Tonight, they’d get hammered. He’d allow the alcohol to numb the searing pain tearing through his chest.
Because tomorrow he damn well needed to figure out his next move—and it had to be something big.
13
Bridget
“Birdie, it’s just like the pictures.”
Bridget tied a white satin bow to the end of a wooden bench and glanced up to find Lori gazing around the cozy chapel.
She stood and tucked a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. Two days before the wedding, today was the day she’d given herself to decorate the quaint Kringle Chapel and to make the decadent croquembouche dessert for the rehearsal dinner tomorrow night. She’d arranged for the wedding party to spend the day on the slopes, and then the adults would spend the evening attending a holiday music concert while she babysat Cole and Carly and finished up her wedding to-do list.
And she needed to keep busy, not only because she had a decent amount to do to prep for the rehearsal dinner and the nuptials, but because she also needed to keep her mind off her brooding worst best man.
She was all over the place when it came to him and the revelations from yesterday.
The man owned—at least for the meanwhile, before he sold it off piece by piece—the Cupid Bakery chain and hadn’t said a word about it until the Angels walked in out of the blue and outed him.
One minute, she wanted to drop kick the guy off the top of Kringle Mountain. And the next, she’d find that she’d wasted the better part of an hour lost in a cloud of lust, her body tingling at the thought of his touch, his kiss, and the way he’d hold her in his arms as if she’d finally found a place where she belonged.
It wasn’t like she was trying to think about him, but her treacherous mind kept replaying the moments of when they couldn’t seem to take their eyes—and hands and lips—off each other like a soundtrack stuck on repeat.
The night they shared as strangers, cocooned in orgasmic bliss.
Their kiss in the car when they’d arrived at Kringle Mountain House.
Their almost kiss two minutes later on the front porch.
The kiss in the mountain house kitchen, laced with chocolate and the scent of peanut butter, that made her dizzy with desire.
Not to mention, the shower, the bakery under the mistletoe, and when she’d taken him out in the snowball version of capture the flag.
A shiver ran down her spine at the thought of his green, cat-like eyes devouring her in one titillating glance.
It was honestly a miracle she’d gotten anything done for this wedding with all the kissing and almost kissing the two of them had done in the last forty-eight hours.
He and Tom had rolled in well past one in the morning and must have really tied one on last night. She’d heard Soren enter the room, but before she could get out of bed and confront him, she’d found him snoring and out like a light, sprawled across the suite’s sleeper sofa with his phone still in his hand. And that’s where she’d left him this morning, still asleep and smelling like he’d ingested a distillery.
Bridget straightened the bow and came to her feet, grateful for the distraction. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
Lori ran her hand along a garland made of fragrant evergreen branches. “I had to come to see for myself before the big day. Birdie, it’s everything I dreamed it would be. But I wish you’d let me help you put it all together.”
Bridget took a few steps back and stood at the altar as Lori came to her side, and the sisters took in the simple splendor of the Kringle Chapel. Reached only by a lone gondola, on the outside, the chapel appeared to be a modest stone structure with a pitched roof in keeping with the town’s Bavarian architecture. But once inside, the secrets of the petite sanctuary were instantly revealed. With four polished oak benches flanking each side of the aisle, the real beauty came from the view. Beyond that altar, a giant window framed the awe-inspiring snow-covered peaks and valleys of the majestic mountains that exacted their tranquil beauty from every angle. It was an extraordinary place that, while remote and set apart, wove its solitude together with kinship and a deep connection to all those who had set foot in the fairylike space.
A thick blanket of clouds had rolled in, and the gentle sprinkling of snow that began last night had continued throughout the day. It cast the space in a hazy blue glow, and while two antler chandeliers that mirrored the ones in the mountain house lit the space in pools of golden light, they flickered each time the wind whipped up.
Bridget squeezed her sister’s hand. “You know there’s no way I’d let you do that. It’s your wedding. This is my gift to you—and you know Grandma Dasher would have agreed. She was all about taking care of others, especially on special occasions. Plus, Dan and Delores have been great. They made sure everything I needed was up here. So, it wasn’t like I had to lug anything up and down the gondola.”
She’d ordered candles, garland, and white satin bows to decorate the chapel to look just as it had when their parents wed here nearly three decades ago.
And she’d succeeded.
Lori sighed, a deep contemplative sound.
Bridget bumped her sister’s shoulder playfully. “What is it?”
“This,” Lori answered as she walked over to the front row bench, sat down, then picked up one of the many photos scattered across the oak seat.
As if it required a moment of silence, the women stared at the picture of their parents, dressed in their wedding attire and standing less than six feet away from where they now sat.
“It’s hard to believe we’re here again,” Bridget said as she joined her sister.
Lori glanced up, her eyes growing glassy. “I miss them, Birdie.”
“So do I.”
Bridget stared at the image of their parents. The couple wasn’t looking at the camera. No, the photo captured the newlyweds staring into each other’s eyes. Bridget had seen her mother and father do this, hundreds, maybe thousands of times. She also couldn’t count how many times, as a young girl, she’d rolled her eyes at her lovey-dovey parents. But frozen in time, it was impossible to look away, and there was no eye-rolling employed now. No, she’d give anything to see them gazing at each other again.
Gently, she took the photo from her sister and turned it over to reveal Delilah and Roger, Wedding Day at Kringle Mountain, scrolled in Grandma Dasher’s handwriting on the back.
Lori ran her finger over the inscription. “I wish they could be here.”
Bridget nodded. “Me too.”
She lifted her gaze from the picture, then stared at the place where her parents once stood—where they’d all once stood together many times over the years when they used to come here as a family.
“But you know, Lori, I think they are here. Can’t you picture them? Standing there and holding hands as if it were their wedding day all over again?”
Lori threaded their arms together. “I can. I can also hear Mom telling us to stop standing on the benches.”
Bridget blinked back tears as she laughed. “You were good at jumping across the aisle.”
Lori cocked her head to the side. “Why didn’t you ever try, Birdie? I can’t remember you ever doing it?”
“I guess I was too scared to make the leap.”
Just as the words left her lips, a heaviness settled in her chest.
That was true even today in nearly every aspect of her life.
She’d always thought that her parents and Grandma Dasher would be proud of how she’d cared for Lori—how she’d been a part of securing her sister’s success. But what now? This wedding marked the end of the part of her who’d become more like a mother than a big sister. Lori was starting a new life with Tom. She had a partner. She’d found her soul mate.
Where did that leave her? She’d put her sister first in her mind for so long; what came next?
They sat there, each staring at the spot on the altar where their parents had stood when a whoosh of wind made the lights flicker, and the women gasped and clutche
d each other, startled and laughing until something sharp dug into her side.
“Ow! What have you got in your pocket?”
Lori patted her coat. “I almost forgot. Tom said a courier delivered it to the mountain house for you,” she replied, pulling a small box from her pocket.
“Tom’s awake?” she asked carefully.
“Yes, he’s been up for hours. But I haven’t seen Scooter. Tom said he and Scooter had quite a night—a real nostalgia-fest. They talked about their boarding school days, college conquests, and stupid pranks they’d pulled on each other over the years.”
“Really? That’s all?” Bridget replied, going for casual.
What did she care?
But the uptick in her pulse betrayed her attempt at nonchalance.
“He also said Scooter drank about twice as much as he did, which Tom also said isn’t like the guy. Why do you ask? Is there something going on with you and Scooter?” Lori added, eyeing her closely.
“No, of course not!”
Shoot! She couldn’t have Lori thinking that she…what? Thought about Soren? Cared about Soren?
Did she care about Soren?
No, she was there to run defense and keep an eye on the man. And so far, she’d succeeded, that is, until last night when Tom intervened and requested a guys’ night.
What was she supposed to do? Steal a Santa costume to go all Kringle incognito, search the village until she found them, then eavesdrop on the pair? No, once they’d all gotten back to the mountain house, sans the groom and the best man, Cole and Carly had kept her busy answering questions about Christmas fairies. There was no way she could have snuck back into the village.
She gathered a few stray pine needles from the bench. “So, that’s all they talked about—old times?”
“I think so. Why?”
Why?
Bridget twisted the pine needles into a zig-zagged bunch, then crossed and uncrossed her legs.
She was the absolute worst at faking calm and collected.
The why rattling inside her head was because as much as she hated to admit it, she wanted to know if she’d gotten to Soren the way he’d gotten to her. And if he were to confide in anyone, it would be Tom.
And one thing was certain when it came to her and the worst best man.
Something happened to the two of them when they were within arm’s reach of each other—and it had nothing to do with whatever Tanner had put in those gummy bears.
What had started out as pure wanton attraction the night they’d met in that darkened hotel bar had changed into this strange reality. Now, she couldn’t remember what life was like just a week before when she was blissfully dating a cheating creep of a boyfriend and busting her ass for a tiny French pastry tyrant.
“You don’t think Scooter dragged Tom to a strip joint or whatever the equivalent of that is in Kringle?” she asked.
Lori pressed her hand to her belly and chuckled. “No, Tom would have mentioned that.”
She stared at her sister, surprised by her lack of concern.
“But you were so worried about Scooter’s influence over Tom. Did something change?”
Lori glanced down and blew out a breath.
Bridget shook her head, feeling awful. “I’m sorry. I don’t want you to think that I’d ever assumed Tom would do anything to hurt you. It’s just that you were worried when we talked on the phone before I got here.”
Now Lori was the one shaking her head. “No, I’ve had a lot on my mind with the wedding and—”
“And I get it,” Bridget said, cutting her sister off. “This is an emotional time. I can’t imagine how you’re feeling. How about we change the subject, and I open that gift, so we can see what’s inside?”
“Sure, let’s take a look,” Lori said, but something was on her sister’s mind. She could sense it. Still, she didn’t want to upset the woman. The fact that this was the first time they’d visited the Kringle Chapel without their parents was emotional enough.
She opened the box, then set it on her lap and removed the card.
“Who’s it from, Birdie? Do you have a secret admirer in Kringle?” her sister teased, sounding more like herself.
Did she have an admirer? Could it be from Soren?
She slid the card from the slim envelope, anticipation building. But instantly, disappointment panged in her chest when she’d read the note.
“It’s from the Kringle Cares organization. It says they wanted to share a token of their appreciation. They didn’t have to get me anything,” she replied, hating herself for hoping that Soren had sent the gift.
Her sister bumped her shoulder. “You did solve their cookie conundrum.”
She pushed all thoughts of that man aside. The day he gave her a gift would be the day reindeer flew over Kringle Mountain with Rudolph leading the pack.
“It was nothing.”
“You must know that it wasn’t, Birdie,” Lori said, and she could almost hear her grandmother in her sister’s voice.
“It was sugar cookies.”
“Yeah, a delicious snack for children and their families to enjoy at an event that they look forward to all year. And you pulled it off by mobilizing a group of people to help you bake a gazillion cookies in forty-five minutes. I think you sell yourself short. You could run your own shop.”
She waved off her sister. “Let’s see what they sent,” she answered, ignoring the whole start your own business cheerleader routine Lori fell into any time they discussed baking.
She lifted away the tissue to reveal a necklace.
“Look, it’s got an angel pendant. I saw these at a shop in the village. It’s lovely, Birdie!”
Bridget traced a tiny wing with her index finger. “It is, isn’t it?”
Lori took the box and carefully removed the necklace, then stood. “Let’s get this on and see how it looks.”
Bridget rose to her feet and gathered the wisps of hair that had broken free of her bun as Lori draped the chain around her neck.
“Shoot, Birdie! I’m terrible at these clasps,” her sister said, fiddling with the necklace when a rush of cold air hissed through the snug space.
The heavy wooden doors slammed shut as Soren entered the chapel.
“I guess he’s not the devil,” Lori whispered into her ear.
Bridget bit back a grin. “Why are you here?”
She stared at the man. He hadn’t shaved, and when he pulled off his hat, his hair was a sexy disarray of dark curls.
Of course, this Adonis of a man would look good, even hungover.
Soren took a few more steps inside the sanctuary. “I was told to be here.”
“By who?”
“The judge. He said you were up here doing wedding things,” he replied, stuffing his hands into his pockets as if that maneuver would protect him from the wedding things going on in the snug space.
He turned his attention to Lori and watched her a beat.
“Did you have something to tell me, Scooter?” her sister asked.
He glanced away. “Tom says you should probably head down to the mountain house. Everyone is getting ready to leave.”
Bridget gasped. “That’s right! You need to get back, so you’re ready to leave for the concert on time.”
“We’re not going?” Soren asked.
She crossed her fingers behind her back. “No, you were so late to RSVP, I wasn’t able to get you a ticket.”
Honestly, she’d totally forgotten about looking into getting him a ticket. But it was better this way. Thank the stars, the Scooter and Tom bro-fest last night didn’t sway Tom into calling off the wedding or doing something crazy that would upset her sister.
Still, the man had sent strippers—a ballsy move with everyone staying in the same location.
She cleared her throat. “And you wouldn’t be able to go even if there was an extra ticket. You have best man duties, and you’ll need to attend to me all night.”
Soren and her sister stared at her.
She twisted an errant lock of hair. “I meant that you have best man duties to attend to, with me. Duties that include helping me in the kitchen and other wedding-only related tasks that require us to be fully clothed. All wedding preparations and no holiday hanky-panky,” she finished, feeling her cheeks heat as she dug herself deeper into the hole.
Why did she let this man turn her brain into scrambled eggs?
“There you are, using that hanky-panky again. What’s up with you?” Lori asked with a crinkle to her brow.
Ah, crap!
Bridget pressed her hand to Lori’s back and guided her toward the door. “It’s a catchy little phrase. But never mind. You need to get yourself on that gondola, little sis. I’m going to tidy up in here, and then we’ll be down to get the kids ready for bed.”
“We’re babysitting, too?” Soren blurted.
She put her hand on her hip and cocked her head to the side, channeling a little vixen into this exchange. “Yes, see what fun it is to be a responsible best man?”
“Be good, you two,” Lori said, tossing her a confused glance, before continuing down the aisle, but she stopped when she got to Soren. “Could you help Birdie with this? I’m terrible with clasps,” she added, dropping the necklace into his hand.
The rush of mountain air entered the space as Lori left, and then it was just the two of them.
She crossed her arms, dredging up a little more vixen sass. “Rough night, Scooter?”
He started toward her, his long strides eating the hardwood.
Why did his walk have to be so sexy?
He was awful. He was about to kill off Cupid Bakery. He didn’t want Tom to marry Lori. If only the cavewoman inside her could get the memo and stop getting all tingly whenever he was within ten feet of her.
“I’ve had rougher. Turn around.”
She sucked in an audible breath. “Why?”
It was happening again. She could feel the rational part of her brain turning into oatmeal raisin cookie dough.
Something hard and dark flashed in the man’s eyes. “So I can bend you over that bench and have my way with you.”
She parted her lips, but not even the vixen part of her had a response for that.
Not Your Average Vixen: A Christmas Romance Page 20
