27 Kisses (Wedding Disasters #4)

Chapter 1

One

GARRETT

Twenty-Four Days until Christmas

“Nat?” I stare at the monstrosity taking up space in my office. When there’s no response, I raise my voice. “Nat!”

She rushes through the door, slightly out of breath, gathers herself, and shoves a cup of coffee in my hands. “Keep your shirt on.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

Natalie Schell is a demon wrapped in a fireball and dressed in business casual.

She’s petite, in her late twenties, with a short bob and sharp features.

She’s always cool and collected—unless she’s planning your demise.

And even then, you can only tell by the calculating look in her blue eyes.

And right now, they’re saying a lot. “Oh, sorry.” She folds her arms and studies me.

“You’re the bestest bossiest boss ever. How can I be of service? ”

I ignore her sass and point. “There’s a TARDIS in my office.”

Her eyes dart from the blue contraption with POLICE PUBLIC CALL BOX across the top to me. “Yes.”

It’s Monday morning, Garrett. Don’t lose it this early in the day. In the week. I take a sip of my coffee. It’s perfect, of course. “Why? That’s my question.”

She smiles. “Because the Dalek yells ‘Exterminate’ when you walk by, and I didn’t want to give you any ideas.”

I sigh. “It’s too early for jokes.”

Nat snorts. “I wish I were joking. It’s supposed to yell ‘Celebrate.’ Jonah’s fixing it.”

I make a frustrated sound in my throat and shove my free hand in the pocket of my dress pants.

Nat takes a step back. She’s being overly dramatic.

She’s not afraid of anything—especially not me—and I’m more likely to tear out my own hair than hurt anyone.

And at thirty-eight, with a father who lost his hair early, I can’t risk that.

In New York, as the marketing director for a leading restaurant holding company, I encountered stress every minute of every day and thrived on it. Now? I’m frustrated by wedding decorations.

But the two aren’t comparable. I’m back in my hometown of Mule Creek, trying to keep my business afloat. Trying to prove to Aidyn—what? That I’m a good businessman? A good provider?

He doesn’t need me to provide for him.

But this is my thing—solving problems, working successfully toward a goal. The thing I’m not so good at? Relationships.

The ring feels heavy in my pocket. I trace the outline with my thumb. It’s a reminder of why I’m working so hard. And why I can’t fail.

“The TARDIS is for the Pattons’ Doctor Who wedding.” Nat walks over and opens the door. “It’s a photo booth.”

I rub my forehead with my knuckle to ease the headache already starting. “Doesn’t anyone do normal weddings anymore? We have this beautiful space with a farm and rolling hills— Nat, are you listening?”

Up to this point, my assistant has been nodding along…and tapping on her phone. “Oh, sorry. Did I miss my cue?”

I shake my head. “Never mind.”

“No. I got it.” She clears her throat and says, counting off on her fingers, “The customer is always right. Give the brides what they want. And a happy customer is a returning customer.”

I choke on my coffee. “What?”

Nat grins. “Just checking to see if you’re paying attention. Although we did have that one repeat.” She taps her chin as if she’s thinking. “What was that last line again?”

“Go away.” I walk around the monstrosity and sit at my desk.

“Wait. It’s on the tip of my tongue.”

I ignore her as I run my hand over the cool metal of my black-and-silver desk.

Almost everything in this place is wood.

From the beams above us to the quaint furniture.

Country. After extensive research into wedding venues in the state, it seemed like my best shot.

My office is the exception. More my style.

After living in New York—Manhattan, to be exact—for most of my adult life, my return to Mule Creek almost a year and a half ago was a culture shock.

I’ve made the most of it, but this office, mirroring the one in my home, is my sanctuary.

And now it has a TARDIS in it.

“I’ve got it,” Nat said with a snap of her fingers, breaking me out of my thoughts. “Word of mouth is the best form of advertising.”

I sip my coffee to keep from screaming. It really is good. Does she add cinnamon? “ETA of getting my space back?”

“The wedding is two weeks from Saturday, so three weeks? And Jonah and his muscles worked hard on this, so be nice.”

Jesus. Jonah is the twelve-year-old we hired. Okay, he’s actually in his early twenties. But he looks twelve. A Nebraska farm boy fresh from the farm. “Fine. Whatever.”

“Fine. Whatever,” she mumbles to herself while tapping on her phone. “Anything else, boss?”

“Yes, actually.” I wait until she’s looking at me. “Bringing me coffee isn’t part of your job description. You don’t need to do that every morning.”

Her eyes crinkle in amusement. “I do that for me, not you. You’re growly before coffee—and not in a good way.”

“There’s a good way?” The question slips out, and I hold in a groan. But it’s too late to pull it back. It also reminds me of Aidyn. Thankfully, I’m not the blushing type.

“There definitely is. But I’m not going there.” She tucks her phone into her back pocket. Today she’s dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt with the Bishop Fields logo. “But if you’re curious, ask your secret boyfriend. I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to explain it.”

I freeze, trying to ignore the nervous energy zipping through my body.

Everyone knows I’m gay. I came out in high school, and this is a small town.

But only one other person knows about my boyfriend—scratch that, only two other people know.

Said boyfriend and my sister, Jane. But Jane’s information is from seven years ago, and we’ve barely spoken since my return to Mule Creek.

My anxiety spikes, but I’m able to hide it. I used to handle million-dollar marketing accounts without breaking a sweat. I wipe my hands on my pants, just in case, and try to keep my voice light. Casual. Normal. “Boyfriend. Ha.”

Nat raises a brow. “Do you really want to do this?” Her voice isn’t unkind. And maybe that’s the problem. Nat being sweet—I don’t need anyone’s pity.

I double down, knowing it’s a mistake. “Do…what?”

“Okay, fine,” she says, sounding resigned.

“You’re always on your phone, and I know it’s not work-related because those contacts go through me.

It’s not family because—” She stops, holding in her words.

Her eyes shift to me and away before she raises her chin.

“But the biggest clue is the wedding ring you carry around in your pocket. The one you bought in June.”

“What the hell, Nat?” I swallow the ball of emotion in my throat—from the things she said and didn’t say—and force an outraged chuckle. “Are you spying on me?”

“No, boss.” This time, I get her real smile, the one reminding me she’s not a demon or an android. “I’m just paying attention.”

Nat gets called away, and I give silent thanks to the bridezilla melting down today. We get at least one every few weeks. Nat handles everything. She’s extremely efficient, which is why I can’t just fire her.

In fact, I need to hire more staff. Business picked up after the New Year’s Eve charity event we hosted almost a year ago. But I plan to wait until after the new year.

What if this success is fleeting? I need to look at the figures again. Bishop Fields has to succeed.

I remove the black velvet bag from my pocket and pull out the ring inside.

The light glints off the gold band. What am I waiting for?

Aidyn is the main reason I moved back. But he’s also the reason I moved away in the first place.

Everything I’ve done in my adult life has been for Aidyn Christy.

The stubborn, hot-headed, grumpy, and sexy-as-hell Irishman.

Aidyn is as tall as I am, but bigger, with red hair, a short beard, and a crooked nose.

He’s also my brother-in-law.

I’ve been in love with Aidyn since the day I met him. The very same day he met and fell for my sister Emily.

But she passed away almost ten years ago. When Aidyn and I got together several years after that, I thought we’d been given another chance.

I know Aidyn loves me. But sometimes I feel like I’m competing with my sister’s ghost.

Things get busy, and it’s a relief to focus on work. Several issues need my attention. Jonah needs help with the sonic screwdriver, and Mrs. James wants to reschedule her daughter’s rodeo-themed wedding—again. I fix the issue with the screwdriver, and the twelve-year-old gives me a grateful smile.

Nat motions to me and nods at the waiting room. Time to deal with the mama-of-the-bride. My phone beeps with a phone notification. It has to be Aidyn, but I don’t want to check until I’m back in my office, away from nosy employees.

I follow Nat through the main area into reception. We stop before reaching the consultation room where Mrs. James is waiting.

“She’s very upset,” she warns. “Do you have earplugs?”

“No, why?”

“She tends to screech. Doesn’t matter.” Nat waves a hand carelessly. “She wants the earliest date possible for her daughter’s wedding.”

Nat does all the scheduling. The only reason I’m involved at this point is because Mrs. James wouldn’t accept Nat’s answer. “Which is when?”

“Um…May of next year.” Nat sounds unsure. And Nat is always sure.

“We’re booked solid until May?”

“All that hard work paid off, boss.” Her grin is too wide. “In less than two years—”

“What aren’t you telling me, Nat?”

She stares at the beams overhead like they might hold the answers. “I mean, the weekend after Christmas is technically open but—”

“Then what’s the problem? Give her that weekend.”

She jabs her hands on her hips and glares. “We’d have to work most of Christmas week to get everything done.”

“We don’t want to lose her as a client.” And then I remember Aidyn’s words when I once complained about Nat being stubborn. But you’re the boss, right? You’re in charge.