Once a Bridesmaid

by Courtney Hunt

  And she was determined to have fun by herself.

  She sipped her sweet treat, as she strolled to the crowded grocery store, full of last minute shoppers. She wandered the aisles, filling her cart with breakfast foods, ingredients for her grandmother’s lasagna, and salad fixings. As she turned into the small wine section, Kyle turned into the aisle from the other direction. She froze, running her hand through her hair smashed flat by her hat and wishing she’d thought to put on makeup before she left the apartment.

  As he walked toward her, looking handsome in his worn jeans, dark gray Henley, and battered leather jacket, she noticed he had nothing in his cart but two frozen dinners. Upon spying her, that slow, sweet smile spread over his face. Her heart fluttered. What was wrong with her? They were friends, nothing more.

  “Hi, beautiful.” He stopped next to her cart. This close, she caught his scent—forest and pine and some spicy scent unique to Kyle. “We just seem to run into each other everywhere, don’t we?”

  “Curse of a small town.” She nodded to the sparse groceries in his cart. “No big plans for the holiday?”

  “Nope. Even my dog deserted me on Christmas.”

  “Where’s Casey?”

  “He’s heading up to Maine with the Mitchells. Jessica, the littlest girl, insisted he be there to get his presents from Santa.”

  “Well, who can argue with the big guy in red?”

  “Or a determined little three-year-old. Joe tried to convince her that Casey should stay with me and keep me company for the holidays but Casey will love it up there. Joe’s brother has a place by the beach and they do a big clambake. He asked me along but…” Kyle shrugged. “Didn’t want to intrude. I figured I’d stock up on some frozen dinners and chill in front of the TV.”

  “So the Mitchells will be out of town for the holidays?”

  “Just a few days.” Kyle nodded. “You making lasagna for a crowd?”

  “Nope. Erin’s in Savannah with Matthew and his family.”

  “So you’re all alone, too?”

  “I figured I’d treat myself to lasagna. It’s my favorite.” Lauren paused and then added in a rush, before she could overthink it, “I’ve got enough lasagna to share. If you want. You know, since we’re friends and all. Not as a date.”

  Kyle hesitated, biting his lip, meeting her gaze. Lauren smiled, becoming very aware of her heartbeat and how much she actually wanted Kyle to come over to share the holiday with her. Finally, he said, “I gotta admit that homemade lasagna sounds a lot better than a frozen entree. Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?”

  “Not at all.” Lauren smiled, relief and excitement flooding through her in equal measure. “See you around six?”

  “Tonight?”

  “It’s Christmas Eve.”

  “We always ate a big dinner on Christmas Day in my family. But tonight’s great.” Kyle shrugged. “Six sounds good. See you then.”

  Lauren walked away, feeling his green eyes on her as she turned at the end of the aisle. She managed not to look back but then remembered she needed shampoo and turned her cart toward the other side of the store. If she snuck a peek down the wine aisle, to find Kyle staring in consternation at the selection of reds, well, what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

  She hurried to finish her shopping so she could get home to tidy up. She assured herself she’d do the same for any guest and ignored the way her pulse pounded in her wrists at the thought of his smile.

  Just friends. Not a date. Nothing more.

  After changing his clothes for the third time, Kyle finally set out to walk to Lauren’s apartment. Even though the night was cold, with a brisk breeze scented with the sea, he paid little mind, enjoying the stroll through the streets now that full dark had fallen. The houses glimmered with bright lights, warmth and family gathered close inside, out of the chilly weather. He should have bought his camera but he had enough to carry with the wine and his hostess gift for Lauren.

  He hummed a Christmas carol to himself as he strode along, nervous about seeing Lauren but delighted to get the chance to spend time with her again. He’d been pleasantly surprised by her invitation this morning to join her. On her doorstep, the rich scent of baking lasagna poured out of the apartment along with jazzy Christmas carols. He juggled the bottle of wine, the slick bottle nearly slipping out of his sweaty hand, and managed to knock on the glossy wooden door of her apartment.

  She opened it with a sweet smile, wearing a forest green velvet top over worn blue jeans. The gorgeous velvet made her eyes even bluer in contrast. He wondered if the top would be soft as it looked. With her hair in loose curls along her shoulders and her bare feet, she looked like a centerfold. She welcomed him in. He forced himself to resist the urge to brush a kiss over her cheek in greeting. He stepped through the door and handed her the miniature live Christmas tree he’d bought for her, with white lights flashing merrily and tiny ornaments sparkling in the pine branches.

  “Oh, Kyle, you shouldn’t have. It’s adorable.” She pulled it close to her face, the lights reflecting in her eyes as she inhaled. “Smells like Christmas. Erin and I didn’t bother with the tree this year, so it’s just perfect. Thank you.”

  She carefully placed the tree on an end table near the squashy sofa covered with a cheerful patchwork throw. Christmas music poured from a bright orange speaker on the counter, low and festive. Tea lights glimmered low on the coffee table, set with brightly striped napkins, colorful striped pottery and a small arrangement of white Christmas roses. She turned back toward him, her eyes shining with delight and he smiled at her, thrilled he could put that look on her face.

  He held out a slim bottle of red wine. “I went with the wine guy at the store’s suggestion. I basically picked this out based on the label.”

  Lauren grinned at the colorful “Painters Palette” label on the Chianti. “It’s perfect. Can I get you a glass?”

  She stepped toward the tiny kitchen, decorated in apple red, tucked away at the back of the apartment. She lived in a converted row house, so the apartment design was long and narrow. The living room walls glowed an inviting sunshine lemon, warm and bright. Near the front bay window, a slim desk sat, everything neat as a pin. Somehow, he knew that was Erin’s desk. His bohemian Lauren would be far messier. Next to a small TV area, he got a peek into a messy bedroom, the rumpled bed covered with a colorful patchwork quilt. That was Lauren’s room, homey and inviting.

  “How can I help?” he asked. She handed him a wineglass filled with ruby liquid, their fingers brushing on the glass. Their eyes met for a second, the moment spooling between them, before she turned back to the stove.

  “Could you cut up the bread? It just came out of the oven so it might be hot.”

  It was close quarters in the tiny kitchen as they worked together to prepare the meal. They bumped hips more than once, their fingers brushing as they passed items to each other. Each touch made Kyle more aware of her, how much he wanted her, even more now that he’d gotten to know her a bit. But he tamped down on his lust. They were just friends, sharing a holiday meal, no matter how desperately he wanted to kiss her, to feel if that velvet top was as soft as her skin.

  She leaned over him to grab the potholders, her full breast pressing against his bicep, and her spicy perfume filling his head. He bit back a moan. Keeping his hands to himself might be more difficult than he thought. He wanted so much more with Lauren, but she made it very clear where she stood. He’d respect that.

  Carefully, she uncovered the foil-draped lasagna and cut slabs of it. The rich scent wafted through the tiny kitchen, making his mouth water. In just a few minutes, they sat on cushions on the floor, cross-legged and facing each other, adding salad and bread to their plates. He took a bite of the steaming lasagna, letting the spices and flavors burst over his tongue.

  “Wow, it’s delicious, Lauren.”

  “Thanks.” She smiled. “My nana’s recipe. She was Irish, not Italian, but she could still cook a mean lasagna. She learne
d how from her Italian best friend.”

  “Do you like to cook?”

  “When I have time, I don’t mind.” She said. “Most of the time, Erin and I just toss together sandwiches or a salad, or something. But every so often, I get the urge to cook. You?”

  “Not so much.” He shook his head. “I can make French toast and scramble an egg. Other than that, I can microwave with the best of them.”

  “I forgot about the frozen dinners.”

  “I never had to learn. I went straight into the army and they served us food. In the field, it’s catch as catch can. Lots of protein bars and MREs. Meals Ready to Eat.” He took another bite of the delicious lasagna, trying not to notice how lovely she was in the flickering candlelight. “But I do love to eat.”

  “Your mom didn’t teach you to cook?”

  “She got sick when I was fifteen. She ran out of time for a lot of things, like teaching me to cook or how to sort laundry.” Kyle sipped his wine. “She died just before I graduated high school. Leukemia.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Lauren said. He glanced away from the sympathy in her blue-gray eyes and gripped his fork tighter to keep from reaching for her hand.

  “Tell me about her,” Lauren said.

  Kyle paused, swallowing another bite of the rich lasagna, sorting through which memory to share with her. “The last Christmas before she passed, we knew it was the last one, you know? So we made it really special.”

  “How’d you do that?”

  “We were living in Dallas, at the time. Dad got us a real tree and a snow machine. Mom was from Wisconsin, so she was used to snowy Christmases. He covered our whole yard in fake snow. Mom loved it.” Kyle sipped his wine and then continued, “Dad and I baked Christmas cookies. Well, burnt them, really, but it was just the idea. Mom ate a few bites anyway. Played Christmas music all day long and decorated the whole outside of the house with lights.”

  “It sounds beautiful.” Lauren smiled and he nodded. Usually, he preferred not to remember his mom too much. It hurt less that way. But now, he wondered what his mother would have thought of Lauren had he been able to bring her home to meet her. Somehow, talking to Lauren about his mom didn’t hurt as much.

  “Dad’s gone now, too. Car accident when I was in the service.” Kyle shrugged. “But he really died when Mom did. Just took a while for his body to catch up. How about your family?”

  “Mom and Dad are still alive, living in New Jersey. One of my sisters lives in Florida and the other in Seattle. Neither came home for the holidays. They have little ones, still at the Santa age, so it’s too tough to travel. At least that’s their excuse, anyway.”

  “You didn’t want to spend the holiday with your folks?”

  “No, they’ve ruined enough of my holidays.” Lauren’s bitterness tinged her voice, her mouth tight. “I spoke to them earlier. They were both on an extension, arguing with each other. I’m sure they didn’t notice when I hung up.”

  “You said before that they fought a lot?”

  “Always. All the time. But especially at the holidays. Halloween through Valentine’s Day was just a long marathon of misery to endure. I remember sitting on the floor, opening my Christmas gifts with my sisters, and my parents just bellowing at each other over our heads, like a soundtrack.”

  “God, it sounds awful. I’m sorry.”

  “They’re both to blame. They’re perfectly nice people on their own, but put them together and it’s nothing but misery. I used to pray they’d divorce when I was younger but now, it’s just who they are.” Lauren said. “The past five years or so, I spent the holidays with Erin and her brother. Their parents died in a plane crash six years ago so it was just us. And we had a great time together.”

  “What’d you do?” He sipped his wine, watching her over the wine glass, as her pinched expression slipped away when she talked about her friends.

  “Well, I’ve made lasagna every year. I guess that’s sort of a tradition now. Dylan and Erin made pancakes on Christmas morning. And we just played cards and board games, watch movies, hung out in our PJs. It was relaxing and fun.” Lauren smiled. “I finally got to enjoy a real holiday. Never knew it could be like that growing up.”

  “You must miss them.”

  “A bit. I talked to Erin a little while ago and she’s having a great time with her new family. I know we’ll always be friends but things change.” Lauren shrugged. “So, you must have spent Christmas all over the place. Tell me about that.”

  As they ate second helpings, Kyle told her about his Christmases in the field, both as a solider and as a journalist. She laughed at his stories of Christmas in Bagdad, touched his hand when he talked about fighting to walk again at Walter Reed, and the rainy holiday he’d spent in Istanbul last year.

  After they ate, they leaned back against the sofa. Kyle gestured to the painting above the television, a dreamy painting of sunset in the autumn, the colorful leaves brilliant on the trees, in shades of amber, gold, and crimson. “One of yours?”

  “An early one, but yep.”

  “Tell me about the painting.”

  “I can do better than that.” She held out her hand and slowly he reached over to clasp hers, winding their fingers together. He leaned closer, intent on capturing her mouth with his, but she surprised him by saying, “I can show you my studio.”

  Chapter Eight

  Once they finished tidying up after dinner, Lauren took Kyle’s hand, lacing her fingers with his, and pulled him into the hall. They crept up the darkened stairs, so as not to disturb her elderly landlady, asleep already in her first floor apartment. At the top of the staircase, Lauren opened a glossy wooden door to the high-ceilinged room painted the same sunshine yellow as her living room and turned to catch his expression as he entered the room.

  Inside, she’d carved an artist’s studio out of what originally was the attic. The ceiling sloped down on the sides, the rafters exposed. Completed paintings were stacked along one wall, some still-lifes, a few landscape scenes, and some practice portraits. A blank canvas waited on an easel near the front windows where she usually worked in the morning when the light was good. Drop cloths, spattered with colorful paint drops like confetti, protected the unfinished hardwood floor.

  Under one eave a white iron day bed sat, the covers rumpled and messy, where she often reclined to sketch or nap. The faint scent of paint and turpentine grounded her. Being in her studio made her feel most like herself. Sketches covered a massive corkboard on the far wall and a battered scrubbed wood table held her paint supplies, brushes, and rags.

  “So this is where the magic happens?” He walked slowly around the room, his boots echoing on the floorboards. He stopped to examine a painting of sunflowers in a blue pitcher she’d done years ago when she was teaching painting at the local craft store. “I love the colors in this. You’re very talented, Lauren.”

  She smiled. She’d never allowed any man access to her studio. Erin came up and chatted with her as she worked sometimes. Otherwise, the studio was her private, sacred space. But she’d wanted to share it with Kyle and wondered what that meant. Maybe because he was a fellow artist, though he used lenses and light as his medium. Or maybe because she just liked the man, her friend.

  After the disaster with David in college, she kept her friends and her hook-ups far apart. She’d never wanted for readily available male partners whenever she decided to scratch that particular itch. And she’d never wanted for male friends, either. But she’d never made friends with a hookup before Kyle. And she didn’t know quite what to do with this achy, unfulfilled desire she still felt for him.

  He strolled around her studio, taking in the room. He stopped in front of one of her more experimental pieces—an artwork of bright splashes of intersecting color. Crossing his arms over his chest, he evaluated it, drawing the fabric of his dress shirt taut over his shoulders. She swallowed hard, glancing away. And now she was lusting after her new friend.

  It was useless to pretend she wasn
’t still attracted to him. When she’d met him at the bachelorette party, she’d considered him gorgeous and sexy. And now she knew him better, he was kind, thoughtful, considerate. She liked spending time with him, just chatting with him. Could she mix sex with the friendship that was quickly becoming precious to her? If she did, would she lose the fragile friendship between them? Which was worse? Being friends with someone she lusted after, while coping with this endless, unfulfilled ache or satisfying the longing and losing the friend?

  He met her gaze, and even across the studio, desire flowed between them. She stepped closer, twisting her fingers together. Usually, she was confident and bold around men she wanted. But then, she usually didn’t have much to lose. He glanced at her open sketchbook, tossed amid the messy covers on her daybed.

  “Is that Casey?” He picked up the book with the rough charcoal drawing she’d created of Casey’s sweet face.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Lauren said. “I sketch when I’m thinking.”

  “Mind? It’s amazing.”

  “You can have it, if you want, or I’ll make you a better one.” Lauren shrugged as he smiled at her. She stood only an arm’s length from him, watching him as he stared at the sketch, the way the light and shadow played across the handsome planes of his face. She’d love to capture him in a sketch or a painting.

  “I’d love it.”

  “It’s yours. Merry Christmas, Kyle.”

  “I didn’t bring you a gift.”

  Lauren stepped closer, their bodies only inches apart now. This close, his eyes looked endless, like the ocean after a storm. She shifted into him, her hand on his waist, as she pulled him closer. “You wanna be my present?” She smiled, the flirtatious smile that usually got men to fall at her feet.

  He cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing over her cheekbone, as he tilted her face up to his. His other arm slipped around her waist to rest on the small of her back, pulling her flush against all that glorious muscle. “What about being friends?”