Charmed in Charleston

  Charmed in Charleston

  At the Altar Book 20

  Kirsten Osbourne

  Copyright © 2019 by Kirsten Osbourne

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Kirsten Osbourne

  One

  Emma sat at her desk, trying to concentrate on the translation in front of her. It was for a romance author, and the book was downright boring, and that was saying something from a devoted romance novel reader. There was no humor, no action—just a bunch of flowery descriptions and purple prose. Emma couldn’t stand purple prose, which most people thought was the entire content of romance novels. Emma knew better, though. Purple prose was rarely used in good romance novels.

  She sighed, needing a quick break, and she popped over to Facebook to read through all the statuses there. It took her five minutes to become terribly lonely. She shook her head. Envying her friends’ love lives did nothing for her.

  She glanced over in the corner of the room, where her daughter, Josie, was napping on the bed there. Josie was three, and she had been born exactly two months after her father—a fireman—was killed in the line of duty. Joseph had never seen his beautiful little girl, and it had hurt Emma more than she could express.

  But now—three years later—she was lonely. Looking at her friends’ Facebook statuses, filled with new babies and dates with their husbands, no longer hurt, but it made her realize she was going nowhere with her life. In fact, she now rarely left the house. She was raising her daughter as a single mother, and she was working way too many hours to make ends meet. Thankfully she could work at home while Josie played, but she wanted to actually spend some time with her daughter—and maybe have an adult conversation or two.

  She rubbed the back of her neck, considering. A friend of hers—Heidi Hart, who was now Heidi Henderson—had told her about being matched with a total stranger by a woman with purple hair. It had seemed crazy at first, but the longer she was alone, the more she thought about actually doing it.

  Finally, she picked up the phone and called Heidi, not sure if she’d be working, but she knew she’d call her back if she was.

  “Hello?”

  “Heidi, is this a terrible time?”

  “Not at all. I’m sitting in the break room eating tacos. Have I mentioned my love of Taco Bueno tacos to you?” Heidi asked.

  “Not in the last twenty-four hours,” Emma answered dryly. She and Heidi had been pen pals back in the nineties and had progressed to email and finally phone calls. They’d only met in person once, but Emma still considered Heidi one of her closest friends. “What’s the name of that company you used to meet Slade again?”

  Heidi coughed. “You made me choke on my taco! Are you actually considering it?”

  “I think I am. I mean . . . I’ve been alone since Joe died, and Josie is three now. I’ve mourned him and mourned him, and then I mourned him a little more. I need to move on with my life now, but I’m not sure how to do it. Your purple-haired matchmaker seems to be the key.”

  “Her name is Lachele Simpson, and her company name is Matchrimony. You think you could marry an absolute stranger? After being in love with Joe since seventh grade?” Heidi sounded skeptical, and Emma really couldn’t blame her.

  “I don’t know. But I have to do something, or I’m going to become a hoarder who never leaves my house!” Emma sighed. “I really need to do this for Josie . . . and for me. We’re going to wither away here in this tiny little house.”

  “I think it’s a good idea, for what it’s worth.”

  “Your opinion always matters to me. Give Slade and the kids a hug and kiss from me.”

  “I will. Love you!”

  “Love you right back!” Emma hung up the phone and quickly searched the internet for Matchrimony. She found it with no trouble, and—before she lost her nerve—she dialed the number and waited for someone to answer.

  “Matchrimony, this is Dr. Lachele.”

  Emma jumped. She hadn’t expected Dr. Lachele to answer her own calls. “Hi, this is Emma Saxton. I want to get married.”

  Emma heard a laugh that sounded more like a cackle than anything else. “You get straight to the point, don’t you?”

  “Well, I really need to get out of the rut I’m in. My husband died just before our baby was born, and she’s three now, and I . . . well, I’m wasting away in a tiny little house we bought together, working way too many hours trying to make ends meet.”

  “I completely understand. When are you available for interviewing? I do a comprehensive interview that takes a full day. Your daughter is welcome to be there, because watching you with her will help me get a good read on you psychologically speaking.”

  “I guess anytime. I work from home, and I can squeeze in a day anywhere.”

  Emma heard the sound of pages flipping. “Where are you anyway?”

  “I live in Coon Rapids, Minnesota. It’s just north of Minneapolis.”

  “How does a week from Saturday sound? I have a wedding to go to this weekend, or I’d be there then.”

  “A week from Saturday should be fine. Do I pick you up at the airport?”

  “Nah, I’ll rent a car. No need for you to get your baby out in the cold. I assume there’s snow on the ground since it’s March?”

  “Yes, quite a bit of snow still, actually.”

  “Give me your address really quick, and I will see you bright and early that Saturday morning. Plan to spend the entire day with me.”

  “All right. Josie and I will be ready for you.” Emma waited until the line had died before she looked at her little girl, sleeping peacefully across the room. “I’m doing this for you, Josie.”

  Beau Bainbridge got home from work, exhausted as usual. He collapsed onto his couch and tried to think about the contents of his fridge and what he could make work for supper.

  He knew he needed to hire a housekeeper to keep up with things like grocery shopping and laundry and housework . . . and maybe even make meals for him, but he felt like he didn’t even have time to go through the interview process. He worked six days a week until he could find another pharmacist to work alongside him, but for some reason, he just wasn’t getting the number of applicants he’d expected. Maybe it was time to check the listing.

  He sighed, getting up to scout out the food situation. He should have stopped for something on his way home, but he hadn’t thought about it until he’d gotten in the front door, and by then, he was too happy to be home to leave again.

  He found a box of Cheerios and some milk that had only been expired for a day. He called that a win and made himself a feast out of the breakfast cereal. He could just see his mother’s face frowning at him for eating it for supper, but sometimes he just didn’t care.

  He plopped down in front of his desk and turned his computer on, checking his email. He couldn’t help but wonder if there was a message there that would be interesting to him.

  “Oh, an email from Dirk.” He clicked on it, wondering why on earth he’d taken to talking to himself.

  The email was all about how happy Dirk was and how his wife was expecting. Wow. That was not what he expected from Dirk! He and the other
man had gone to grad school together a million years before, and though they’d been going for different disciplines, they had become friends, both of them enjoying hiking.

  He tapped out a quick email asking where he’d met the girl. He knew that Dirk was a college professor in Albuquerque now, and he couldn’t imagine he was active enough to meet other people.

  Beau took a few more bites of his cereal as he scanned through the rest of his emails and saw that Dirk had already responded. It was late, but when Beau glanced at the clock, he realized that though it was after ten in Charleston, it was two hours earlier in Albuquerque. When he read the email, he laughed out loud. Dirk had gone to a crazy matchmaker with purple hair who owned a company called Matchrimony and matched people up at the altar. He hadn’t met his wife until the ceremony! Who on earth could be desperate enough to agree to such a thing?

  He tapped out another email telling Dirk how happy he was for him before shutting the computer and taking his empty cereal bowl to the kitchen sink to be piled on top of all the other dishes he hadn’t done for a few days.

  He rubbed the back of his neck as he headed for his bedroom, already ready for sleep. These twelve-hour days were killing him.

  By morning, the idea of having someone match him at the altar wasn’t as strange . . . it was actually appealing. He showered and dressed, thinking about how nice it would be if he didn’t have to spend his day off grocery shopping and doing dishes and laundry. Surely there was a better way to do things.

  He was a Christian, and he firmly believed that God had made men and women to be a matched set, because they each had different strengths. Surely there was a woman out there who didn’t want to work nonstop and would be happy to make his meals and do his laundry. Or would have the time to hire a housekeeper to do it all if she preferred. He made enough that he could go either way. As long as he didn’t have to do it himself.

  On his ten-minute lunch break later that day, he locked himself in the bathroom—the only private spot he could find—and called the number for Matchrimony. It had worked for Dirk, who had to be a lot harder to find a match for than he would be. It was time for him to move on with his life.

  When Emma opened the door for Dr. Lachele, she tried not to be surprised at the other woman’s shocking purple hair and matching Mickey Mouse leggings. Did most women match their pants to their hair? Was that a new trend that she had missed by not going out as much as she should?

  “Hi, sugar. I’m Dr. Lachele. How about a boobie bump for your new friend?” With those words, the older woman grabbed her in a bear hug, surprising Emma to no end. She was rarely touched by anyone other than little Josie. It was strange.

  “Come in,” Emma said in her soft voice. “My little girl is still sleeping, so I’ll have to get her breakfast when she wakes up, but we can start in the living room if you’d like.”

  “I’d love that, and I can’t wait to meet your munchkin, who will soon be one of my munchkins.”

  Emma blinked rapidly a few times. “You don’t expect my daughter as payment, do you?” What was this bizarre woman talking about?

  Dr. Lachele looked at her blankly for a moment, and then she threw her head back and laughed uproariously. She seemed so much larger than life to Emma, who was more than a little intimidated. “Of course not. I just claim any child who comes from one of my matches as one of my munchkins, and since you’re coming into this arrangement with a child, she gets to be my munchkin, too. I guess she’d technically be my step-munchkin, but that’s neither here nor there. Now tell me why you want to be matched at the altar.”

  Emma took a deep breath, really uncertain about this matchmaker Heidi had so strongly recommended. “Well, as I told you on the phone when we talked, my husband died when I was seven months pregnant.”

  Dr. Lachele’s face grew serious, and she put her hand over Emma’s. “I’m so sorry.”

  Emma forced a smile. “Since then, my entire life has been working and taking care of my little girl. I work from home, translating books into German. My mother was a German national who married my father, who was stationed in Germany. So I grew up speaking both languages.”

  “Oh, that must be interesting work.”

  “It can be,” Emma said noncommittally. She was thinking of the awful romance she was working on. The same one she’d been working on for two weeks.

  “So are you open to moving if I match you with someone who is located somewhere else?”

  Emma shrugged. “As long as we can stay in the US, I think that’s just fine.” Her parents had thought she was too young to marry, and they’d not been supportive since. Joe hadn’t been close to his parents, so she truly was alone with little Josie.

  “Absolutely, I’ll keep you in the US.”

  Josie’s door opened then, and she came running into the living room, throwing herself into her mother’s arms. She looked over at Dr. Lachele as if she’d never seen a woman with purple hair before—probably because she hadn’t.

  “Josie, this is Dr. Lachele. She’s here to talk to me about moving away. Can you say hi?”

  Josie promptly stuck her thumb into her mouth and stared at the woman, saying nothing.

  Dr. Lachele grinned. “She’ll warm up to me. I guarantee it.”

  Emma put Josie onto her feet. “Run and go potty and brush your teeth, and I’ll get you some breakfast.”

  Josie hurried off to do as she’d been told, and Emma walked into their tiny kitchen. She quickly poured some cereal into a bowl and added some milk. Then she put some bread into the toaster. When it popped up, she buttered it and set it on a plate.

  Dr. Lachele stood observing, not saying much. When Josie ran into the dining room, Emma picked her up and set her onto her chair with the booster seat. “There you go. I’ll be talking to Dr. Lachele if you need me.”

  Josie nodded, obviously feeling shy around the strange woman.

  Emma returned to the living room with Dr. Lachele, feeling more like herself now that Josie was up. She wasn’t sure when she’d stopped being Emma and had become simply Josie’s mother, but it was definitely how she felt about herself now.

  “Sorry about that, Dr. Lachele. My daughter always has to come first in my life.”

  Dr. Lachele nodded, smiling broadly. “I was the same way with my son, and I’m sure I always will be with my new granddaughter as well. Children always have to come first. That’s the way of the world.” She jotted something down on the notebook in front of her. “Now, let’s talk about parenting styles . . .”

  It was more than eight hours later when Emma saw Dr. Lachele to the door. “You’ll make sure whoever you find for me is good with children, right?”

  “I can’t imagine doing anything else, sweet cheeks. That baby in there is the most important thing in your world, and I’ll make sure she is allowed to remain that way for the rest of your life.” Dr. Lachele reached out and hugged Emma, and it felt more natural this time. Emma hugged her back and watched as Dr. Lachele got into her rental car.

  Just as she was closing the front door, she heard a loud crash and hurried outside, in her sock feet, with snow swirling around. “Are you all right?” Emma called.

  “Oh, I’m fine. I think I may have killed your tree, though.” Dr. Lachele stuck her hand out the window and waved. “I always get the renters’ insurance so stuff like this doesn’t go on my record. Come to think of it, I can’t remember ever returning a rental car all in one piece with no new bumps and bruises . . .”

  Emma stood at the door, watching the older woman drive away, wondering just what she’d gotten herself into. Dr. Lachele was insane. There was no doubt in her mind.

  She went in and sat down next to Josie on the couch. “I want you to know that Mommy is going to get married, and we’re going to move far away.” Emma wished she had more details for her daughter, but she had told her everything she knew.

  “We are? Will I like my new daddy?” Josie asked.

  Emma thought about everything she’d said
to Dr. Lachele about the kind of man she wanted to be Josie’s father. She nodded. “Yes, you will. And he’s going to love you very much.”

  When she tucked her little girl in a few hours later, Emma couldn’t help but wonder how Josie would do with their move and if she would adjust well. She certainly hoped so.

  Less than two weeks later, Emma got a call from Dr. Lachele. “I have a match for you. How do you feel about moving to Charleston, South Carolina?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never been there. I’ve heard it’s a historical city . . .”

  “It is. You’re going to love it. The wedding is three weeks from Saturday, so the first Saturday in April. Get yourself ready, and I’ll see you there.” Dr. Lachele gave her the name of the church and the time to be there. “I can’t wait to give you another of my patented boobie bumps!” Without waiting for a response, Dr. Lachele ended the call, and Emma stood there with the phone in her hand, wondering for the millionth time what she was doing.

  She took a deep breath and nodded. She was going through with it. She’d committed and that was that. Picking up the phone, she called a friend of her mother’s who was a real estate agent. “Cathy? This is Emma. I need to sell my house.”

  “The market is good, so we can do it easy. I’ll be there in two hours to take pictures.”

  Emma looked around at her home. It was clean but cluttered. “I’ll be ready.” She rolled up her sleeves and got to work. There was nothing more motivating than having a child who liked to eat . . .

  Two

  On the morning of her wedding to an absolute stranger, Emma sat in the back of the church with only her daughter for company. She’d bought a new-to-them dress for Josie and had her hair fixed perfectly. She looked the part of a little flower girl, and she was loving how fancy she looked. Josie used the word fancy over and over, letting her mother know exactly how she felt.