Tucker takes a deep breath. “I want to open a wedding planning agency.”
“You’re joking,” I say, just as Logan comments, “I’m so happy for you, man.”
“Thanks,” Tucker says to Logan, then slights me with a disdainful raise of his chin. Like a shunned milady in a regency B-Movie would.
So, I backpedal a little. “What I meant is that I thought you hated planning this wedding. And you love it up here, man. You live at Yosemite when we’re not somewhere on a job. And how are you going to make a wedding planning agency work in LA? The competition ought to be crushing. And all for a woman you just met?”
“Hey,” Logan protests. “I hadn’t known Winter much longer when I realized she was the one for me.”
“Thanks.” Tucker makes the hands-united-in-prayer gesture at Logan and then turns to me. “And to answer your questions. I’m in love with Penny and I want to be with her. Yes, I will miss the nature up here, but it’s a sacrifice worth making. And I didn’t hate planning this wedding, it was just…” He shrugs. “Different from what I’m used to. But logistics is logistics, and I think I did a pretty wonderful job.” He looks at Logan for confirmation.
“Stellar, man.”
“Thank you. And as for the crushing competition, Penny says a tweet from Christian praising my work will have me booked solid with brides for the next five years. And she’ll help me curate my Pinterest, whatever that means, so…”
“Great to see you have it all figured out,” I snap, getting up and resuming pacing around the room.
“Hey, Lover Boy,” Logan calls, using my college nickname. “Why, instead of asking us a million covert questions, don’t you just come out with what’s really bugging you so we can discuss it openly?”
“What do you mean?”
“That all this talk of kids and commitment and whether we”—he points at himself and Tucker—“are ready, is more a question of you falling for a certain bridesmaid and wondering if you’re ready for your first grownup relationship.”
I rack a hand through my hair. “Or that.”
“Sit down,” Logan orders. “You’re driving me nuts with all the pacing. And tell us what your dilemma is.”
“It’s not easy to talk to you guys, with all your certainties. You both sound so sure. Like the idea of upending your entire life for a woman isn’t scary.”
Logan gives me a long stare. “For the right woman, it isn’t. What are you so afraid of?”
“Summer wants to get married and have kids.”
Logan chuckles. “Listen, I know Winter gave you an earful yesterday. But you don’t have to sound the wedding bells the moment you enter a relationship; that’s not how it works.”
I’m not used to receiving women advice, but I need it. With a tight jaw, I say, “Enlighten me, then.”
“Imagine you walked into a dating agency, or filled out a profile online. One of the first questions they’d ask is if you want to have a family, as in kids. Then they’d pair off people according to their answers. They’d never match a woman who says she wants five kids with a man who says he wants none. So, if you ticked the kids box, you’d get paired with women who’d also checked that box. But that doesn’t mean you should start trying for a baby on the first night out.”
“Then what does that mean?”
“It means that you date, and see if you like each other. And if you were to fall in love, you’d both know your relationship eventually would lead to getting married and starting a family. The dating world is divided into two major categories: those who want kids, and those who don’t. And both categories know they should steer clear of the other, or else…”
“What about those who don’t know?” I ask.
Logan reflects for a second, and sighs. “Man, you must figure that out for yourself.” He pauses. “And if I can make a suggestion? Do it before it’s too late.”
Twenty-one
Summer
With every passing minute, I become more nervous. The moment to move to the chapel quickly approaches, and I swear I’m more on edge than the bride. Dread at having to face Archie makes my stomach burn, and my only consolation is not to be the maid of honor. A small mercy that will spare me from having to walk down the aisle arm in arm with the best man. Instead, sweet Tucker will be my escort.
I glimpse at my reflection in one of the illuminated mirrors at the back of the room. At least I have my best, contoured poker face on. The makeup artist pulled off a miracle. My cheekbones are highlighted to death, and the bluish bags under my eyes have been vanquished, while my cheeks have a healthy rose tint. And my lips shine with pink gloss. The hair is amazing, too, swept back in a romantic updo. Softly plaited at the sides and collected at the nape. The style isn’t too polished, with loose, curly tendrils left astray while tiny white baby’s breath flowers have been woven in strategic places. Lana’s hair is the same, while Winter’s is a little more elaborate, and she has ivory roses instead of baby’s breaths.
The bridesmaids’ gowns are out of a dream as well. Like any bridesmaid who’s ever watched 27 Dresses, I was worried my sister would pick a monstrosity. Not a period costume or a Beverly Hills fuchsia mini skirt, but she could’ve gone down the road of a drab olive-green color or the beaded prom dress from hell.
Instead, I’m wearing a one-shoulder illusion gown in a perfect blush shade, with soft, sweeping ruffled flanges cascading down the skirt. A smooth, shimmering sash at the waist completes the outfit.
Winter’s wedding dress is next-level dreamy, though. My sister has always been the tomboy out of the two of us, but getting married has really brought out her inner Disney princess. Her gown is a caged A-line marvel covered in punched floral appliqués that start at the illusion neckline, continue to the notched bodice, and cascade down the tulle skirt. But nothing, not the hair nor the dress, can compete with the radiance of her smile.
Gosh, what it must be like to be that happy. Because no matter how perfect I look on the outside, inside, I’m slowly fading out.
A knock on the door makes me jump and causes my stomach to tie up in even more knots.
Tucker peeks his head into the room. “Ladies, are we ready to go?”
“Yes.” Winter beams at him. “Where’s Logan?”
“The groom is already at the altar. All the guests are seated, and Archie is waiting in the chapel’s side room, from which we will make our entrance.”
Even hearing his name mentioned in passing makes me want to puke.
“What about my dad?” Winter asks.
“He’s with Archie. We’re good to go.”
Winter nods, and follows Tucker out of the room.
As we’re walking down a hall to reach the elevators, Lana grabs my arm, gently pulling back. “Are you okay?”
Her kind eyes are genuinely concerned, so I tell her the truth. “Right now my biggest life’s goal is not to puke on this beautiful dress.”
Lana chuckles, saying, “Take this,” and hands me a small wrapped candy.
“What is it?”
“Ginger. I’d gotten them in case Winter became queasy before walking down the aisle or something, but you seem to need it more than she does.”
We both glance ahead of us to where Winter is bouncing down the hall in a tulle cloud. Yeah, I need the ginger more than my sister.
We take the elevator down to the lobby, reach a back exit, cross a narrow patch of garden, and stop near the side entrance to the small waiting room leading into the chapel. Everyone is supposed to go inside, but I don’t want to share such a confined space with Archie, even if there’ll be a dozen other people as a buffer between us. So, I let go of Lana’s arm, whispering, “You go ahead, I’ll be right in.”
She pulls me in for a small hug, saying, “Everything will be okay.” Then she disappears inside, helping bring in Winter’s train.
After a short time, the music starts. The melody streams out of the walls as if coming from the s
trings of a thousand violins. I count to ten. Archie and Lana must be already walking down the aisle, so I take a deep breath and walk in, taking my position at Tucker’s side without meeting anyone’s eyes. If my sister noticed my small cop-out, she’s too busy with her own walking-down-the-aisle jitters to comment.
Tucker offers me his elbow with a warm smile. “Ready?”
I take his arm and nod.
We exit the room and reach the start of the long aisle. Before us, a white carpet runway stretches to the altar where, out of the corner of my eye, I can make out Archie’s silhouette. He’s tall and in a black tux, but everything else is out of focus if I don’t stare at him directly, and I’d better not.
Tucker gives my arm an almost imperceptible tug, and we start our walk. I hold my head high and keep my gaze straightened ahead. I’m focusing on the forehead of the minister waiting at the center of the altar. As we pass the various rows of benches, my eyes don’t stray once toward snickering ex-friends or perfect strangers, and they never drift to the right of the minister to where Archie is standing.
The best man is looking at me; I can feel his gaze burning into my skin. Archie has kept his eyes glued to me from the moment I walked into the chapel.
The closer Tucker and I get to the altar, the harder it becomes to ignore Archie’s insistent stare. It’s like his mere presence is exercising an irresistible pull on my soul, compelling me to look at him.
I won’t look at him. I won’t look at him, I chant in my head, trying to keep my resolve. But as we near the final two rows of guests, my willpower wobbles, and I give in to the inescapable tug and shift my gaze to meet his.
A mistake.
The moment our eyes lock, time ripples. It stops, while simultaneously moving faster. In the few seconds it takes me to leave Tucker’s side and go take my position next to Lana, I study every detail of Archie’s face. The icy-but-burning light-blue of his irises. The hair, combed back in a Sunday-at-church, good-boy sweep. The soft beard that I’ve come to love. And the lips underneath that I yearn to kiss just one more time.
He’s devastatingly handsome, and the ultimate fantasy: Archibald Hill in a black tux waiting for me at the altar. Only this is not our wedding day, and he’s not here to marry me. We’re just spectators to somebody else’s happily ever after, while our futures head in two opposite directions.
The first notes of the wedding march fill the airy room, followed by a collective intake of breath, no doubt caused by my sister making her entrance. But I don’t look away, and neither does Archie.
We’re trapped in each other’s stares.
Twenty-two
Archie
When the time finally comes to move out of the groom suite, I’m impatient. I want to see Summer, know that she’s okay, and talk to her. Tucker guides us down the hall, where we make a quick stop to collect the father of the bride, and then continue outside the resort and across the garden up a small hill to the white chapel.
Tucker unlocks a door on the right-hand wall and ushers us into an even smaller, darker room than the groom suite we’ve been trapped in all morning. What the heck?
Logan takes a deep breath and, exchanging shoulder pats with Tucker, says, “Man, I’ll see you on the other side,” and moves into the church.
And now there’s only Tucker, Mr. Knowles, and me left.
“Man,” I protest. “What are we supposed to do here?”
“Wait until I go get the bridesmaids and bride,” he explains, and in a petulant tone, he adds, “You’d know if you’d bothered to show for any of the meetings.”
I don’t reply; every word he says after “bridesmaids” washes over me like water down a waterfall. Summer will be here soon. I’ll finally see her.
Tucker leaves, and the minutes tick by too slowly. To be stuck in such a tiny space with the father of the woman I’m crazy about is uncomfortable. Does he know? My guess is no. Summer’s dad is too calm and contented for someone sharing the room with a man who potentially broke his daughter’s heart. If some arrogant asshole hurt my little girl, I wouldn’t be so peaceful and quiet.
And just like that, I see her face. A small girl of six or seven years with a gap in her front teeth. She has Summer’s long blond hair and my mother’s button nose. And I love her more than anything else in the world.
The vision feels so real, it makes my heart beat faster while my blood pressure drops, so much that I have to lean against a wall for a second so I don’t pass out.
“Pal, are you okay?” Mr. Knowles asks. “You look paler than the groom.”
“I’m okay, Mr. Knowles, thank you,” I say, hoping I have infused enough you-want-me-as-your-other-son-in-law politeness into my tone.
After what seems like an eternity, we hear female voices outside.
The door opens, bright sunlight streaming in and momentarily blinding me, before a white cloud enters the room with Winter’s head sitting on top of it. The bride has to gather her skirts around her while someone helps her bring the train in from behind. Summer? I can’t see.
I crane my neck, but when the figure crouching behind the bride stands up, it’s Lana. No sign of Summer anywhere. Where is she?
“Archie, Lana,” Tucker says, “You’re up first.”
No, I think, desperate. I want to see Summer before I go. But she’s avoiding me. She must have waited outside. Nice try, but it won’t work. I’m already trying to find a way past the bride and her skirts and out of the room when Tucker grabs my arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I need a minute,” I say. “I’ll be right back.”
“No, dude.” Tucker pulls me aside and lines me up next to Lana. “I’ve already okayed the violinists. Once the music starts, you’re outta here.”
As if on cue, sweet notes fill the church hall on the other side of the wall.
Lana takes my arm and looks up at me. “Ready?”
“Where’s Summer?” I whisper instead of answering.
“She’s right behind us,” Lana whispers back. “Don’t worry, you’ll see her soon.”
Tucker prompts us on, “Okay, guys, you should go.”
We exit the small chamber, take a short pause in the center of the aisle, and then make our coordinated entrance, ambling toward the altar.
Logan and the minister are already in position, waiting. I study my best friend’s face. He has a rather sheepish look, that of someone who can’t believe his luck. A week ago, I would’ve snickered at that, calling him a fool. Saying he was digging his own grave. No matter how much I liked the bride, I still thought Logan was crazy for getting married a few months after they’d met. Well, fast forward to the present and a few days seems like a reasonable time to decide who to spend the rest of my life with.
Lana and I reach the altar and head in opposite directions. I take my position on the right next to the groom, while she goes on the left. Logan and I clasp hands in a comradeship gesture, and then our gazes snap to the back of the church. Him, waiting for his bride; me, for my bridesmaid.
Even if I’ve been dying to see her all morning, when Summer makes her appearance next to Tucker I’m not prepared at all. Initially, she’s hidden behind my friend and I only glimpse a flash of white-blond hair and pink fabric. But when they reach the center of the aisle and she turns to face me… I… I fight to keep my mouth shut and not have my jaw slack open like the dumbstruck fool I am.
Summer is even more beautiful than usual. It must be the makeup, but her face looks like someone applied a Photoshop filter to make her skin more radiant, her lips fuller, her eyes bigger. But to me, the most beautiful Summer will always be the one who’s just woken up, hair in a tousled mess on the pillow, not an ounce of makeup on her face, and a little secret smile on her lips I put there the night before.
Now, she isn’t smiling. And it’s my fault.
To a casual observer she’d appear fine, but I know better and can read the minor details. Like the tautnes
s of her jaw. The slight downward curve of her mouth. And her eyes, which would usually fight to find me in a room, turned away.
Her stare is pointed straight ahead, and so lifeless it might as well belong to a robot.
Please look at me, I chant in my head as she walks toward me. Come on, look up. Look at me.
When I’m about to lose hope she’ll meet my gaze, her eyes lock on mine and it’s the most powerful sensation I’ve ever experienced. My stomach drops as if I were free-falling, my head spins, and my heart beats so fast it might jump out of my rib cage and go prostrate itself at her feet. Is this what being in love feels like?
No, I prefer thinking that to be in love is to lie in bed next to the other person without a care in the world and wishing you were nowhere else. It’s having my heart jump in my throat because a message from her has arrived when I wasn’t expecting it. Or counting the minutes until a stupid bachelor party will be over so I can run back to her. Or feeling like the luckiest man on Earth whenever she kisses me.
What I’m experiencing right now isn’t love; it’s fear, pure and primal. A cold dread that I’ve ruined everything with my stupid commitment phobia.
Winter reaches the altar. I didn’t even notice the bride make her entrance, and I spot her now only because she cuts into my line of view of her sister. Logan hurries to take Winter’s hand, a goofy, what-did-I-do-to-deserve-you smile stamped on his lips. And for the second time in a few minutes, I can’t help but think, You lucky bastard.
The bride and groom reach their positions at the altar and free my vision field again. I’m worried Summer might have dropped her gaze, but her eyes are there, waiting for me, giving me hope.
All I need is a second chance, and I won’t screw up this time.
Twenty-three
Summer
The ceremony is romantic and sweet.
The groom is dashing in his tux, and sure and calm as he professes his undying love for the woman standing by his side. Only a trace of happy tears glistening his eyes gives away the depth of his emotions.
You May Kiss the Bridesmaid: A Wedding Date Rom Com (First Comes Love Book 6) Page 15
