he hadn’t paid much attention to the Hudson River or the seaport or any other New York sights in a long while. Nowthey sparkled with new freshness, like a thousand facets in a flawless diamond. It seemed ridiculous to be so sure he was in love, but he felt breathless with excitement just thinking about Cindy.
    The phone rang and Thorne reached for it immediately. It was unrealistic to hope the call was from Cindy, yet he nearly sighed with disappointment when his mother’s voice greeted him.
    â€œGood morning, Thorne.”
    â€œGood morning, Mother.”
    â€œYou certainly sound cheerful. How was the Christmas Ball?”
    â€œFabulous.”
    â€œDid Sheila go with you?”
    â€œNo, she couldn’t get away.” His mother liked to keep close tabs on her children. Thorne tolerated her frequent calls because she was his mother, and her motivations were benign, but he’d made it clear that his personal life was his own. She wanted him settled, sedately married and producing enough grandchildren to keep her occupied. His sisters had done their part and