Her Best Man. Brenda Harlen

resolve had never been tested. Because in all the years that had passed since their final good-bye, she’d never seen Ben again.

      But soon that would no longer be true—because on Saturday, her sister was marrying his brother. And Ben was the best man.

      ***

      Ben Seabrook had lost count of the number of flights he’d taken from one obscure corner of the world to another. He’d flown economy and first class, he’d hitched rides on cargo planes and military choppers and medical transports. His experiences had been alternately thrilling and terrifying, all in pursuit of a story. But today, as he waited to check-in at Rio de Janeiro Internacional, he wasn’t searching for a headline—he was glad to be going home.

      Twelve years earlier, he’d left North Carolina and he’d never looked back. As soon as he was gone, his parents had finally ended their acrimonious marriage, after which his father had moved to San Antonio and his mother had relocated to New Haven. Only his brother had stayed in Charisma. Now Warren was getting married, and he’d asked Ben to be his best man.

      Of course he’d said yes. And then he’d put the wedding and all related details out of his mind while he made his way to Ishinomaki to report on how the city was dealing with the after-effects of a devastating tsunami. From Japan he went to Kazakhstan, then to Sierra Leone and, most recently, Brazil. His work kept him busy, leaving him little time to contemplate his brother’s upcoming nuptials or anything else. But now that he was finally on his way home, his mind was overwhelmed with memories of Charisma and the people he’d left behind—especially Amy Jensen.

      Ben stepped up to the counter and offered his ticket and passport to the female agent behind the counter. She punched some numbers into the computer, then shook her head.

      “I’m sorry, sir. I can’t check you in for this flight. We’re overbooked.”

      “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

      “I’d be happy to book you on the nine o’clock—”

      “I’m supposed to connect in Miami thirty minutes after the eight o’clock flight is scheduled to land.”

      “I’m sorry, sir.”

      “I realize it’s not your fault,” he conceded. “But I have to get to North Carolina for my brother’s wedding.”

      “We do have a flight at nine o’clock into JFK that—”

      “JFK?” He stared at the Brazilian agent. “Have you ever been to the United States? It’s not a ten-minute cab ride to Raleigh from New York City.”

      “If you’d let me finish, sir—the flight gets into JFK at six-thirty-five, and from there I can connect you on the twelve-thirty to North Carolina.”

      “And what am I supposed to do at JFK for six hours?”

      Of course, she didn’t respond to his question, she only said, “Do you want a seat on that flight, sir?”

      He nodded, out of other options.