Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Loren
“Pivot,” Bridger grunts, jumping back so fast I feel the cold where his hands used to be.
Sayla pitches her voice into full-on director mode, shouting, “CUT!”
But I think we’re too late.
Sophomores Kylie Roper and Megan Henderson are in the doorway to the green room, mouths open, eyes popped wide.
Dex shuts off the music. For a moment, the silence is deafening. Then Kylie giggles. “But seriously, though. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Sayla chirps. “Well, I mean, obviously something’s going on. But it’s not what you think.”
Megan glances at Kylie. “What does she think we think?”
“I have no idea.” Sayla shrugs. “But you two just interrupted us blocking out a scene. For a play. With a wedding. Obviously.”
Kylie’s gaze flicks between my dress and Bridger’s tux. “Why are teachers rehearsing a play?”
“I’m the theater teacher,” Sayla reminds her, shifting her weight. “And I wasn’t sure how a wedding would look on the renovated stage, so Mr. Cane and Ms. Adams agreed to help me out.”
Kylie narrows her eyes. “Don’t you mean Mr. Adams and Ms. Cane?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Actually, you—”
“Anyway, they aren’t teachers right now,” Dex chimes in. “They’re actors.”
“That doesn’t—”
“I wanted to film the scene to study the footage and analyze the play’s potential,” Sayla adds, waving her phone as a distraction. “But I already know this won’t work. It was just … terrible. All wrong. Zero chemistry. There’s just … nope. Ugh. Nothing. Forget it. CUT!”
I frown.
Okay, Sayla. We get it. Bridger and I aren’t a real couple. For a moment, though, I was pretty sure we both felt … something. And not just the physical reaction from our kiss last night. But a deeper connection.
Apparently, no one else sees anything between us, though.
Megan shifts her focus to Bridger. “So what’s the play called, Mr. Adams?”
He tugs at the collar of his tux. “Umm.” Unfortunately, Bill Nye Science Guy is good at a lot of things, but coming up with a fake title for a fake play is not one of them.
“As You Like It,” Sayla jumps in to answer for him, going with an actual play after all.
“Never heard of it,” Kylie says.
“As You Like It isn’t an it,” Sayla quips. “It’s a play. Shakespeare wrote it.”
“That’s a lot of its.” Kylie smirks.
Megan scrunches her nose. “You’re being weird, Miss Kroft.”
“She’s Mrs. Michaels now,” Dex pipes up.
Bridger shoots me a pointed look. A piece of hair flops down over his forehead, and he furrows his brow.
Clearly, he doesn’t want anyone thinking something’s going on with us.
Especially students. When I remain frozen, his gaze skids to my ring, then he puts his hands behind his back, hiding his wedding band.
Right.
Kylie follows his line of sight just as I whip my hands under my veil. She tilts her head.
Did she see the ring?
We need more distraction.
“Hey, Mrs. Michaels,” I say. “Why don’t you tell Kylie and Megan about your plan to have your advanced theater kids perform at Havenwood this fall?”
Sayla’s brows fly up. “Oh, yes. Thank you for reminding me, Ms. Cane.” She pastes on a smile for Kylie and Megan. “Doesn’t that sound like fun?”
Megan grimaces. “Performing at a hospital for old people? Not really.”
“Hard pass,” Kylie says.
Dex clears his throat. “You know students aren’t supposed to be in here while the building’s still under construction. You’re technically trespassing.”
Megan flinches. “We just wanted to see if the green room was actually painted green.” She rounds on Kylie. “I told you this was a bad idea.”
“Well, now you’ve checked,” Dex says pleasantly. “So maybe you should leave before Mr. Wilford finds out?”
“Let’s get out of here,” Kylie hisses, grabbing Megan's arm.
“This never happened,” Megan yelps.
They bolt backstage, and a moment later, the back door to the theater slams. There’s a beat of silence. Then Dex spreads his hands. “Nailed it.”
“Nailed it?” Sayla smirks. “Seriously?”
“I said what I said.”
“They’re gone,” Bridger notes. “That’s what matters.”
“My point exactly.” Dex cues up the music again. “Now, where were we?”
“No way.” I squawk. “You expect us to keep dancing now?”
“Actually, I could use more footage,” Sayla admits. “I got plenty of Bridger from behind, but none of his face. Just yours. So I need the opposite angle for the montage.”
“Great,” I deadpan. “In other words, you need to film my butt.”
“Just a little.”
“You hear that, Lo?” Dex nudges me. “My wife’s gonna make your backside famous.”
“Hey,” Bridger snarls. “That’s my wife you’re talking about.”
Dex grins. “Love the protectiveness, my friend. Ten out of ten. No notes.”
“Hush, all of you,” Sayla says. “And get ready, because I’m going to start recording in five … four … three … two …”
Bridger comes toward me, opening his arms to make room, and I slide into them, all too easily.
“You okay, kitten?” His question is soft and low, so quiet, only I can hear. I nod, but the truth is, I’m a bit breathless from being held like this.
The shock of being caught by Kylie and Megan froze me for a moment, but as Bridger and I move together again, warmth floods my body. With him, I can’t help but feel protected and secure. And I flash back to those kisses on my palm. And my wrist. From Bridger.
My husband.
The song continues, reaching lyrics about a bride wearing white, and a groom wearing out the words I love you, and in this moment, I do feel special.
Even if it’s only for Sayla’s montage.
So I press my cheek to Bridger’s shoulder, and my hands find the back of his neck.
When my fingers thread through his hair, a low rumble sounds in his throat.
So I lift my head, pulling back just far enough to look up at him.
At the same time, he raises a hand from my waist and tenderly tips my chin with his fingers.
His eyes roam my face, examining my features, and yes, I know we’re doing this so Sayla can get Bridger on video from this angle, but the moment seems like more than just a performance.
“Cut!” Sayla chirps. “That was perfect!”
Bridger shifts his gaze to her. “We’re done?”
“Yep, I got some perfect footage.” She lowers her phone. “Great job, friends!”
Bridger releases me, and my stomach twinges.
Yep. Great job, friends.
Dex scrolls on his phone, and “Marry Me” ends, then “Come and Get Your Love” by Redbone begins. “This song is dedicated to the next stage of Operation Fool Margaret,” he announces over the music.
“Cake time!” Sayla beams at us, then she crosses to the far side of stage, where there’s a table set up I hadn’t noticed before. It’s draped in a white cloth, and on it is a two-tiered cake covered in white fondant with a sugar-crusted topper in the shape of a heart. “Surprise!”
I glance up at Bridger. “I wouldn’t mind a little cake.”
Sayla waves us over. “Let’s go, kids!”
She positions Bridger and me around the backside of the table, then she instructs us how to hold the knife handle at the same time while we cut. Like we need directions for that.
The names and date engraved on the silver blade are from Sayla and Dex’s wedding. When I gave them this knife as an engagement gift, I never dreamed I’d be using it to slice a cake myself.
Something bright flares in my chest, and I kind of like playing the role of bride and groom with Bridger. Honestly, I should probably appreciate this moment now, since I won’t have another chance. No more weddings for this girl. Ever.
“Okay now,” Sayla says, circling us with her phone. “Both of you take a little piece and feed each other.”
“You are not smashing cake in my face,” he says.
“Only for the footage,” I tease.
His mouth quirks. “Are we really doing this?”
“I think we are.”
We both take a beat, eyes meeting, then we lunge at the same time.
With a shriek, I smear frosting across his lips while he stuffs sticky cake into my face.
We’re laughing and ducking and dodging, and for a second, this all feels normal.
Nice, even. Until he drops his cake and lifts his arms, apparently in surrender.
I assume he’s giving up, so I move in for the kill, but he’s way too quick. In a flash, he captures my wrist, fingers gently closing in around my bones. I lift my gaze, and his eyes lock on mine. Steady and heated. Then, with his opposite thumb, he slowly brushes the frosting from my knuckle.
Tinder ignites throughout my chest.
This doesn’t feel like it's for the video.
Bridger stills for a long moment, then his eyes drop to my mouth. And before I can stop myself, my tongue slides out to lick my lips.
He sucks in a breath, then releases me instantly, stepping back like he’s been burned. Grabbing a napkin, he swipes frosting from his mouth, then he hands me a fresh napkin, too.
Guess we’re done with cake.
“Aw, come on, guys,” Dex groans. “You were at a nine out of ten, there. If I could give you just a few notes—”
“I think we got plenty of footage,” Bridger says.
“You got what you need, right?” I skim my focus over to Sayla, a silent plea.
She lowers her phone, studying us both for a beat. “Yep. That’ll work.”
By now, my heart’s throbbing in my ears so hard, I almost miss the ringing across the stage.
“Wait! Turn off the music!” I blurt. “Is that my phone?”
We all pause long enough to hear the ringtone sound again. It’s coming from my bag on top of the speaker. Without another word, Bridger crosses the room, rescues my bag, and jogs it back to me.
Joanna Parker is calling. From Havenwood.
“Hi? Hello?” I push a stray strand off my face. “I’m sorry. Hi, Joanna. Wait. Is this Joanna?”
Smooth, Loren. Real smooth.
“This is. Am I speaking with Loren Cane?”
“Yes! I emailed you about my dad, Harlan Cane? I’m his daughter.”
“I know. I received your message.”
I exhale. Step One, at least. Contact made. “Thank you so much for calling to follow up.”
“My pleasure. Your father sounds like a wonderful person. Your mother too. My apologies for your loss.”
“Thank you. Yes. They were. I mean, he is.” My throat constricts, but I press out my question. “Did Noah happen to talk to you yesterday?”
“We spoke, yes,” she says. “He told me about your family and shared his professional opinion on your father’s needs. Then this morning I talked to a Bridger Adams.”
My eyes find Bridger. He’s moved several yards away now, giving me space. Still, his attention is on me—shoulders squared, torso tense. Like he’s prepared to jump in if I need him.
“Bridger called you?”
“Now, you should know, we don’t normally discuss potential residents or their status with non-family members,” Joanna says, "but Mr. Adams told me you two were getting married?”
“We are, yes. I mean, we did. We’re married.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you. Again. But about my father?”
“Mr. Adams expressed the urgency of your situation, which aligned with Noah’s thoughts, too. He also offered quite a substantial donation to Havenwood.”
“He did?” I feel like I can’t breathe.
“There were no strings attached, of course,” Joanna adds. “Mr. Adams made it clear he wasn't attempting to buy Harlan’s way into our community. Still, his offer was a generous one.”
“He’s a generous man,” I say.
“After we spoke, our residential committee met, and we considered the information you shared, plus Noah’s personal endorsement, and we’ve approved a spot for your father here at Havenwood.”
I exhale what feels like a hundred lungs full of fear in one long gust.
“This is incredible,” I say, tears springing to my eyes. “The thing is, I haven’t talked to my dad about this yet.” I admit. “Not directly.”
“That’s not uncommon,” Joanna says gently. “The subject of a move to a community like ours isn’t always easy to broach, especially when you couldn’t be sure it was a possibility.”
My eyes flit to Bridger again. “Havenwood was an impossibility. Until recently.”
“Then you were wise to reach out to me first. But I’m pleased to tell you we have a deluxe villa waiting for Harlan. He can move in as early as this weekend, but we’ll hold the space for him until the timing is right for everybody.”
“Oh, wow.” I gulp, tempted to pinch myself. I can’t believe this is real. Still, there’s the matter of cost. “A deluxe villa sounds … expensive. Do you have any spots that are just … kind of average?”
“Not to worry,” Joanna says. “The first twelve months have already been paid in full by Mr. Adams.”
Bridger.
My nose begins to sting, and I quickly swipe at it.
No crying, Loren. Stay focused.
“So you’re saying my dad can stay at Havenwood for a whole year?”
“Yes. And Mr. Adams also secured our guaranteed renewal option.”
I swipe the tear rolling down my cheek. “What does a guaranteed renewal option mean, exactly?”
“It means Harlan will have a place here in our care for as long as he wishes to live with us.”
Unspoken is the fact that, ultimately, none of us has a choice in the matter.
I know that all too well.
“Thank you so much,” I manage to choke before my voice breaks. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”
“You don’t have to tell me,” Joanna says. “Your husband already did.”
I dart my gaze across the room, like a magnet seeking iron. And my eyes land on Bridger Jefferson Adams.
My husband.