Her Best Friend Was the Other Woman (Her Second Act #7)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Abby Kendrik had never understood women who described wedding planning as the most stressful period of their lives.

She had spent the past nine years loving Hudson Covington, and choosing between ivory and cream seemed considerably less demanding than learning how he took his coffee during finals week, how long to leave him alone after an argument, or which version of his mother's birthday story he expected her to pretend she had not already heard.

"You're smiling at napkins," Hudson observed as he came into the kitchen, fastening one cuff of his pale blue shirt.

He leaned over the marble island and kissed Abby's temple before glancing at the fabric samples spread between her coffee and the bowl of strawberries he had not touched.

"Should I be concerned that I'm marrying someone capable of forming emotional attachments to table linens? "

"They've been more cooperative than the groom.

" Abby caught his wrist before he could straighten and finished securing his cuff link, a square of brushed silver his father had given him when Hudson joined the family company.

"The napkins haven't rejected three perfectly respectable bands because they have 'Brown Eyed Girl' in their repetoire. "

"It is pedestrian," Hudson slid his arm around her waist and drew her between his knees, his smile carrying the unearned confidence of a man who had never doubted that people would forgive him. "Our first dance shouldn't remind anyone of a suburban barbecue."

Abby rested her hands against his shoulders, smoothing a crease that disappeared beneath her palm.

Hudson's suit had been made for him in London, though it looked effortless enough that no one would think about the fittings, the hand stitching, or the amount charged to his father's account.

Much of Hudson's life worked that way: invisible preparation arranged by other people so that he could arrive looking naturally fortunate.

"We don't need a first dance that impresses anyone," she said, although she already knew his answer. "We need one we can get through without you trying to lead me into a dip you haven't practiced."

Hudson's mouth curved as his thumb moved beneath the hem of her sweater, warm against the small of her back. "You wound me, Abigail. I've spent years preparing to catch you."

Hudson made ordinary mornings feel lightly scripted in his favor, as though he had looked ahead, found the best version of the moment, and decided she deserved it.

Her phone began vibrating across the island before she could kiss him. Makayla's name appeared on the screen, followed immediately by a second call when Abby did not answer fast enough.

Hudson exhaled through his nose and released her, reaching past the samples for a strawberry. "Trouble in paradise again?"

"That's not fair." Abby answered the call with one hand and pushed at Hudson's shoulder with the other, but he caught her fingers and kissed them before moving toward the coffee machine. "Hi. What happened?"

For several seconds, Makayla said nothing. Abby heard the muted rush of traffic, a car horn, and then a breath drawn with enough care that it made her straighten.

"He forgot," Makayla said, her voice fraying at the edges. "I waited until midnight because I thought maybe he had something planned, but he didn't even come home."

Abby glanced at Hudson, who raised his eyebrows while the coffee machine hissed behind him. She turned away from the silent invitation to agree with whatever unkind conclusion he had already reached.

"Forgot what?" Abby asked, moving the napkin samples into a neat stack so she had something to do with her hands. "Your anniversary isn't until October."

"Not that anniversary. It was seven years since the night we met, which apparently only one of us considers worth remembering.

" Makayla gave a small, brittle laugh that made Abby picture her standing outside the apartment she shared with Evan, dressed beautifully for an evening no one else knew was supposed to happen.

"He was at the office until three. When he finally came in, he accidentally woke me up looking for a charger. "

Abby closed her eyes. Evan was not careless in the ordinary sense, but his work consumed time with the appetite of something alive, and lately there seemed to be less of him left whenever Makayla reached for her share.

"Did you tell him why you were upset?" Abby asked, keeping her voice gentle. Makayla had grown up in a home where disappointment was either swallowed or screamed, and she still seemed to believe that asking directly for what she wanted made receiving it less meaningful.

"I shouldn't have to give him an itinerary for loving me." A door slammed on Makayla's end of the call, shutting out the traffic. "You don't have to tell Hudson to remember things."

Abby looked toward Hudson again. He was scrolling through his phone while drinking his coffee, apparently indifferent to the conversation, though he had added cream to Abby's cup and set it beside her without being asked.

"Hudson forgets plenty," Abby said, because defending Evan felt more useful than listing Hudson's failures. "He once forgot we had theater tickets while we were sitting in the restaurant across the street from the theater."

"I remembered eventually," Hudson called, his attention still fixed on his phone. "And the second half was excellent."

Makayla laughed despite herself, and Abby felt some of the tension leave her shoulders. Making Makayla laugh had always felt like finding a hidden latch; one moment she was locked inside whatever frightened or hurt her, and the next she was back, bright and irreverent and impossible not to love.

"Evan does love you," Abby continued, picking up her coffee. "He's just convinced the company will collapse if he looks away for five ]minutes. That doesn't make forgetting okay, but it does mean this probably isn't about how much you matter to him."

"That company has been “about to succeed” for five years.

" Makayla lowered her voice, and the quiet anger beneath it troubled Abby more than the tears had.

"Every delay is the “last delay.” Every investor meeting is the meeting.

I keep waiting for our actual life to start, and he keeps asking for another six months. "

Abby understood more than she liked to admit.

Hudson had proposed eighteen months ago, but the first venue had fallen through, his grandmother's illness had delayed choosing another, and the Covingtons' social calendar had eliminated most of the dates Abby suggested.

Their wedding was finally four months away, yet she sometimes caught herself treating it as something she should not trust until she was already walking down the aisle.

"Then tell him you can support his dream without putting your entire life on hold for it," Abby said.

She traced the rim of her cup and searched for words that would not sound like instructions issued from the safety of someone else's relationship.

"You're allowed to need things now. You don't have to earn the right by waiting until he succeeds. "

Hudson looked up from his phone then. Something in his expression sharpened before he set his cup down and came around the island.

"Take her to lunch," he murmured beside Abby's ear, his hand settling briefly at her waist. "She shouldn't be alone if she's this upset."

Abby covered the phone and frowned at him. "I have the florist at noon."

"Reschedule it." Hudson brushed his thumb over her side, lowering his voice further. "Flowers will still exist tomorrow. Makayla is one disappointment away from throwing Evan's laptop through a window."

There was affection in the suggestion, or at least concern, though Hudson claimed to have little patience for Makayla.

He called her exhausting when she monopolized Abby's weekends, shallow when she spent too much on clothes, and dramatic whenever Abby repeated one of their arguments.

Still, when Makayla truly needed something, Hudson was often the first to tell Abby she should go.

"Have lunch with me," Abby said when she returned to the call. "I'll move the florist, and we can spend the afternoon doing something irresponsible."

Makayla hesitated long enough to make the acceptance feel reluctant. "I don't want to interfere with the wedding."

"You aren't interfering." Abby looked down as Hudson linked his fingers with hers, his wedding cuff cool against her skin. "You're saving me from being shown fifteen versions of a white rose by a man who insists each one communicates something different."

After they settled on a restaurant, Abby ended the call and began searching for the florist's number. Hudson took the phone gently from her hand before she found it and placed it facedown on the island.

"You're a good friend," he said, drawing her closer again. His gaze moved over her face with an attentiveness that still had the power to make her feel chosen. "Better than she deserves sometimes."

Abby's first instinct was to defend Makayla, but Hudson kissed her before she could begin. His hand curved around the back of her neck with the familiar certainty of someone who had been touching her for nearly a third of her life.

When he pulled away, Abby kept her fingers hooked through his belt loops. "She's having a hard time. Evan has barely been home for months."

"Evan is trying to build something." Hudson's smile thinned as he picked up his phone. "Makayla knew who he was when she agreed to marry him. She just thought the eventual money would arrive faster."

"That's cruel," Abby said, watching him check the time. "She loves him."

"I'm sure she does, in whatever way Makayla loves anything.

" Hudson slipped his jacket from the back of a chair and shrugged it on, restoring the polished outline he presented to the rest of the world.

"Just don't let her turn her unhappiness into doubts about us.

Misery likes company, and she's always been a little too interested in what you have. "

Abby stared at him, bothered less by the warning than by the ease with which he delivered it. "She's my best friend. She wants me to be happy."

Hudson's expression softened immediately, and he crossed the space between them to cup her face in both hands. "Of course she does. Forget I said anything."

He kissed her forehead before leaving, pausing at the doorway to remind her that his mother expected them for dinner on Sunday. Abby listened to his footsteps recede along the hall and told herself his comment had come from protectiveness, sharpened by years of finding Makayla difficult.

Then she turned back to the island and chose the ivory napkins because Hudson had liked them first. She sent Makayla the restaurant address, rescheduled the florist, and never once wondered about Hudson’s reflection that Makayla had always wanted what Abby had.