Page 11 of Lumberjack Bride
Four
Leo
I wakeup and my first thought is Hazel.
That isn’t unusual. I can’t remember a morning (outside of the last fortnight, of course) when I didn’t immediately roll over and reach for her warm body in the dark.
It starts with a soft caress along her arm and she’ll roll toward me out of reflex. Her head will hit my shoulder and we’ll snooze together until I absolutely have to get up and go to work.
I reach out but she’s not there. My groin twitches in disappointment. Morning sex isn’t that unusual, either.
The next time I touch her, she’ll be my wife.
I’m getting married tomorrow. There’s nothing left to plan. The guests have RSVP’d. The cake and flowers are ready for delivery. The only thing left to do is say some vows and I’ve had those on the tip of my tongue for weeks now.
The doorbell rings. I shift off the bed and throw on a shirt and jeans before heading downstairs.
I open the door to find Bobby standing on my porch holding two six-packs of beer, his eyes obscured with thick, black sunglasses. Pearl hovers behind him with her watchful, unblinking gaze from her usual spot by the stairs.
“So…” he says, sliding his sunglasses off, “when you agreed to no strippers yesterday, was that real or like a wink-wink nudge-nudge kind of thing?”
I step back, keeping the door open. “No strippers, Bobby,” I say.
“God, fine. I was just testing you.” He follows me inside with Pearl on his heels. “You know, like a good best man should.”
I whistle. “Pearl, come on.”
She relaxes and abandons him in favor of rushing toward her food bowl.
“Overprotective mutt,” Bobby says, playfully. “You’ve only known me for like… five years. Give me a break.”
I laugh. “So, what brings you out here so early?”
He sets the beer down on my counter. “Just finishing up some work at the office,” he says. “Found a stack of papers you forgot to sign.”
“Really?”
“No, I’m just messing with you.” He smirks. “Like a good best man should.”
I sigh as I scoop some food into Pearl’s bowl.
“Man, you really miss her, don’t you?” he asks. “Your sense of humor’s gone to shit.”
“I’m just a little... tense, that’s all.”
“I can imagine.”
He slides a can toward me and takes one for himself.
“Bob, it’s ten in the morning,” I point out.
“So?” He flicks his open. “It’s your last day as a free man. I think that vindicates a little day-drinking. Also, this is the first day of the first vacation the two of us have taken in like a million years, so yeah…” He raises his can. “Cheers.”
I exhale, following his lead. “Cheers.”
We both take a few chugs. It feels heavy on my empty stomach, so I turn to the fridge to grab some lunch meat and bread.
Bobby clears his throat. “So, one day away,” he says.