Hard Wood Page 8

  Then into the phone, she says, “Hey, can I call you back in two minutes?”

  And that tells me all I need to know. The evening activity is over.

  She hangs up and gestures to the plant. “I ordered a little gift for Zeus. To thank him for being such a good companion. Want to let him sniff it?”

  And I can’t be annoyed. “You got him catnip?”

  She crinkles her nose, her dimples in full force. “I did. Is that okay? He’s not allergic to catnip, is he?”

  I laugh. “He’s not allergic to anything. He’s very manly,” I say, glancing to the sleeping king, who’s chosen the TV stand as his evening nap spot.

  She presses her hands together. “I feel terrible, but I really have to deal with this call. It’s only five on the West Coast.”

  “Go,” I say with a smile, picking up the box with her veggie burger and handing it to her. “Cat beauty calls.”

  She smiles. “It does.” She takes a deep breath. “I’ll see . . .”

  “I’ll see you at the wedding,” I say, finishing for her. I’ve just spent the last four days putting Mia back in the friend zone, and now I’ve gladly jumped back to elevator land with her in mere minutes.

  But I need to figure out what the hell to do with the big problem. The problem I can’t fix. The miles. I need the time to process what the hell all this means.

  Other than the obvious.

  She’s trying to get my cat high.

  14

  The Rolling Stones’ “Beast of Burden” bounces from the old sound system at Joe’s Sticks as the groom misses an easy shot.

  “Damn,” Chase says, shaking his head as he regards the pool table disdainfully, then his hands. “Where did my hand-eye coordination go? I can’t believe anyone lets me operate on them with these hands.”

  “Time to turn your license in,” his best bud, Wyatt, says from across the green felt.

  “Or maybe”—I lean against my pool cue—“Chase could be throwing the game on purpose because he really wishes we took him to Scores for his bachelor party.”

  Chase laughs, dragging a hand through his light brown hair. “Yeah, you guys are cramping my style by bringing me here instead of to the land of G-strings and fake boobs.”

  I point the stick at him, narrowing my eyes. “Admit it. You have a stack of one-dollar bills burning a hole in your pocket."

  “Tell the truth, Dr. Summers,” Wyatt says, his blue eyes narrowing, his tone toughening as if he’s trying to shake him down.

  Chase holds up his hands in surrender, then drops his head forlornly. “The truth wins out. All I ever wanted was to throw money at women I’ll never have and don’t want.”

  “Isn’t that the truth?” Max adds with a nod as he makes his way around the table, lining up a shot.

  Joe’s is our regular haunt, and for the record, a strip club was never in the cards for tonight. But good friends, good beer, and a few competitive rounds of pool are an ideal trio before we send Chase down the aisle tomorrow. I came here directly from work, and it has been a crazy day, cramming in not only my segment on first aid in the woods for WRBC Channel 10, but also a meeting with Dana, our reservations manager, to review some upcoming trips, including some potential ongoing clients. Those are some of my favorite kinds, and as we assigned leaders for the tours, I told her which ones I wanted to handle myself. I signed off on the employee handbook, too, and boy, am I glad that our rules have tightened now. That’s a huge weight off my shoulders.

  Oh, but that’s not all. Mia and I texted on and off throughout the day. She told me the bridesmaids are taking Josie to see Hamilton tonight as a surprise, since Josie’s been dying to see it, and Mia planned to throw her bra at the stage during the curtain call, since it was a bachelorette party, after all.

  I’ve no doubt that’s precisely what the theater likes its patrons to do, I’d replied.

  Good thing it’s showtime at the musical, otherwise I’d be tempted to check for a message from her. Doing that with Max nearby feels all kinds of wrong. Though, truth be told, feeling the way I do and not telling him feels all kinds of wrong, too.

  Spencer takes a swallow from his beer then sets the bottle down. “C’mon, what could be better than the six of us at a strip club? Half of us are married, with one more to go tomorrow, and Max on deck in another few months, while Wyatt already has a kid at home.”

  At the end of the table, Nick pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Not to mention, one third of us have pregnant wives.”

  “Hear, hear. To my soon-to-be-born son,” Spencer says, raising his beer, then tipping it in Nick’s direction. “And my soon-to-be-born nephew, even though it’s still a weird concept that you’re going to be related to my nephew.”

  “Yeah, I’ll just be, ya know, his father,” Nick deadpans. Spencer’s wife, Charlotte, is due in a month, and Harper, Nick’s wife and Spencer’s little sister, isn’t far behind.

  Spencer shakes his head, as if this is all too much to digest. “Still strange that you’re married to my sister.”

  “Speaking of sisters, how’s Mia doing?” Wyatt asks, directing his question at Chase and Max. “Natalie and I didn’t see her much this week.”

  “She’s been running around for work,” Chase answers.

  “Building her business has been pretty all-consuming,” Max adds, looking at Chase.

  Something seems to pass between them. Absently, I scratch my jaw, wondering what it is.

  Then, my conscience nags at me. I need to let Max know what’s going on, and I’m not talking about that hot-as-sin kiss on the couch last night. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, and I've come to a decision. I need to tell him what's in my heart for her, and that needs to happen ASAP. Maybe even tonight. I’ll have to search for the right moment.

  A little later, Max clears his throat and raises his beer bottle in a toast. "To my brother, Chase. The happiest guy around. Josie is perfect for you, and we've always known it. I'm thrilled that you're marrying her, and may you always be not just the happiest guy around—but even happier."

  Chase looks almost embarrassed, but also ridiculously delighted. The dude is, quite simply, madly in love with his bride.

  Wyatt claps slowly. “To the golden boy. May your life with my sister always be golden.”

  Nick lifts his beer. “I’ll second that, since Josie’s my sister, too.”

  Spencer nods from Chase to Nick. “You two should form a club. The Society for Dudes Who Fell for Their Friend’s Sisters.”

  Max laughs. “Don’t even think of looking at me. Henley is related to none of you fuckers.”

  “Nor is Charlotte.” Spencer’s eyes land on me. “And what about you, Captain Outdoors? Are you the next one?”

  I force out a laugh then take a hearty gulp of my beer to hide the fact that he’s nailed it, whether he knows it or not.

  Max shakes his head, chuckling. “Guys. It's Chase’s night. Let’s keep it that way.”

  And that ends my search for an opening. Tonight is not the time to tell Max that I absolutely want to be the next one in the club.

  15

  I stroll across one of the bridges in Central Park, on my way to the wedding at the boathouse. When I reach the steps heading to the ceremony, I spot a familiar silhouette in the crowd of guests milling about in front of the doors. A blond woman, wearing a sky-blue dress, is chatting with a couple. When she finishes her conversation, I call Evie’s name.

  She whirls around and waves when she sees me.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” I say as I reach her. Her date and some of our mutual friends are chatting a few feet away.

  “And you. What a surprise,” she teases as she throws her arms around me. I bend lower and give her a bear hug.

  “How many weddings a year is it for you now?”

  “This would be my tenth in the last twelve months,” she says with a note of pride.

  “And of those, how many are because of you?”

  �
��Five,” she says, beaming.

  We high-five each other. “You are the Queen of Love. And when will yours be?” I ask, my gaze drifting pointedly to her date, a brainiac Internet genius who makes her so damn happy it’s crazy. Dylan’s talking with his sister.

  Evie blushes and lowers her voice cautiously. “I’m not sure, but I have a feeling he’s been ring shopping.”

  “Dylan’s no idiot. He knows a damn good thing when he sees it.”

  Evie steps closer and adjusts my purple tie, knotting it tighter. “I swear, it’s like men never know how to tie these. You spend so much time in shorts. And what about you?”

  “What about me? Do I know how to tie a tie? I believe I do,” I say with a smirk.

  She gently swats me. “I mean, what about you and Mia?”

  I let a smile cross my lips. Evie’s bright blue eyes—the same shade as mine—twinkle with excitement. The last time she asked me about Mia, nothing had happened between us. And while I’m not one to kiss and tell, I do want my sister’s advice.

  I cup her elbow and gently guide her away from the other guests. “Listen, I need to ask something, Ev. Have you ever known a couple in a long-distance relationship where it worked?”

  She beams. “Yes. Silly. Is that why you’ve held back with Mia?”

  I shrug. “Kind of.”

  “And now?” Her voice is laced with excitement.

  “Well, I know she’s into me. I’m not sure if it’s to the same degree, but I guess I’m tired of pretending I’m not completely—”

  “Besotted with her?”

  I point a finger at her in acknowledgement. “Guilty as charged.”

  She claps her hands and bounces on her toes. “I knew it. I knew it all along. And no, I don’t think it’s crazy to pursue something with someone who lives far away. Yes, I think it’s absolutely harder. I won’t kid you about that. But it happens. It’s real. Sometimes you fall in love with someone who lives halfway around the world.” My sister’s eyes turn dreamy.

  “Mia isn’t halfway around the globe,” I point out.

  Evie arches an eyebrow. “But the other part?”

  “What part? The falling part?”

  “Falling in—” She stops, her voice going softer. “The most important question is this—how would you feel if you never took the chance to let her know you wanted a relationship, damn the miles between you?”

  “How would I feel . . .” I repeat, musing on the words.

  An usher dings a bell, and that ends the conversation. It’s time to head inside the boathouse and take our seats. A sign reads, “This is an unplugged ceremony. Please turn off your cell phones and be present with us.” I do as instructed, then grab a white wooden chair in the second row next to Dylan and Evie. A wall of glass windows provides a stunning view of the water. The groomsmen enter from the side, followed by the best man—that’s Max—and Chase, the man of the hour. They stand by the glass at the front.

  A professional photographer is poised at the entryway, ready to do his job. A string quartet picks up their bows and plays something that sounds like Beethoven. All eyes turn to the doors. A bridesmaid I don’t know comes in first. She might be Lily. The name sounds familiar.

  When the first bridesmaid is ten feet down the aisle, Mia enters.

  My sister’s words ring in my ears.

  How would you feel if you never took the chance?

  They repeat in my head as I stare. I can’t take my eyes off her.

  She wears a yellow dress and clutches a bouquet of daisies. Her hair is twisted up, but several caramel-blond strands fall softly around her face. As she walks down the aisle, my heart battles to break out of my chest and run to her.

  Those dimples I adore.

  Those eyes I want to look into.

  Those lips I want to kiss.

  As she nears the front, her gaze locks firmly with mine, and I swear I can see her mouth form the barest word. A hi just for me.

  A few more bridesmaids enter and join the wedding party at the front, but I lose track of who’s who and who’s here because I can’t stop looking at Mia, even when the bride enters to “Ode to Joy.”

  I try to focus on the ceremony, on the words the officiant says to Chase and an absolutely radiant Josie, who’s as beautiful as any bride. He pledges to love her for the rest of his life, and she vows to do the same, and soon platinum bands encircle their fingers, and the groom kisses the bride as claps and cheers erupt throughout the boathouse.

  How would I feel?

  Like I’d missed the greatest chance of my life.

  Mia’s the one, no matter how far or how close she is, and I’ll tell her as soon as I get her in my arms.

  16

  In the rom-com movies my sister made me watch growing up—and by made me, I mean she baked the most delicious brownies and I was only allowed to eat them if I watched her chick flicks—the hero runs to the heroine and tells her right away when he realizes precisely how he feels.

  In real life, there’s a lot of waiting around.

  A lot of small talk.

  A lot of “how do you know the groom and bride” and “what do you do” conversations with people I’ll never talk to again. That’s okay. I don’t mind. I’m good at small talk, and frankly, it’s part of my job. But it occupies an inordinate amount of my evening and makes it damn hard to find a spare moment with the sister of the groom.

  Since she’s in the wedding party, the photographer whisks the crew away shortly after the ceremony to snap sunset photos of the group. I down a glass of champagne, eat some kind of mushroom appetizer, and chat with friends, family, and random doctors from Chase’s hospital. When they learn what I do, they seem particularly interested in sharing stories about some of the most absurd outdoor injuries they’ve treated, from gnarly broken bones to dangerous wild animal bites. It’s like we’re on two sides of the equation. I’ve seen or heard of the mishaps as they occurred, and they’ve treated them.

  “What about you? Ever been injured in the woods?” a doctor with glasses and a crooked nose asks.

  “Sure. I’ve had my share of wounds, from a broken arm to a sprained ankle. But hey, I’ve never been skunked or bitten by a raccoon, so there’s that.” I tap a wooden beam for luck. “And I’ve managed to avoid tripping on twigs.”

  The guy laughs. “You don’t want to end up with a twig in the wrong place.”

  And I don’t want to think about what that place would be, either, so I politely excuse myself.

  These random conversations continue throughout the evening, into the reception, and during the dinner itself. At one point, Mia swishes past me, stopping briefly to whisper, “Nice tie.”

  “Nice everything,” I say.

  She purses her lips and blows me the barest of kisses.

  Then she’s gone, chatting with her mother, chatting with her father, talking to Max. I keep myself busy, catching up on the latest from Dylan and his identical twin, Flynn. Honestly, if Dylan weren’t holding my sister’s hand, I’d be hard-pressed to tell the brothers apart.

  The evening unfurls into toasts, laughter, delicious food, buzz-worthy champagne, and more happiness than I’ve ever seen in one place. Chase and Josie move onto the deck for their first dance as husband and wife, and when “Overjoyed” by Matchbox Twenty ends, they dance through another song, then another, as more guests join in.

  One of the groomsmen rises, and for a second, I think he’s going to ask Mia to dance. I’m not okay with that. Not in the least.

  I stand, cut a path across to her, and hold out my hand. “Dance with me.”

  Her smile lights up her face. “I was hoping you’d ask.”

  Out on the dance floor, we join dozens of couples. Mia’s parents, Josie’s parents, Spencer’s parents, and Charlotte’s parents, too. Max and Henley laugh as they shimmy, and I faintly remember him mentioning once that Henley loves to salsa and had taken him to dancing lessons. I knew then she was the one for him, hook, line, and sinker. I’d neve
r thought anyone could lure Max to a dance floor. But now he twirls his fiancée in a circle. He doesn’t even balk when he sees me take Mia in my arms.

  She places her arms on my shoulders, and mine circle her hips, as chastely as I can manage. The lights on the deck twinkle, and the stars wink in the night sky. Tall buildings in Manhattan tower around us, sprinkling their own light in an iridescent nighttime painting.

  Mia fiddles with my tie, running her fingers over the knot. “So where’s your plus-one?” she asks, staring at the knot.

  “I’m hoping she’s right here. And you?”

  She smiles, the kind of smile she can’t seem to contain. “The same might be true for me.” Instinctively, I wrap my hands tighter around her hips.

  “We fit,” she says softly, just for me. The way she looks at me triggers a rush of heat across my skin.

  “I’d say we fit incredibly well.”

  “Do we?”

  “We do, Mia.” I want to bring her closer, kiss her till she’s drunk on me.

  “I know.” She swallows, waiting for more, it seems.

  Good. I want to go first. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  “You mean the other night?” she asks, her voice like a feather. “You can’t stop thinking about the other night?”

  I shake my head. “No. Just you. Everything about you.”

  A smile tugs at her lips. “Everything?”

  “Every single thing,” I say, taking my time with each word. “Kissing you. Touching you. Knowing you.”

  “But there are reasons . . .”

  I shake my head and lift her chin. “I don’t care about the reasons not to be with you,” I say, my voice low but firm, because once you realize you might miss out on the greatest chance ever, the reasons shrink to nothing. “I don’t care about the miles. I don’t care that we live on different coasts. All I care about is how I feel, not only when I’m near you, but when I think of you. Don’t you see how you make me feel?”

  “How do I make you feel?”

  My gaze drifts down, taking in the view of her in my arms. Her strong, toned body, the lines of her neck, the softness of her skin. I dip my face near her neck, ever so subtly inhaling her. She intoxicates me. “Like my body is humming. Like I’m vibrating. Everything crackles when I’m with you.”