Chapter 17 The Second Wedding
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Second Wedding
The doorbell to the farmhouse rang twice in quick succession.
Brad poked his head out of the kitchen. He couldn’t see Sophie, and everyone else in the packed living room continued talking animatedly in small groups, either not having heard the bell or not caring since it wasn’t their home.
He sighed and put down the metal shaker he was using to make Sophie a cosmo.
He got stopped three times in the hundred feet from the kitchen to the door, each guest telling him what a wonderful job he and Sophie had done with the place.
Each time, he thanked them—they had done some good work in the few weeks they’d been there—but told the guests that it was actually his mom and Paige who had decorated for the wedding, that they deserved the praise.
The bell rang again.
“I’m coming. Jesus,” Brad muttered. His mom had crafted a sign in beautiful, but perfectly legible, gold and black calligraphy for the front door, telling the guests to come on in. The ceremony had just ended, so whoever was at his door—and couldn’t read—was also very late.
He got to the door and swung it open, expecting to see a guilty-looking guest, but instead was met with a mountain of boxes, a UPS delivery man to the side of them brandishing a clipboard in outstretched arms.
“What’s this?” Brad asked.
“Not sure,” the UPS guy told him. “I just do the deliveries.”
Brad gave him a “really?” look, his eyes narrowed and brows pulled in. He was met with raised arms and a cocked head from the delivery man.
He shut the door behind him, not wanting to let the cold in.
He rubbed his arms, trying to warm them.
A February storm had rolled through the week before, dumping two feet of snow on the farm and town.
Brad had worried about what that meant for the wedding, including driving the narrow dirt road to the property, but Steve and Jackie were thrilled that it meant their pictures would look like a winter wonderland.
As Brad tried to rack his brain about what the boxes might be, he marveled at how much of the snow had stuck around the past week.
He had to admit, Steve and Jackie were right.
It made for a stunning backdrop to their day, cold as it was.
Brad signed the sheet, and the man wasted no time sprinting back to his truck, roaring through the packed snow to the still-hidden dirt road.
Brad looked at the return labels, saw that the packing slips were underneath, and fished them out with trembling hands.
One look was all it took to warm him right up.
They were from his publisher and contained the advanced author copies of book four in his series.
Holy shit, that was a quick turnaround.
Did that mean Julia’s injunction was officially called off? All he knew was that Sophie had gone to talk to her the night after her first visit to the farm for dinner with his parents. Well, he knew that after all but torturing the information out of her.
At first, she’d come home and simply told him, “Write.” A quizzical look from him prompted only, “Write the draft. Send it in. Your publishers are waiting.” It was the most cryptic conversation he’d ever had with her, but he’d done as she commanded, knowing instinctively that he could and would always trust her.
He finished the last draft of the book only two days past due and sent it in.
The publishers had “optimistically” sent it to some reviewers with strict instructions not to publish the reviews until they heard from Brad’s manager.
After that, it’d been a waiting game, an effort in patience he almost lost until he was working on his bills one night, Sophie curled up naked beside him, and saw an amount in his checking account he thought must have been a mistake.
There were far too many zeros following the number five for him to do more than put his head between his legs and breathe.
Another glance told him it was from the production agency, the first of three payments for the movie rights to Jewel Thief and the next two books.
Holy shit. She’d done it. They’d done it.
Whatever legal mess stopped production of the movies was at least behind him, and after that it’d been business as usual.
He began tentatively at first, then compulsively worked on book five.
Sophie gave him his life, and his muse, back.
It looked like she’d kept one more secret from him, though.
He had no idea they’d gone ahead with normal publication of book four, but why wouldn’t they have if there was no legal reason not to?
When he got ahold of Sophie, he’d make sure to thank her in a way he knew she’d appreciate.
That woman had done nothing short of the impossible since he’d met her, and he couldn’t be more grateful.
First, she’d turned the wedding of his nightmares into a pleasant dream he didn’t want to wake from, then she’d stood by him while he figured out his relatively convoluted relationship with his mom.
She’d single-handedly fixed the situation with Julia and now had helped them move into his parents’ farmhouse.
All that and to boot, in four short weeks, she’d helped plan and execute the wedding of Steve and Jackie’s dreams. In addition to thanking her, he owed her a vacation, that was for damn sure—especially now that they had the funds to cover one that would blow her socks, and the rest of her clothes, off.
He’d have to talk to Paige and get her advice on a romantic destination that would really wow Sophie. She sure as hell deserved it.
Examining the slew of packages, Brad found a note addressed to him in messy scrawl taped to the outside of one of the closest boxes and giddily tore it open. This was the Christmas he was supposed to have, albeit a couple months late.
Brad—Sorry for sending these without warning. Your lady and I wanted to surprise you. Surprise! Can’t wait to see the draft of book five. We’ve already sold out of the preorder print run of these, so get crackin’! –Keith and Team
Brad smiled, looking over his shoulders to see if there was anyone else to share in his joy, but through the windows he could see everyone was laughing, engaged with other guests, drinking, which was how it should be at a wedding.
He didn’t want to steal Steve and Jackie’s day from them.
Using the pocketknife he carried everywhere since he moved full-time to the farm to crack open one of the boxes, Brad took one of the books out to admire it.
Per usual, the team had done an amazing job conjuring up the gist of the story and putting it simply, artistically, into visual form for the front cover, which showed a noose hanging from the center beam in the storefront of a nameless jewelry store.
It was perfect. Brad wished Sophie would come out to find him so he could show her without drawing attention away from the wedding party.
He didn’t think he’d ever get used to seeing his name on the cover of a novel, on shelves at bookstores, or being reviewed in some of his favorite magazines.
This one he owed to her, he knew that much.
Diligently, as quickly and quietly as he could, Brad moved the boxes off to the side of the wrap-around porch, wondering where he could store them when the wedding guests departed that evening.
He snuck back inside, his secret delivery in the back of his mind as he made his way back to the kitchen—by way of more guests complimenting his work on the farmhouse—to finish Sophie’s drink in the kitchen.
He glanced over at her. She was draped in a pale pink sheath that clung to her body in all the right places, but somehow, every time she walked, the fabric flowed outward like she was underwater and might float away at any moment.
His breath hitched, and he felt dizzy, like he’d had a few too many cocktails, even though he hadn’t had a sip all day.
He wanted a clear head for what he needed to accomplish that afternoon.
It had been just over a month since he and Sophie had started dating, officially anyway, and moved in together.
So many of Brad’s friends from the library thought he was crazy, that he was moving too fast—everyone except Steve, of course, who would laugh and ask Brad what took him so long.
But then, his friends would meet Sophie, and their minds were changed.
At times it felt like Brad had just seen her for the first time, like now. He was still taken aback by how stunning she was, that she’d chosen him.
Other times he felt like he’d known her his whole life, the way she instinctively met every one of his needs and so many he’d never known he’d had.
That morning, even, he’d showered after a rather passionate lovemaking session and had come out to his suit laid out on the bed, a note on top of it that told him to meet her in the kitchen.
He’d gone out in just a towel to find breakfast made, the newspaper opened to a rave review of book three, his favorite coffee creamer by his mug.
How’d she figured out he loved hazelnut best without him having to say anything was one of the million small things she did each day that made him love her even more than when he’d first declared it.
The thing was, she made him a better person as well.
She gave him time each morning to write, encouraging him with little notes left around the home, plying him with his hazelnut coffee, and then, when he would get frustrated at the computer because the words he needed refused to come, Sophie would drag him out for a run—or into the bedroom for another form of exercise—to shake the cobwebs from his mind.
Finally, he had an equal partner in life.
It was every bit the motivation and desire he needed to do anything in his power to make and keep her happy.