Page 128 of Jack

Through the open door of the bathroom, Jack spotted Doyle in his usher’s attire, fixing his cuff links, his dark hair gelled, wearing a scrub of trimmed dark whiskers. He’d said little when Jack arrived at the rehearsal last night with Penelope—had simply given a tight nod and shaken Jack’s hand.

Walked away.

Memories, maybe.

Sometimes—more often than not—Jack wished he could wind up the past, recast it.

Conrad sat on the bed, already dressed in his gray tux, the shoulders tight.Someoneshould have taken more time to get it fitted. He was texting.

Possibly Penelope, given the way he’d looked at her last night, the worry in his gaze. The woman might not have been wrong about an impulsive romance.

Except, everything about her explanation sat inside him like a burr. It didn’t help that Harper had all but abandoned him at the rehearsal, and maybe that was petty, but?—

“Chin up, bro,” Stein said and finished tying. “Now, don’t touch it.” He turned Jack by the shoulders, back to the mirror. “Spiffy.”

Whatever.

“What’s that look?”

“Nothing.” Jack headed out of the room. The sooner he could get this day over?—

And then what?

Stein had followed him out of the room into Doyle’s massive master bedroom, where the brothers were getting ready. Oaken was at Grover House with his team.

The ladies had left early this morning for the Duck Lake Heritage Church, the first church in town, now a historical site used for exactly these occasions.

Well, not exactly this occasion, because the town had started to buzz with the arrival of paparazzi and Oaken’s celebrity guests. Even last night as Penelope was giving her statement at the sheriff’s office, most of the conversation from the gathering of deputies had centered on the various celebrity spottings.

“I saw Glo and Tate Marshall and their little girl.”

“And Kelsey Jones—she and her husband were here. She just dropped a solo album.”

“Ben King was at the Lumberjack’s Table tonight with some people. Saw it on Insta.”

“Mike Grizz showed up . . .”

Jack had tried to block it out, his arms folded as he leaned against the doorjamb and listened to Penelope attempt to describe her kidnapper.

Tried to get past the fact that he knew it—just knew it.

She’d constructed the entire thing. Even if it had gone south on her.

“What has you all dark and broody?”

Stein had come up behind him where Jack now stood at the window overlooking the snow on the lake, the sun shining through the trees. A glorious, blue-skied day, and everything would be fine. Probably.

“I don’t know.”

“I do,” Conrad said, pocketing his phone, getting up from where he sat on the end of the king bed. “It’s the wedding day.”

Jack frowned.

“Which means that tomorrow is . . .” He raised his eyebrows as if waiting for an answer.

“Leftover cake?” Jack offered.

Conrad laughed. “No, man. It’s fish-or-cut-bait day.”