Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 102523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
“Shit!” I hiss, jumping back and whirling to make sure no one’s noticed me.
But right inside the door is a woman looking at me with raised brows. She waves her hand, gesturing for me to come on in, and flashes a friendly smile.
Fuck! This will definitely be more fodder for the town grapevine.
I wave back but shake my head and mouth, “No, thanks.”
I need to find Winston and find out what the hell’s going on before I make even more of a fool of myself around town. But even in my haste, I peek down the street where Hazel disappeared, hoping for one more sighting. When I see the empty sidewalk, I growl at myself and my disappointment. “Enough of that shit, Wyatt. Get your head on right.”
And with that order to myself, I get in my truck and roar off to find Winston.
It’s easier than I expect, considering he’s set up at the kitchen table at home, with a laptop open in front of him and a spread of papers covering the glass surface.
“Hey, man,” I say. “Got my suit fitted, but you could’ve warned me about the Duchess’s grabby, stabby hands.”
Winston looks up in surprise, echoing, “Grabby, stabby hands?”
I mimic her cupping my ass a little more exaggeratedly than actually happened, and Winston grins.
“A little birdie also told me something,” I start, using our (not so) codename for Wren from when we were kids.
“No telling what she’s got up her sleeve now,” Winston says wryly.
“She said she’s a groomswoman, and you want me to be your best man?” It’s not that I doubt Wren, or more accurately Avery, but I need to hear it from Winston firsthand.
He leans back in the chair, crossing his arms. “And if I do?”
It’s more of a challenge than an invitation, but I guess I deserve that. “I would be honored to stand by your side. But I’d also understand if you wanted someone more . . . present.” It’s as close as I can get to acknowledging how long I’ve been gone and how out of touch I’ve become. I’m working on fixing that, at least for now, but I don’t have the right to expect a place of honor like best man.
Winston stands, coming around the table to offer his hand. “I wouldn’t have anyone else, man.”
I bypass his hand and grab him in a manly bear hug, patting his back as he slaps mine. So much is healed between us in this moment, and I’m struck with how much I’ve missed him.
As we sit down, I tell him, “I met your girl. She’s just as pretty as you said. Also, side note . . . she saw my junk.”
The bomb drops the way I thought it would, with Winston’s eyes going wide and then narrowing sharply. “Explain,” he orders.
I laugh. “Kidding. Sort of . . .” But as I tell him about my morning standing half-naked in a roomful of women, he’s the one laughing at my embarrassment.
Chapter 6
HAZEL
The bell above the entrance to Mrs. Hinsley’s shop tinkles when I come back in, and it somewhat snaps me back on task as I go to the back. Opening the door, I find Rachel and Wren already in their wedding attire. Rachel’s in her bridesmaid dress, an empire-waisted, silver-gray, sleeveless shift that’s absolutely the complete opposite of a stereotypical ugly bridesmaid dress, and Wren wears a slim pantsuit, gray tuxedo-style pants expertly cropped to show off her sky-high stilettos and ankles, a white silk shirt, and a vest that somehow covers and accentuates her figure at the same time, her jacket carried over her forearm.
“Damn, looks like we’ve got Victor and Victoria all at once,” I joke, and Wren grins as she strikes a model-worthy pose.
Before she can say anything, though, Cara snaps her fingers, a habit of hers I really don’t like. It feels like she’s snapping for a dog to obey or something. “Lovely ladies. Hazel, get changed quickly so I can see you all together. I need to make sure that the drape works with both of your figures.”
Apparently, we’re all stripping in the small room today, because Rachel’s and Wren’s clothes are on hangers on the wall. I’m glad Wyatt is gone. Despite his arrogant confidence at being nearly naked in a roomful of women, I would not strip down in front of him.
No way, no how.
Cara is still being a taskmaster, checking things on her tablet. “Wren, you’re wearing the necklace the bridesmaids are wearing, correct? To ahem, soften your look.”
“Soften?” Wren echoes with a bit of attitude, lifting an eyebrow. She’s as girly-girl as they come, the quintessential debutante, but she’s got an edge to her, and is more than willing to fuck with people’s heads just for shits and giggles. “Uh-huh. That’s me, soft as a lamb.” She examines her nails, which are filed to a respectable length but painted red with black french tips.