A December Bride (A Year of Weddings Novella)

by Hunter, Denise

  “Yeah.” He would’ve paid to see the smile that lit her face.

  “Perfect.” And then the smile slid away as she seemed to remember who she was talking to. She looked away, kneeling on the rug, and began picking through the boxes from the store.

  “I have a couple empty rooms upstairs …”

  “I saw them. I thought I’d ask Madison’s mom if I can borrow some things from Grandma’s Attic.”

  “Good idea.”

  She picked up her iPad and made some notes. Seth shifted on his feet. “Guess I should get back to work. No reason for me to hang around. Is there?”

  “No, I’m good,” she said without looking up from her tablet.

  He remembered the way it used to be between them. The way conversation had flowed like the river. The way she’d touch him on the arm as she laughed. Now there was a cold shoulder wedged between them.

  She set down the pad and sorted through the fresh evergreens, stirring up smells of Christmas past.

  Maybe he should address the elephant in the room. Otherwise it was going to be a long three weeks. Besides, how could he hope to win her over unless she forgave him?

  He cleared his throat. “Layla … I’m really sorry about my part in what happened between you and Jack.”

  Her hands stopped, the garland draped between her arms. He watched her face for some signal, but got nothing.

  “I never saw Jessica as a potential threat,” he said.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder, set the greenery aside, and began picking at the berries on a wreath.

  “She was your cousin. Why would he want her when he had you?”

  She fixed him with a look. “I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Why couldn’t she see he hadn’t meant any harm? That if Jack couldn’t see what he’d lost, he wasn’t worth the tears? Seth just wanted her forgiveness, but he could see that wasn’t going to happen.

  “We’re going to be together a lot the next few weeks. Can we at least call a truce?”

  Her lips pressed together. She went back to the wreath, her slender fingers working the sprigs of evergreen and the pinecones.

  “Maybe you’re not ready to forgive me. Okay. But can we put the past aside for a while? If memory serves, we got along pretty well before all this happened.”

  Her hands paused. Her eyes dropped to the floor. He knew she was remembering those long nights working on the sets. Laughing, teasing, flirting.

  Man, he missed those days. For the hundredth time he wanted to slap himself for waiting too long.

  “Fine. We’ll put it aside.”

  He let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Thanks. That’ll make this a lot more pleasant for the both of us.” A text came in from an employee. Seth replied and pocketed his phone. “Have you told your brother yet?”

  “Yeah. And he’s going to tell Madison.” She explained about Mr. McKinley’s connection with Stanley and her fear that it would get back to him. “Beckett, Madison, and my dad want to get together Friday for dinner or something.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Two tiny crescents appeared between her brows. “You know what that means. Going out in public together. A whole evening of pretending. My dad’ll probably give you the third degree. No, I’m going to put it off.”

  “We’re supposed to get married in three weeks, right after the Tour of Homes. He’s not going to put it off.”

  “Well, what do you suggest?”

  “Let’s invite them here for dinner. I’ll cook. Keep it private, at least.”

  “I won’t be anywhere near done by then. The house’ll be a mess.”

  He shrugged. “Your call. But I make a mean lasagna. It’s your favorite, right?”

  She bit her lips, her eyes drifting around the room before settling on him again. “All right. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Seven

  How did we get sucked into this?” Layla finished lacing her ice skate and tied a bow. Beckett and Madison were already gliding around the frozen pond in the center of the town square. Dad was bumbling around the edge of the ice.

  “What?” Murphy said. “It’ll be fun. I can’t remember the last time I went ice skating.”

  She picked at the knot on her other skate. Fat flakes of snow drifted down, settling on her hair and on the backs of her bare hands, making them stiff and clumsy. And the stupid knot wouldn’t budge.

  “I’m freezing, Murphy. I can’t even work out this knot.”

  “Here, let me.” He knelt in front of her. She was tempted to refuse his help, but what the heck. Let him do it. Her nerves were frayed from the long dinner, from the third degree—and she hadn’t even been the recipient. It was a side of her dad she hadn’t seen before.

  She watched Madison and Beckett skating hand in hand. Madison lost her footing. Beckett caught her by the elbow, and they spun awkwardly until they came to a standstill, laughing. Nearby, Dad’s arms windmilled before he steadied himself.

  “You think he suspects anything?” Layla asked.

  Murphy had loosened the knot and had her boot halfway laced. “Nope. Layla, you need to relax. Let’s just go out there and have fun, okay?” A second later he tied a bow and patted her skate.

  The music was nice—an upbeat Christmas tune. White lights twinkled from nearby pine trees, dancing in the breeze. And though it was snowing, it wasn’t all that cold. He held out her gloves, and she stuffed her hands inside them.

  He gave her a hand up. “Come on.”

  They skated side by side around the rink with a couple dozen others, mostly strangers. Layla was glad for that. The fewer people they knew, the better.

  Awhile later Beckett and Madison joined them. They talked about her progress on the house. Dad skated up to them, a little steadier now that he’d practiced.

  “How are the wedding plans going?” he asked Layla. “I don’t know how you’re finding time, what with staging the house and working at Cappy’s.”

  “Sometimes wedding planning seems like a full-time job,” Madison said.

  Guilt pricked Layla. She couldn’t wait for this night to end. “We’re keeping it very simple.”

  “And I’m helping with whatever she needs,” Murphy said.

  “Hey, man,” Beckett said. “You’re making me look bad.”

  Madison elbowed her fiancé, trading a mock scowl. “Yes, some people can’t make a simple phone call.”

  “I keep getting voice mail,” Beckett said.

  “Are you sure Christmas Eve’s a good idea?” Dad asked. “A lot of people have family plans.”

  “We want to keep it small anyway,” Layla said. So small no one would be there.

  “You don’t have a ring yet?” Dad must’ve noticed over dinner.

  Murphy turned backward and skated in front of Layla. He took her gloved hands, holding eye contact. “We haven’t found the right one yet, have we, baby?”

  Murphy’s cheeks were flushed, the tip of his nose red. Fog plumed in front of his face with each breath, and his blue eyes sparkled under the lighting. A fat flake landed on his eyelashes.

  Layla unconsciously reached out and wiped it away with her gloved thumb. The look in his eyes shifted. She couldn’t break away from his gaze. His hand tightened around hers. Suddenly she felt warm. Too many layers. She needed to ditch the scarf. Maybe the coat. What was wrong with her?

  “You guys are cute together,” Madison said.

  Layla tore her eyes from Murphy. Her cheeks went warm under his stare.

  “When did you realize you loved my girl, Seth?” Dad asked.

  Layla stiffened. Change the subject. Her thoughts spun for a topic and came up empty. Her eyes flew to Murphy.

  “It was at Cappy’s, actually,” Murphy said.

  Layla frowned at him. What was he doing?

  “At Cappy’s?” Madison said.

  “I was watching her work. She was waiting on the table nex
t to mine, and the customer said something that made her laugh.” His eyes held her hostage. “I thought, I could listen to that sound for the rest of my life.”

  Layla’s breath caught. His breath plumed between them on an exhale. He’d been wasting his time on the sets. The guy should’ve had the lead role.

  “That’s sweet,” Madison said. Layla could feel her eyes on them.

  How was he doing this? Making stuff up off the cuff like that? Looking at her like she held his world in her hands? Wasn’t this getting to him at all? Dad was eating it all up, and it was lies—all of it.

  She had to get away from this—from them. “I … need a break. My ankles …” Layla pulled her hands from Murphy’s and skated toward the bench. She was shaking and wasn’t sure why. The stress of pretending? The look in Murphy’s eyes? So disconcerting.

  She wanted this night to be over. She wanted to flop into bed and pull the quilt over her head and pretend none of this was happening. But they’d only been here fifteen minutes.

  On the shore, she passed the first bench and headed toward the one farther back in the shadows, shuffling along the frozen ground.

  Her heart pounded and her limbs quaked. She just wanted to hide for a while. She didn’t want to face Dad and his questions. Or Beckett and Madison and their knowing eyes.

  She couldn’t sit, even when she reached the bench. Even though her ankles throbbed. She perched on the seat back, facing away from the ice, glad for the cover of darkness.

  The strains of “Santa Baby” floated through the air, suddenly cooler in the shadows of the night. Overhead, skeletal branches stretched across the darkened sky like icy fingers. In the distance someone laughed, and she remembered what Murphy had said. About realizing he loved her, about wanting to hear her laughter for the rest of his life.

  “You okay?”

  She jumped at the sound of his voice, so close.

  “No, I’m not okay.”

  He stood in front of her, his face too shadowed to read.

  “I can’t stand this anymore. I’m lying to my father, and our friends think we’re planning a wedding but we aren’t, and someone’s going to figure that out, and even if they don’t, how are we going to get out of this when it’s over?” Her voice rose as she went.

  He set his hands on her shoulders. “Come on, baby, you’ve got to pull it together.”

  She shrugged his hands off. “What’s with the baby stuff?” She didn’t like it. And she didn’t want to think too hard about why.

  “Just hang in there awhile longer. We can’t quit now. There’s too much at stake.”

  Like her whole career. If they called off the engagement now, Stanley Malcolm would probably drop her like a hot potato even if she staged Murphy’s home like the Biltmore Mansion.

  “How can you stand this? How can you field questions and look all … swoony, and do it with a straight face?”

  He stilled. And didn’t speak for so long she was ready to shake the answer out of him. She regretted the shadows now because she couldn’t see his eyes and didn’t have a clue what he was thinking. But she could feel his tension in the rigid way he held himself. Could hear the stress of his shallow breaths.

  “It’s easy,” he said so softly she strained to hear.

  The last notes of the song rang out, fading into the night. Only her heartbeat, thumping hard and heavy, punctuated the silence.

  “I just tell the truth,” he whispered.

  A soft, soulful tune began. The strains of the violins wove around them, casting a sweet spell. Layla couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.

  Murphy turned and walked away, leaving her to stare after him.

  Eight

  Layla took the porch steps, careful of the slippery spots. Murphy’s neighborhood was quiet on this Saturday morning. A dusting of snow covered the ground, and the chill in the air burned her lungs.

  She stifled a yawn as she slid the key into the lock. She’d stared at the darkened ceiling half the night wondering about what Murphy had said. Turning the comment every which way. And every way she turned it, she ended up with the same view: Murphy had feelings for her.

  She couldn’t believe he might love her—though his answer to Dad’s question suggested otherwise. And she definitely wasn’t about to address the subject with him. Last night had been awkward enough.

  Today she anticipated a much-needed break from him. He’d be at the hardware store, and she’d be off to work at Cappy’s before he returned. The thought of a pleasant morning doing what she loved put a spring in her step as she entered the quiet house. She closed the door, shutting out the cold, and loosened her scarf.

  Murphy emerged from the kitchen.

  Layla jumped, palming her heart. Her eyes took stock. Pajama bottoms, dark skin, rippling muscles. There was a mug of coffee involved somewhere.

  She spun around under the guise of hanging her coat. “Why aren’t you at work?”

  “I don’t work Saturdays. What are you doing here?”

  She tossed a look over her shoulder. “I do.”

  Even facing the other way, she could still see him. She closed her eyes against the picture. She was kidding herself. She’d never erase that image from her brain. Broad shoulders, sculpted chest, muscular arms. Nope. It was there for good.

  “It’s Saturday,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d be here so early.”

  “I have to be at Cappy’s at two.”

  “Ahh … cup of coffee?”

  “Sure. Thanks.” Anything to get him out of the room. A set of clothes wouldn’t hurt either. Who knew he was hiding all that under those flannel shirts?

  A few minutes later he returned with a mug. She kept her eyes on the brew, caramel colored, just the way she liked it. “Thanks. You have a ladder somewhere?”

  “In the garage. I’ll get it before I hop in the shower.”

  “No hurry. Take your shower first.”

  She was in the library when he returned with the ladder. “Where do you want it?”

  “Right there.” She pointed to the strip of oak paneling between the tall bookshelves, then put the finishing touches on the wreath.

  “Can I help?”

  “Hold this.” She handed him the wreath as she climbed the ladder. It wobbled on the hardwood floor. “I guess the floor’s not level.”

  “Part of the old house charm.”

  At the top she stretched high, reaching for the bottom of the picture hanging on the wall, then handed it down to him. The ladder wobbled as they swapped pieces.

  She grabbed onto the sides, but it wobbled again. When she looked down at Murphy, he wore a roguish smile, and his eyes held a mischievous sparkle.

  “Stop that,” she said.

  “What?”

  “It was you.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  She spared him a look and climbed to the highest safe rung, hoping he had the good sense not to fool with the ladder anymore. The wreath wasn’t heavy, but it was awkward. She tried to hook it on the nail that had held the picture. Missed. She rose on her toes. Just out of reach.

  She breathed a laugh. “Sheesh.” After another try, she lowered her arms for a rest.

  The ladder moved. “Stop it.”

  She steadied herself, then realized the ladder wasn’t wobbling. It was vibrating as Murphy climbed up behind her.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Helping.”

  She tightened her grip. “Get down. It isn’t safe.”

  “This is the heaviest-duty ladder I sell. Since neither of us weighs three hundred pounds, it’ll be fine.”

  He stopped behind her, the ladder stilling. The warmth of his chest pressed against her back. The clean, musky scent of his soap teased her nose. Her throat went dry. Her heart flittered around her chest like flurries in a snowstorm.

  He took the wreath, leaning closer, reaching higher. His thighs pressed against hers. His breath stirred the hairs at her temple. A shiver skate
d down her spine.

  Her legs trembled, and she braced a hand against the wall. This is Murphy, Layla. Remember? The guy who practically threw Jessica at Jack? The guy who didn’t bother mentioning that your fiancé was hooking up with your cousin?

  Even as the thought surfaced, Beckett’s words came back to her. Had she blown Murphy’s role out of proportion? Her thoughts tangled into a snarly knot.

  Murphy settled the wreath against the wall and leaned back infinitesimally. “That where you want it?” His lips were inches from her ear. If she turned her head just a bit—

  What the heck, Layla?

  She gave the wreath a cursory glance. “Yeah.” She didn’t care if it was upside down, backward, and flourishing with a moldy infestation. “Can you get down already?”

  “You seem a little tense.” His tone teased. Did he know the effect he was having on her?

  “You’re shaking the ladder, and your weight is straining the capacity.” Her fingers pressed against the wall, going white against the oak paneling.

  “Have it your way.” He leaned in, his lips close enough to brush her hair. “Let me know if you need any more help.”

  Layla was exhausted by the time dinner rush ended. It had been a busy night. A caroling group had stopped in, taking the whole back room, and the restaurant was short staffed. Earlier, during the slow hours, she’d experimented with the tables, moving them around to allow for better flow. She loved the new look. Cappy hated it, though, so she’d had to move it all back.

  Now her station had cleared out, and she helped David by busing a couple of tables. On her way past the door, she saw Cooper by the hostess stand, brushing the snow from his brown curls. She hadn’t seen him since he’d weaseled out of the wedding. And look where that had gotten her.

  Be nice. It’s not his fault. “Hey there. Feeling better?”

  “Not as good as you, apparently.” His crooked smile and brown eyes teased.

  So he’d heard about the engagement. She reconsidered her plan, giving him a pointed look. “Table for one?”