Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Loren
Kitten did not, in fact, have sweet dreams.
Mostly because she didn’t sleep a wink. What she did was repack a week’s worth of stuff to take to her new mansion, then she tossed and turned all night while visions of her three best friends danced in her head.
It’s me.
I tossed and turned.
I kept looping on Sayla’s not-so-subtle reminders that Bridger and I are just friends, and that things could get messy if I let the lines blur into something more. Not to mention Dexter’s cheeky goading and his sly winks, which pushed Bridger and me directly into something more territory.
Then there was Bridger, the most sleep-defying of them all, renting us that mansion, buying me an entire wedding wardrobe, then fully supporting my dad moving to Havenwood.
And somehow, he managed to do these things while ensuring I was cared for in every way.
I am cared for. Food. Housing. Clothes. Finances. Transportation. Safety.
All of it.
Also, for the record, the man really knows what to do with his lips.
So yes, I spent the night overthinking what was going through his head.
Recalling each quiet look. Analyzing the rake of his hands through his messy hair.
Remembering each steady touch of my just-friend Bridger Adams. The man I’m about to marry.
So how on earth is a woman supposed to sleep under those conditions?
She isn’t.
I didn’t.
Which is why I felt a bit like a walking zombie this morning, doing my own hair and makeup. I can’t believe I actually managed to look kind of pretty. Then again, the wedding gown Bridger bought for me is doing the bulk of the hard work.
The fabric feels like satin mixed with thousands of white butterfly wings. There’s no beading, lace, or bling. Just a simple silhouette, a clean neckline at the bodice, and a row of pearls down the back for fastening.
I love it so much.
My new veil is beautiful too. The gossamer material is so light and sheer, I’m pretty sure sunshine could pass straight through it.
While I wait for the chauffeur to load my luggage into the back of the limo, I’m surprised I don’t float away on the breeze.
Instead, he bundles me in, and I settle in across from Dex and Sayla.
The best man and matron of honor.
Dex is wearing the same black suit he sported for their rehearsal dinner, and Sayla’s in the pink dress I got for their wedding.
The hem is an inch too long, and there’s a slight gap in her heart area, but we didn’t have a lot of options for bridesmaids’ dresses in under twenty-four hours.
After all, Dex didn’t go buy her a last-minute gown from He Wed She Wed.
You know who does stuff like that?
My future husband. The one I’m about to meet at city hall so we can get married.
While Dex talks to our driver through the dividing window, Sayla offers me a beverage from the fully stocked bar, like she’s a flight attendant and I’m a first-class passenger.
“Mimosa?"
I puff out a laugh. “It’s a little early for me. And anyway, I met my monthly champagne quota last night.”
“Something else, then? Diet Coke? Dr Pepper? Water?”
“I think I’m good, thanks.” I smooth my hands down my skirt. “Well, as good as I can be under the circumstances. And anyway, I’d probably just spill on my new dress.”
Dex turns his attention back to us. “There are Oreo cookie packets in there, too.” He digs in a wicker basket and pulls out a packet.
“Thanks, but I already ate.” I wave the packet away, and he drops it back into the basket. “Besides. I get the feeling my future mother-in-law wouldn’t approve of Oreo crumbs in my teeth.”
Sayla presses out a chuckle, and Dex reaches for her hand. Then she flashes me a half smile, and he averts his gaze. The three of us spend a full minute in silence, with Sayla squeezing Dex’s hand, and Dex not making eye contact.
My friends are probably worried about me.
Maybe even a little nervous, and I get that.
What Bridger and I are planning to do today is surreal.
For all of us. And Sayla and Dex are our witnesses.
Still, after another minute of nobody speaking, I start to think something might be up.
They’re awfully quiet. Too quiet, especially for Dex.
“You’re being kind of … weird,” I say.
Sayla laughs. “Dex is always weird.”
“My wife isn’t wrong,” he says.
“Everything will be fine,” she chirps. “Really.”
“Bridger just wants you to relax,” Dex adds.
“Relax. On my wedding day.” I clear my throat. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
I blow out a breath and shift my focus out the window, where a canopy of trees arches over the road. Oaks, maples, and poplars, all in a battle over which gives more shade. But the closer we get to city hall, the more my pulse picks up.
I’ve always loved downtown Harvest Hollow. The shops and cafes. The street lamps and white lights. This place is home to me. A comfort. But today, the brick architecture makes me queasy. And by the time the giant fountain in the square comes into view, I clench my teeth to avoid biting my lip.
Across that very intersection, in some echo-filled chamber, my friend and I are about to take vows we don’t mean, trying to fool Margaret Adams. And then my husband is going to kiss me again.
And I’ll try not to enjoy it.
Except the limo turns in the wrong direction. The driver probably thinks he’s taking us to the public parking lot, but I want to use the back entrance. The fewer people seeing me today, the better. Preferably no people, besides the few working at city hall.
“Excuse me, sir?” I lean toward the driver’s lowered partition. “I think we were supposed to go right at the stop sign.”
“Don’t worry, miss,” he says. “I’ve got the updated route.” He tips his hat, but continues in the opposite direction.
“So why are you still going the wrong way?”
“I know our destination,” he says. “Your friend told me.”
My friend told him? I turn to Dex for answers, but he’s busy staring up at the sunroof. And whistling. So I glance at Sayla.
“What’s happening?”
“I wanted to tell you …”
“Tell me what?”
Dex stops whistling. “There’s been a slight change of plans.”
My stomach tenses. “What kind of change?”
“Bridger thought city hall might be too … public,” he says. “He was also afraid his mom might be suspicious of a civil-service wedding.”
“You know, he’s probably right about that,” Sayla pipes up. “Getting married in some government building attached to a post office does feel a little … cold.”
“Exactly,” Dex says. “So my guy made other arrangements.”
I frown. “Why didn’t your guy tell me?”
Dex shrugs. “He thought if you knew ahead of time, you’d think he was trying to be romantic or something.”
Sayla shoots Dex a look. “But he isn’t. Right?”
“Sure.”
My nerves, already elevated, shift into high-alert. “Sure?”
“I mean, no.” Dex tugs at his collar. “Definitely not. Zero romance. Just a … surprise.”
“Oh, he’s full of surprises, all right.” I peer out the back window as we pass the last intersection in town. Ahead of us is nothing but acres of open pastures and a skyline of mountains. “Where are we going?” I turn back to Dex. “You might as well tell me now, since the gig is up.”
His mouth slopes into a grin. “Harvest Farms.”
I glance at my brand new, very expensive dress and shoes. “So instead of a cold building attached to the post office, we’re getting married in a … barn?”
“Well, he did promise zero romance,” Sayla quips.
I fold my hands in my lap, but my palms are growing clammy. “Who’s going to marry us now? Is the magistrate coming?”
“Nah. Not in their job description,” Dex says. “Bridger found someone online.”
“Like a minister?” I swallow past what feels like a wad of bubble gum lodged in my throat. “I assumed we’d be reciting vows to some government official. But I can’t”—my voice drops to a whisper—“I can’t lie to God.”
“I’m pretty sure the lady’s not a minister,” Dex says.
Pretty sure.
We fall quiet, and I chew my lip, as the driver eases our limo onto the long, winding road that ends at Harvest Farms. When their sign rises in the distance, my heart squeezes.
I’ve always loved this place. Their corn maze and pumpkin patch are iconic in the fall.
So is their Christmas tree farm in the winter.
They sell fresh flowers and vegetables in the springtime.
Now I’m here for a summer wedding. My wedding. My idea.
What were you thinking?
I swore I’d never endure another engagement, let alone a marriage. And yet, I’m about to be somebody’s wife. Not just anyone. My dear friend. One I absolutely can’t afford to lose if things get messy. A small swell of panic rises in me.
Don’t let things get messy, Loren.
“There they are,” Dex says, nodding out the back window, and I turn toward the glass. At the edge of the pasture, beside a cluster of trees, is an archway completely decked out with roses and lilies. White ribbons ripple in the breeze.
“That looks a little romantic,” I say.
“It sure does,” Sayla agrees.
There’s a woman I don’t recognize with a halo of puffy white hair. She’s wearing a blue pantsuit and clutching a sheaf of loose paper. Next to her, Bridger faces the road in a traditional black tuxedo. He’s shielding his eyes from the midday sun, watching for cars.
The groom, waiting for his bride.
And for the second time in three days, I feel like I might faint.
I don’t faint.
That’s the good news.
But this entire scene isn’t just romantic. It’s an absolute dream-worthy setup, complete with a white satin runner that leads to Bridger, who looks wedding-cake-topper perfect.
We’re talking celebrity-levels of gorgeousness. Like People magazine’s Sexiest-Man-Alive status. No offense, Lincoln James, but Bill Nye Science Guy blows you right out of the water. And yet, I’m definitely not supposed to see my friend in that way.
Your husband-friend.