Chapter 6 Owen
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Brandon passes out double shots of aged whiskey that he picked up during his semester abroad in Ireland. Now that’s some dedication to save it for his wedding day.
“To my boys, thanks for standing up with me today.” He raises his glass and we all follow his lead.
“And to you, for marrying the love of your life,” Brad adds as he starts the clinking of glasses.
“I’m fucking getting married,” Brandon yells like a rock star on stage.
We all down our whiskey, which never ceases to burn going down for me, whooping and hollering on the back porch.
“Not to get ahead of ourselves, but who’s next? This is the best feeling in the world and I demand you all experience it!” Brandon might have partaken in two greyhounds this morning and Graham was generous with the vodka. We’re going to have to slow the liquor train down so he’s not giggling during the ceremony.
“James, you’ll be soon, I can just feel it,” he says, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder and looking him right in the eye. “But I wonder if one of these two might beat you down the aisle.”
There’s screaming inside the house. It sounds joyful and I can’t see anything, so I assume the women are having some sort of bonding experience, likely booze-infused like ours, but I don’t think Andi requested they all wear matching shirts. Unlike the groom, who had them custom made. I turn back to the guys.
Oh God, Brandon’s pointing at Brad and me.
“Hey cousin, I didn’t even bring a plus-one, I’m not putting a ring on anyone’s finger anytime soon,” I chuckle.
All the color drains from Brad’s face. He brought a date. Someone who he’s been seeing for two months, but they both had conferences and travel for work, so they’ve only been on four dates, and that includes the rehearsal dinner.
“Oh my God,” Brad mumbles, his hand running over his face. “What if she catches the bouquet? I’m not ready to get married, man.”
Graham steps in front of Brad, face serious. “If it looks like Ruby is going to catch it, I’ll put my body on the line and will run interference.”
This makes Brad burst out laughing while he’s still a little pale. “You’re a good man, Graham.”
“I do what I can.”
A phone buzzes on the table redirecting our attention and James grabs it. “It’s almost time for the hair appointments, which means we won’t have access to anything upstairs shortly. Does anyone need something they left up there? Everyone’s suits are down here, but if you have your toothbrush, hair products, or even your socks aren’t in this room, you’re going to have to go without them until after the ceremony.”
“Shit,” I mumble. “My toothbrush is still up there. Is there anything else I should grab while I’m gone?”
“Be sure to grab Graham’s shirt so we’re all matching when we help outside, I want at least a dozen photos on my phone before we get dressed.”
Graham groans at the groom.
“If I’m wearing the ‘mantivities’ shirt, then you are, too,” James says.
“Do they have to be so…neon?” Graham whispers.
I look down at my own shirt. It’s ridiculously garish in the color choices, which made it clear Andi wasn’t the designer.
“They most certainly do,” Brandon says, stumbling just a little as the guys make sure he’s steady immediately. “If they weren’t neon, how would they glow in the dark?”
“We’ll be wearing our suits hours before it’s dark,” his brother notes with a bit of a frown.
The groom opens and closes his mouth, clearly taking a moment to let that fact sink in.
“Let’s get you some coffee, big guy. Poppy had some sent over from that place in Honey Cove you love,” Brad says.
“Bobbi’s? Oh man, this is the best day ever!”
If Graham didn’t have one of Brandon’s arms over his shoulders, I think our groom would be beating his chest in celebration.
“I’ll be right back and I’ll keep my eyes down just in case Andi is out and about,” I say, zipping up my hoodie to hide at least a little of my shirt.
It looks like another delivery came while we were on the porch and there are women I don’t recognize sorting things among several tables. We’ve been told, in no uncertain terms, which parts of the house we are allowed to occupy once eight o’clock hits and it’s half past, so I do my best to blend into the background.
Holy shit.
I stop in my tracks, my heart thundering in my chest.
Who is that?
My god, she’s stunning.
Wavy auburn hair that’s not-quite red hits just below her chin, exposing her slender neck. Even from the side, her brown eyes have a sparkle that shines through her tense posture. She’s wearing running shoes and leggings that accentuate toned thighs. I’m already wondering what’s underneath her loose-fitting shirt. Jesus, I must be more tipsy than I thought. Who is this woman?
Then I see she’s got a death grip on a rolling suitcase. Must be the famous Poppy. Damn.
“Do you need something, Owen?”
“Sorry, Aunt Mae, I was trying to sneak through to get my toothbrush unnoticed. You look incredible, has Brandon seen you?” I ask.
“You’re too kind, I haven’t even changed into my wedding outfit, yet,” she says, blushing. “And no, I’m not supposed to see my baby boy until we do the family photos.”
“Well, he’s going to cry, you do know that, right?”
“Oh, stop,” she says, primping her hair. “Your mother said the same thing when we video chatted.”
“It’s true.”
“Well, either way, you had better pop upstairs quickly, before it’s time for Andi to get into her dress.”
“On the double,” I say, turning faster than I intended and feeling the effects of the whiskey before righting myself and almost running into who I assume is Poppy.
She must think I’m an absolute lush. Instead of likely embarrassing myself, I take the coward’s way out, mumble something about the stairs, and concentrate on taking them one at a time. I can hear her lug her suitcase behind her.
God, I must look like a complete asshole. She has both hands full and here I am just hopping upstairs without offering to carry a damn thing. On the bright side, I think Brandon would kill me if I fell down the stairs and with the level of tipsy I am and how hard I have to concentrate without turning around to see her. If I were talking to this woman, there’s no way I’d make it up the staircase in one piece.
The woman who was almost my coworker. I suppose it’s okay to find her absolutely stunning if I won’t be working with her, right?