Chapter 17
seventeen
brIDGET
“Have you broken out in hives yet from deviating from the script?” Laila nudges me with her hip before she crouches to sprinkle gold glitter across the cardboard base of the leprechaun trap.
“More!” Lucy insists. “They really like shiny stuff.”
“He’s the one that deviated,” I mumble.
That kiss has me all out of sorts, but not for the reasons I suspect they think it does. Weston has done nothing but work to get under my skin all week long. His little jabs and annoyances drive me crazy.
But then there are the other ways he’s getting to me.
He somehow already knows my morning routine and has my coffee waiting when I come out of my room. He teases me, but follows up with a compliment I never expect. It has my head on a swivel. There was a scarf draped across my dresser that I’d eyed at a booth the day of the scavenger hunt, and I know the house doesn’t randomly produce things like that.
Andrew love bombed me. If we got into a fight, he’d show up with extravagant flower arrangements, gaudy jewelry I repeatedly told him I didn’t like, or he’d book us dinner at the most ridiculous place you could think of. Sometimes all three.
I’m scared to trust these feelings that are developing for Weston because I don’t know if I trust them. And it’s not because I don’t trust him .
Weston is over the top, but in a way that’s so genuine it scares me. He wears his emotions proudly, and doesn’t hesitate to say what he’s thinking. Like the “what would you save in a fire” question.
He’s pushing for honesty and I want to give him that.
But what happens if I open up to him, and he doesn’t want me?
“Do you think Daddy has the gold coins yet? We really need those for the pot-of-gold!” Lucy asks as she carefully finishes printing ‘gold this way’ on a little sign she made.
“I’m sure he’s on the way with them,” Ella says with a giggle.
I watch as Ella bends to kiss Lucy’s temple before she joins Laila with a bottle of silver glitter. Ella was terrified of being a terrible step-mother, but I hope she knows she’s far from it.
Granted, Ella is naturally a nurturing person. She always had a way with brides that far exceeded the rest of us, and that’s probably one reason that our mother couldn’t stand her. But loving Lucy was effortless from the get go. Ella was always part of the Jackson family because of her friendship with Gaby. Marrying Luke simply cemented her place there.
Seeing Ella settle into the life she’s always wanted has been the most incredible transformation I’ve ever seen. Laila and I couldn’t be happier for her, though there was decidedly a mourning period when we had to go back to Colorado without her. No matter how temporary it was.
The home we’d shared didn’t feel the same without her there.
“What are you going to do when you catch him?” Laila asks. She grabs a couple of Lucky Charms and stuffs them into her mouth with a grin.
“Aunt Laila! Stop eating those. They’re decorations.” Lucy flips a braid over her shoulder and rolls her eyes. “Aunt Bridget, tell her to stop.”
“Why do you think she’s going to listen to me?” I ask.
“She’s your twin.”
Laila snorts and takes another few marshmallows.
I try to keep going through the motions, peeling the backing off shamrock foam stickers and mindlessly handing them to Lucy as she grabs for them.
Everyone is so happy, and I’m letting everyone think Weston is someone to me. I’ve got no clue what he is—but I want what my sisters have so badly it aches.
And while we both knew Ella was headed for her happily ever after when she came back here, Laila is a transformation I wasn’t expecting. Back in the fall, I was too busy to notice the longing looks she and Holden exchanged. The quiet whispers. I noticed the weirdness between them when she came back for Christmas, but not the news that the quiet baker stole her heart years ago.
It’s hard to let go of something so surprising.
And all the while, I was going through the motions in a relationship that I didn’t want to be in. I’ve wanted more for so long I can’t remember otherwise, but it’s hard to accept it as a possibility when people tell you that you deserve what you have.
Even if it’s unhealthy and makes you sad.
A hand slides around my waist, squeezing my side in a way I’ve come to appreciate over the last few days. I’m not a touchy-feely person, but Weston is proving that perhaps that’s because the wrong people were trying to show me affection.
That—along with all the other feelings I’m dealing with—is not something I’m ready to sit with, yet.
It’s all extremely overwhelming.
“Princess Lucille, may I please steal your aunt for a moment?”
Lucy’s eyes shine as she watches us. “Are you going to kiss some more?”
Heat creeps up my neck as Weston’s laugh reverberates between us. That would be wildly inappropriate, but I’m not sure I’d complain either.
“I’m safely back in prince form, so I just want to go walk around with her a bit.”
“I hear you need some gold?” Luke leans over Lucy, dangling a bag in front of her.
With an excited yelp, she yanks it from his hands.
“I could use a walk,” I breathe out, my heart rate kicking up a few notches. And it’s not because Weston is touching me.
I need some air away from all this happiness.
“We’ll be back in a minute,” he says, immediately leading me away from the table with a gentle nudge to the small of my back.
Since I’ve been here a few times now, I know my way around enough to seek a place to breathe. It’s probably not ideal, but Luke’s youngest sister, Violet, has a greenhouse that should be uninhabited. I just need a place to pull myself back together.
There are signs advertising the upcoming strawberry and flower festival. A few yards away, Violet is making clover crowns with some kids and gives a quick nod when I silently ask if it’s okay for me to escape into her haven for a minute.
“That’s better,” I mumble as we step inside.
It’s quieter, and somehow the earthy floral scent is enough to distract me from my thoughts for long enough for me to pull in a deep breath.
“Are you okay?” Weston asks, his voice low. “I was going to ask if you just wanted an excuse to neck like teenagers, but that feels inappropriate.”
I can’t help it. The laugh bursts out of me along with a stream of tears. It’s not at all what he should ask right now, but it’s a very Weston thing to do.
And it’s exactly the push I need to uncork these bottled up emotions.
“You’re this giant, walking enigma—you know that?” I wipe a tear away as my body shakes with giggles.
Once again, he proves my point as he collects me against his very firm chest. The way he wraps his arms around me has the same effect as a weighted blanket and the anxiety bubbling in my chest simmers.
“I know this isn’t over glitter.”
“It’ll be in the grass past Easter,” I say, though it’s pretty muffled against his bicep.
“That’s not a Bridget problem.”
“I know.” I whisper.
His familiar scent is almost as relaxing as his touch.
The only father figure I remember was Ella’s dad, and he used to take us out in the backyard around the firepit to make s’mores. It’s the earliest and most potent memory I have that I can associate with the smoky smell Weston carries, but it’s pure comfort. Joy.
It’s something I haven’t felt in a very long time.
“He’s an idiot.” When I say nothing, he continues. “You don’t have to tell me anything that you don’t want to. I won’t push. But I think it’s important that you know that you’re not your failed relationship. Relationships. You’re Bridget.”
I lift my head and wriggle in his arms so he’ll loosen his grip and I can look up at him. There’s no laughter on his face, no teasing in his voice.
“How could you possibly know I feel that way?”
“I’m not blind or stupid,” he says with a chuckle. “But I’m also observant. Every time you let loose, you pull back almost immediately. Like someone is chastising you.”
I press my lips together. I’ve grown so accustomed to blending in because it was expected that it’s just what I do. The old saying of “children should be seen and not heard” doesn’t even apply, because sometimes our mother didn’t even want us to be seen.
“Would you like a cookie?” I ask, my lips twitching. “You’re like a regular Nancy Drew.”
He tips his head thoughtfully. “More like a Hardy boy, but to be honest, I’m pretty stuffed. No cookies for me.”
His eyes drop to my lips for a long beat, and my breath catches in my throat.
But I’ll take a kiss, instead.
His grip adjusts and tightens, the thumb on the middle of my back strumming a comforting melody that makes me want to purr. He’s not pushing for words or actions. We’re two adults standing in this greenhouse, locked in a staring contest of “chicken”.
The charged air between us could ignite if someone struck a match.
It takes massive self control to not press up on my toes and see what it would be like to kiss him without an audience.
The question I’ve held tight to for a couple of months tumbles out before I can stop it.
“What if Bridget isn’t enough?”
It’s so quiet, at first I’m not sure if I asked it out loud. A lump forms in my throat so large, I want to choke on it. Maybe I don’t actually want Weston to answer that question because Andrew made it clear that I was not . And that other people would feel the same.
Weston’s brow furrows and his hands come up to cup my face, fierce but surprisingly gentle at the same time.
“You are absolutely enough. You’re more than enough.”
“How can you be sure?” I whisper.
I’m still finding lost pieces of myself and I suspect that I’ll be doing that for a while. But something inside me says that he’ll be right there helping me find them. Maybe even showing me pieces I didn’t know existed.
His mouth hitches up in his signature grin but there’s something new there, a shimmer in his eyes that makes me feel like this smile is just for me.
“Because Bridget Mitchell, you’re a beautiful challenge. You’re passionate…kind. Funny. There’s a girl inside there yearning for adventure and I can’t wait to see what happens when she’s ready to chase one. Would you like me to keep going?”
I shake my head and roll onto the balls of my feet. I want him to finish whatever he’s thinking with a kiss, right here in this greenhouse, so when my heart explodes, we’re alone.
He’s tipping the scales from fear to curiosity, a willingness to see if maybe I’m wrong and I can trust these feelings for him.
I think I can—I really do.
“There are better places for this—like my treehouse.”
We break apart like two teenagers caught under the bleachers and my eyes swivel to Violet, standing smugly in the doorway. She’s swept her long locks into a braid, flowers tucked into her hair, and a clover crown resting atop her head.
She looks like an amused flower faerie, but I’m still horrified.
“I’m sorry,” I say, brushing my hands down my face.
“Why? You’re an adult. I’ve caught Ella and Luke in here a couple of times.” She snickers when I turn a deeper shade of red.
There must be a sign on my forehead that screams ‘tease me’.
Weston hooks a hand around my waist and tugs me close, pressing a kiss to my temple. That’s it; my entire insides have gone into meltdown mode.
“We’ll pick that back up later,” he whispers in my ear.
And I think my brain joins the chaos and actually implodes.