Chapter 14 #2
“Shhh, it’s okay, go back to sleep.” But it’s too late. She sits up, her hair falling around her shoulders, wearing an oversized T-shirt that says something I can’t read in the dim light.
“I thought maybe you weren’t coming back,” she says softly.
“Yeah. I’m sorry.” My voice sounds wrecked. I clear my throat. “It was my dad. He was…” I can’t finish the sentence. Can’t explain the whole disaster.
“Is he okay?”
“He will be. Eventually.” I hope.
“Are you okay?” she asks, her voice like velvet in the dark.
No, I’m not. I run a hand through my hair. “Yeah, I’m all right.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I glance up at her again, my chest aching. “Not really…I just…I’m tired.” Dead tired.
Chloe’s lips part. “Oh, sure. Of course.” She stands hurriedly, wadding up the blanket she’d been using and draping it over the coffee table. “I’ll just—”
“Would you stay with me?” The words escape from my lungs like a breath.
Chloe stills.
“Just…for a while,” I clarify. “I don’t want to be alone.”
I know how it sounds. Pitiful. Weak. Like a kid afraid of the dark. Like that dragon, hiding in his cave. But I’m too tired to care.
Chloe’s gaze softens, her lips parting in surprise before, “Of course.”
I nod. “Okay. Don’t…don’t go anywhere.” I toss my jacket on the nearest chair, grab my overnight bag, and head to the bathroom to change.
When I come back out, she’s made room for me in the corner seat, just like last night.
But this time, the TV is off, the glowing embers the only light in the room.
I slide into the space beside her, and Chloe nestles in, resting her head on my shoulder.
I breathe in the scent of her, relaxing one muscle at a time.
“Brody?” Her voice is soft in the darkness.
“Yeah?”
“What did you want to talk about earlier?”
Everything. Nothing. I love you. I’m terrified. I don’t know what I’m doing.
“Tomorrow,” I say instead. “Let’s talk tomorrow. After the wedding.”
“Okay. Tomorrow.”
Silence again. The fire crackles softly, a log settles and sends up a shower of sparks. Somewhere outside, an owl hoots. And for the first time in what feels like months, sleep washes over me.
CHLOE
I wake up to the sound of steady breathing that isn’t mine.
For a moment, I’m disoriented—why is there breathing? Why is my pillow so warm and solid and…why does it have a heartbeat?
My eyes crack open, and my heart leaps at the realization.
We fell asleep on the couch. Brody’s arm wrapped around me, pulling me close. My head, which started out on his shoulder, somehow migrated to his warm—very solid—chest. And while I’m not complaining, it definitely wasn’t how I expected to be waking up this morning.
Brody stirs, his thumb stroking my arm.
Oh, this is…this is bad.
I might never get up. I’ll miss the whole wedding, and it might just be worth it.
I close my eyes again, weighing today’s responsibilities against how much I really, really, really want to stay here. He’s so warm. And he smells good—that woodsy cologne I’ve grown familiar with.
And what’s worse—I lift my head just slightly to look at him—yeah, what’s way worse is that he’s beautiful.
I know that sounds dramatic. Men aren’t supposed to be beautiful.
They’re handsome or attractive or hot. But Brody asleep, with his face relaxed and his guard completely down, is beautiful.
The morning light filtering through the curtains catches his features—the line of his jaw, the dark stubble, the way his eyelashes rest against his cheeks. I want to reach up and touch them.
He looks peaceful. Younger. Like the weight he carries when he’s awake has lifted.
But…I have a wedding to run, and I’d never hear the end of it if I was late.
I attempt to extract myself slowly. Carefully. Trying not to wake him.
His arm tightens around me. His eyes open—those always-changing blue-gray eyes that make me forget how to form sentences.
“Hey,” he says, his voice rough with sleep.
“Hey.” My face is approximately three inches from his. “I fell asleep—I mean, we fell asleep. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay.” He’s not letting go. Not moving away. Just looking at me like he’s memorizing my face. “How’d you sleep?”
“Good. Really good, actually.” Better than I’ve slept in weeks, but I’m not admitting that. “You?”
“Best I’ve slept in a long time.” He smiles. It’s one of those lazy-day smiles, easy, rested, and it does things to my heart. How I love that smile.
Still, he doesn’t let go, just props his other arm behind his head, bringing him closer. Close enough that I can count the flecks of darker blue in his eyes. Close enough to that dangerous territory where one of us could lean forward just slightly and—
I pull away. Sit up. Run a hand over my tangled hair. “I should—I need to go. Maya’s probably freaking out. Valentine’s Day”—I can’t help the little flutter in my stomach thinking about us, together, on Valentine’s Day—“and wedding day and all.”
“Right. Yeah.” He sits up too, the throw blanket pooling around his waist. His T-shirt is rumpled, his hair sticking up on one side.
“What did you want to talk about?” I ask, pulling on a cardigan over my pajamas. “Last night. Before everything.”
He’s quiet for a moment. Then, “I’ll tell you after the ceremony. Is that okay?”
“After the ceremony?”
“Yeah.” He smiles, warm and sure. “It can wait a few hours. Let’s get through the wedding first.”
I’ll admit, I had a lot of time to think about it last night.
Maybe too much time, because I’ve got it all planned out.
The moment when I tell him the truth, that this isn’t fake anymore, that I’m totally, hopelessly in love with him, and that I want to try to make it work for real.
I’m going to wait for dancing to start, for that first slow song to play—call it corny, but I used to think that kind of movie moment didn’t happen to girls like me, but I’m starting to believe, so you’ll excuse me if I get a little cliché—that’s when I’ll tell him.
That’s when it’s supposed to happen. The perfect moment.
So, really, waiting to talk until after the ceremony works perfectly.
“Okay,” I say. “After the ceremony.”
“It’s a date.” He winks. Actually winks. Who winks? Main characters, that’s who. I told you! I’m starting to believe.
“A Valentine’s date.” I brush my hair back behind my ear, oddly nervous. Something’s different between us. Something is new. “I need to go help Maya.” I’m backing toward the door, grabbing my bag of toiletries and the dress I brought for getting ready. “I’ll see you at the ceremony?”
“I’ll be there.”
The cottage is already full steam ahead when I arrive, bridesmaids buzzing from room to room.
The cottage looks like a 2011 JC Penney post Black Friday, clothes strewn haphazardly across furniture, dresses hanging in doorways, food left half eaten on the counters.
Music drifts from every room—different music, I’d like to add—creating a cacophony of sounds.
“Is that Chloe?” I hear Maya’s voice from somewhere inside the mess. There’s a hint of nerves to it. She’s on edge, and the morning’s only just begun.
“Chloe! Thank goodness.” Lauren shuffles into the room carrying a large box, her hair twisted up in one of those no-heat curlers across the top of her head.
“This just arrived at the hotel. The front desk had it delivered.” She drops the box on the counter, sliding it toward me.
Inside, about ten billion crisp sheets of paper lined with names stare up at me. “They’re the escort cards.”
My stomach plummets. “What?—no. We ordered the escort cards from a specialized printer. They’re supposed to alphabetize and cut them.”
Lauren shushes me, glances toward the door to Maya’s room. “I wouldn’t bring that up with Maya. Apparently…your dad saw the bill and about had a heart attack when he realized how much he was paying for the bells and whistles.”
“He did not.” But even as I’m saying it, that doesn’t surprise me. My dad has never been one to pay for a job he could do himself…or in this case, a job I’ll have to do. I slump down in the open seat at the counter and drape myself across the box.
It’s gonna be a long day.
But a day that ends with me telling Brody that I love him.
A day that maybe ends with the beginning of our own happily ever after.
“I’m gonna need scissors, zip lock bags, and a big cup of coffee. Stat.”
I spend the next three hours in crisis-management mode.
Slicing, creasing, and alphabetizing the three hundred Valentine’s-themed escort cards, placing each letter of the alphabet into its own little baggy.
Once that’s done, I try my best to wash the glitter off my fingers (I really didn’t think that through when I was ordering the cards—but then again, I didn’t anticipate needing to hand-crease every single one of them, so…).
Then I pop out of the cabin to check the ceremony site and lay assigned seat cards on the first rows, along with tissues and programs for Derek’s parents and mine.
I do a once-over of the space. Chairs in perfect rows facing the lake, white fabric draped just so, the arch decorated with pine branches and winter flowers.
Make sure the candles are ready to light.
On my way back, I stop in at the reception, which is coming along. The linens are draped, the florists bustling here and there with centerpieces and greenery. The catering manager meets me at the bar to confirm our timelines.
It’s all perfect.
It’s after lunch when I finally make it back to the cottage, and the energy has shifted.
Maya sits gracefully in a white director’s chair, having her makeup done.
The other girls are all lounging around, drinking mimosas in their matching pink robes, their hair and makeup already finished.
The music has died down, only one speaker crooning now.
“You’re back!” Maya says, peeking at me while her makeup artist works on her other eye. “How does everything look?”