Just Until the Wedding

Chapter 1

Brooke stared at the package of hot French bread.

A minute ticked by, then two. Did she dare purchase the loaf?

She pinched the sleeve of it, and the plastic window on the package crinkled under her fingertips.

Then the tantalizing aroma of fresh bread hit her nostrils.

She salivated. Ugh, she wanted the bread more than anything.

But if she knew anything about carbs, it was that, magically, no amount of cardio could offset eating it.

Another minute passed, and Brooke’s gaze remained glued.

If she bought the loaf, she was eating the whole thing, game over.

She inhaled another whiff of the warm, carb-loaded goodness.

Gosh, she imagined how good it tasted. The melt in your mouth, eat until your stomach aches kind of deliciousness.

Best part, this particular bag of joy would only set her back a mere three bucks.

But the echo of her mother’s old saying, ‘a moment on the lips is a lifetime on the hips’ vibrated in her psyche again and again, back and forth, like she was on a child’s teeter-totter.

But breakup calories did not count, right?

It was practically written in stone.

A perfectly formed forearm came around her shoulder and snatched a packet of the French bread. After all, she was being an aisle hog.

“Just buy it.” He tossed the sleeve of bread into his hand-held basket like any man would. No thoughts about how it might make them bloat or add an uncomfortable inch that made their jeans too tight. “You know you won’t regret it.” He smiled, making his blue eyes pop.

Brooke peered up at the cool drink of water and allowed her ogling gaze to travel the length of his chiseled biceps and broad shoulders.

His full head of not-quite-curly dark brown hair made him attractive in a boy next door look.

Inwardly, she cringed as she glanced down at her ragged, disheveled appearance.

Ah, come on now. She never met hot guys when she looked put together. Never.

Brooke blinked. “No, I know I will— regret it, big time. I’m just trying to decide how much I care.”

She knew she looked bad. Her dirty hair hadn’t been washed in days.

To make matters worse, she had thrown it up into a haphazard bun on her way out the door.

A mustard stain she needed to wash out shone brightly on the front of her hoodie.

After her back-to-back shifts at the hospital, her eyes burned from lack of sleep.

The dark circles which stared back at her in the mirror made herself flinch.

If she wasn’t so bone dead tired, coupled with her gut-wrenching sadness, she might have cared.

“Ahh,” he replied.

“I’m a woman,” she countered.

Gosh, his eyes were intriguing, a perfect match of turquoise and aqua. She’d read somewhere that the blue-eyed and dark-haired combo was a dying breed. Then and there she cast a prayer, it wasn’t true.

“I noticed.” His lips twitched like he found her a bit amusing.

“If you didn’t hear, carbs are the woman’s enemy.”

“Are they now?” His eyes glinted with humor. “I thought a woman’s enemy was men who didn’t pay on dates and people who don’t put their cart away after they visit the grocery store.”

“Wrong.” She made a buzzer sound. “Carbs, it always was and always will be carbs. This is why I’m trying to decide.” Brooke forced her gaze away from the hot guy back to the bread rack. “Do I care I will polish off the entire loaf by myself on my way home?”

“Did you want me to answer that?” he replied.

“No.”

His gaze roamed her body. “Bad day?”

Bingo, genius.

Brooke shifted back to take in the boy next door with his five o’clock shadow.

He looked like he was on his way to a casting call for a Hallmark movie, and she wanted to hate him for it.

He probably dated women who hated bread and drank green smoothies on their way to yoga.

Most definitely he didn’t date women like her.

“You have no idea,” Brooke muttered.

She scooted closer to the bread rack and pinched the bag of French bread again.

The aroma seeped out of the top of the open bag, hitting her again with its intoxicating scent.

It screamed ‘buy me, buy me’. Brooke planned to as soon as Mr. Hottie moved it along.

She preferred to make unhealthy food choices alone.

“Oh,” he stammered.

His gaze slid up and down her a second time in a less than obvious manner. She wondered if he thought she looked as bad as she appeared. Wait, she didn’t want to know the answer.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He stepped back and widened the space between them like she was a loose cannon. “I hope it gets better. Maybe the bread will help?” Slowly, he moved further away.

“Not likely.” Brooke picked up a package of the bread, then added, “But thanks.”

It looked like Brooke had dinner.

“Hey,” he smiled and revealed his dazzling white teeth. “You’re going for it.” He nodded his head toward her loaf of bread. “Good for you.”

“Yep, I can’t resist.” Brooke forced herself to straighten her shoulders.

“I guess you could say I no longer care about—anything.” She laughed nervously as she fought back the tears working toward the corners of her eyes.

With a forced smile, she continued, “So, why not eat my sorrows away on a loaf of bread?”

“Ahh—” he rubbed the back of his neck and shuffled his feet.

He suddenly looked very uncomfortable. Word to the wise, do not share your mess of a life with a stranger. Deep discomfort will follow for you and them. Keep those emotions packed in tight until you find yourself alone again.

He scrunched his nose. “Sorry.”

She shrugged. “My life is falling apart.”

“I gathered that much.” He stumbled a step back and his hip hit the end of the aisle shelving.

“This,” Brooke shook the package of bread, “will help.”

Stop talking. You are scaring him.

“I see.” His lips pursed together, forming a tight line. “Good luck—with—that.” He tried to back up more but his body was pinned between her and the aisle.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” She laughed.

“Okay,” His eyes dilated a smidge, just enough that she thought he might think she was a total weirdo.

But luckily, she lived in Chicago. Her chances of seeing this guy again were pretty much zilch. The beauty of city living.

“Okay,” she repeated.

With nothing left to say, she brushed past him and shuffled over to the checkout lines. Brooke didn’t care what Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome was doing, but she planned on high-tailing it out of this grocery store before she managed to have even more awkward conversations with innocent people.

So, she weaved through the store and arrived at the checkout lanes.

But she found every line ten people deep.

She groaned. Maybe this wasn’t worth it?

She gnawed on her bottom lip as she contemplated abandoning the bread.

A whiff of it filled her lungs. No, she needed this more than anything, bad choices and all.

A cashier opened the self-checkout machines on the section past the normal checkout. Bingo.

This forced Brooke to duck and dive around the crowded lines and crawl her way to the self-checkout. By the time she arrived, the line for self-checkout weaved down the cookie aisle. She dragged her feet to the end of it.

As she waited, the beautiful cookies in plastic packaging taunted her.

She ran her finger along the row of cookies.

The double stuffed Oreos called her name.

Eat me, eat me, eat me. Quickly, she checked the back of the package for the nutrition content.

Terrible idea. She placed the package back on the shelf.

The line didn’t budge, and the Oreos stared back at her.

“Fine,” she muttered to herself way too loud. “I’ll buy you too.”

If she was going down, she planned on doing it in style.

So, there she stood, hot bread in one hand and Oreos in the other, with her ugliest and grungiest clothes on.

Her blood pressure rose with each passing minute.

One customer had twelve coupons, another tried to ring up gift cards which wasn’t allowed in the self-checkout, and another tried to purchase alcohol.

This required a worker to shuffle on over and approve the purchase. She peered down at her two items.

Was this worth it?

Yes.

“Oreos, too,” the familiar voice from earlier interrupted her thoughts. “Excellent choice.” He spoke from behind her.

Her jaw clenched. Something about his upbeat tone made her grip both items tightly in each hand. The package of Oreos crinkled under the clutch of her fingertips. Sure, she knew she was headed down the path of destruction, but she wanted to do it alone.

“Are you,” Brooke swiveled to face him then hissed with far too much gusto, “following me?”

“What?” He took a large step back, widening the gap between them.

He looked around the aisle then back at her.

“I’m sorry. I just got out of a twelve-hour surgery.

I tend to be a bit chatty afterwards. I’m not following you.

I thought we had a moment back there,” his voice softened, and he placed a hand over his chest, “I guess I was wrong.”

“Surgery?” She rolled her eyes. “Please.”

Brooke had met plenty of men like him at the hospital where she worked. Men who loved to use their profession as bragging rights to be a total turd. Well, too bad, she was not taking the bait. Guess what, news flash, she was a doctor too. Pediatrician.

“Um, sorry. Huh?”

“I get it, you’re a surgeon.” Brooke dramatically waved the hand with the package of Oreos around. “I should be drooling and throwing myself at you to get the chance to be with such a total catch.”

“That wasn’t what I was—”

She interrupted and said, “Save it.”

The line shifted forward.

He pursed his lips together then he curtly nodded.