by Amanda Ashby
“I’m sorry.” The muscles around her jaw tightened. “I think we should just be friends.”
“Friends that do friendly things together? Like dancing?” he asked in a hopeful voice.
“How about friends that help other friends ensure the groom’s brother doesn’t do anything he might regret?” she countered.
Christopher winced. Ouch. He’d been friend-zoned. Logically, she had a point. She hadn’t changed her mind, and he wouldn’t change his, which meant it was for the best.
If only someone could inform my body of the situation.
“Fine. Great. Friends it is,” he said, then reluctantly thread his way through the crowd to where Lawrence was currently trying to balance a shot glass on his nose. He deftly plucked it away and let out a soft sigh. This was going to be a long night.
…
By the time Emmy had rounded up the last of the party and pointed them toward their accommodation, it was almost one in the morning. All she wanted was to take off her shoes and fall asleep for a week. But she still had to finish loading the pickup truck.
And avoid standing within a ten-foot radius of Christopher.
Of course, if she hadn’t agreed to dance with him, the situation might’ve been avoided. But she’d foolishly thought she could handle it. Wrong. She clamped down on her lower lip as her skin tingled and her breath caught in her throat. She was dangerously close to ending up in his bed again.
Can’t happen.
She had tomorrow’s wedding to worry about, not to mention her future sanity to consider, and sleeping with Christopher Henderson could jeopardize both of those things. Which was why she’d given him the “just friends” speech. It was the sensible thing to do. The only thing to do.
Even if it was a big fat lie.
“Okay, so everything’s loaded up and we’re ready to go.” Christopher appeared next to her, looking more gorgeous than ever now he’d unbuttoned the neck of his shirt, showing a hint of his well-honed chest. His well-honed out-of-bounds chest. “Unless you want to just stand here looking off into the distance. That could be fun, too.”
“Oh, right. Sure.” Emmy fumbled for her keys and swallowed hard as she walked over to the pickup and scrambled in. She dragged the uncomfortable shoes from her feet and waited for Christopher to join her, achingly conscious he’d probably never spent time with a woman who couldn’t drive in heels before. Then again, he’d probably never spent much time with a woman who turned him down before. Let alone one who’d done it twice.
“So, I think it went well,” he said as she started up the engine and flicked on the headlights. At least there was no traffic as she eased onto the road and headed home.
“Yes.” She nodded, refusing to allow her eyes to drift over to inspect his thighs, which were so tantalizingly close. “And anyone who’s hungover will still have most of tomorrow to recover.”
“I’m sure the photographer will be grateful for that,” Christopher said as his hand landed on her arm. “Pull over.”
“W-what?” she stammered as his fingers became ground zero for the fluttering sensation in her body. Her nose filled with his scent, and there was a small chance she might moan with lust. No. Moaning won’t help anything. She clutched at the steering wheel, refusing to take her eyes off the road. “I thought I was clear. We really can’t be more than friends.”
“Emmy Watson, you have a very dirty mind,” he said, sounding amused. “I wanted you to stop so I could take a photograph of the moon. But if you want to make out, then I guess that’s okay, too.”
“The moon?” Emmy pulled over to the side of the road and swiveled to face him. That was a mistake. Being in such close quarters with his full mouth was a bad idea. The fluttering sensation turned into an avalanche. She sucked in a breath to steady herself. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m making a photo album for Lewis and Melinda. Kind of an alternative commentary of the wedding. I thought that including the moon on the night before their big day might be nice.” He pointed up to the pale yellow moon. It was on the wane, but was still plump and bright, its beams creating shadows across the silent fields around them.
“Oh.” She flushed, torn between embarrassment she’d misread the situation so badly and awe he’d do something so sweet. Curse him. A smile twitched at his lips, letting her know her struggle was obvious. How did he manage to keep surprising her like this? “I’m sorry I doubted you. That’s a really nice idea.”
“I’m not quite sure Melinda will agree, but it’s something I started doing years ago, before I could afford proper gifts, and now it’s kind of expected. Here, you can have a look at some of the shots if you like.” He passed the cell phone over. Emmy gulped, conscious of how close he was to her. His fingers grazed hers, causing a fluttering in her stomach.
She gritted her teeth and tried to focus on the images in front of her.
One was of a single grape, a hint of moisture surrounding it. He must’ve taken it when they’d been at Rachel’s. Another was of the trophy room at the golf club, and it brought an immediate smile to her face. The third was of an arthritic apple branch, shimmering like silver against the bright sky. The breath caught in her throat at the delicate balance contained in each image. They were all so simple, yet so complicated.
He sees it the way I see it.
He understands.
A shudder raced through her.
“Christopher. These are stunning. Truly. You’ve really managed to capture the spirit of the place,” she said and watched his green eyes widen.
“Thank you.” He inspected his fingers before he finally looked back up. “I do get it, you know.”
“Get what?” she said, her voice not much higher than a whisper.
“All of it.” He looked out the window to the acres of countryside surrounding them. “Why this wedding means so much to you. This town. The people. The farm. I get why you love it. Well”—a smile tugged at his mouth—“I still don’t understand the weird trophies, but everything else makes sense. I can see that now. You love this place so much because you know it. It makes you feel safe.”
Emmy’s throat was dry as his words washed over her like a tide.
And for the record, he is so not playing fair. What chance do I stand against a guy who looks like he does, and who understands me?
Even her sisters had never grasped just what the farm meant to her. Yet somehow Christopher, for all his travels, was able to clearly see the things she saw every single day of her life.
She’d always known who she was and what she wanted, and in that world there was no place for Christopher. Yet she wanted him there, despite everything, like a yearning. An impulsive spark bloomed in her breast as his words came back to her.
He told her she was overthinking everything. What if he was right? What if she should just let herself go?
“Come on. We need to go.” She started up the engine.
“Hey,” he protested. “I give you a lovely heartfelt speech and you won’t even let me take a photograph of the moon? Your heart’s made of stone, Emmy Watson.”
“Actually, it’s not, Christopher Henderson,” she assured him, while delighting in the banter. “I’m taking you somewhere you can get a better shot. And it will probably ensure you’re in Melinda’s good books for the rest of your life.”
“Keep talking.” Christopher’s eyes filled with curiosity. “Where is this mythical place?”
“It’s the wishing bridge. Ivy always used to say it had the best views of the Connecticut moon in the entire state. Of course she was prone to exaggeration where the farm was concerned, but I think you’ll like it.”
“I think I will, too,” Christopher said in a hushed voice as Emmy drove home, wrestling with the fact that, for the first time in her life, she was sharing the bridge with someone who wasn’t Ivy. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at the same time.
Chapter Seven
Christopher was silent as the pickup tires crunched on the dirt ro
ad leading up to the wishing bridge. It was smaller than what he’d imagined, almost as long as it was wide, and unlike some of the covered bridges he’d seen, this one was for pedestrians only.
Emmy killed the engine, and he stepped out to the sound of rushing water from the creek below, letting him know the bridge didn’t just exist for aesthetic reasons. The honeycomb moon cast long, pale shafts onto the well-maintained wood. He could see numerous jam jars threaded along the crossbeams, while a two-foot heart made out of old wooden fence palings leaned against the entrance, and the large dove cages sat on a nearby bench. Emmy had said the bridge could make any bride cry, and while he was pretty certain Melinda was too meticulous to cry with her wedding makeup on, he had no doubt she’d be impressed. He certainly was, and he wasn’t exactly a blushing bride.
He lifted up his cell phone and took several photographs before pausing to study them. Even to his critical eye, they were good.
“You’re right. This is the perfect spot for moon-gazing. See.” He showed her the screen, hyperaware of just how close she was. His skin prickled. “Apart from when I was in Yosemite Falls and managed to photograph a moonbow, this might be the best spot I’ve been to.”
“You’ve seen a moonbow in Yosemite?” Emmy’s voice was filled with curiosity. “I thought they were more common in Africa?”
“You’ve heard of them?” Christopher said, then cursed as he watched the color mount in her cheeks. Nice going, Henderson.
“Bec saw one when she went to Victoria Falls, and they sounded so amazing I researched them. Don’t look so surprised. I might not travel, but I do know my way around Google Earth.”
“Nothing about you surprises me anymore,” he said as he watched her bite on her lower lip. Lucky lip. “Do you think Melinda and Lewis will like this shot?”
“Yes.” She nodded as her breathing thickened.
“So, tell me how it works.” He walked toward the bridge trying to keep his voice casual, so as not to scare away the tiny bubble of hope. He should think light thoughts. Feathers. Leaves in the wind. Marshmallows. They were all light. “How does the wishing marshmal—I mean bridge—how does the wishing bridge work?”
A flash of confusion ran across her face, only visible in the shards of moonlight filtering through the trusses. So much for thinking light thoughts. From now on he should just concentrate on not coming across as an idiot.
“You go to the middle and touch the third lattice up. Ivy always said you could wish for whatever you wanted and it would come true.”
Her voice echoed as they stepped onto the wooden floor.
There was a faint scurrying of paws from some small animal they’d disturbed, while the water below kept up a steady trickle.
“And you believe that?”.
“It’s never been wrong yet,” she said, looking even more adorable as she tried to school her features into a stern expression. Of course, she couldn’t know it was undone by the way her eyes glowed in the pale light.
God, I want her.
“Is that so? Tell me the last wish you made, then.”
“Fine, you non-believer. Let me think. The last wish I made that came true was… Actually, it was today, or should I say yesterday, and it was for—” She turned away, as if trying to hide her face. His eyes widened in understanding. He let out a soft whistle.
“Doves. You wished for doves, which means you wished for me.”
“You’re reading too much into the situation.” Even in the moonlight her face was a picture of outrage and embarrassment all at the same time.
“So, you didn’t wish for doves.” He took a step closer as waves of heat seemed to rebound between them.
His senses went into overdrive.
“No. I mean, yes, as it happens, I did wish for doves, but that doesn’t mean I wished for you.”
“Except you did, because I was the one who got them for you.”
“A-and I’m grateful.” Emmy said. She stood in silhouette, with her long hair escaping the confines of the neat chignon. “It’s getting late. You should make your wish and then we can go.”
Christopher opened his mouth and then closed it again as he decided to do as she asked. He walked into the center of the bridge. The wood was still warm from the heat of the early fall day, and as he ran his hand along it, he was filled him with primal energy. His fingers lightly rested on the middle lattice as he let the memories of their lost weekend together flood his mind, reminding him of what could’ve been.
He made his wish and returned to where Emmy was silently waiting.
“It’s done.”
“Okay.” She turned to head back to the pickup, her face hidden from view. “We should go.”
“That’s it?” he protested, reluctant for the night to end. “I don’t even get a ‘Welcome to the Wishing Bridge Club’ pin or certificate? Which, for the record, would be a great idea.”
“No pin, no certificate,” she said as they reached the truck. Disappointment stung him. He’d at least expected to get a smile from the joke, but her eyes were stony cold. He drew his brows together as he studied her face.
“Hey? Are you okay? What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head, her eyes still not meeting his. “Like I said, it’s late and tomorrow’s a big day.”
“Yes, but—” Christopher started to protest before understanding slammed into his chest. Christ. This was about Ivy. The bridge was the heart of the farm. It made sense this was the place where she missed her great aunt the most. He let out a long groan. “Emmy, I’m the most insensitive bastard who ever walked the earth. I’m sorry. You miss her, don’t you?”
She slowly raised her head, her delectable mouth trembling. “Every moment of every day. I shouldn’t have brought you here. Not like this.”
Her voice was raw and something shifted inside him. He couldn’t relate to what she was feeling. Not really. But the urge to soothe away the troubled expression and bring a smile back to her full lips was overwhelming.
“I’m flattered you did.” He took a step closer, and his fingers caught hers, sending a ripple of energy through his body. “Do you want to know what I wished for?”
“It’s bad luck to tell anyone until it’s come true,” Emmy whispered, but she didn’t make any effort to break the small bubble they were locked in.
“I wasn’t intending on telling you.” His fingers tightened around hers, and he dropped his head, his mouth just inches from hers. “This was going to be more of a demonstration. And I thought—”
“Has anyone said you talk too much?” Emmy cut him off before she pressed herself against him and their lips met. The last two years fell away, and he was back on the dance floor in New York, lost in the sensation of her lips against his.
He returned the kiss and groaned as her mouth opened up to his. His whole body was on fire as he drew back to trail a series of kisses across her jawline and down her neck. And then he was younger than he’d been in New York. He was sixteen all over again and had no control.
Like the first time. And yet more. It was like his only time.
Emmy pressed further into him. Her hands snaked around his waist, tugging at his shirt and making him lose his sanity. He kissed her harder, and the bridge, the farm, and the whole world faded away, leaving just the two of them. And then the spell was broken as she tore her mouth away from his.
He struggled to catch his breath and bring his body back under control.
Which was about as easy as winning the lottery.
“I can’t believe I just did that. I-I’m not sure what came over me,” she said, her face flushed and her lips red and inviting from the kiss.
“It was the bridge. You said it always grants wishes, and I wished you’d kiss me.”
“That was your wish?” Her eyes glowed as brightly as the moon. “For me to kiss you?”
“Well, there were two parts, but that was the first,” he said, causing her face to color.
“But what about ev
erything we discussed. The farm? Your career? We both want different things, which is why this would be a bad idea,” she protested, though he couldn’t tell if she was trying to convince him or herself.
“That’s not entirely true. Tomorrow we’ll both want different things but that’s a long way off.”
“W-what are you saying?” she croaked, as if her throat was too tight.
“I’m saying why can’t we just have one night? One perfect night, and then we promise to respect each other in the morning. No judgment about our life choices.”
“Can we do that?” she asked, her voice soft as a caress.
Oh man, I hope so.
“I’m not sure we have a choice. The bridge wants what it wants,” he whispered as he leaned back in to kiss her, eager to lose the space between them. He was rewarded with her body once again wilting into his.
“In that case,” she murmured, her body trembling against his, “I think the bridge might want us to go back to your cottage.”
…
Emmy didn’t speak as she drove the short distance to the tiny cottage at the bottom of the farm. Next to her Christopher seemed to be experiencing his own silent retreat, but she refused to allow herself to consider what his misgivings might be.
She pressed down on the accelerator, grateful she knew every turn and curve of the road. The faster she drove, the less time she would have to think. To think about the fact that, despite giving him the “just friends” talk, she’d kissed him. Okay, he’d wished for it, but she’d done it. She wanted to say it was out of character, but her track record with Christopher Henderson proved that it was very much in character.
Because apparently self-control isn’t one of my strong points when he’s around.
Her only excuse was the way his presence, together with the gnawing hole from Ivy’s death, felt like they were going to overwhelm her, and the only way she could see to stop it from happening was to distract herself. Of course, she could’ve just hit her head against the bridge wall, but noooo—she’d sought out his lips.
