Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Bridger
I know what Dex is trying to do.
The guy’s been on to me forever. On to my true feelings, that is. And he wants to give me a moment—just one—of holding the woman I love in my arms before reality hits, and the fact that this is all fake comes crashing down on us.
Correction: On me.
Because let’s face it, Loren doesn’t feel the same way I do.
This isn’t some giddy romcom where the main characters have been best friends since childhood, quietly pining away for each other for decades, but somehow never gathering the courage to have a single honest conversation about their secret crush.
Please.
When we first met, Loren was already spoken for.
Permanently, as far as I knew. The fact that I felt an instant attraction couldn’t have been more irrelevant.
The woman was engaged. So even after I got to know her, the depth of humor and intelligence, none of that mattered.
Loren Cane wore Foster Abel’s ring. And I’d never interfere with what I assumed was a happy relationship.
And yet.
Day after day, week after week, month after month, Loren proved to be everything I’d ever wanted in a partner. And then some. More perfect for me than I imagined any one person could be. The only thing standing between her and a deep, heartfelt confession? The fact that she wasn’t free.
Until she was.
Except in those early days, then weeks and months after Foster broke off their engagement, Loren’s hurt was so raw, the abandonment so fresh, there was no way I could even hint about how I felt.
She’d already lost her mother. Her father was struggling.
Then her fiancé walked out, leaving her vulnerable in a way that demanded I be there for her … strictly as a friend.
Not to mention every other statement out of her mouth was a promise that she’d never date again. She was done. Finito. Over and out. There couldn’t have been a worse time for me to swoop in and plead my case.
So I bided my time.
I hoped patience was on my side.
Through the winter and spring, everyone’s focus was on Sayla and Dex. Their wedding. Their future. Any confessions on my end would have to wait until after they got married. I figured if Loren shot me down then, the potential awkwardness between us would have little impact on our best friends.
So.
I braced my heart to finally take the risk when we moved Loren into Dex’s apartment. If she felt even the slightest ember of the fire already blazing in me, I was prepared. All I needed was a sign that something was there I could work with and nurture.
Instead, the universe showed me exactly how desperate she was that day. How dire her straits were, both emotionally and financially. The truth? She’s no less vulnerable now than she was when Foster left. If anything, she’s more fragile.
So I decided to pivot.
I came clean with her about something else: The donations. My trust fund. The terms. I even offered to marry Rosalind to help. Sacrificing for Loren felt like the right thing to do.
It still does.
But going forward, I’ll never know if any feelings she might have for me grew from a genuine connection, or if she’s simply … grateful. The situation will always be complicated because I’m her benefactor. Not her boyfriend.
And tomorrow, I’ll be her husband.
“Come on, hotshots.” Dex claps his hands. “Let’s make a video.” I know he thinks he’s being harmless, just giving me a hard time, joking around like we’ve always done. But this involves Loren now. Which is different.
“Enough,” I grit out.
“Dude.” He quirks a brow. “I know it’s been a while, but please don’t tell me you forgot how to kiss a woman.”
“I’m not taking the bait, man,” I tell him. “Not this time. Loren’s already had to put up with—”
“Dex has a point,” she interjects, cutting me off. I peer down at her, my insides scraped raw by the instinct to protect her. “We need this to look as real as possible,” she adds softly.
Real. Everything I do with her, for her, is real.
“Are you sure?”
She gives me a small nod.
“All right.” I turn to Sayla, my pulse picking up with the prospect of kissing Loren again. On video this time. “Let us know when you’re ready, because we’re only doing this once.”
Sayla lifts her phone. Finds her shot. Bobs her head. “Okay. Go.”
I snake an arm around Loren’s waist, tugging her to me until our bodies are flush against each other. When I tilt my chin, a question in my eyes, her gaze dips to my mouth, and she sucks in a breath. I take that as wordless permission.
No going back now.
I gently push her hair off her cheek, letting my palm cradle her face. Her lids shutter closed, and she leans into my hand. Then I slowly lower my mouth.
Our kiss is whisper-soft at first. The self-restraint, agonizing. When my fingers find her jaw, tenderly tipping it for better access, Loren increases the pressure. Playing along, answering my every move.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Dex crows. “Kiss that wife of yours!”
But I’m not just kissing Loren. I’m dissolving into her. Coming completely undone with her in my arms. Still, Loren trusts me. I have to remember that. So my other hand grips her waist, digging in.
Holding back.
Still. Maintaining control is … a challenge.
Sayla must have enough footage by now. So I make a move to end the kiss with a one last torturous nip, but Loren whispers, “Not yet.”
My heart’s a battering ram. “What?”
Instead of answering, she rises on her toes, sliding her mouth back to mine. Our breath mingles, and my blood races through me at a speed that could carve the Grand Canyon out of solid rock.
“Yeah, buddy!” Dex hoots. “Ten out of ten. No notes!”
That’s it. I don’t want to stop. I have to. So I bite back the groan threatening to rip out of me, and break away. Loren presses a hand to her throat and takes a small step backward.
I already miss her.
I knew kissing Loren was a risk, but I had zero concept of the catastrophe waiting for me on the other side. This wasn’t just a quick peck, like we did for that picture. Sayla just recorded a genuine kiss between me and the woman I love.
Two of us participated.
Only one of us meant it.
“That was good,” Sayla says, checking the video.
Good?
Right. More like tragic. Because now I know exactly what I’ve been missing. And from now on, I’ll be addicted to the taste of Loren Cane. I swipe the back of my hand across my mouth, and the skin there feels hot. Like I’ve been branded.
Sayla looks up from her phone. “Nice job, friends. Mama Adams will definitely believe your performance.”
Right.
Friends. Performance.
For Loren, yeah. Sure. Both those words ring true. As for me? I’m scarred for life by my future wife.
Because once I’m her husband, I won’t be free to kiss her again.
Ten minutes later, Sayla and Dex are still replaying the video like it’s some kind of Steven Spielberg blockbuster. But each rewatch makes it harder for me to breathe. So I quietly pay the tab and offer to walk Loren to her car.
Again.
Outside, the sky is starry and clear. Inside, I’m still reeling. For half a block, we don’t speak. Our movie soundtrack is chirping crickets. Then she says, “So that was a pivot we didn’t see coming, huh?”
Laughter slips out of her, and I push my hands deeper into my pockets. “Which part?”
“All of it,” she says. “But especially the end.” Her voice cracks, and I get that what she really means is the kiss.
“Yeah, that was weird,” I say. “For both of us. So we should probably—”
“Never kiss again?” She lets out another cascade of laughter.
“Yep.” I bob my head. “I was thinking the same thing.”
“Okay, good. Me too.”
As we continue walking, I make the mistake of glancing at her. I swear moonlight’s dancing in her hair. Like a literal waltz. If I said that out loud, though, she’d probably remind me hair can’t do that. Still, I defy anyone to look at her right now and say she isn’t magical enough to pull it off.
Her gaze flicks up to mine.
Caught looking.
“What?” she says.
“Nothing,” I mumble, shifting my focus back to the sidewalk. “I guess I was just thinking.”
“About what?”
“We decided we should avoid kissing from now on, right?”
“Right.”
“That’s what we both want, of course.” Sharp blades of heat chafe my throat. “But what about the ceremony tomorrow? If Sayla’s recording. Or taking pictures for my mom—”
“Which she will do,” Loren chimes in.
“I’m assuming,” I say. “Then the whole ‘you may kiss the bride’ thing after our vows would feel off if we … just shook hands.”
In my peripheral vision, Loren nods. “I agree.”
“Agree with what?”
“That we probably need to kiss one more time,” she says.
“At the wedding,” I clarify.
“Right. And after that, no more.”
“Add that to the napkin.” I force a chuckle. “As of tomorrow, we’re officially done with pivots.”
“We can still do other normal coupley stuff to prove our marriage is real, though.” Her shoulders pitch up, then drop. “Stuff that doesn’t involve lips.”
“Like …?”
“Like you carrying me over the threshold of our mansion. Or cooking in the kitchen of our mansion. Or curling up to watch TV in our mansion.”
“I’m sensing a theme here.”
“Is it … mansion?”
This pulls a laugh out of me. My future wife is hilarious. It’s one of the many traits I adore about her. For better or worse.
I adore her.
We continue to the corner and make a right. Two blocks down, Loren discovers we’re conveniently parked next to each other. Not a coincidence. When I arrived earlier, I found her car first, then circled the block, waiting for a spot to open up nearby. Just in case.
She digs in her purse for her key fob, and the door unlocks with a chirp.
My heart stutters too.
“I have something for you,” I say. “For tomorrow.”
“You already got me a key to a mansion.”
“Just one more thing.” I circle my car, pop the trunk, and pull out a black dress bag from the only wedding shop close to Harvest Hollow.
He Wed She Wed.
Loren stares at the bag for a moment. “What did you do?”