Chapter 21
I stumble backward, narrowly avoiding a bouquet that whizzes past my head like a floral missile. As it turns out, roses make excellent weapons. And why are there actual thorns on these things?
"Eyes on the prize, sugar!" Kristal's voice rings out. She's perched on a platform in head-to-toe pink camo, somehow making combat gear look like a fashion statement. "This isn't just a game, people—this is about LOVE!"
It's Tuesday morning at the Thistlewood Estate, where "family bonding activities" have officially devolved into The Hunger Games: Wedding Edition, staged by a five-foot-nothing wedding planner who moonlights as a drill sergeant.
I duck another bouquet, this one hurled with alarming precision by Magnolia.
Who knew Sarah's mom had an arm like that?
Then again, who could've predicted any of this when Kristal gathered us after breakfast, split us into teams through "random" selection—though I have serious doubts about how random it actually was—and announced we'd be spending the day "building connections through friendly competition. "
Friendly. Right.
"Remember," Kristal trills, "we're making MEMORIES! Now move those booties like you mean it!"
I glance across the lawn where Caleb is half-heartedly participating in the bouquet dodgeball challenge, wincing every time he moves. I can't help but think about how I woke up this morning, tangled in sheets that smelled like him.
The memory of falling asleep is hazy, but I remember the solid warmth of him, the way his fingers had traced lazy patterns on my skin.
How safe it felt to drift off against his chest. But by sunrise, he was gone—back to that stupid couch, blankets arranged in a careful barrier that screamed "let's pretend this never happened. "
Now he's moving stiffly, clearly sore, and a dull ache blooms beneath my sternum. Because apparently, we're both really good at pretending last night was just another almost-moment in our growing collection of them.
"Watch your left, Ivy!" Matt lunges forward, deflecting a bouquet aimed at my head.
His dark blond hair's a mess from diving around the field, but his grin is genuine when he helps me up.
Before I can thank him, a thorny projectile catches my shoulder and Carter rushes to my side, his hand landing on my waist.
"You okay?" he asks. "Let me help—"
"I'm fine!" I step away, bumping into Preston, who's treating this like a hostile corporate takeover.
"Team Risky Business, huddle up!" Preston calls out. He gathers our team—me, Matt, Carter, and Dottie—into a tight circle. "The other teams are falling apart. The Hot Girl Agenda can barely stay focused, and The In-Laws . . ." He glances across the field with a calculating smile.
I follow his gaze to where Caleb's team is unraveling faster than a bargain-bin sweater.
Virginia's sleek black bob snaps as she accidentally pelts Jefferson with roses, even though he's on her team.
He fires back, with suspiciously accurate aim for someone claiming to miss.
Magnolia's gone full Southern general, honey-blond waves slipping free from her perfect chignon as she barks out orders no one follows.
Greg stands off to the side, arms crossed, while Caleb tries to participate despite his father's running commentary.
"This is pointless," Greg mutters. "Standing around throwing flowers . . ."
The rest of his sentence disappears in a face full of roses, as Dottie's throw hits him square in the nose. The lawn goes silent, and my hand flies to my mouth as Dottie's eyes widen in horror.
"Oh my goodness, Greg, I am so sorry!" She rushes forward, overriding team divisions. "I was aiming for Jefferson, but you know how my arthritis acts up!"
Greg blinks, petals falling from his face, looking so bewildered that Caleb bursts out laughing. For a moment, he just stands there, frozen in shock, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
"Dorothy Miller," he finally sputters, wiping rose petals from his cheeks, "did you just—"
"It was an accident, dear." Dottie's voice is sweet as pie, but there's a spark in her eyes. She brushes a petal from his shoulder with deliberate care. "Though your face does look lovely with a bit of color."
Something shifts in Greg's expression and he clears his throat, cheeks flushing deeper than the rose petals.
"Well," he mutters, "guess you still have that softball arm from high school."
"Oh, you remember that?" Dottie's eyebrows lift slightly. "Thought you'd forgotten."
She turns with a little bounce in her step that makes her look twenty years younger, leaving Greg staring after her with his mouth still half-open.
Preston winks at Dottie when she hurries back to our side. "Remind me never to underestimate you, Dorothy."
"Thirty seconds!" Kristal shouts. "Make them count, people!"
Carter edges closer. "Stay behind—"
I retreat toward Dottie, who's somehow turned into our team's secret weapon.
"Ten seconds!"
Across the field, Team Hot Girl Agenda is living up to their name. Mary pretends to stumble, her black hair swinging as she conveniently elbows Sarah. Wyatt launches into a dramatic save that nobody asked for, and Dean and Dixie . . . are they actually making out behind that hedge?
"Time!" Kristal's whistle pierces the air. "Team Risky Business takes round one! Now, prepare yourselves for the Cake Tower Relay! And someone please separate Dean and Dixie before this becomes an issue!"
As everyone shuffles toward the next station, my gaze catches on Caleb. He's stripped off his hoodie in the morning heat, leaving him only in his team's royal blue pinnie and a dark green T-shirt. The fabric clings to his chest, and suddenly I forget we're even supposed to be competing.
"Ivy!" Preston's voice cuts through my not-so-subtle ogling of Caleb's sweat-damp curls. "If you're done admiring the competition, some of us are trying to win."
I yank at my own red pinnie, suddenly too warm despite the morning breeze. Caleb glances over, catching me staring. Something heated flashes across his face before he looks away.
"The rules are simple," Kristal announces, gesturing to three wobbly tables laden with cake tiers. "Each team must carry their cake through the obstacle course. Sabotage is . . ." she pauses dramatically, "encouraged."
Matt's entire face lights up. "Did she . . ." He turns to me with the kind of manic glee I've seen in toddlers with finger paint. "Ivy, she gave us permission to—"
"No." I hold up a hand. "Whatever you're thinking—"
"But it's encouraged," he whispers, bouncing on his toes. "Preston, tell her it's—"
"Strategy," Preston cuts in. "We're simply utilizing all available tactical advantages."
Fantastic. I'm on a team with a corporate raider, his chaos-loving protégé, and whatever Carter's about to mansplain. At least I got Dottie.
"First team to get their cake to the finish line intact wins!" Kristal beams.
The course ahead looks like something designed by a someone who watches too many obstacle course shows. There's a tunnel draped in tulle, a slalom through giant champagne bottles, and—because we haven't suffered enough—a balance beam suspended over a mud pit.
"Ready?" Kristal's whistle gleams. "Go!"
Our team takes the lead, though Carter keeps trying to "guide" everyone with his extensive knowledge of weight distribution. I tune him out, focusing instead on keeping our cake level as we navigate the tunnel.
Sarah calls out directions while Dean and Dixie, for once, actually focus. Even Delilah manages to multitask; filming with one hand while steadying their cake with the other. They're making solid progress until Mary's hand conveniently "slips," sending Sarah lurching toward the mud pit.
"Oh no," Mary snickers. "Those yoga classes aren't helping your balance much now, are they?"
"Sarah!" Wyatt launches himself after her without hesitation, like some cologne-scented Romeo diving for his Juliet. They both hit the mud with a spectacular splash, and Matt's entire body tenses beside me.
A crash, followed by a collective gasp, draws my attention to Team In-Laws. Their cake lies in a sad heap on the grass, frosting splattered across Virginia and Jefferson.
"That's just wonderful," Magnolia huffs, dabbing at a spot of buttercream on her linen pants. "I told you we needed to establish a proper carrying formation."
Virginia whips around, her sleek bob swinging. "This wouldn't have happened if Jefferson hadn't been showing off."
He wipes icing from his jaw. "Me? You're the one who . . ." Something shifts in the air between them and I whip my head forward, but not before catching Jefferson grab Virginia's wrist, yanking her closer.
"Focus!" Preston snaps.
We're halfway through our own slalom when Greg's voice rises above the chaos. "This is exactly what I mean about focus."
"Maybe we'd have done better if you stopped talking," Caleb argues back, and I turn automatically toward his voice.
Big mistake.
I stumble, the cake teetering precariously, and suddenly there's a steadying presence behind me. Caleb's hand catches my hip, and the world narrows to that single point of contact.
"Careful, Shortcake," he murmurs, voice low enough that it might as well be a caress. His chest is barely brushing my back, and I'm acutely aware of every inch where we almost touch. The cake stabilizes in my hands, but neither of us moves.
Carter's voice shatters the moment. "Did he just help the competition?" Caleb steps away so fast I sway from the loss.
The balance beam proves to be our undoing.
"Channel that wedding day energy!" Kristal's voice rings out across the yard. "Pretend your ex just showed up with your cousin and your cake is your only weapon! MOVE IT!"
Carter steps up and immediately slips. He lands face-first in the mud, making a sound somewhere between a squeak and a gargle.
I shouldn't laugh. I really shouldn't. But then I catch Caleb's eye across the course, his dimples flashing as he bites back a grin, and I'm doubled over, cake tilting dangerously as Carter flails like an overturned turtle in designer athleisure.
"Ivy!" Preston shouts, but I'm too far gone.
"Got it!" Matt lunges, steadying our creation while Dottie and Preston swoop in from opposite sides.
Kristal blows her whistle sharp and loud. "That's it! Team Risky Business wins!"
"We won!" Matt whoops, nearly dropping the cake he just saved. "Did you see that catch? That was some pro-level stuff right there. Preston, tell me you saw—"
"Yes, Matthew," Preston's trying to sound professional, but he's grinning like he just closed a million-dollar deal.
I catch Sarah watching them. She's covered in mud, her yoga pants ruined, but she's beaming at Matt being . . . well, Matt. Not the polished version her parents want, but the guy who'd dive through obstacle courses and celebrate like a kid who scored his first touchdown.
Maybe there is something to Kristal's family bonding chaos after all.
I help Carter up, trying not to laugh at how his perfectly styled hair is now plastered to his forehead. He grabs my hand, holding on a beat too long.
"You know," he says, somehow managing to sound smug even while dripping mud, "we should get drinks later. Just us."
"I should check on Dottie," I cut in, already backing away. His smile doesn't falter. Guys like Carter don't register rejection as an option.