The Bride Next Door

by Hope Ramsay

  Was the County Council engaged in some kind of graft that involved GB Ventures? She didn’t know. But it was troubling enough for her to compile her findings and put it all in a memo, which she planned to share with Matt on Thursday morning.

  But right now, at the end of a long day, Arwen just wanted to forget the ugliness she’d unearthed by spending the evening at the Jaybird’s Wednesday open mic.

  She wasn’t planning to perform tonight, and she was having supper all by herself since all her married friends were pregnant and suffering from morning sickness that lasted all day, and Courtney was at the hospital with Sid. She sat at the bar, nursing a margarita and listening to Kent Henderson play “Tennessee Stud” for the umpteenth time.

  “A penny for your thoughts?” Rory said as he dried glasses behind the bar and hung them in the slots above.

  “I’m trying not to think at all,” she said.

  Rory gave her a wicked grin. “I can arrange that, lass.”

  What a shame he was working tonight. If he’d been another customer, she might have flirted with him. “I’ve already got my margarita, thanks.”

  “I was thinking of something a bit more mellow.”

  “You know, Rory, I’m not actually looking for mellow.”

  His eyes twinkled with devilry. “Then what are you looking for?”

  She let go of a long sigh. “I’m looking for a man who’s sensitive, who listens to my music, who knows how to French kiss, and who doesn’t smell like marijuana.” She stopped as she studied his incredibly handsome face. “And I’m not willing to settle for three out of four.”

  His smile deepened. “And just how do you know that I can French kiss?”

  He certainly had her there. She stared into his eyes for a long, uncomfortable moment, imagining how his mouth would taste, how his stubble would feel against her cheek, how he’d really smell. No. She wasn’t brave enough, or insane enough, for a man like Rory Ahearn. So she looked down at her drink and fervently hoped he would move down the bar and talk to someone else.

  “I’ve got a break coming up in five minutes. When Kent’s done boring us to tears.” He delivered this line and then moved down the bar.

  Thank God.

  A moment later, Juni Petersen, who’d been talking to the sound engineer, crossed the room and snagged a seat next to Arwen.

  “Drinking alone?” she asked.

  “Yeah. I guess it’s pathetic, huh? The truth is, Courtney is at the hospital visiting a sick friend, and everyone else is pregnant and throwing up.”

  “Well, you know what they say…”

  “No. What do they say?” Her voice sounded a little bitchy even to her own ears.

  Juni chuckled. “To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven.”

  Arwen almost spewed her drink. When she caught her breath, she said, “Since when do you quote the Old Testament? Now that I think of it, I’ve never heard you quote the New Testament either.”

  Juni shrugged. “Yeah, but I hear a lot of folk music. You’d be amazed how many people cover that song on open mic night.”

  “Oh yeah, I guess. And you decided to quote it because…?”

  “Because you’re at a crossroads. I can see it in your aura. You know what you want, but you’re afraid to go after it.”

  “And you see that in my aura?”

  Juni lifted her shoulders, and her hand-knit shawl fell down around her arms. “I’ve known you for a long time. You come in here every week and sing your heart out. Your songs move everyone, Arwen, unlike most of the other performers. I hear you talk about making a tape and sending it to Nashville. I hear you talk about trying to make it as a songwriter. I see you looking at Rory like you want to devour him. And you never do anything about any of it. I don’t need to look at your aura. Although I see plenty of murky brown in it, which is a sign of someone who’s afraid to let go or to truly share herself with others.”

  “You know, Juni, you can pontificate all you want, but it’s not so easy to let go of a well-paying job. I mean, writing songs is probably not going to pay the bills.”

  “Or maybe it will. You didn’t learn to walk without falling down. In fact, everything valuable in life usually comes with failure. Just saying.” Juni hopped down from the stool and spoke directly to Rory. “It’s time for your break. I’ll take over the bar.”

  Rory nodded and shot Arwen a look that made her panties ignite. Then he turned his back on her and headed across the bar toward the ready room. She studied his sexy-as-sin backside as Juni’s words percolated through her brain. Was she woman enough to follow him?

  Damn straight she was.

  She snatched up her glass and gulped down the rest of her margarita. Then, filled with Dutch courage, she followed Rory and found him out in the alley leaning on the brick wall under the lone streetlamp. Shadows hid his deep-set eyes, but Arwen was more interested in looking at his wide shoulders and narrow hips and the beautiful tattoos winding up his arms.

  She walked right up to him, close enough to catch his aroma, one-part leather, one-part smoke.

  Good thing she didn’t have to ask for what she wanted. She might have chickened out, but Rory made the first move, closing the gap between them, cupping the back of her head, and drawing her into the most erotic kiss she had ever experienced in her life.

  Damn. The bad boy really did know how to French kiss.

  Chapter Eight

  Courtney was so busy the rest of the week visiting Sid before and after work that she managed to avoid running into her new next-door neighbor. She also didn’t have any chance to miss the cat.

  Which was pathetic. It suggested that she was unlovable or something.

  Not only had Aramis run away, but Sid had rebuffed her every effort to get him to move in during his convalescence. He’d sailed through the bypass surgery and would be released from the hospital on Sunday. But he insisted on going home, and arguing with him only raised his blood pressure.

  So she’d given up on that idea. She planned to arrange for a visiting nurse to drop by his apartment a couple of times a day, and she’d make sure he got a good dinner every night, compliments of Antonin.

  Even if Sid didn’t love her enough to move in with her, Courtney still cared about him. She would not let him retreat from the world of the living. Just as soon as Sid was feeling better, Courtney intended to ask Dusty McNeil to hire him as a part-time fishing guide at Shenandoah River Guides.

  But before she could accomplish all that, she needed to get through today—another Saturday in June, the day of Laurie and Andrew’s wedding. Courtney would be shorthanded today because Amy was a bridesmaid in her brother’s wedding. Willow would be a guest at the wedding too, since David was a member of the family.

  Willow and Amy would see to the details at the church, leaving Courtney to handle a smaller afternoon wedding in the gazebo while simultaneously overseeing the setup for Andrew and Laurie’s large reception in the Carriage House this evening. Thank goodness Laurie and Andrew had decided on simple decorations. Laurie had expended all her bridal angst on her first, disastrous wedding, so she was going with white tablecloths and summer flowers this time around. The arrangements arrived without mishap, and the crystal vases filled with hydrangeas, phalaenopsis orchids, and calla lilies gave the room a slightly vintage feel.

  When 4:00 p.m. came and went without any frantic phone calls, Courtney breathed a tiny sigh of relief. Andrew and Laurie were supposed to say their vows precisely at 4:00 p.m. Apparently no one had been left at the altar this time.

  At 4:55 p.m., the first limousine pulled up to Eagle Hill Manor’s portico. The groom emerged, wearing a traditional black tuxedo, and then turned and helped his bride out of the car. Laurie had wisely decided not to retread the A-line wedding dress she’d worn two times before—for both of her failed wedding attempts with Brandon. This time around, she wore a ball gown with a creamy ivory lace bodice and a flowing satin and tulle skirt. The dress was killer
, but the most beautiful thing about Laurie was the happy smile she gave to her new husband.

  If only…Courtney sighed, and then stomped on the stupid, romantic thought.

  After all these years, she needed to accept that she wasn’t built for romance. Maybe what Matt had said was true. She was too jaded. Too cynical. Too ready to judge. At thirty-five, she was also too old to change.

  Within minutes, the rest of the wedding party arrived, and Courtney ushered them through the lobby to the back lawn, where the photographer proceeded to take a million photographs of the happy couple with the gazebo in the background. Wedding guests arrived soon after, and Courtney was too busy to think about much except taking care of all the small details.

  It wasn’t until hours later—after the cocktail hour, the dinner, the toasts, and the cake, when the DJ had cranked the volume on the dance music—that Courtney finally took a break. She snagged a chair at one of the outside tables on the terrace and shucked off her shoes for a moment.

  The June night was perfect in every way, balmy with a small breeze and not as humid as it had been the last few days. The twinkle lights over the terrace coupled with the votive candles on every table cast a warm, happy light on the handful of couples who had escaped from the loud music inside and now sat together speaking in low voices.

  The setting was so romantic, and the ache in Courtney’s heart returned. It seemed like the whole world had paired up into couples, and here she sat alone, with her shoes off and her back aching. Why did she do it? Why did she spend her days creating this fantasy over and over again?

  She leaned back in the chair and tried to find a comfortable position. She closed her eyes listening to the muffled sound of the dance music.

  “There you are.”

  Courtney startled at the sound of Willow’s voice. Her boss looked radiant in her Audrey Hepburn–inspired brown and cream polka-dot party dress as she sat down at the table. “The wedding was lovely,” Willow said. “And it’s wonderful to finally see Laurie so happy.”

  “Well, you know what they say—third time’s the charm.” Courtney did nothing to hide the cynicism in her tone.

  Willow cocked her head to one side. “You want to tell me what’s bugging you? You’ve been grumpy for days.”

  “Aside from Sid Miller being ill, I’d say my biggest problem is that a lothario seduced my cat.”

  “What? And since when do you have a cat?”

  “I adopted one of Melissa’s kittens, but it didn’t go well. Honestly, I’m a dud as a spinster.”

  Willow laughed.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “Sorry, but it is…kind of. Since when do you buy into stereotypes?”

  “Good point. I guess I fell for the whole single-women-and-cats thing. Imagine my surprise when the Hook-up Artist next door turned out to be a cat whisperer.”

  “The Hook-up Artist next door?”

  “Matt moved into poor Mrs. Murphy’s place next door. I haven’t had the heart to tell him that the woman died there and wasn’t discovered for a day and a half. But I’m thinking about it. You think it would scare him off?”

  “Matt?”

  Courtney nodded. “He seduced my cat. And here I've been laboring under the false assumption that single men who had cats were…well, not very hot.”

  “You think Matt is hot?” Willow leaned in.

  Damn. She’d said too much. She blew out a sigh. “Okay, I confess. I find him attractive. I know he’s too young for me. I know he’s a player. Do not give me a lecture. But the man’s easy on the eye. And the whole thing has thrown me for a loop.”

  Willow leaned back in her chair, the lights twinkling in her eyes. “You have a crush on Matthew Lyndon.”

  Courtney groaned and then dropped her head to the table, where she thumped it, not so gently, several times. “Yeah,” she said, “and it makes me feel exactly like I did in high school that time I crushed on Ben Katz. You remember what happened when he found out?”

  “No. I can’t say that I do.”

  “He called me a pimple freak right out loud in the middle of the lunchroom. He made me cry.”

  “Oh, honey.” Willow reached out and squeezed her shoulder.

  “You were always the one person who never seemed to notice,” Courtney said. “Everyone else would try to be helpful and say stuff like ‘You’ll grow out of it’ or recommend dermatologists. But you ignored it. If I never said thank you before, let me say it now.”

  “You’re welcome. You were a fabulous lab partner in tenth grade. We aced every single lab assignment, which was a miracle considering my lack of aptitude for all things STEM-related. So if I never said thank you before, let me say it now.” Willow paused a moment. “But, honey, this is not tenth grade.”

  “I know. Which makes it doubly pathetic.”

  “Well, if I were you, I’d go find Matt and tell him to return your cat.”

  “Maybe I’m not cut out to be a crazy cat lady.”

  Willow chortled. “I’m sure you’re not. But that doesn’t mean you can’t have a cat.”

  “Good point.”

  “Just don’t create a scene, okay? Laurie deserves a wedding completely unmarred by any sort of drama.”

  Matt was seated at Dad’s table. This meant he had to endure his father’s endless shop talk during the wedding reception. That might have been much more interesting if Matt felt comfortable raising the issues Arwen had discovered during her research into the fines levied on Scott Anderson. Her memo had been sitting in Matt’s desk drawer for several days. He wanted to do something about it, but he didn’t know exactly what.

  Raising the issue with Dad was a waste of time. His father wasn’t interested in the firm’s pro bono cases. For the most part, those cases were all losers—both legally and financially. And besides, the Dogwood Estates case was pretty much a done deal. The apartments had been sold, and the residents would eventually be evicted.

  Arwen’s memo had nothing to do with Dogwood Estates, per se. She’d uncovered potential wrongdoing within the county government, but it wasn’t the firm’s job to police the government.

  So he sat and smiled and listened to his father talk like the good son Dad wanted. His butt was numb by the time Mom finally intervened and literally demanded that Dad dance with her.

  Finally free, Matt wandered off to the bar for a beer and then skirted the room looking for Courtney Wallace. He’d seen her a few times, dressed in her little black dress. And he was looking forward to proverbially tugging her pigtails. When he couldn't find her, he strolled out onto the terrace, coming to a stop when he saw Willow and Courtney deep in conversation.

  Over the last few days, he’d knocked on Courtney’s apartment door several times, but she always seemed to be out. What the hell was she up to? Going out with all of her Match.com daily matches? Checking out potential sperm donors? What?

  He wanted to know.

  And that desire threw him for a loop. What was happening to him? Was he turning into the nosy next-door neighbor?

  He hung back in the shadows, waiting until Willow got up and walked away before he headed in Courtney’s direction. But he didn’t get far before Brandon Kopp came stumbling down the walkway from Eagle Hill Manor’s main building. His shuffling gait said it all. The guy was drunk out of his mind.

  Matt altered his trajectory and intercepted Brandon at the edge of the terrace. He was pretty sure no one at this wedding wanted to see him, especially the bride.

  “Matt, hey, buddy, ’s’up?” Brandon slurred.

  “Did you drive here on your own?” Matt asked.

  “’Course I did. Brought the Camaro. Now, step aside. I need to kiss the bride.”

  Brandon attempted to walk past, but Matt grabbed his friend by the shoulders. “I don’t think so.”

  “Let me go.” Brandon unsuccessfully attempted to shake Matt off.

  Instead Matt pulled him into a semi-embrace, turned him around, and marched him off in the direction of th
e gazebo. “The bride’s already gone,” he lied. In fact, the bride had just tossed her bouquet. The newlyweds were almost ready to leave the reception.

  “Damn,” Brandon huffed.

  “But good news. I owe you a hundred bucks.”

  “What?”

  Matt stopped on the footpath and released Brandon while he dug in his pocket for his money clip. He pulled off two fifties and slapped them into Brandon’s hand. “You’re right. I was unable to seduce Courtney.”

  “I told you so. Didn’t I tell you so?” He laughed like a braying jackass. And then he shouted at the top of his voice, “Matthew Lyndon thinks Courtney Wallace is an ice queen bitch.”

  Damn. He should have walked Brandon all the way back to the parking lot. Courtney didn’t need to hear Brandon’s drunken profanity. And the small, anguished sound she made broke his heart. He wanted to strangle Brandon right on the spot.

  But he didn’t get the chance because the bride and groom stepped out onto the terrace, clearly ready to make a run for the honeymoon suite at the Hay-Adams Hotel in Downtown DC, where they’d be spending the night before getting on a plane to Mallorca for their honeymoon tomorrow.

  “Come on, Brandon, let’s get out of here,” Matt said, pulling his friend down the footpath.

  But Brandon dug in his heels. “Laurie?” he said in an utterly dejected tone as he stared toward the terrace where Andrew and Laurie stared back in shocked silence, their getaway route blocked by their worst nightmare.

  The horrible moment seemed to spool out in slow motion until Courtney sprang into action, barreling down the walkway, grabbing Brandon by one arm and issuing the order, “Let’s get him out of here.”

  Matt knew a command when he heard one. He grabbed Brandon’s other arm, and between the two of them they dragged Brandon off toward the lawn and the gazebo, clearing a path for the bride and groom.

  Brandon wailed once, but when they got to the gazebo, he fell to his knees and hurled.