Wedding Season

By Kathleen Shoop and Abigail Drake

A compelling new beach read from the authors of Mindful Writers Retreat.

Wedding Season blends the intoxicating condition of love with the excitement of Rehoboth Beach and all manner of nuptial ceremonies. Short and sweet tales feature meet-cutes with dogs on the beach, rock star love, reignited passions, mistaken identity, blessings from

• Language: English
• Publisher: Year of the Book
• Release date: Apr 25, 2024
• ISBN: 9781646494019

Kathleen Shoop

Kathleen Shoop is a Language Arts Coach with a PhD in Reading Education whose work has appeared in The Tribune Review, four Chicken Soup for the Soul books and Pittsburgh Parent Magazine. She lives in Oakmont, Pennsylvania with her husband and two children.

Book preview

Foreword

Welcome to the fifth volume in the Mindful Writers Retreat Anthology Series. Wedding Season is the second of the collection that contains stories all set in Rehoboth Beach. Check out Browseabout Books for copies of Shell House to enjoy the first beach collection set specifically at the historic Shell House.

Wedding Season blends the intoxicating condition of love with the excitement of storied Rehoboth Beach and all manner of nuptial ceremonies. Short and sweet, the tales feature meet-cutes with dogs on the beach, rock star love, reignited passions, mistaken identity, blessings from long-gone relatives, insta-love, longtime-coming love, warm families, raucous members of the wedding, and more!

This multi-genre exploration of wedding love inspires happy endings, even if the path is rocky to start. It’s the perfect beach read to invite relaxation and a happy mood.

As a reminder, we are a group of authors who meet for retreats at the Ligonier Conference Center in Ligonier, Pennsylvania, for days of writing. We use sitting and walking meditation as tools to inspire and focus on the work at hand. Each anthology provides retreat writers an opportunity to submit material centered on a particular theme.

Like always, the retreat authors have selected a charity to donate proceeds to. Wedding Season will support the Rehoboth Beach Historical Society and its mission to keep the town’s history alive and well for citizens and guests alike. So grab a copy of the book and soak up the sun on the gorgeous sand, taking in the waves and bright sunshine.

We know you’ll adore this wonderful collection of love gone right.

—Kathleen Shoop

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Fair Winds and Following Seas

Deborah Hetrick Catanese

The trip north from Rehoboth on the Lewes/Cape May Ferry held a magical place in Syl’s heart, tinged with misty memories of travel with her family. But on this morning, her hopes for a serene ride across beautiful Delaware Bay were dampened by a forecast of thunderstorms along with concern for what might happen when she would arrive in Cape May. Syl almost hoped she’d miss the boat.

But she wanted this, right? Making a favorable first impression on her fiancé’s mother was necessary if she and Todd were to walk down the aisle come spring.

Before heading for the port at Lewes, Syl dashed into Browseabout Books to pick up an arty book of flower arrangements intended to thaw the icy attitude of Todd’s mother, the proprietor of one of Cape May’s prestigious Victorian Inns.

As Syl waited for the cashier to wrap the gift, she picked up a novel on a nearby display—The Wren, the Wren—a title she’d seen in the NY Times Review of Books.

She opened Anne Enright’s book and blindly pointed. Her finger had landed upon a short poem, embedded in a page of prose. The stanza compared love to a variety of water formations—a tide, the mist, clouds, rain, and finally a river flowing to the sea.

Syl felt relieved at such a favorable watery sign from the universe. That is, until she read the next line, declaring everything to be crashing downhill from there.

No, she rationalized. She hadn’t pointed to that downhill part of the poem. Or had she?

Quickly setting the book down while silently wishing its author much success, she grabbed her gift for Todd’s mother. Rushing outside, she saw the sky had darkened considerably, much like her mood, with a rather furious wind to match.

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Fifteen minutes later, Syl pulled into the ferry parking lot as the skies opened. She raced up the boarding ramp, juggling a small Vera Bradley backpack and a long pink plastic garment bag that flapped in her face with each blast of wind and rain.

With her glasses covered in droplets, she could barely see the boatman standing ready to close the entrance gate.

Here I am, I’m here! she called out, exhausted before her mission of persuasion even began.

I’m assuming by ‘I’ you mean the only person on my boarding list who hasn’t checked in. You must be Miss Celeen Norbaia, arrived at last, the sailor said to her, in more annoying ways than Sylina Marbella could count, including the usual mispronunciation and misspelling of her name.

Well, if you are such a genius, Syl retorted, maybe you can show me where there’s an empty seat...

One seat left. Right in front of you, Miss!

Syl tore off her glasses to see where he had pointed.

That’s a child-sized seat! And it’s barely protected from the rain! she protested.

When the boat’s horn announced an imminent departure, Syl saw zero point in engaging further with such a jerk.

She proceeded to her seat then heard the boatman calling out to her, Fair winds to ya!

She couldn’t help but respond with the traditional seafarer’s reply, And following seas!

She juggled her belongings awkwardly and raced under the roof, stunned to see that the seat had only looked small because her hulky seatmate couldn’t help but take up more than his share of the bench.

Syl made her move to sit down just as the ferry lurched, landing her in the lap of said stranger.

"Ay Dios Mio, I am so sorry!" she uttered with embarrassment.

She tried to shift away, and promptly dropped the garment bag, which began sliding over the slippery wet deck toward the railings. Syl reached desperately for it, but fortunately her seatmate’s swifter maneuvers allowed him to grab the pink bag before it could slide off the edge.

Or off the rails, like I already am, Syl thought with chagrin.

Her seat partner continued to hold her bag while grasping her arm to steady her. But only part of Syl’s butt fit into the seat. Her other cheek rested awkwardly on her rescuer’s muscular thigh. Syl wanted to flee, but how does one escape on a full ferry in the throes of a raging summer storm?

Hey, he said in a husky voice, the edge of a chuckle in his tone. Nice to meet you. Oh, and you dropped these, too. He handed her wet glasses back to her. Without peering through raindrops, she could take in the face of the man whose lap she shared—handsome AF, dark hair, strong jaw, twinkling blue-grey eyes.

And now this ruggedly beautiful man spoke to her as if this was something that happened every day.

Don’t worry, chica. Radar says the storm won’t last all eighty-five minutes of our voyage together.

Syl shuddered and sighed, still hoping for a modicum of space and dignity for herself. When she persisted in her efforts to move away, the glasses went flying again. As she reached to grab them, her hand ended up grasping more than she bargained for.

"Oh! Geez. Perdon, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to grab your crotch!" This, her second apology in a very brief time, was delivered with a mortified blush.

His response? The bastardo laughed and laughed and laughed, tightening his muscular arm around her shoulder. Look, we need to get through this. So please allow me the brief pleasure of holding what feels to be an extremely lovely body safely in your ill-fitting seat.

As a low whistle sounded a tone of longing, the rough waters mirrored her rolling emotions. Syl sailed onward to work things out with her fiancé, all the while a very different man sat very close beside her, holding her jagged pieces together.

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Her seatmate continued to hold Syl way too personally. She knew she’d surely discourage further advances if she puked all over him. But Syl had already embarrassed herself more than enough, so she fought off seasickness with all her might, reluctantly admitting that his protective arms felt super good around her.

Was she seriously this starved for male attention?

So baby... he began, while lightly caressing her shoulder.

Baby? she interrupted indignantly.

You look green around your pretty edges, so I tried to distract you. And I think I just succeeded.

He wasn’t just strong. And helpful. And good humored. He was flirtatious! Oh dear God, how fun was this?

She then reminded herself of the quiet charm of Todd. And the soon-to-be mother-in-law Syl was setting sail to meet. Focusing her monkey brain on the years ahead as Todd’s wife, she tried again to pull away from her sexy rescuer. Well, she kind of tried.

The wind and rain diminished as predicted, and visibility improved. In full view, this man was even more attractive, and dangerous to her plans. Her only way out was to pretend she hadn’t noticed his flirtations.

So, I guess you are calling me baby because I failed to introduce myself. My bad. So, hey there. My name is Syl.

She held out her hand to him as a friendly gesture, which he grasped firmly in his much larger hand—then failed to release.

Syl. Beautiful name. So is Baby, but it seems you don’t like that one. My name’s Jase. My nickname is censored, for now.

As if on cue, the boat lurched, coming down quickly after rising over an especially high rolling wave.

Jase swiftly grabbed her before she fell—one of his arms landing across her chest and the other around her buttocks.

Oh sorry, Baby. Should have saved that move for later. I mean, Syl. Again, he laughed, with a hint of something different in his tone.

His next words confirmed it.

So Syl, did you ever get the feeling that fate could put you into an essential situation? Like, life changingly essential?

He gently slipped his hand away from the vicinity of her breast. And she immediately missed it.

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The seas slowly settled while the skies quickly cleared, as beach skies so often do. Their conversation fell into a natural ebb and flow of flirtation and everyday chatting, then gradually morphed into the deeper, more heartfelt sharing that a ferry ride across a salty bay often stirs.

She learned he was a silversmith from Pleasantville on his way back from a lucrative sale at one of the women’s specialty gift shops in Rehoboth. He pulled out a deep blue velvet jewelry display that showcased several of his original designs.

Wow. These are so exquisite, Jase. I just love silver with semi-precious stones. One of the pendants especially caught her eye—an elegant silver chain holding an oval stone with neutral earth tones in striations that looked like a desert sunset, framed in braided silver.

Oh, Jase spoke with a faraway tone, that pendant’s for display, not for sale. The stone is a Picture Jasper. I hope to give it to my intended...

Syl surprised herself by interrupting before he could go on. It’s my favorite one, Syl uttered softly, rather sad to hear about his engagement. She questioned her own sanity then, because, hey—she was, after all, engaged as well.

But then came a question she suddenly didn’t want to answer.

So why are you heading to Cape May with the pink garment bag you seem to be valuing above all else in your life, Syl?

Well...

She hesitated briefly, not really wanting to tell him, but then told him mostly everything—as if his mere countenance lured the truth from her.

She told him about how she had no family of her own, after losing all five of them in a tragic crash a few years prior. About recently meeting Todd Jackson Smyth, Jr. About how Todd courted her while subtly nudging her to present herself as the type of a woman that could be accepted by his well-to-do family. About how her Mexican heritage was not yet mentioned to Todd’s parents for fear of disapproval. About hoping the gown in Syl’s garment bag would be approved for the society-style nuptials being planned in Cape May. And about the dress itself—hand-sewn and hand-embroidered by her beloved grandmother Beatriz for her own wedding day many years before. A beautiful, and very Mexican, wedding gown.

But Syl, do you really think this is gonna work? Jase asked with concern mixed with what sounded like disguised regret. Like, do you think she’s the type who can accept you wearing such an ethnic dress?

Syl looked cross, then answered in earnest. "Todd promised me he would convince her! He said he very much wanted to see my abuela’s dress, knowing I want to wear it to feel close to my family on my special day. I just know he will love it. And he promised he would convince his mother that she would not be allowed to control our married life, even though we will all be working under her at the Inn... So yeah, Jase. When they both accept my precious dress later today—which I just know they are going to do—I’ll take it as a sign that everything will work out for me and Todd."

Syl paused to look in Jase’s eyes before turning away. And besides, you just worry about you and your little fiancée, ok?

Syl skipped the part about the doubt she felt just that morning when she read the random passage from The Wren, the Wren. But now Jase had a look on his face as if he himself had read that unlucky part of the poem.

"Okay, Baby. If you say so. But listen, can we just pretend for these last precious minutes on this Magical Ferry Tour that you are mine, Mexican heritage and all...?" He did not wait for her answer, but wrapped his arm around her firmly and rested his other hand on her upper thigh, molding her flesh as they journeyed toward their separate ways.

Syl tried to deny the goosebumps that were covering her body every time his hands moved on her or whenever his voice whispered into deeper places than her ear canal.

Shake it off, shake it off... she bubbled Taylor Swift’s lyrics in her head in a meager attempt to dismiss the very inconvenient effects of meeting this enticing man—just when her mind needed to be focused on her life with Todd.

Oh, and by the way, babe... my nickname is Stud. Jase’s devilishness was dynamic, and finally Syl allowed herself to laugh.

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The imminent landing at North Cape May was announced way too soon. Syl kissed Jase softly on the cheek. He felt her warm breath as she said, Hey, Baby... with a wry smile. Do you think you can watch my garment bag for a minute while I head for the ladies room?

Jase nodded quietly and watched her beautiful behind walk away from him. Damn it... he uttered under his breath.

Too many minutes passed, and Syl had not returned. And now the ship had docked.

It was then that Syl came running past him, grabbing her pink garment bag then tossing it flamboyantly into the Delaware Bay as she rushed down the plank toward the other ferry set to depart for its Rehoboth return.

The other boat left with Syl on board before Jase could disembark. He did not even know her last name.

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Soon after returning to Rehoboth, Syl found the Picture Jasper pendant in her rain parka. She figured it accidentally slid into its large pocket while Jase’s greedy hands felt her up. She told herself that it held no more meaning than his flirtation, yet she wore it daily. But on her worst days—when loneliness made her heart sink like a lost kitten in a murky pond—she felt an essence of peace if she simply touched the pendant around her neck, as if her lost family was embracing her from afar.

But she was done with love, whether with Todd her cowardly ex-fiancé, or Jase the already engaged player, or the frustratingly ineffective Man in the Moon.

During those sad summer months, Syl avoided Rehoboth’s main tourist areas, losing herself in her freelance job of calligraphy, watercolor, and graphic design in her apartment’s lovely sunroom overlooking Silver Lake. She figured Jase still came to Rehoboth to sell his jewelry, but she had no taste for any reminder of how she’d allowed herself to be manhandled by his lecherous charm.

On this gray October day, tourists were few, and