Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Bridger
A few instances from our little makeshift wedding reception are already seared into my memory.
Like the smell of vanilla frosting. And Loren’s laughter, louder than the music. The taste of her skin, delicate at her wrist. Her warm pulse as she licked her lips.
These are all sensory details I’ll never forget.
But my very favorite moment, permanently locked in my heart, was the light in Loren’s eyes after she talked to Joanna Parker.
Something shifted inside her that moment.
Like a weight lifted, as the guy in that song “Marry Me” sang.
Because Loren knows now that her father will be provided for.
Forever. She made that happen. And I helped.
So in a way, securing Harlan’s future was our first group project.
And that comfort is worth any risk or pain or heartache I might feel for the rest of my life.
I think.
Ask me again in a month, after I’ve been living with my wife, but only as her friend.
Anyway.
Back to now.
After the close call with Sayla’s theater kids, we decide our best course of action is to get off the Stony Peak campus.
ASAP. There are simply too many potential witnesses who could be lurking around the school, potentially recognizing us in our wedding garb.
So we all pile back into the limo to figure out our next steps.
“Where to, boss?” Dex asks Sayla. “You’re the queen of photo ops.”
“Hmm.” She’s scrolling through footage on her phone. “I already got great stuff at Harvest Farms. And now at the school.” She lifts her chin. “Although that turned out to be some risky business, huh?”
Loren coughs over a laugh and glances at me.
Her cheeks are pink, and her bright eyes look almost …
carefree. At the very least, she’s a whole lot less care-FULL.
“I still can’t believe you guys threw us a reception in under twenty-four hours.
” She pauses for a moment. “Scratch that. We threw an entire wedding today.”
“We did!” Sayla high-fives her.
“According to my evidence on my napkin,” Dex says, waving the crumpled thing around, “Bridger did the most work.”
I snatch the napkin from him. “That’s debatable.” I shove the napkin in my pocket. “But either way, Loren and I couldn’t have pulled any of this off without you and Sayla. So thank you both. Truly.”
“Of course,” Sayla says. “You’re our best friends.”
I force a smile even as my gut twists. Apparently, my friend Sayla can’t complete a sentence without including the F-word.
“Personally, I was made for stuff like this,” Dex says. He kicks back against the limo seat, legs crossed, arms up over his head. “And I love an excuse to wear a suit.”
Sayla leans over and plants a sloppy kiss on his cheek. “I love you wearing a suit, too.”
“Save it for your love nest, kids,” I say. “We’ve still got a few more stops to make.”
“You’re right.” Sayla straightens. “Photo ops!”
At her direction, the driver takes us back through downtown Harvest Hollow.
In a perfect world, she’d take pictures and video of us at the park and by the fountain, but we can’t afford to be seen.
So she hops out, and while the limo cruises by, she takes shots of Loren and me briefly popping up through the sunroof.
Hands in the air. Grinning. Acting playful.
I feel ludicrous.
Also, it’s fun.
Next, Sayla has the driver pull around behind the movie theater.
The parking lot’s mostly empty at this time on a Tuesday.
But the property is lined with foliage that, according to her, provides a good background.
While no one’s around, Sayla has Loren toss her bouquet over her shoulder to a non-existent group of bridesmaids.
Then Loren jumps on my back, and I give her a ride along a row of maple trees.
The rear entrance flies open, and a lanky teenager with his frizzy hair pulled into a ponytail emerges. He’s wearing a movie theater vest and carrying a tub of popcorn and a jumbo-sized drink. He takes one look at us, mumbles, “Old people are weird,” then he heads back inside.
“Hey.” Dex scoffs. “Who’s he calling old?”
“Poor kid,” I say. “Just trying to take a break in peace.”
“Anyone recognize him?” Sayla asks.
We all agree we’d never seen him before. “He probably goes to Harvest High,” Loren points out.
“Anyway, we should go,” Sayla says. “We’ve had enough close calls for one day.”
Since the next stop on her photo op tour is Bony Mountain, we decide to skip a hike to the peak.
Not just because of our inappropriate wardrobe, but also to avoid attracting attention.
Instead, Sayla has Loren and me take a series of informal selfies and a couple short videos at the base of the mountain, with the trail in the background.
Afterward, we all pile back in the limo, and Sayla checks our work. “These pics are so fun,” she chirps.
“Great.” I bob my head and smile. Most of what I do with Loren is fun.
“And the video clips will fit perfectly in the montage.”
My jaw stiffens. “Great.”
How could I forget this is all part of fooling Margaret?
Sayla peers out the window, then checks the time on her phone. “We could go to the clock tower,” she suggests. “The view from the top is amazing. But the post office is still open. So, we might be better off waiting until—”
“I say we scrap the clock tower,” Dex pipes up, interrupting.
“But—”
“I'm sorry, sweetheart,” he says gently. “You’re the love of my life, but the bride is completely wiped out.”
We all turn toward Loren. Her face is pale, and her eyes are at half-mast.
“Who me?” She stifles a yawn with her fist, and my arms twitch with the desire to pull her into my lap and let her rest. These past few days have probably felt like surviving an emotional tornado and a physical hurricane at the same time.
Of course she’s exhausted.
“Dex is right,” I say. “We need to call it. Now.”
Sayla nods. “I just need a few last shots of you carrying Loren across the threshold,” she says. “Then we’ll be done.”
“Wait.” Loren lids are hooded and drowsy. “Can we stop for food first?”
Dex grins. “Taco Tuesday.”
“Yes, please.” Loren lets out a sleepy sigh. “I could put a dozen tacos in my face right now.”
Well, look at me. Sitting in a limo. Jealous of a tortilla.
“There’s a truck just outside of town on the Harvest High side,” I say. “On the way to the house.”
“Mansion!” Dex coughs into his hand.
“Dude.” I frown. “Are you ever gonna let that go?”
“Are you ever not gonna be rich?”
“He’ll be rich as long as his mom believes this marriage is legit,” Sayla says. “So, let’s get Loren some tacos, then finish this job.”
I direct the limo to the taco truck, where Dex offers to pick up the food for everyone. With his jacket and tie off, he’s the least conspicuous of the group. He returns with four greasy bags, and the smell of grilled meat is mouthwatering.
Sayla smirks. “You got enough tacos to feed the entire Stony Peak varsity football team.”
Dex fist-bumps her. “Go, Gray Squirrels!”
Loren peers in her bag, her veil falling over her face. “I never thought of beans and cheese as romantic, but I might be in love right now.”
“I know you’re hungry,” I say, brushing her veil back. “Go ahead and dig in.”
She blinks up at me. “I’d rather eat at home, if that’s all right with you.”
Home. The word on her lips makes my heart hammer.
“More than all right,” I say.
When we arrive at our destination, the driver pulls onto a long, narrow road lined with tall pines. The thick trees offer privacy, hiding the estate from view, until we take the final turn onto the circular driveway.
Dex lets out a low whistle and darts a glance at Sayla. “Baby, we’re not in Kansas anymore.”
The main building is three stories of white-washed brick, gray stone, and a porch flanked by sculpted planters. The windows are spotless. The shutters, pristine. There are columns and archways. Multiple chimneys. A couple of balconies.
Even I’m impressed.
And I’m the one who found the place.
“It’s absolutely gorgeous,” Sayla says, marveling at the house through the tinted window. “I didn’t know homes like this existed in Harvest Hollow.”
“Technically, we’re outside the city limits,” I point out. But I suddenly hate the sound of my own voice. There’s a fine line between being generous and showing off. I love the former. Despise the latter.
Especially around Loren.
“Your car is here,” she says, peering across the driveway. Then she turns to me, a tiny crease between her eyes. “I didn’t think about the fact that you weren’t in the limo with us at first. How did that happen?”
“I stopped by early this morning to bring my luggage and check the place out. I left my car so we’d have one here after the limo dropped us off.”
“How did you get to Harvest Farms?”
“Uber.” I shrug. Ordering a ride share is totally normal, right? I run a hand through my hair, trying to remember what it feels like to be me. Bill Nye. Not Richie Rich.
We’re still us, I remind myself. Nothing has to change.
Except everything is different now.
“Your musical car situation is absolutely fascinating,” Sayla snarks, “but who’s ready for pics on the threshold?”
“Let’s do it,” Dex says, and we all trickle out of the limo. “I’ll bring in the food and Loren’s bags,” he offers. Sayla has her phone, ready to document the moment. Loren’s got her veil straightened again. Which leaves me free to—
“Okay, groom,” Sayla quips. “Time to pick up your bride.”
Well, all right. If you insist.
Loren gives me a small nod to signal she’s ready, and I scoop her into my arms. With my adrenaline pumping on overdrive, I might as well be carrying a pile of feathers to the door.
At Sayla’s direction, Loren kicks her feet out, heels visible, veil brushed back over her shoulders. We recreate the shot a few times, alternating between photos and video.
“Awwwww. You two are just adorable,” Dex coos. “Especially you, Bridger.”
“Shhh,” Sayla says. “Your voice is on video.”