Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Romy
I stand in my office in front of the corkboard of ideas for my cousin Ben and his fiancée Gillian’s wedding. Even though they’ve decided not to have the reception at The Knotted Barn, they’ve asked me to help with the planning.
They’re hosting the reception in the backyard of Uncle Bruce’s house. The same yard where we always have the Fourth of July parties. I think it’s a special place for them.
I unpin the piece of fabric I got for the tablecloths and hold it against a swatch I ordered online. To anyone else, the corkboard probably looks chaotic, but I’ve never been able to build one digitally. I need to touch and feel and compare, to see the pieces side by side.
“You never told me you were so talented,” a voice says behind me, sinking into my skin before I even turn around. “Although I’m not surprised.”
My spine stiffens. His boots cross the floor until he’s standing right beside me. Close enough that his scent drifts over. Just as I remembered—sandalwood and leather.
I hate how easily he makes me forget how to breathe.
“How would you know? I feel like we barely talked.” I keep my eyes glued to the board.
“That’s what happens when you’re so good at doing other things together.” Zander’s tone carries enough heat that my pulse jumps. He nods at the board. “This is for a wedding?”
I press down hard on the flutter in my stomach, on the memory of how badly I used to want his hands, his lips, his body pressed to mine.
Our chemistry was like a wildfire. We never stopped long enough to talk, just pieced each other together in shared fragments.
Regardless, I felt as though I knew him. It felt like the start of something.
“Ben and Gillian. He’s the football coach.”
Zander smirks, amused. “That’s all, huh? Just a high school football coach?” His chuckle rumbles low, since he knows Ben’s a retired professional football player, a small-town legend, and Gillian is the high school sweetheart he left behind. I overheard them talking around the fire the other night.
“Now he is.”
“One day I’ll be just a music teacher, I suppose.” His soft voice dips.
The sadness in his tone makes my chest squeeze. I suppose his worst nightmare would be to be stuck somewhere small like Willowbrook for the rest of his life. “You teaching kids how to play the guitar—it’s hard to imagine.”
A flash of him with our own child on his lap, teaching him or her how to play, flashes in my mind, and I force it back.
“Thanks for the compliment.” He steps closer to the board, shoulder brushing mine, and my anxiety spikes.
I hate showing these boards to anyone before the bride and groom see them. For him to see my work at this raw stage makes me want to throw my body in front of it and shield it.
“I like the way you have the lights falling down off the branches instead of being strung across. Feels more romantic. Not as commercial.”
His words land too warmly, pressing into the part of me that likes it when people appreciate my vision. I shove away the feeling. “Strung lights are still romantic.”
A silent chuckle makes his back rise and fall. “Take the compliment, Romy.”
I want to fight him, to push back, to prove I don’t need his approval.
But what’s the point? Every night I remind myself that eventually I have to tell him he’s the father of the baby growing inside me.
That I don’t want him back, not really, but I want him to show up, to co-parent, to love our little one.
It isn’t the baby’s fault we were careless.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
He circles around, thumbs hooked in his pockets, wearing that arrogant grin I want to smack off his face. “Whoa. That seemed too easy.”
I shrug, pretending to dig through papers on my desk. “We did agree to be cordial.”
“We agreed to be friends actually,” he clarifies.
I glance over my shoulder, catching the way he’s smiling at me. “Right.”
“After seeing this,” he gestures to the board, “I’m hoping you might help me dress the set for the wedding in the video. I get that it won’t be easy to work together, but it’s not like I know a lot about this netting stuff.” He fingers a scrap of tulle.
“Netting?”
“See? I don’t even know what it’s called.”
“Tulle.”
“You’re the expert. That’s why I’m asking you to help.”
I huff out a breath, staring at Ben and Gillian’s board. I love finding beauty in scraps and sketches, building something magical out of a blank canvas. But never in my life did I imagine doing it for an audience as big as this music video will have.
“I’m sure you could hire a professional to do it.” I arch an eyebrow at him and make my way over to take a seat at my desk.
“That’s what I’m attempting to do right now.”
I frown. “I mean some Hollywood type.”
“I want you. You’re the one who’s put together who knows how many weddings in the venue, not some Hollywood type.”
I want you.
I try not to let the words settle into my bones, but it proves difficult. If only he meant them the way I’d once hoped he would.
“I’d give you the credit. And I’ll pay you obviously.”
My chest tightens. That’s how he keeps people at arm’s length. He makes it transactional and professional. “I don’t need either. You’re already doing enough for the ranch.”
He comes around my desk, looming tall, taking up space until I can’t think straight. “I want to. It’s the fair thing to do.”
“Or it’s just to ease your guilty conscience.
” My hand goes to the second drawer out of habit, and I freeze.
The pregnancy test is still there. I couldn’t bring it home, didn’t know where to hide it, but for sentimental reasons, I couldn’t throw it away.
This baby might not have been planned, but he or she is still very loved, and I want to remember when I first found out I was going to be a mom.
“I’d really like your help on this,” he says softly. “This is clearly your thing. It’s not mine—”
I scoff. “What? Romance and love?” I interrupt with that bitter tone I keep trying not to let out.
Our gazes lock.
“It would seem so.”
A heavy weight charges the air. I should say no again. I should shut this down before I get pulled back under. Being around him, talking about romance, about forever, is the last thing I need when I’m carrying this secret.
But maybe if I help him quickly, he’ll leave quickly. And once he’s ready to leave and all the lights and cameras roll off the ranch, I’ll tell him about the baby.
“Strictly professional?” I ask.
He nods slowly, finally stepping back. “Of course.”
“Okay.”
He nods. “Do you mind walking me around the venue? Do you have some videos or pictures from previous weddings?”
“Yeah. But we’re not copying anything I’ve already done. We’ll make it unique. First though, we have some things to go over, so let’s walk the venue.” I move toward the hall, desperate for distance.
“Lead the way.”
I don’t know what the hell I’ve just agreed to. Alone time with Zander Shaw is dangerous, but I need to keep reminding myself that he isn’t who I thought he was.