Casey’s eyebrows raised a notch. “Really?”
“Of course.” He glanced at Bri, but his mimicking of her own words didn’t seem to register with her.
“Awesome.” Casey leaned over and slapped him a high five. “You guys are the best! It takes a village, you know?”
Apparently.
“I’ll see you soon. Text me if you want to tag along for a pedi.” She hugged Bri again before dashing off, humming “Here Comes the Bride.”
Like Bri would have time for something like doing her nails in the midst of all this sudden chaos. How in the world was she going to manage to pull this off?
He glanced back at her, but she wouldn’t look at him, keeping her eyes trained on her pizza instead. Good thing—she’d made him way too vulnerable earlier. Casey interrupting had been divine intervention, saving him from doing something stupid. Like admitting his misplaced, misunderstood attraction to Bri.
Or leaning over the syrup-sticky table and pressing his lips against hers.
He’d been uncharacteristically emotional, that was all. He was tired, ready to go home, and worried about his mom. He’d spent way too long in this romance-saturated town.
Bri finally looked up. This time, he was ready. He kept his expression neutral.
“That was really nice of you to offer to help.” She pulled off another pepperoni and this time, at least, nibbled on it. “I know weddings aren’t your thing.”
“Sure, no problem. I’ll be writing about this for part two of the article, anyway, so it’s all good. Might as well write it from an up-close, hands-on perspective.” He hoped his casual tone convinced Bri he was doing this for himself and the sake of the feature—and not to save her.
She nodded, averting her eyes.
He still didn’t know what was wrong with her but couldn’t ask a second time. That had been close—too close. He couldn’t risk getting that up front and personal again. In fact, he’d better stay as far from Bri as he could for the next week.
Except he’d just volunteered to help her set up a wedding.
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
Bri stretched taller on the chair she’d dragged outside, straining to wrap the second layer of purple gauze around the arch Casey had convinced Jimmy from Johnson’s General to let her borrow for free. The kind old man with a penchant for plaid shirts had delivered it an hour ago, and the chairs and tables were supposed to be coming soon. Casey’s last-minute request had everyone in town eager to help—and had served to distract Bri from the gloomy cloud that had enveloped her since her attic discovery last night.
She tugged the material around the curve of the arch, wobbling slightly in her ankle boots as she rose to her toes. She probably should have taken her shoes off, but it was too cold.
Her mind raced with the seemingly never-ending to-do list as she adjusted the sheer fabric around the white wood, which would serve as a backdrop and parameter of sorts for the reception. She couldn’t let herself forget about the cakes cooling on the counter for the petit fours. Once they were ready, she’d torte them and spread on the lemon-berry filling that was still chilling in the fridge. By then the other round of cakes should be ready to come out of the oven. Then she could come back outside and arrange the chairs, if they’d arrived yet. If not, she’d sweep off the stepping-stones leading to the fountain before she had to go back and ice the petit fours.
Thankfully, Mabel and Agnes were inside the Puff, keeping the coffee fresh and taking care of customers while Bri handled the wedding prep.
She wondered briefly if Gerard would actually show up to help as he’d mentioned at Taylor’s, but then decided she shouldn’t care. She could handle this—Casey deserved it, and she’d offered, after all. It was just a matter of multitasking and keeping a close eye on her watch. She’d set a phone alarm just in case, to prevent anything from burning.
Although, on second thought, that proactive attempt might have been more successful if her phone was actually in her pocket, not inside on the bakery counter.
Bri smoothed the fabric over the curve of the frame. Almost done, and she could go check on the cakes and grab her phone. But a piece snagged on a nail, and she reached higher to free it. It wouldn’t budge—and she couldn’t risk ripping it. She didn’t have more material.
She blew a stray strand of hair out of her face, then rose on her tiptoes, fingers anxiously grasping for the steel culprit. She held her breath as she attempted to wrestle the fabric free. Almost . . . there . . .
She stretched too far, and suddenly there was no more chair. Just air, and the rapidly approaching, sparse winter grass. She squeezed her eyes shut and threw her arms out to catch herself—but her fingers grasped fabric instead of dirt.
She opened her eyes, and her gaze collided with a becoming-too-familiar broad chest, covered in a hunter green, long-sleeved T-shirt. Her reluctant knight in shining armor, once again.
“Easy there, Cupcake.” Gerard lowered her to the ground, his hands lingering on her waist a moment longer than necessary. Or did they? Wishful thinking?
No. They definitely lingered.
Her hips burned at the contact, and her heart lodged somewhere up in her throat. She coughed, and he quickly let her go, his fingers flexing twice as if shaking off an electric current. He’d felt it too.
She straightened her sweatshirt and quickly reached up to tighten her ponytail. “Good timing.” Or the worst. Maybe hitting the ground would have been better. A lot less confusing for her heart, at least.
He eased backward a few steps, his eyes guarded. “You won’t be a very good maid of honor if you’re on crutches.”
“There isn’t a wedding party. It’s going to be just them and the two little girls.” Thank goodness. She could only imagine trying to add maid-of-honor duties to her already overflowing wedding plate. Though
