Chapter 26
Harper
Iscan the cabin we rented for the joint bachelor-bachelorette party with Holly, ensuring everything is in place. The silver “Bride & Groom” banner hangs crookedly above the stone fireplace, and fairy lights twinkle along the exposed wooden beams.
The fridge is packed with deli trays and cheese platters, while the granite countertop holds a small army of liquor bottles next to a row of fancy kombucha in flavors like lavender-lemongrass and blackberry-hibiscus.
“You locked the room you claimed, right?” Holly asks. I pat my front pocket and nod. “No one is stealing my room. I’ve had enough taken from me lately.”
“I don’t blame you,” she replies. “And you’ve got your camera. I think it’s safe to say we’re ready for this awesome party.”
Despite her struggles with alcohol, I appreciate Holly.
She delegates tasks with a gentle touch, asking me to hang fairy lights or arrange cheese platters without making me feel like I’m overstepping into maid-of-honor territory, and she never exploits my inability to refuse.
I’ve always been the girl who says yes when she means no, who smiles through gritted teeth.
Ford strides through the front door, all six-foot-something of him wrapped in a red button-down that stretches across his broad shoulders.
I quickly snap his picture, the camera’s shutter clicking rapidly as I capture his confused expression, then his dawning recognition, and finally his half-smile.
“You’re early,” I say when he approaches, catching a whiff of his woodsy cologne. “Like, really early.”
“I need to talk to you, Harper.”
“Is everything okay?”
Holly overhears and discreetly slips away to give us some privacy. We settle onto the couch, and he exhales deeply. “Asher and I got into it the other night.”
“Yeah, I heard.”
“What did you hear?”
I laugh and shake my head. “That you’re trying to go for Asher’s sloppy seconds, that I’m pathetic, and Asher declared he’s not over me.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “I don’t know why I was worried you hadn’t heard about it yet.”
“Is it true?”
“Is what true?”
Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees, the soft denim of my jeans bunching at the creases. “Are you chasing Asher’s sloppy seconds?”
I can’t help but giggle, the sound catching in my throat as he leans in.
He cups my face with his large, strong hands, calloused at the fingertips but impossibly gentle against my cheeks.
My laughter dies instantly, replaced by a flutter in my chest that spreads warmth down to my toes.
His brown eyes lock onto mine, intense and unwavering.
“There is nothing sloppy about you,” he says, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that sends shivers across my skin. “You don’t belong to Asher. You’re his nothing.”
I bite my lip. “So it’s true? You’re not his best man anymore?”
His hands slide away from my face, leaving cool air where his warmth had been. His jaw tightens, a muscle twitching beneath the stubble. He looks at the floor, then back at me with those amber eyes now hardened like resin.
“Yeah, I never wanted to do it in the first place, but he guilted me when I declined the spot when he was marrying you.” Ford’s fingers drum against his thigh.
“Ford, I—”
He leans forward, close enough that I can smell the mint on his breath. “He compared me to Kenzie, Harper.” His voice drops to a near-whisper. His gaze drifts to my lips, then back to my eyes. “Truth is, there’s only one thing of his I’ve ever wanted.”
My pulse throbs in my ears as his gaze holds mine. My mouth goes dry, and I find myself leaning forward, the space between us charged like the air before a storm. “What was that?” I whisper, my voice catching on the last word.
“This is gorgeous!” Gina shouts as she bursts through the front door.
Worst. Timing. Ever.
Ford gives me a disappointed look, and I offer him an apologetic smile in return. “It’s her party.”
“I know,” he replies.
Gina barely manages to stay upright as she hurls herself at me, and I stand just in time to catch her. If I didn’t know about the pregnancy, I might question whether Gina had pre-gamed before arriving.
Lance follows behind with their bags, and I point out their room to him. “Holly and I have already claimed ours,” I say. “And locked them. I don’t need anyone stealing my bed.”
“That’s good. It gives you a chance to pick someone to share your bed with.” Gina winks and glances back at Ford, making me flush.
He’s thankfully out of earshot, but I still lower my voice. “I’ve thought about it. A lot, actually.”
“And?”
“Is it right to hook up with my ex-fiancé’s best friend? Or, I guess, former friend now? It makes me feel like I’m not better than Asher.”
“Harp, you could strip naked and blow Ford right in front of Asher, and you’d still be better than that toad of an ex.”
I laugh and push her playfully. “Gina!”
“I’m just saying. I may be marrying Lance, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still glance at the offerings on the menu for others. I’ve been curious if we’re talking hot dogs or bratwurst.”
I steer Gina toward her room and hiss, “Stop it.”
“What? Like you’re not wondering the same thing?”
I don’t really need to wonder. My thighs still remember the thick ridge pressing against me when we tangled together on that wrought iron bench by my mother’s hydrangeas. The memory makes my skin prickle with heat.
When I turn back into the room, Ford catches my eye, one corner of his mouth lifting. “Your cheeks are pink. Temperature getting to you?”
My eyes dart down to his fly involuntarily, and I fan myself. “Definitely a bratwurst.”
“Pardon?”
Laughing, I wave my hand dismissively. “Nothing.”
“Are you thinking about repeating what we started in the backyard?”
Ford moves closer, and I feel breathless in the best way. Anticipation buzzes through me at the thought of what could happen if I let myself go.
“Maybe,” I whisper.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about what could have happened if we weren’t interrupted,” he whispers back.
Me, too. My fingertips still tingle remembering how I clutched his shoulders, how my hips pressed harder against him with each breath.
The way my vision started to blur at the edges while my thighs trembled.
All through denim and cotton—the friction of fabric somehow making it more forbidden, more urgent.
“If you want a repeat, I’m available,” he says.
I meet his gaze. My lungs seize, my fingers curl against my palms. The corner of his mouth twitches upward, and I find myself counting the golden flecks in his amber eyes, imagining how his stubble might feel against my neck.
My key card burns in my pocket as I glance toward the hallway leading to my locked room, then back to his lips.
“No pressure,” he adds, stepping back with his hands in the air. “Ball’s in your court.”
“I think—”
My words catch in my throat as the door swings open. I grip Ford’s forearm, my fingernails digging half-moons into his skin. He follows my gaze and his shoulders stiffen beneath my touch.
“Unbelievable,” he mutters, jaw clenching.
The whiskey bottle catches the light first—amber liquid sloshing as Asher thrusts it overhead like a trophy. Behind him, Kenzie’s stilettos click against the hardwood, her arm snaked through his, red lips curled upward at the corners.
“Who’s ready for a party?” Asher’s voice booms through the cabin, drowning out the sudden silence of everyone else.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Gina asks for me as she walks out with Lance. “Who invited you? Because I know I didn’t.”
Kenzie keeps grinning, her scarlet lips stretching thin across perfect teeth, eyes glittering with cold satisfaction. She tosses her honey-blonde hair over one shoulder, diamond studs catching the light as she tilts her head in mock sympathy.
“Well, considering you scheduled your party the same night as mine,” she says, voice dripping sweetness like poison, “I canceled mine to combine them. We had almost the same guest list, and it’s only fair.
” Her manicured fingers flutter dismissively before resting on her hip.
“You know, since you have to get married so quickly.”
“Yeah, I don’t want you here. Any guests who would rather celebrate with you than with me are welcome to leave. I really don’t mind,” Gina snaps back.
Asher shrugs, “We’re already here, so let’s just make the best of it.” He strides over to my room and asks, “Anyone got a key for this room?”
“It’s already spoken for,” I reply.
He extends his hand expectantly. “Well, it can be given up for the guests of honor, so whoever it is, hand over the key.”
“The guests of honor already have their room,” Gina interjects. “That’s Lance and me.”
“Then who’s in these two rooms?”
“The two of us who paid for this cabin. So unless you plan to cough up the money for the rental and the manor, you can sleep on the floor with the other guests,” Holly retorts.
Kenzie’s eyes narrow to glittering slits, her nostrils flaring slightly as she shoots a glare our way that could freeze hellfire.
The muscles in her jaw twitch beneath her perfectly contoured cheekbones as she clenches her teeth, barely containing whatever venom she’s about to spew.
“I don’t think you can make demands like that.
Come on, Harper, don’t be vindictive. Just give us the key to the room.
You wouldn’t want us out here enjoying our relationship for everyone else to witness. ”
“God, please tell me you’re not going to do that,” Joel chimes in. “I don’t want to be scarred for life.”
Lance’s best man, Trey, nods vigorously. “Seeing them naked might ruin sex for me forever, and I actually enjoy it.”
“Don’t we all?” Lance quips. “If you decide to get busy in front of everyone, we’ll toss you out into the snow and lock the doors. If you freeze, that’s your own fault because you were warned.”
“You’re seriously not going to give us your room?” Asher asks incredulously.
“Hasn’t she already given you enough?” Ford counters. “Or is this your way of backtracking on your confession of still being in love with Harper?”
Kenzie’s glare could cut glass, her perfectly plucked eyebrows drawing together like storm clouds. I watch them both, my stomach churning with disbelief. Asher stands there in his designer jeans and that smug half-smile that once made my heart flutter but now just makes my skin crawl.
His cologne, the cheap sandalwood scent he insists on buying, hangs in the air between us like a reminder of wasted years. And then there’s Kenzie with her gleaming hair and calculated poise, her friendship as artificial as the French tips on her manicured nails.
I shake my head at them, at the hollow shells they’ve revealed themselves to be.
“I’m not giving up my room. You crashed the party, so you don’t get any special treatment unless you pay for it,” I assert.
“Or, you know, you could always be so angry about this that you... leave,” Gina suggests.
“I don’t think anyone would be upset if they did that,” Lance adds.
“Which means they’ll stay and try to make everyone else as miserable as they are,” Ford states.
This is going to be a long night.