Always a Bridesmaid

by Cindi Madsen

  “That make me happy. Ford is such a good boy. I knew someday a woman would come along who could put up with him.”

  Violet had learned Lucia Murphy thought everyone was a good boy or girl. While in the next breath she’d mention how they were a real son of a gun, or had a few screws loose, et cetera.

  Since discussing the guy she was beyond happy to put up with would result in squeeing and celebratory dancing, she tabled it for later. She’d volunteered to be the photographer tonight, and her trigger finger was itching to start documenting the evening.

  The bride-to-be was going to die twice when she saw the decorations. Addie had said all she wanted was a memorable night at the Old Firehouse, but she had no clue how very “memorable” it’d be.

  The bar door opened, and Lottie and several of the other Craft Cats walked in.

  Violet had asked Lexi if she worried the group would be offended by the phallic paraphernalia. Lexi then told her that she’d visited their quilting circle to learn the skill herself, and what else she’d discovered along the way was that the ladies were a lot raunchier than expected.

  For years the ladies had been passing around a dog-eared copy of the Kama Sutra and starring their favorite positions. Apparently, the “Be Louder In Bed” section was a club favorite.

  With the Craft Cats approaching, Violet did her best to scrub that information from her brain. Still, the fleeting image of Lottie in a pleather dominatrix outfit, whip in hand, had Violet yearning for a nice, strong drink.

  A stripe of sunlight preceded Maisy’s entrance to the bar, and Violet rushed over to help with the dessert trays. The technique her sister had shown her at the bakery this morning was called flooding, a smooth frosting that made each sugar cookie a work of art.

  Pink hearts with the phrase “Bride to Be” and diamond rings with the wedding date adorned the silver trays, along with corsets that’d been a pain in the butt to decorate but turned out super cute.

  While Violet’s art classes had helped in the remodeling department, cookie decorating tapped into a completely different skill set. One she didn’t have.

  “Wow, this place looks awesome,” Maisy said as they placed the cookies on the table with the rest of the hors d’oeuvres. “Is it wrong that I’m most excited to see how Ford handles the party?”

  “If it is, I don’t want to be right. He’s a good sport, though, and one of the things I love about him is that he’d do anything for Addie and the rest of his friends.”

  “One thing you love about him? Does that mean you…” Maisy glanced around, evidently concluded there were too many ears close by, and propelled Violet toward the empty hallway with the restrooms and stack of extra stools. “Do you love him?”

  As if it meant to answer on her behalf, Violet’s heart pumped affection throughout her entire body, head to toe. “I…haven’t told him yet. But yes.”

  A high-pitched squeal came from Maisy. “I knew it. And you said he wasn’t your type.”

  “Are you ever going to let me live that down?”

  “Nope,” Maisy said with way too much glee. “I figured he factored into your decision to stay in town. I could tell he was smitten with you from the beginning—I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you.”

  Maisy sighed and took both of Violet’s hands in hers. “You deserve this, Vi. After everything, you deserve a happily ever after more than anyone.”

  Part of her wanted to object—not to having a happily ever after but discussing one so soon. Surrounded by decorations celebrating love, though, Violet went ahead and let herself believe her story might end with wedding bells of her own.

  “They’re coming!” Lexi yelled.

  “Things they say on their honeymoon,” someone yelled, and everyone cackled as they rushed into place.

  An orchestra of party horns greeted Ford and Addie as they walked inside, along with whoops and hollers and a whistle loud enough to break glass. Lexi grabbed the personalized “Future Mrs. Crawford” veil and jabbed the comb in front of Addie’s ponytail.

  As she took in the decorations, Addie burst into laughter.

  Meanwhile, Ford’s eyes bulged like they might pop out of his head, the urge to flee written across his rugged features.

  Violet lifted her camera and caught it all.

  As the bride-to-be began hugging people, the sense of community filled Violet, mixing in with everything she felt for the guy by Addie’s side. It was like Ford said—the citizens showed up for one another. They cared, and she could feel the compassion hanging in the air.

  As soon as she’d snapped pictures of everyone, she zoomed in on the dude of honor, who still had a deer-in-headlights expression.

  Then she decided to go rescue him for a change.

  She practically skipped, her head in the infatuation-laced clouds.

  A clump of balloons drifted in front of Ford, and he batted them away. One of them must’ve been extra staticky, because it floated back to his arm and bopped, bopped, bopped, as if it had something to tell him.

  Dark eyebrows arched as Ford read the words printed across the pink latex. With a shake of his head, he knocked it away from him again and muttered, “What the hell have I gotten myself into?”

  “It’s probably best if you don’t know and just let it happen,” Violet said as she closed the last foot of distance between them.

  He ran his fingers along his jaw. “I’m a little scared.”

  “You should be a lot scared.” Violet placed her hand on his chest, and he flinched. “Are you sore or something?”

  “Nah. Just…” He shook his head again, his gaze moving to the rest of the decorations. “Whoa.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you. You might be the expert when it comes to porcupines and racoons and gators, but me? I know cocks.”

  She expected a laugh, but her joke failed to land. Or maybe it wasn’t as funny as she thought it’d be.

  Before she could ask about his fishing trip, people swarmed the area, so many conversations going on at once that her head began to swim.

  Lexi tapped Violet on the shoulder and asked if she wanted to be in charge of the ring toss or prosecco pong.

  Then the party was officially off and running, the crowd pulling Violet and the man she planned on confessing her love to off in different directions.

  …

  Over the course of the last thirty minutes, Ford had heard a lot of talk about having sex with one person for the rest of your life.

  He’d also heard way more about the Craft Cat members’ sex life than he’d ever, ever wanted to. Oh, and the jokes about tucking saggy boobs into their pants?

  Well, he wasn’t sure he’d ever have a boner again.

  Normally he could shake it off. Maybe make jokes or tell the guys he was getting behind-the-scenes info on women.

  But his thoughts kept circling back to one woman.

  Violet had been running the table with prosecco pong for the past forty-five minutes. While Ford used to rule at beer pong, he hadn’t tried the girly variation, and it had nothing to do with him not being much of a sparkling wine drinker.

  “I’ve been going back and forth on whether or not to tell you something,” Easton had said as they’d been fishing at the crack of dawn.

  “Now you have to tell me,” Ford had responded, no clue what would come out of his buddy’s mouth next.

  Or how it would fray that last thread he’d been holding on to when it came to his relationship with Violet.

  One minute he’d look across the bar and think he was a lucky bastard that a woman like Violet would consider hitching her wagon to his star. Then, the matchmaking women of Uncertainty would comment that he’d be next down the aisle, and he’d fight the urge to sprint through the wall like the Kool-Aid Man.

  Ford had always been the type of guy to make his dec
isions and stick to them, and he hated that he kept volleying. The other fun thing his brain had opted to do was replay fights he’d overheard. Between his parents. Couples in town. The arguments he and Trina had, and boy were there a lot of those.

  The fist that’d first gripped his throat the night Addie freaked out about Tucker’s dream of playing catch with his son squeezed tighter.

  Fortunately, it seemed everything had been forgiven and forgotten on that front. The wedding was back on, and they were happy. But that also reminded him how Addie and Lexi had warned him not to hurt Violet.

  It was the last thing he wanted.

  Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure if not hurting her was an option.

  And after what Easton had told him, he wasn’t sure he’d be safe from harm, either.

  Ford could feel the rocking of the boat earlier, smell the water, and feel the bait between his fingers as he put it on his hook.

  “You know how I run background checks on everyone who visits town for more than a week or so?” Easton had asked as he’d taken the PowerBait from him.

  The hair on Ford’s neck had pricked up, his instincts shouting he wasn’t going to like what came next.

  “I ran one on Violet,” Easton continued. “If you want me to stop, just say so.”

  Ford cast and slowly let out the slack on his line. His doubts had already been gnawing at his insides, so he wanted to tell Easton he’d rather not hear it. While scolding himself for not using his common sense and digging into her past before getting attached.

  Easton’s hook made a light plop as it hit the water. “Did you know she was charged with first-degree criminal mischief?”

  The tension claiming Ford’s body eased up, his buddy’s words so far from what he’d expected they felt like a relief. “No. But that doesn’t sound so bad.”

  Silence stretched as Easton’s gaze lowered to the floor of the boat, and what little remained of Ford’s hope divebombed into the murky water.

  “She took a golf club to her ex-boyfriend’s car,” Easton said. “We’re talking broken windows and dents so big, it looked like it’d hailed bowling balls.”

  Inch by inch, ice crept through Ford until his limbs grew heavy and burdensome. “What type of car?” He wasn’t sure what that had to do with anything besides delaying a conclusion he didn’t want to come to.

  “A brand-new BMW three series hard-top convertible.”

  Ford made a sour face. “That’s the kind of car rich pricks flock to so they can brag about driving around their Beamer and how amazing the wind feels in their hair.”

  “All while sipping some fruity-ass drink.” Easton began reeling in his lifeless line. “You’re not wrong. It’s a stupid car for a guy to drive.”

  “But taking a golf club to it…” Ford dragged his fingers across his jaw, the fishy scent of the PowerBait making him drop his hand to his lap. “That’s something a crazy person would do.”

  “Crazy. Angry. Or crazy angry.” The chair squeaked as Easton propped his forearms on his thighs. “I just thought you should know. Maybe err on the cautious side and take your time. I know how paranoid you are about relationships.”

  “Pfft. Not paranoid,” Ford had said. “Skeptical, maybe.” He punched Easton’s shoulder. “Like you’re one to talk.”

  Easton had tossed a beer to Ford and popped open a can for himself. “I’m not the one getting serious, though.”

  Those words played through Ford’s head all day, a stuck record that wouldn’t be fixed by any amount of head shaking.

  A tipsy Lucia danced past him, paused, and flung the hot pink feather boa around her neck over her shoulder. “See this? I win it at ring toss. Don’t I look fabulous?”

  “You always look fabulous. But the hot pink feathers suit you.”

  Lucia laughed and patted his cheek. “Speaking of beautiful, you and Violet are going to make beautiful bambini. And I get to be their nonna, too. Because knowing Addison, she will drag out making me a bisnonna—that’s a great grandma.”

  Humming and swaying, Lucia lifted the glass in her hand. She sipped at it, slurping loudly from the phallic-shaped straw. “I all out. Better get more.”

  Continuing to hum, she shimmied over to the drink table.

  That damn fist that’d seized his throat tightened, the room growing fuzzy as he struggled for air.

  The bump to his shoulder allowed a sip of oxygen through.

  The sidelong glance that revealed Violet had sunk onto the stool next to him took it away.

  “I’ve been relieved of duty.” She slid a red drink in front of him. “Don’t worry; it’s whiskey. Mixed with cherry juice and almond amaretto. Lucia made them so Addie would have her whiskey but they’d also match the decor. Cool, huh?”

  Violet wrapped her lips around her straw—something he was working very hard not to pay close attention to—and sipped at the drink in her hand.

  Figuring he could use fortification, Ford lifted his glass and slurped from the ridiculous straw. Damn, that is good.

  Focus, McGuire. The longer you go without addressing the issue, the more hurt both of you are gonna end up.

  When it came down to it, they didn’t want the same things. She wanted to settle down and have babies, and he was an adventure seeker. One who craved freedom, dangerous jobs, and the ability to head into the mountains for days at a time.

  That “full life” stuff was all well and good for other people, but it wasn’t for him. Not when his contentedness required adventure and independence.

  Ford cleared his throat—not that it helped. Maybe if they just slowed down the runaway dating train, they could find a happy medium. Or was that drawing it out for more future pain?

  Either way, he couldn’t hold it in anymore. “I feel like things are gettin’ too serious.”

  “Dude, I’m drinking from a dick-shaped straw—as are you. I don’t think we’re anywhere near serious.”

  “I meant with us.”

  Her face crinkled—and then crumpled—as the words hung in the air. In the background, women continued to laugh and scream and celebrate.

  “I was hoping we could pump the brakes a little. Take things slow.”

  Violet lifted her gaze from the spot on the bar she’d fixated on. The lights reflected off her glistening eyes, tears an inevitability, and he cursed himself for not waiting until after the party.

  In his defense, drawing it out any longer would be akin to torture. Wouldn’t it make him more of an asshole to pretend things were dandy?

  The muscles in her jaw clenched, and her words came out strangled with emotion. “Too serious? Are you for real right now? What? Did you just realize you’ve only had sex with one person the last two weeks? Better pump the brakes and start banging other women ASAP.”

  “It’s not that.” Truth could be a burden, and he desperately needed to unload before it crushed him. “It’s the marriage talk, and people mentioning kids, and I can feel the shackles getting tighter.”

  Violet winced as if he’d slapped her. “Shackles? In this scenario of yours, am I the shackles? Or did I slap ’em on like a prison warden and drag you around behind me? Because I seem to remember you asking me to stay. And I was so excited to tell you tonight that I’d decided to.”

  He exhaled a shallow breath.

  “Hey! It’s our local hero!” Noah, the bartender who occasionally joined them for pickup games, chose the worst time ever to pass by and clap Ford on the back.

  Ford spun on his stool, opening his mouth to ask for a few minutes of privacy.

  “Future generations will be telling the tale of how you, Easton, Darius, and sixty-year-old Mrs. Reynolds saved Mr. Garcia from a flat tire one mile from the tire shop.”

  “You never mentioned anything about a….” An oddly calm mask descended upon Violet’s features, and, judging from the static elect
ricity that buzzed through Ford, the storm was on its way. “What day was that?”

  Ford raised his voice, desperate to stop a disaster already in motion. “Listen, Vi—”

  “Thursday evening,” Noah said. “People have been making ‘how many people does it take to change one tire’ jokes ever since.” He added a snort. “Anyway, this is some party, huh, Ford? I’m glad you showed and relieved me of being the only dude here.”

  The murderous glare that’d filtered in with Violet’s forming tears suggested that soon enough, Noah would be the only male once again.

  “Can you excuse us for a minute?” Ford asked, although what he wanted to do was bark at Noah to leave, rewind time, and do the opposite of everything he’d done since taking that emergency call that ended up being anything but.

  “You…” Violet struggled to swallow, and darkness crept through him, robbing him of every ounce of happiness he’d ever felt. “Did you know when you took the emergency call that other people would be there?”

  Ford opened his mouth, came up with a whole lot of nothing, and hung his head.

  More tears filled her eyes, one blink away from overflowing. “I told you that I needed you. I faced my dad and Cheryl alone. And while it went better than expected, that’s not the point. You promised me you’d do what you say. That you’d be there for me. I told you it was the one thing I needed, and it didn’t matter.”

  Violet tipped back her drink, a strangled choking sound coming out as she slammed the glass down on the bar. “I’m not the one who keeps bringing up marriage—you’re in a fucking wedding. If you’ll remember, I told you I’d given up weddings and men. You asked for my help being a good bridesmaid, and what’s worse is you led me to believe you were different from the rest.

  “And hello, people talk about kids—I suppose I do, too, since I have an adorable niece, who I love to pieces. Those are your issues, not mine.”

  “Oh, so you don’t want to get married?” His voice came out louder than he’d meant for it to, and he readjusted the volume. “You’re telling me that binder you carry around isn’t filled with the dream wedding you can’t wait to throw?”