Chapter 18 #2
“No silly, we just watch you try on dresses.” She chuckles like I just said the silliest thing in the world. “Unless you want them to be bridesmaids?”
“Um . . . I haven’t thought about bridesmaids.”
“No problem!” she says, pushing the binder toward me. “It’s all in the quiz.”
I stare down at the binder, suddenly feeling like I’m back in school and needing to cram for a big test. I never liked school.
Hated it in fact. My head is swimming with information overload and we’ve only just begun.
“Do you mind if we exchange numbers before I head out? That way I can text you with calendar requests?”
“Um . . . sure,” I mumble and hand over my phone to watch Luke’s mom type in her number and then call my phone.
“Be sure to save that!” She points to the device in my hand and I smile and nod woodenly. “Okay, I have loads to do and you
have a lumberyard to run!” She looks around and presses a hand to her chest before staring back at me. “This is very impressive,
Addison.”
“What is?”
“You. Here.” She inhales deeply. “My son sure knows how to pick ’em.”
With a wave of her fingers she’s off like some sort of fairy godmother-in-law and before I know it, I’m at my desk on a website
I’ve never heard of and several clicks into a wedding quiz from hell and catapulting myself into a full-blown panic attack.
After spending over an hour on this miserable quiz, I’m still only halfway done. Halfway? What the fuck other questions do
these people have for me? I want out but now I’ve come so far and it seems like a waste to click out now. And I bet then I
lose my answers. I haven’t even got to reception questions yet!
In a fit of rage, I grab my phone and call the only person who deserves this fury.
“Hello?” Luke answers, his voice calm and casual, the complete opposite of my inner psyche.
“What season are you?” I bark into the phone, bypassing pleasantries as I pound away on the keyboard of my computer.
“What?”
“What season are you?” My voice rises as I stand up and step away from the computer like it’s about to light on fire.
“I don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I need to know your season so I know what color palette to pick for the wedding,” I snipe, pushing my hand into my hair.
“I think I’m an Autumn, but if you’re a Spring, we’re basically fucked according to the quiz.”
“According to what quiz?” Luke growls, finally reaching my level of frustration. “Are you having a stroke?”
“No. I’m taking a quiz your mother gave me after she dropped by today with a binder that looks like it contains the codes
to the nuclear bombs.”
Luke exhales heavily. “Of course this is my mother’s doing. I would expect nothing less of Johanna Fletcher. This is where
Everly gets it—”
“When did we get engaged?” I ask, cutting him off mid-sentence.
“Huh?”
“It’s customary to send out engagement announcements and we screwed the pooch on that one, but I’m thinking we can send one
out retroactively. I need to text your mom to get the name of a good photographer. Shit, what the hell am I going to wear
for that kind of photoshoot? I really need to know what fucking season you are, Luke. I’m assuming your personal style is rustic, right?”
“Um . . . it is if that’s what you want it to be.”
“I think I’m classic so we’re fucked again, Fletcher. This is a—”
“Go outside,” Luke barks forcefully, cutting me off.
“Huh?”
“Go outside,” he repeats again. “Get on a forklift and move some shit around.”
I frown and glance out the window with confusion. “Why?”
“Because you need to touch some fucking grass, and for you I think that means operating heavy machinery. Get away from the
wedding planning shit. I’m on my way back from Denver now and I’m coming to see you. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
“You don’t have to come here. You’re probably busy. I shouldn’t have called.”
“Roe.”
“Fine, I’m going.” I huff and hang up the phone.
He might be right. Just looking out the window at the guys working makes me feel better. But a loud engine would help me relax
even further. So I follow Luke’s instructions and head out to join the crew, fully intent on kicking Bullhead off his forklift
so I can have some sort of weird-ass lumberyard-chick therapy session.
Sounds kind of dirty.
The fresh air is healing and I lose track of time unloading a shipment of plywood that came in from one of our suppliers.
I’m snapped back to reality when I hear Bullhead yelling my name, so I pull the noise-canceling headphones off my ears and
glance down to where he’s waving up at me.
“You have someone in your office, boss!” he shouts and cuts a look over to a couple other guys nearby. “It’s loverboy,” Bullhead
adds and makes a gross hip thrusting action. That is something I really did not need to see on a sixty-year-old man today.
He hooks his thumb to the building. “Get off my rig so I can get back to work.”
I shut down the engine and slide down off the equipment, giving the guys a wave as I make my way into the building center.
My heart rate starts increasing all over again and I wonder if perhaps I should have stayed on the forklift a bit longer, although I don’t think my change in blood pressure is because of wedding planning.
It’s because my husband is here.
God, that’s weird to say.
Luke stands in front of my desk all tall, flannel and adorable with his little mustache and backward hat, but the concern
in his eyes when I walk through my office doorway has me feeling guilty for calling him earlier.
“I’m so sorry you had to come here,” I say, pulling my jacket and gloves off and flopping them on a nearby chair.
“Don’t be,” he says, moving over to me and putting his hands on my shoulders. He crouches down in front of me to get a good
look at me. “You feeling better?”
“I am,” I reply with a sheepish smile. “I got to drive the forklift.”
He chuckles and stands up straight, looking down at me with a sexy smirk. “Remind me to show you how to operate the tractor
this winter.”
My eyes light up. “Hell yes.” Seems my husband knows me well.
Of course he does, Roe, he’s your best friend. Good God.
He shakes his head and walks over to my desk. “Is this my mom’s binder?”
“That’s the one.” I shudder just looking at it.
He picks it up and slides it under his arm. “I can handle this.”
“But how are you going to know if baby’s breath is tacky or classic?” I deadpan, then frown when I realize I’m kind of serious.
“Roe.” Luke licks his lips and fights away a smile, revealing a dimple that I never noticed before. “It doesn’t matter. None
of this matters. Whatever we do is just for show. Remember?”
“Oh yeah . . . right . . .” I murmur, my brows furrowing as I look back into the showroom and notice the banner on the ceiling has fallen down on one side. It feels ominous in a strange way. I clear my throat and look back at him. “This isn’t real.”
I swallow the painful knot in my throat, hating how those words feel on my tongue. After the gift from the yard guys and Luke’s
mom acting all sweet and caring and now Luke coming here all protective and chivalrous, I guess I’m feeling a bit like . . .
all of this feels pretty damn real to me.
“Come here.” Luke holds his hands out to me as I walk over to where he pulls me in for a big hug. As our bodies press together,
I feel myself instantly start to calm down as my breaths synchronize with his. He doesn’t smell like gasoline and chew, but
he smells familiar all the same. I swear he’s like a weighted blanket that just makes all the noise go away. How the hell
does he do that?
He rubs the back of my head and murmurs, “Feel better?”
“Much,” I reply with a dopey smile up at him.
“Good, I have something for you.” He digs into his pocket and retrieves a small burgundy box with the word Cartier etched into the top.
“What the hell is that?” I step back and point at the thing in his hand like it’s a mouse.
Luke chuckles softly. “Just open it.”
“I don’t want to open it.” I ball my hands up into fists and press them into my chest.
“Why not?” He looks at me with an amused smirk.
“Because that looks expensive.” I stare down at it again. What is with people giving me extravagant gifts today?
“It wasn’t that bad.” Luke removes the space between us and forces it into my hand. “Just take it.”
My hands are shaking as I hold the box in my hand, terrified that I’m going to open it and find some ridiculous three-carat diamond that Luke spent his life savings on because he’s freakishly nice and feels guilty for not having a ring on my finger when people ask.
“Luke, I seriously don’t want . . .” My voice trails off when I pop it open and see what’s inside. “Oh my gosh.”
“Do you like it?” Luke hunches down to get a better look at my reaction but I can’t be bothered to look at him, because what
I have in my hands is way too beautiful to look away from.
“Here, let me help you.” He takes the box from me, pulling the ring out of the slot and grabbing my left hand to slide it
onto my finger.
“Oh my gosh,” I say again because it’s just so . . .
“It’s cool, right?” Luke says, sounding like a kid in a candy store. “I saw it and totally thought of you. Does the size feel
okay? I had to guess but they said we can exchange it if we need to. I picked it up in Denver this morning.”
“Luke, it’s perfect.” I hold my hand up, marveling at the unique piece of art on my finger. I say “art” because it is. It’s
a smooth white gold metal band that wraps around my finger in the form of curved nail. It has a row of tiny diamonds wrapped
around what looks like a nailhead, adding a touch of sparkle that even I can’t be mad at. “It’s a freaking wrapped nail with
diamonds.”
The proud twinkle in his eye is unmistakable.
“But Cartier?” I glance at the box still in his hand. “Luke. I’m not a brand girlie and even I know this couldn’t have been
cheap.”
“You’re about to own a lumberyard, Roe. You needed something to represent the success you’ve earned in your life and I think
this does that.” His brows furrow and a quiet, almost melancholic vibe descends over him as he rubs his thumb over my ring.
“If we’re going to fake it, we might as well do it right, you know?”
I look up at him as he holds my hand, bowing over me in that tall lanky way he has about him. He holds my eyes captive as he looks from my eyes to my lips and then back to my eyes. He does that a lot. And every time it makes me want to lick my lips in preparation.
But we don’t kiss.
We shouldn’t kiss.
We’re just friends.
Then again, he just put a Cartier ring on my finger.
I lift my chin up just as he jerks back and clears his throat, fully shattering whatever spell we were just under. His voice
is deep and reflective when he says, “Roe, I know you think I’m doing you this big favor by marrying you so you can inherit
the lumberyard, but I promise you, babe . . . we are in this whole song and dance together, okay? I’m with you until the end.”
Babe?
Did he just call me babe?
And did I just get butterflies when he did?
Holy fuck.
He said some other stuff too though. The end? He said something about this ending?
The corner of his mouth lifts as his eyes smolder on mine. “My family is crazy. Your family is crazy. But you and me. We can
be good. We can get through all of this as long as we have each other’s back. And I will always have your back.”
He pulls me in for another hug and presses his lips into my hair. I close my eyes and sink into the comfort of my best friend.
Best. Friend. This is a best friend hug, because that’s what Luke is.
For a few hours, especially after seeing all the effort my lumberyard family put into celebrating my fake marriage, not to mention my fake mother-in-law and her detailed binder, I’d traversed from fake to almost real.
And my ring? Fuck, my best friend knows me well, which is why he got this ring. That’s all.
It’s not romantic, and I don’t do romance.
Which is why I am not disappointed that he didn’t kiss me on the lips . . . because . . . we’re just friends . . . and friends
don’t kiss on the lips no matter how good it feels. And even if I ventured into fantasyland momentarily today, Luke did not.
We’re just friends who happen to be married to each other. No big deal.