Page 53 of The Wedding Fake
“Of course.”
She leaned in, as if disclosing a deeply held secret. “I’m in love with Cranberry Falls.” She licked her ice cream and looked around her. “It’s like an actual Hallmark movie come to life. It’s adorable.”
“It’s even better at Christmas.”
She dropped her head back, her free hand falling to her breast. I smiled at the motion, able to perfectly picture the glorious breasts hidden beneath that appendage. “I have to visit at Christmas.”
My attention fell back to my ice cream cone, licking along the edge to keep it from getting drippy and to keep me from thinking about the fact she didn’t say we needed to come back. I knew she didn’t intend to be with me in three months, but more and more I wished the option was on the table. “I love it here, too,” I acknowledged, and her expression grew soft.
“Being here all day,” she began tentatively, “did it help you or hurt you?”
The idea to bring Claire to Cranberry Falls had been an impulse born of the love I still held for the little town. I wasn’t sure why I didn’t consider how hard it would be—after all, I’d avoided visiting home whenever I could over the past couple years—but I hadn’t. I’d pictured Claire’s green eyes lighting up as I showed her around, which was exactly what happened. And though every corner came with a gut punch of memories, they’d been easier to handle with her by my side.
“It helped, I think.”
She beamed. “Oh, good. I hated the idea you were having to tolerate a tortuous day.” She spun her cone as she licked, and my gaze followed her tongue, then shifted to her eyes, which were a little crossed as she looked at her ice cream. The sight made me grin. Today had been a day full of introspection and wrenching emotions, but it didn’t take much introspection to know I was falling hard for this woman.
26
CLAIRE
From the corner of my eye, I could see Hudson reading.
The wedding was set to take place behind a local bed and breakfast. I’d already rehearsed walking down the aisle twice, but a third time seemed likely. My sisters, Nora’s childhood girlfriends, and I were perfectly adequate at walking, and Grant, who walked in front of me with Tess, hadn’t had an issue, but the other four groomsmen—all friends of Ethan—hadn’t managed the trek down the aisle without constant silliness. The wedding planner, Nora, and both sets of parents had already appealed to the men—grown-ass men, I noted (it’s no wonder the dating scene was so abysmal, when this was what men were like)—to behave, but Ethan continued to giggle at his friends’ antics, and they seemed to find this good enough reason to continue.
“Back to the beginning. We need one clean march and then you’re free to go to dinner,” the wedding planner begged.
“Just walk,” I muttered under my breath.
Emily was far less quiet. “If you do something stupid this time I swear to Christ I will punch you in the throat,” she snapped at her escort, shooting a warning glare to the other men, who looked on with goofy grins.
The wedding planner clapped twice. “Are we ready?”
Hudson stood, slipping the paperback into his back pocket, which only made him sexier.
“Yes ma’am,” said my escort, who’d been introduced only as Jock, which I hoped was not his given name. Jock snorted as the planner worried her lip and hurried back up the aisle.
“Walk slowly, follow the beat,” the planner said, nodding along to the beat of the wedding march as Tess and Grant began. “When you get to the front of the aisle, here,” she said, gesturing, “you will pause momentarily for the photographer.”
Jock put out his elbow and I slipped my hand through. Technically, I’d been part of the problem on their last practice run, since Jock had laced his fingers into mine where my hand rested on his bicep, and I’d wiggled out of his grasp. “No squirming,” the planner had chided, and I’d turned a dark shade of pink.
Now, Jock leaned close to my ear. I flinched away, the quick twitch of my shoulder meant to make Jock fall back in line. From the corner of my eye, I saw Hudson edge closer, his lovely dark eyes currently narrowed dangerously, but I didn’t make eye contact, since I worried Hud would rush in and disturb our third attempt at walking. “Do you want to do a spin at the end for our picture?” Jock asked.
I shot him a disgruntled look. “No,” I hissed, trying to speak like a ventriloquist so they wouldn’t have to stop again.
To our right, Hudson stood in the first row of chairs, moving ever closer to the aisle where Jock and I marched. “Just walk and smile,” I huffed through closed lips. Jock walked, and maybe he smiled—I couldn’t see—but he also flexed his bicep under my touch. Over and over again, forcing my hand to curl around his hardened muscle.
In fairness to Jock, it was a perfectly lovely muscle—it probably would’ve been sexy on another man at another time—my mind jumped to Hudson’s strong arms—but walking down the aisle at someone else’s wedding was not the time to grope or be groped.
At the front of the aisle, I smiled wide for the fake photographer, maintaining my forced grin even as Jock blinked at me flirtatiously, though my every instinct was to reject him loudly and publicly.
The vast majority of onlookers were watching the aisle, waiting for Nora and probably crossing their fingers that these knuckleheads would stop screwing up the rehearsal, but I was looking at Hudson. He wasn’t looking at me, though. At present, his eyes were fixed on Jock as we split up and Jock approached his spot near where Hudson currently stood.
I could see Hudson lean closer to Jock and whisper something, but I couldn’t read his lips well enough to guess at what he’d said. Jock’s eyes widened slightly and he rolled his lips between his teeth. Jock’s eyes were locked forward, but Hudson looked at me, and I smiled, big and wide and absolutely genuine.
His hand was so much bigger than mine—nearly big enough to cover my whole thigh where it sat splayed, and I traced over every vein and tendon with my eyes, knowing I’d need these little scraps of memory next week, when this was done.
What a maudlin way to think, I reminded myself. I should be enjoying the moment rather than dreading its inevitable end.