by Cindi Madsen
He’d caught glimpses of her, mostly when he walked past the bakery and accidentally on purpose peeked inside. He’d thought it would be trickier to avoid her, but evidently she was evading him right back. Possibly even enlisting help, the way she’d done to escape the Hursts, and that chapped his hide.
Maybe even bruised his ego.
If that were all there was to it, he could forget about the woman easily enough. But calling Trouble’s name made him think of Violet every damn time. Of catching her feeding the puppy a treat in spite of never reaching the scent pad—the dog still hadn’t, either.
Of the moment she’d fallen on top of him, her amazing laugh, and how she gave as good as she got. For a woman he’d only interacted with a couple of times, she was proving difficult to kick out of his head.
Addie wiggled between him and Easton, calling to the bartender to please add orders of wings and fries. Then she whirled around, her back resting against the bar. “Did I hear correctly? Easton’s finally made his intentions clear about kissing your ass?”
“Kicking,” Easton corrected.
“In your dreams,” Ford said.
Easton grabbed a glass from the tray that’d been placed in front of him and downed a gulp. “Ford got his ego bruised. Now he’s all mopey.”
“By who?” Addie’s eyes widened. “Violet? I thought I was doing you a favor by asking her along. In the bakery the other day, you sounded our escape call and left with her, and today she was makin’ eyes at you, so I assumed it went well.”
“She helped me with a puppy-training exercise. End of story.”
Addie scooted the tray toward Easton, bumping the edge into his arm. “Take those to the table, will ya? Ford and I will wait for the food.”
Easton saluted her, bold with the sarcasm—but he took the tray and left him and Addie alone, as requested.
Addie squared off in front of him, and Ford groaned. “Murph, don’t say what I think you’re gonna say.”
“Tough titties, McGuire, it’s happening. Ever since that hurricane last fall, you’ve been off. Hell, you’ve been sad, something you hardly ever are, and that worries me. I get that you went through something big. I understand, too.”
Besides a handful of members on the Lower Alabama Search and Rescue team, Addie was the only person who’d heard the whole story. Late one night after the two of them had made their way through a six-pack of beer and a blurry amount of Jack, she pushed.
Out it came, one word at a time.
Addie’s fingertips on his arm managed to soothe and goad him at the same time. He’d seen plenty of bad shit go down. Had witnessed death. Wished he’d gotten there sooner. Felt helpless as the life bled out of a person he’d done his utmost to save.
Why did a mission involving a cheery old lady have to be the one that messed with his head?
“You promised Doris you’d live your life to the fullest, but all you do is work and think about work,” Addie said. “And you haven’t looked at a woman the way you look at Violet in a long time.”
Live life to the fullest. The words scraped at him, a reminder of what Doris had told him and how he’d failed her on too many levels.
“I can’t get tangled up in a complicated situation—I’m not even sure how long she’s staying in Uncertainty.” Used to be, he’d take any and every opportunity to chat up a beautiful woman. He’d had a few serious relationships through the years, like his off-and-on thing with Trina and a woman from Opelika who claimed she didn’t mind he needed space and wasn’t interested in settling down.
Occasionally, when he’d missed plans due to work or extending a camping trip, she’d get pissed. But he’d make it up to her, and things would go back to normal.
Until they hit the one-year mark and she gave him an ultimatum about moving in together.
He’d passed. The next weekend, he came home to find a box of his destroyed belongings. His favorite AU T-shirt and his camo hoodie had been shredded, and the DVDs he’d taken over for various movie nights had been snapped in half.
After that, he’d given up long-term relationships for good. Only on the rarest of occasions did he miss having a special someone.
“Does that silence mean you realized you’re not, in fact, living your fullest life?” Murph asked.
Ford arched an eyebrow at her. She raised one right back.
“It means I need to get a new group of friends. All y’all know me way too well.”
“Wah-wah-wah. How about you stop being a big ol’ baby”—Addie snatched the baskets of food that’d arrived and shoved him in the direction of a certain pretty brunette splattered in paint—“and start living a little, dude? And in case you’re wonderin’, I’m not takin’ no for an answer.”
…
Surprise pinged through Violet when Ford approached the high-top table and chose the stool next to hers. Another emotion came along for the ride—one best unnamed, since she’d vowed to stay away from guys who wouldn’t choose her in the end.
“Here,” Ford said, thrusting a basket of fries in her direction.
“Thanks.” She snagged a couple and bit into them.
Too hot. She seesawed her breaths in and out, in and out, attempting to cool the food. See. Things that are too hot are a good way to get burned.
She grabbed her glass and downed a swig of beer.
Then grimaced.
“Let me guess,” Ford said. “Not a beer girl?”
“I try to be.”
A contemplative crinkle appeared. “Try to be?”
“It’s been implied that not liking beer makes me high-maintenance, which I’m totally not.” Funny how Benjamin had given a ten-minute lecture after she’d purchased the wrong IPA—she hadn’t paid attention to labels and bought blue instead of black—and then told her she was high-maintenance for preferring “froufrou” wine.
Lexi leaned in from the other side. “If preferring wine over yeasty beer makes me high-maintenance, I’ll happily own it. You want a rosé? That’s what I always get.”
“No, that’s oka—”
“Will, honey? Can you order Violet a glass of rosé?”
“On it, babe.” The guy everyone except Lexi referred to as Shep stood before Violet could insist she was fine.
In some ways, that had been her downfall with Benjamin. In her attempt to tame her anxieties about being too “needy” and her desire to be the perfect future wife, she’d settled for his likes. Let him mow her over in the name of not disagreeing.
It’d been so good in the beginning, though. Back then, they’d done lots of little things to make each other feel cherished instead of nitpicking at each other’s flaws.
Always and forever…
Hurt bloomed through her chest, aggravating old hurts that refused to fully heal. Somewhere in the depths of her wedding binder were the vows she’d written. She’d ended them with the phrase she’d repeated to Benjamin upon parting and each night before bed.
I love you. Always and forever.
Always and forever, Benjamin echoed every single time.
Had he ever meant it?
Surrounded by couples, each of them staring at each other with adoration, longing Violet thought she’d ridded herself of tightened her throat.
Addie lifted her head off Tucker’s shoulder and nudged Ford’s knee. They had some kind of telepathic conversation before Ford turned to Violet. “How’s your week been?”
“Productive. I finished the base coat on the walls of the bakery, so now I get to move on to the fun, bright accents part.”
Ford tapped his fingers on the table. “Cool.”
The rest of the table not-so-surreptitiously watched them, and Violet searched her brain for what to ask in return. “Um, how are the puppies?”
“Good.” Ford downed a swig of his beer, and she wondered if he was making a p
oint of proving he found nothing wrong with his drink.
Man, this was painful. What happened to the easy joking vibe they had the other day?
Maybe it has something to do with you treating him like he’d trapped you in his house.
A glass of pink wine was passed to her, and admittedly it was nice to have a drink she enjoyed instead of tolerated.
Since she’d been working on self-talk and keeping it positive, she reminded herself it was okay to enjoy what she enjoyed. Both while planning the wedding that’d never happened and shopping for items to turn their townhouse into a home, Benjamin had gasped over the cost and remarked on her “expensive tastes.”
This from the guy who wore designer clothes and insisted on purchasing a BMW hardtop convertible. He’d claimed his recently-paid-off vehicle was beginning to have problems and of course they should put a down payment on the car and then plan their nuptials.
After all, how could he pay for a wedding if he didn’t have a reliable way to get to work?
Which was why, after finding him with another woman, fueled by vengeance and more alcohol than she’d ever drunk in her life, Violet had stumbled into the garage of her townhouse, saw the new car and shiny golf clubs, and snapped.
She could still feel the reverberations of the pitching wedge in her hands as she swung and bashed the metal hood and windows. It’d been so satisfying to destroy a thing her ex had loved more than her.
The regret came afterward, when she was dealing with the massive hangover from hell and saw the destruction. When she realized her temper and obsessing over his cheating had gotten the best of her.
It ratcheted up several notches when Benjamin called the police and she was charged with criminal mischief in the first degree. It’d been the most mortifying incident of her life, but she’d pled guilty and paid her thousand-dollar fine, as well as the sum to fix the car.
Having the guy who promised always and forever press charges instead of giving her a break depleted that much more of her passion for photographing happy couples and families.
Another hard pill to swallow…? The realization that she shouldn’t have buried her head in her wedding binder like an ostrich in lieu of working on the day-to-day parts of their relationship.
Hindsight wasn’t just twenty-twenty; it was an eagle-eyed bitch.
“…bridesmaid update,” Lexi said, and Violet was jerked back to the present, where she smoothed her features in hopes her thoughts weren’t broadcast upon her face. A slim possibility, yet she could only imagine what this group—what Ford—would think of her lapse in judgment.
He’d probably call her unstable, and during the car-clobbering incident, she had been.
“I got us an appointment on Saturday afternoon at the bridal gown shop in Magnolia where I bought my dress,” Lexi continued. “Ford and Addie, I need you there by two thirty. Would you like to carpool with me?”
Ford snorted. “You mean you’d like to carpool so that we’ll be on time.”
“Fine. I was pretending to give you a choice, so thanks for shattering the illusion.”
“Anytime,” Ford said with a grin, and Lexi shook her head but flashed him a smile.
“And before you boys start bragging about how much easier you have it as groom and groomsmen, I also scheduled you an appointment the following Tuesday so the tuxes will match.”
“Wait, tuxes?” Tucker asked. “I was thinking of scrapping the penguin suits and going casual for my wedding. Jeans. Or maybe overalls, like the pair Addie’s so fond of.”
Lexi’s smile faded, her expression turning so frigid Violet shivered.
Sputtered laughter broke the silence, and Tucker winked. “Just messin’ with you, Lex. I appreciate you making the appointment.”
“Tucker Crawford, you’re lucky that killing you would completely ruin the wedding, I swear.”
They all laughed, good-natured teasing clearly part of their group dynamic. Even as an outsider, she felt the love.
Being around the tight-knit group also made her miss her friends. The chat thread with the “Bridesmaid Crew” kept them in touch, at least, but their different paths left everyone busy and spread across the country. Leah and Amanda were the only two left in Florida, and once they’d moved to the suburbs, it’d been harder to meet up.
Without thinking, Violet’s hands searched for the camera around her neck so she could capture the camaraderie—only to remember it wasn’t there. Since it was the second time she’d experienced that spark, maybe it was time to start hauling her Canon around again.
“What if you came with us?” Lexi asked, placing a hand on Violet’s shoulder.
“Came with you where?” With her thoughts drifting to how she’d shoot the scene to include the juxtaposition of the rustic local bar in the background, she’d lost track of the conversation.
“To choose the wedding gown. You were so helpful at the cake tasting, and your binder is very impressive. I could use your help reining in these two.”
“But remember how I’m a recovering bridesmaid who doesn’t do weddings anymore?”
“All I need is your opinion.” Lexi brought her hands up in prayer position. “Pleeease.”
“We’d love to have you,” Addie said, and Violet glanced at Ford. She wanted to gauge what he thought of her involvement.
Hard to do, since Ford was riveted by the widescreen television in the corner.
“McGuire!” Addie smacked his leg.
“What? First game of the official MLB season, and this guy just got an unassisted triple play.”
Addie’s eyes widened and lifted to the screen. “Seriously? I can’t believe I miss—”
“Addison Murphy!” Lexi’s voice boomed. “Do I need to draw up some plays? I’m the coach, and I say focus up.”
“Wow, have you been giving her lessons, Shep?” Tucker asked. “She’s got the tough-coach bit down.”
Not only did Lexi manage a seated curtsy, she made it elegant.
Violet smothered a laugh, marveling again at the mixture of personalities.
Then the outsider feeling grew stronger. If she could hide behind her camera lens, she could better filter out the sensation. Without it, the amount of yearning tiptoed into the forlorn range.
Time to gracefully take her leave. “Sounds like you guys have a lot of planning to do, so I’m going to head home.” She gripped the edge of the table and began to scoot her stool away. “Thanks for the drink and for—”
“Wait.” Ford covered her hand with his. “It’s early yet.” He paused as if he wasn’t sure why he’d stopped her or what to say next. “How ’bout I get you away from the wedding talk and show you the pool table? I’ve already beat their sorry asses, and I’m lookin’ to whip up on someone new.”
Lexi gave him a sidelong glance, like she suspected him of attempting to get out of planning, which was probably true. Violet shouldn’t take the pity bone she’d been thrown, but Ford stood as if he knew she’d say yes.
With his gaze heavy on her for the first time in a week, pressing against her skin and igniting a whirl of heat, she didn’t want to walk away. Wasn’t sure she could. Did his magnetism apply to everyone, or was she simply the perfect polarity?
Either way, she decided to give in to its pull and toss her own gauntlet. “Care to make it interesting?”
The red straw in his mouth bobbed with his smile. “Always.”
“FYI,” Easton, the dark-haired cop, said, “our boy is competitive and acts like a jackass whenever he loses.”
Ford flipped him off, and the cop smirked and said, “See?”
“So he needs a lesson in losing gracefully.” Violet downed the rest of her wine and set her empty glass on the table. “I’m absolutely up to the task.”
With the trash talking done, she followed Ford to the pool table. He retrieved two sticks and aske
d if she wanted to break.
Seriously, what had she been thinking, challenging the guy? She was far from a pool shark, but she also hadn’t specified what “make it interesting” meant. First, she needed to figure that out for herself.
“You can break,” she sweetly said, wrapping a hand over her closed fist. “And then I’ll break you.” Since she’d never been able to crack her knuckles, she went ahead and added sound effects. “Crack. Pop. Tough noise.”
The hypnotic twitching of Ford’s arm muscles halted as he went from chalking his pool stick to leveling his green eyes on her. “Did you just add knuckle cracking sound effects? I’m not sure you’re doing the intimidating thing right.”
“That’s how I sneak up on people. Plus, even if I could crack my joints, I hate the sound. Gives me goose bumps.”
Ford moved closer and, with a grin that bordered on evil, cracked his knuckles without using his mouth.
“I should’ve seen that coming.”
“Lesson number two: never let your opponent know your weaknesses.”
Violet plucked the blue square of chalk out of his hand. “Wait. When was lesson number one?”
“When I taught you not to be lured by the promise of puppies.”
“Right. How could I forget?”
Ford leaned over the table, an eye squinted. He looked straight out of one of those movies where people go into a bar in the country to get information, usually on the whereabouts of some killer.
This guy? This is the guy who’s wearing down my resolve?
His shirt didn’t have sleeves. He was chewing on a drink straw, same way he probably chewed on the kind that came from bales of hay.
He was…so frickin’ hot.
“Speaking of,” she said, right as he hit the cue ball. “Did you ever name the puppies?”
A loud crack split the air, and two striped balls dropped into corner pockets.
That cockeyed corner of Ford’s mouth twisted higher. “Gonna have to do better than that, Vi. And Trouble, Nitro, and Tank are doin’ fine.”
