Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Bridger
For the record, I never saw a bee.
Sayla swears a big yellowjacket flew out of a peony, stinger locked and loaded, just before she knocked over the tripod. But in all her flailing to escape, she somehow managed to catch her phone before the thing smashed to the ground.
Now, I’m no Sherlock Holmes, but I kind of feel like she might’ve manufactured the interruption. And if she did, she probably thought she was doing Loren and me a favor.
I know Sayla wasn’t a fan of Dex badgering us to kiss last night, and I’m guessing she thinks she got what she needed on film already. One quick picture, blurry or not. And a great kiss on video.
History’s best kiss.
And now, apparently, that might end up being our last kiss, too, considering Loren and I agreed to just one more on our wedding day.
As the groom, I was prepared for a final shot at my bride’s perfect lips.
The thing is, another kiss like the one Loren and I shared last night—as husband and wife—might’ve shredded what remains of my grip on reality.
So I guess I owe Sayla for #beegate after all.
I didn’t thank her, though.
Instead, I paid Susan for officiating, we signed all the paperwork, then the four of us stuffed ourselves back into the limo.
“It’s time for stage two of Operation Fool Margaret,” Dex says, “but my napkin doesn’t have a plan for this part.” He nods at the glass partition. “So I told the driver to take us by Stony Peak. Hope that’s okay.”
“We figured the school totally works for pictures and videos,” Sayla adds. “You two met there, so it’s the perfect spot to continue the narrative.”
“Right.” I grunt. “All about the narrative.”
“That’s a great idea,” Loren says, directing her smile at Sayla and Dex. “Anyway, Stony Peak’s where you two fell in love.”
Actually, three of us fell in love at that school.
But I’ll never tell Loren that.
“Teachers for the win,” Dex says with a grin, pulling cold water bottles from the limo’s cooler. As he hands them out, condensation drips all over his suit, and Sayla reaches over to blot his wet pants with a paper towel.
“You’re such a mess,” she chuckles.
“Imagine how messy I’d be without you,” he says.
The moment is a golden opportunity to tease him. Dex definitely would if the situation were reversed. But I’m too busy being jealous of their sweet, easy domesticity.
Aching for this kind of camaraderie myself.
Once she’s done mopping up her husband, Sayla balls up the wet paper towel and takes out her phone.
“I want to check the footage I got so far,” she says, “to see what else we need to capture on video.” When she opens her Photos app to play portions of the ceremony, Dex crowds in close to watch. Loren leans over, too. Me? I stay put.
I might even inch away a bit.
Just listening to Loren take her vows again sends an avalanche of stones through my stomach. And when Susan says, “You two good people belong to each other,” my whole torso tightens. Loren darts a glance at me, tugging her lip under her teeth, and I’ve never wanted to be a mind reader more.
I’ve also never been happier to see the marquee for Stony Peak High.
“Almost there,” Dex says, glancing out the window. At the intersection, he raps on the partition, and the driver lowers the glass. “Could you take the access road around the back of campus and park behind the theater?”
“Sure thing,” the driver says.
“You’ll see a bunch of scaffolding on two big buildings,” Dex says. “The one with the wall of windows leading to the cool new lobby is the gym. We’re going to the other place,” he snarks.
“Stop.” Sayla swats his leg. “You know you love the theater.”
He drops a kiss on her forehead. “Sorry, wife,” he says. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”
“What are we doing in the theater?” Loren asks. “Is it weird that I have no idea?”
“No, you were supposed to leave this part to us,” Dex says. “You two have enough on your plates.”
“The renovated theater looks pretty elegant inside,” Sayla says. “So we thought we’d stage a little reception scene. Take some quick videos. When I edit the clips into a reel with music, the whole thing should look pretty authentic for Margaret.”
I glance out the window. “So you’re staging a reception on an actual stage?”
Sayla laughs. “Too on the nose?”
“Subtlety isn’t our strong suit,” Dex smirks.
“No,” Loren says. “A bunch of quick clips sounds perfect.”
Right. Because nothing between us is actually real.
Noted.
As the limo pulls up and parks behind the gym and theater, I get a fresh glimpse of the nearly completed renovations. My donation helped fund all this. Donations that can continue now that Loren and I are married.
Worth it, Bridger. Worth it.
“You two wait here while we set up,” Dex says, making a move to hop out.
“I’m going to film you coming into the room for your first dance,” Sayla says. “Just like you’d do at a legitimate wedding reception.”
“I’ll text when we’re ready,” Dex says. “Sound good?”
“Yep,” I say. “Thanks.”
Loren nods, wordlessly. Then the rest of her body stills.
She remains motionless while Sayla and Dex collect boxes of reception supplies from the back of the limo. Once they disappear inside, she lets out a long breath, like she’s exhausted. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally.
Of course she is. All this pretending must take a toll on someone who’s inherently honest.
As her friend, I’d know exactly how to support her in a moment like this. I’d remind her she’s strong. And that I’m always here for her. This is a role I know well.
But as the man who’s now her legal husband, one who’s trying to keep a tight rein on his feelings, I’m on unsteady ground.
“You all right?”
She lifts a hand to rub a circle on her chest, like an invisible bruise lives above her heart. “I just remembered …” Her sentence trails off.
“Remembered what?”
“My mom’s choker.” She lifts her fingers to absently trace a line along her neck.
“The ribbon was satin, and it had a clasp in the back. There was a sapphire in the center, right here.” She taps the hollow of her throat.
“She wanted me to wear it on my wedding day. Something borrowed. Something blue. And old.” She lets out a weak laugh.
“I’ll bet it’s still sitting in her jewelry box. I can’t believe I forgot.”
I clear my throat. “You weren’t thinking of this as a real wedding,” I say, and the truth of it makes my lungs throb.
“Still, this was my only shot. A part of my mom could’ve been with me today.” Her voice drops to almost a whisper. “I kind of feel like I lost another piece of her I can’t get back. Silly as that sounds.”
I duck my head to meet her gaze. “You don’t sound silly. You sound like a woman who misses her mom.”
“I miss her so much.” Her eyes are bright with unshed tears. “I guess I just wasn’t prepared for that today.”
“Neither of us was prepared.” I clear my throat. “Or. Wait. Should it be ‘were’ prepared?”
She puffs out a laugh. “You were right the first time, but let’s take a break from grammar today.”
“Deal.”
A smile finds her lips, and the grip on my heart eases.
Then my phone buzzes in my jacket.
An epic example of bad timing.
I don’t want to take my attention away from Loren. Not while she’s feeling vulnerable.
But she nods at my pocket. “That could be Dex telling us it’s time to come in.”
“You’re right.”
I slip my phone out to check.
DEX
We’re ready for you, Groom. Sayla will be filming, so come in holding hands with your bride.
I give this a thumbs-up, and I’m about to shove my phone back in my pocket, when he texts again. I brace myself for some message that’s typically … Dex.
DEX
You’re doing great, by the way. And you’re doing right by Loren. Proud of you, man.
Whoa.
Loren peers out the window. “Do they want us to go in?”
“Yeah.” I swallow against my clogged esophagus. Without waiting for the driver, I throw open the door and unfold myself from the limo. Then I turn back to help Loren. She grabs her purse, and glances up at me, her eyes soft. And when I take her free hand, her wedding band presses into my palm.
My wife’s ring. LCA.
Electricity bolts straight to my core. Not the heat of attraction, although Loren has never looked more beautiful. This is something different.
Something like pure love.
“Loren.” My eyes bore into hers. “I need you to know, I’ll never—”
A whistle sounds from the back entrance of the theater.
Dex.
“By all means, take your time, friends,” he calls out. “Sayla and I have all day and nothing better to do.”
“On our way,” I tell him, my gaze still locked on Loren.
She blinks, and light flickers behind her lids. “You’ll never what?”
I take a beat. Squeeze her hand.
Never not worship you.
Never expect you to love me back.
Never want another woman for the rest of my life.
“GUYS!” Dex yells. “Come on!”
Loren’s mouth tips into another tentative smile. “He’s extra impatient today, huh?”
“He is.”
“So.” Her shoulders bunch up. “To be continued?”
“Yeah. Another deal.”
We pick our way across the gravel and up the stairs to the back of the theater. Inside, the space smells like new paint and freshly cut wood. A velvet curtain is raised to reveal candlelight in the front of the house. Music spills from tall speakers flanking the stage.
Loren and I pause for a moment, listening.
“What’s this song?” I tip my chin. “I’ve never heard it.”
“‘Marry Me’,” she whispers. “By Train.”
Good old Dex, going with the obvious.
“AND NOW!” his voice booms over the state-of-the-art sound system. “The newly minted Mr. and Mrs. Adams will perform their first dance.”
Loren quickly sets her purse on top of one of the speakers, and we step out into the spotlight.
Across the stage, Sayla and Dex have set up a dozen white taper candles in silver candlesticks. There are also a dozen tall, thin vases with white roses, one long stem per vase.
Sayla has her phone up, filming, so I pull Loren into my arms, and she tilts her face to mine.
I place my hands on her hips, and her arms come up around my shoulders, resting along the back of my neck. She’s so beautiful, my ribcage feels like it might crack wide open. So as we sway slowly, I try to distract myself by listening to the lyrics.
Big mistake.
This whole song is about a guy who’s been pining away for a woman he sees in a cafe. She’s just some stranger he’s never even said hello to. But he’s fantasizing about a time in the future when he’s suddenly going to get the courage to propose.
Like that would ever happen.
I mean, sure, it’s romantic. But he doesn’t even know the woman he’s supposedly obsessed with. And yet, he’s singing about how he’ll marry her not just today, but for every day. Yeah right. That’ll totally work out.
Sayla moves across the stage to get a different angle of us dancing. Off to the side, Dex pumps his fist, grinning at me. Then he mouths, “Kiss her!”
He even makes fishy lips, like I didn’t catch what he meant.
The thing is, Loren and I agreed not to kiss again after the wedding, and I want to honor that boundary. So I reach behind me for one of her hands, and move it forward in front of my face. Then slowly, tenderly, I press a kiss to the center of her palm.
She lets out a tiny gasp, and I watch through her fingers as her lips take the shape of an O. When she doesn’t pull away, I brush my mouth over her wrist, blazing a trail of whisper-soft kisses along her skin.
She tastes like sunshine and silk. My lips continue to graze her, tracing the pulse of her vein. When I finally draw back, our gazes catch.
Awareness ripples behind her eyes, like she’s sensing my true feelings.
Or maybe I’m imagining a small shift in hers?
No. That’s wishful thinking.
The singer in the song swears, once again, he’ll love this stranger forever.
Then, from somewhere behind us, a teenage girl squeals.
“Mr. Adams! Ms. Cane! What are you doing?”