Chapter 8
CHAPTER
EIGHT
brUCE
My phone rings from its place on the couch beside me, it’s Andie’s name flashing across the screen. Smiling, I pause When Harry Met Sally and answer. “Well, well, well. How’s my favorite blonde doing?”
“I’m telling Noel you said that.”
“Don’t you dare,” I gasp in mock outage.
Andie tsks. “Okay, mister. I’m calling in the final favor you owe me, and you’re actually going to like this one.”
I groan. “Sorry, babes, I’m actually really busy right now.”
She tuts. “Sure, you are. Which romcom are you watching?”
I swallow. Andie knows me too well, apparently. “ When Harry Met Sally .”
“Oh! That’s a good one!” I hear Mitch whispering something to her and she shushes him. “Listen, here’s what I need. Mel is sick and can’t help Farrah with their wedding event tonight. Farrah is busy with the cake table and Mel needs me to fill in running the rest of the event. The problem is, Mel does the work of a dozen people, and I need someone else there helping me orchestrate everything.”
I perk up, sitting forward on the couch. “Did you say Farrah will be there?”
She laughs. “Told you you’d like this favor.”
“Text me the address and I’ll be on my way.”
“Okay. Oh!” She says the word like she just remembered something. “You need to wear all black. Business casual. Don’t get too fancy, Bruce. I mean it! You can’t upstage the bride.”
I give her a haughty laugh, the laugh I think a finance bro would make. “Me? Upstage the bride? Please.”
“Don’t. Get. Too. Fancy,” she repeats, enunciating every word.
“Fine, I won’t. See you soon.”
As soon as I hang up, Andie texts me the address of a Catholic cathedral about forty minutes away with traffic. I hope Farrah will be okay until we get there, poor thing.
I rush to get dressed in the least fancy black ensemble I own and am on my way within minutes of Andie’s call.
Forty-five minutes later, I arrive at the church and walk inside in search of Farrah and Andie. I walk through the broad, wooden doors to the church and come face to face with a black-haired bride. Her eyes widen when she sees me.
The man beside her, presumably her father, gasps. “You invited Bruce McBride to your wedding?” the older gentleman asks the bride.
“No, I didn’t,” she answers, then turns back to me. “But you’re more than welcome!”
Just then, the cathedral doors open to a room filled with people. Each pew is full of smiling guests.
The bride and her father smile at each other and begin making their way slowly down the aisle.
I’m watching them, touched by the whole scene and the beautiful flowers lining the aisle, when I hear an angry psp . I turn to find Andie at the top of a set of stairs and her expression is annoyed. “Bruce! Get downstairs now! You’re not a guest; you’re staff.”
I tut, making my way over to her. “I’m too pretty to be staff.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s fighting a smile. “Get that pretty face downstairs.”
I follow her to find a terrified-looking Farrah behind the cake table in the reception area. The basement of the church isn’t your typical dark and depressing underground space; instead it seems to only be half underground and has windows lining its walls. The large space boasts the same floral arrangements as the cathedral, and round tables are set with fine place settings. My jaw drops as I realize Mel must have done this all on her own today. At practice West said she was here setting up while Farrah was watching Nella.
That tiny woman is a powerhouse.
Farrah’s blue eyes widen when she sees me, then she turns to Andie. “What is he doing here?”
“We needed more help!” Andie says, resting her hands on her hips.
Farrah comes out from behind the table, and I have to work really hard not to let my jaw drop again. Is she wearing the pencil skirt, or is the pencil skirt wearing her?
It fits her body in an unfair way. It contours to her hips and butt and makes me want to be wrapped around her too . I’m jealous of a skirt.
“We could’ve managed,” Farrah says pointedly. “Mel already set everything up; we just have to make sure the line goes smoothly and tear everything down, and?—”
“Wow, that sounds like a lot,” I muse. “Good thing there’s a big, strapping man here to help.” I wink at her, and she blushes.
Good, she’s not immune to me.
Andie sighs heavily. “It is a lot, and Bruce was more than willing to help. Plus, Noah is at a sleepover tonight and I want to get home before Mitch falls asleep. We never have the house to ourselves.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Gross. You needed me to help tonight so you can get home for hanky panky with your grouchy husband?”
Andie smirks. “If he gets hanky panky, he’s not grouchy. So, yes.”
A laugh bubbles out of Farrah and the sound fills my chest in a way that makes me light, like a balloon that might fly away.
Andie’s gaze lasers in on me. “I told you not to get fancy.”
I look down at my outfit, high-waisted pleated black trousers and a 1950’s style black sweater tucked in. Paired with some black leather oxfords, I look like I’m ready to light my pipe and read a newspaper. It’s an older style, but with my haircut and ear piercing I think I give it a modernized vibe.
“This was the least fancy outfit in my closet.”
“You’re such a diva, Bruce,” Andie teases. “Now, I need you to stand here at the beginning of the cake line and make sure everyone’s staying single file to make the process seamless.”
Farrah eyes me with those stunning blues of hers. “I really don’t need help over here, Andie. He can do something else.”
“Everything is taken care of,” Andie says. “Now accept the help and thank me later.”
Farrah shakes her head.
Andie strides away from us and starts up a conversation with the caterer across the room.
I take my place exactly where Andie told me to stand and Farrah begins cutting into large sheet cakes, but not the big wedding cake.
“I cannot wait to taste your cake,” I say, not realizing it sounds dirty at first.
Farrah’s cheeks turn a violent shade of red. Like she’s half embarrassed and half angry with me for saying something so salacious. “Bruce.”
“Sorry.” I grimace. “I meant the cake. But I know your lips taste amazing. I definitely remember that.”
Still red, she holds up a palm to stop me. “Just stop talking.”
“Good idea,” I admit. “So, what exactly do you need me to do?”
“Just stand there and look pretty,” she says dryly, turning away and continuing to cut the sheet cakes in neat rows. “You’ll probably get snatched up by some young ladies and be sitting at their table within a few minutes anyway.”
I’m taken aback for a second, wondering what the hell she’s talking about. Then I remember the general’s daughters from a few weeks back and how they latched onto me the moment they spotted me. They were fun to talk to, for sure. But I wasn’t trying to draw attention to myself. And I kept trying to get away.
I prop a hip against the cake table and look down at Farrah. “Ah, I see. You’re jealous.”
Her eyes dart up to meet mine and her mouth pops open. “I am not.”
“You are. But you don’t need to be. I’ve been trying to get you to pay attention to me for over a year. I keep trying to tell you how good we could be together, but you won’t have it. You always push me away. So, stop being jealous and go out with me already.”
Her chest rises and falls rapidly, her mouth popping open then snapping shut. The woman doesn’t know what to say or what to do at my honest admission. It was a bold move, I understand that. But I’m sick of dancing around this. Tired of having an elephant in the room.
“Bruce, we can’t. You know that.”
I turn and rest my palms on the surface of the table, leaning in so our faces are close. “Why not?”
She backs away. “It was one kiss. That’s all. You barely even know me.”
“Really? Are all your kisses like that one? Because it didn’t feel like just a kiss to me. It felt like the kiss.”
“You’re too young for me,” she blurts.
I scoff. “Is that the reason you tell yourself? I’m not too young, I’m only five years younger than you.”
She frowns, her eyes moving away from my face and down to the cake in front of her. “You need to move on. There are too many things I can’t give you.”
“Like what?”
She ignores me.
“At least give me a real reason. Just one.” I blow out a breath. “Then I’ll leave you alone.”
She slowly looks up at me, her eyes meeting mine. Her expression tells me we’re on the verge of finally getting somewhere, like she’s teetering on the edge of something. Of giving in, or finally telling me the reason she won’t even give me a chance. I wait with bated breath, and her mouth finally opens to say something.
“Okay, guys!” Andie interrupts, clapping her hands together. “The bride and groom just kissed, so get in position and be ready for the crowd.”