From This Moment On

by Addison Fox

  The tears vanished as quickly as they’d come and Sloan moved to stand behind her. Avery felt light fingers on the small row of buttons at her back as Sloan did up the dress.

  “Speaking of bitching, the dry spell is all your own fault if the almost-daily calls from Ireland are any indication.”

  Avery saw her own eyes widen in shock as she stared at herself in the mirror. “Who’s been telling?”

  “Sandy Stringer’s beside herself to share the news. Says he sounds like a dream, with this deep, seductive masculine voice that sounds like a cross between James Bond and Gerard Butler.”

  Avery shook her head at the report from their summer front-desk clerk and made a mental note to suggest Declan call her cell phone from now on.

  And no matter how much she wanted to fault Sandy, the woman had described Declan’s voice to a T.

  “I didn’t go to Ireland to get laid.”

  Sloan stood up after fastening the last button. Avery appreciated the warm, comforting hands that gripped her shoulders. “I didn’t come to Alaska to get laid but it didn’t stop me. And, for the record,” Sloan added before placing a quick kiss on Avery’s forehead, “it’s not getting laid if you really like the person.”

  Avery knew that. Knew it with every fiber of her being. She also suspected that for all her talk about being a lonely single girl not “getting any,” it was the fact that she wanted it to be special that kept her waiting.

  Not that Declan O’Mara wasn’t awfully special. But it just hadn’t been right, no matter how many times she’d tried to lose herself in his kisses before the big fireplace in his B and B in County Clare.

  Perfect location.

  Perfect timing.

  Perfect man.

  And still, she’d held back, a memory of vivid green eyes, dark hair and a mischievous smile she could remember since roughly the age of five haunting her thoughts and holding her back from taking the next step with Dec.

  Shaking it off, Avery ran her hands down the fitted bodice. “Sandy’s got a big mouth. There’s nothing going on between Declan O’Mara and me.”

  “But there could be.” Sloan’s voice singsonged next to her as she reached for a small, silver hair clip on the edge of the dresser. “That’s part of the fun.”

  “She’s blowing it out of proportion.”

  “And I love the fact that there’s something to blow.”

  Avery caught Sloan’s wry expression as her words registered to both of them.

  “You know what I mean.” Sloan giggled.

  “Oh I do. I’m also thinking with thoughts like those, maybe you shouldn’t be wearing white.” Avery winked at her, unable to hold back her own laughter.

  The door slammed open as Grier Thompson—the third member of their self-proclaimed Musketeers—walked through. “I hate both of you. I’m stuck downstairs calming Winnie’s nerves and the two of you are in here having a grand old time.”

  “How’d you escape? Did my mother finally pass out in a fit of the vapors?” Sloan glanced sideways from the dresser mirror as she positioned the silver clip in her hair.

  “Or did you just come up here to retrieve my crucifix?” Avery added as she began the hunt for the strappy heels that completed her outfit.

  “She’s mental, Sloan.” Grier dropped into the small chair Sloan had recently abandoned. “Scary mental.”

  “You were only with her for fifteen minutes.” Avery spotted the sexy shoes on the far side of her bed. “How bad could she be?”

  “You do not want to ask that question. In the fifteen minutes I was with her, she made the caterer cry, sent the florist off to redo her corsage and she went toe-to-toe with Sophie. And we all know that’s saying something.”

  Sloan whirled from the mirror, her vague air of concern shifting into a clear case of bridal jitters. “She’s fighting with Walker’s grandmother? Oh, God. I need to get down there.”

  Avery sensed Sloan’s intention and beelined for the door, closing it with a firm snap. “You don’t need to get in the middle of things. It’s your wedding day.”

  “Avery’s right. I made my escape because Sophie wanted to have a little conversation with Winifred. She shooed me out and forbade me to allow you anywhere near your mother until the photographer arrives for pictures.”

  “There will be no pictures if the mother of the bride and the grandmother of the groom end up having a cage fight in the bridal suite.”

  Grier was already up and out of the chair as Avery reached Sloan’s side. The two of them pulled Sloan toward the edge of the bed, and Grier put a soothing hand on Sloan’s back. “Come on, Sloan. Calm down.”

  “But it’s my wedding day.”

  “Which means both women will come to their senses and refrain from engaging in said cage fight.” Avery hoped like hell she was right about that one.

  “Avery’s right.” Grier patted Sloan’s back. “They’ll wait and save that for the baby shower.”

  A powerful laugh escaped Sloan and she leaned forward and clutched her stomach as several more giggles followed.

  Avery caught Grier’s eye over the top of Sloan’s head. Are we out of the woods? flashed between them as clearly as if they’d spoken to each other.

  “Some bridesmaids you two are.” Sloan gave each of them a teary smile before wrapping an arm around each of their waists.

  Avery hugged the two of them back, Sloan’s earlier words echoing in her ear. Her life had changed over the past year. In ways she’d never imagined.

  And two of the biggest reasons it had changed were the women sitting right here.

  For the first time in her life, she had good girlfriends whom she trusted implicitly. Women who had her back. Women who believed in her. Women who wanted the best for her.

  Sloan and Grier were her family and she hadn’t realized quite how much she missed having one until the two of them arrived in Indigo, Alaska, and raised its population to 714.

  A light knock on the door broke the spell.

  “It’s Lou. Can I come in and take a few pictures?”

  “I’m not dressed!” Sloan’s gaze shifted quickly to the dress.

  “Hang on!” Avery hollered toward the closed door as she and Grier worked in unison to remove Sloan’s gown from its hangars. “Okay, Sloan. It’s time to put on your wedding dress.”

  Avery didn’t miss Grier’s misty smile as she held the other side of the silk confection open for Sloan to step into. Nor could she miss the way her own throat tightened as they buttoned up the back of the dress.

  “Gorgeous,” Grier sighed.

  Sloan pulled both of them into a hug before her gaze drifted toward the door. “I’m ready.”

  “Come on in!” The three of them hollered in unison.

  In an act that ensured Sloan would have a day of photographs full of the most spontaneous memories, Lou came through the door with his camera up and caught the three of them wrapped up in one another’s arms, bright smiles reflecting their joy.

  • • •

  Roman Forsyth reached for another round of longnecks from the small cooler his mother had kindly thought to provide. He made quick work of the metal caps and handed the bottles to his two best friends, Mick O’Shaughnessy and the groom-to-be, Walker Montgomery.

  Walker took the bottle mid-pace across the hotel room they were using as a groom’s suite. “Did everything get here?”

  “I left all of it in Anchorage.” Mick took a long drag off his new bottle as Walker’s mouth fell. “Oh for God’s sake, I put everything in the damn plane myself this morning. And I was out of here at six a.m.. The least you could do is believe me when I tell you I have everything. Again.”

  Walker scrubbed a hand over his freshly shaven face. “Damn it. I’m sorry. It’s like I can’t keep anything in my head.”

  “Name the Bill of Rights,” Roman suggested. The finger gesture he got in return pretty much told him what Walker thought of that idea, but it did give him an opportunity to poke his friend a bit more.
“You were able to name them along with all the other amendments in the sixth grade. If you’ve forgotten that, Sloan McKinley has really gotten you good.”

  “Legs like that’ll do it every time,” Mick added as he raised his beer.

  “Yeah, but the brains, the smile and the open welcome for everyone she meets were the clincher.” A funny, lopsided grin spread across Walker’s face. “And she wants to marry me.”

  “There’s no accounting for taste,” Roman offered as he took a seat, careful to select just the right one.

  “Isn’t that the truth.” Mick nodded.

  Walker glanced up at that, the dreamy haze evaporating from his gaze. “You’ve got room to talk. Grier let you put a ring on her finger.”

  “And I count myself the luckiest of men,” Mick intoned, his voice solemn. “I count myself even luckier that she wants a wedding that’s small and intimate, with a minimum of fuss.”

  “Which is an improvement over her wanting you to drag her to Vegas,” Roman couldn’t resist adding. “I still don’t understand why you turned her down.”

  “I’m a romantic fellow, and Elvis officiating just didn’t fit the bill for what I have in mind.”

  Roman shook his head, a subtle sense of bemusement humming in his veins. He was happy for his friends’ leap into the married phases of their lives, but couldn’t quite understand when things had gone so sideways.

  They were the eternal bachelors.

  And now he was the only one left.

  “What time is it?” Walker’s voice pulled him from the maudlin thoughts that had dogged him with uncomfortable regularity these last six months.

  Roman stuck out his arm in an exaggerated gesture and dragged up his tuxedo sleeve to look at his wrist. “He’s improved, Mick. It’s been six minutes since the last time he asked.”

  A good-natured round of “you’re an asshole” later—a standard response their trio had practiced since middle school—ended with the three of them sitting in quiet solidarity.

  Walker broke the silence first. “You and Avery were awfully distant last night.”

  Roman chose his words with care, but couldn’t stop the slight edge of resentment that coated them. “I barely saw her. She was so busy flitting around the room talking about Ireland.”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve got sour grapes about the Irish, Boy-o.” Mick affected the lilting notes of his heritage in his tone. “Our fine lass was simply regaling our townfolk with tales of the Emerald Isle.”

  “It’s more the Irish asshole who can’t seem to leave her alone.”

  The words were out before he could stop them and as Roman took a reflective drag on his beer, he had to admit he didn’t want to.

  “So that’s what has you so torqued up.” Walker took the seat next to his and Roman stood to pace. It was bad enough he’d already let the cat out of the bag about Avery, he’d be damned if he’d share every fucking thing going on in his life right now.

  “He lives in Ireland. What the hell is he getting her hopes up for?”

  Mick’s words stopped him midpace. “So that’s why you’re pissed? You’re afraid she’ll get hurt.”

  “Damn straight. The man lives like a billion miles away. What is he expecting, calling her every damn day flirting with her?”

  Mick shook his head. “That’s how it works, man. I realize you’ve been living in the rarefied air of a celebrity athlete, where women throw themselves at you with wild abandon, but the rest of us have to work at it.”

  “Some call it a courtship ritual,” Walker added. “Maybe you’ve heard of it.”

  “What the hell is he courting her for?”

  Shitty peripheral vision or not, Roman didn’t miss the glances and raised eyebrows Walker and Mick exchanged across the room. It was Mick who spoke first. “He likes her, Roman. Is that so hard to believe?”

  “No. Of course not. She’s spectacular.”

  But it was Walker who put the proverbial nail in the coffin. “I hope you’d at least agree she deserves it.”

  • • •

  Avery watched Sloan walk down the aisle of the small, A-frame non-denominational church that dominated the end of Main Street and thought she’d never seen a more radiant bride. But it was Walker’s incandescent smile as their gazes met that would put any woman into sighs of ecstasy.

  Grier reached over and squeezed her hand, a bright smile shining through her tears. Avery squeezed back, the sappy feelings that had swamped her earlier winging back through her chest in a heady rush.

  So why the hell—in the middle of a moment of sweet, glorious perfection—did she clamp eyes on her ex-boyfriend across the aisle?

  Roman stared back at her, that green gaze as compelling as it was when she was sixteen. Add in the fact that all six-foot-four feet of him was decked out in a tuxedo that had to be custom-fit and her traitorous body gave a leap of appreciation that wasn’t quite appropriate for church.

  One dark eyebrow lifted in silent challenge and Avery fought the urge to stick out her tongue.

  Damn the man, he’d make a stripper blush with those bedroom eyes and thick luscious hair that just begged to be mussed.

  And wasn’t that just the problem?

  Everything was way too easy for Roman and it always had been.

  It had just taken her too long to understand that fact.

  Dragging her gaze away, Avery focused on the bride. Grier took Sloan’s flowers as she took her place beside Walker and Avery did a quick refluffing of the train so it lay evenly on the aisle.

  Jobs completed, she and Grier met Mick and Roman, where they escorted them the few brief steps to their front pew seats. Roman took her arm, and it took everything inside of her to keep her gaze straight and her smile firmly fixed as the entire town of Indigo looked on with interest.

  “You look beautiful.”

  Avery swallowed hard at the warm breath in her ear, those inconvenient feelings rising once more in a hard clutch of her belly.

  “Thank you.”

  She took her seat, the words playing over and over in her mind.

  So many images stood out in her memories of the two of them, but the one that held the top of the list was the year they began to notice each other as more than friends. Roman had whispered in her ear in the middle of a soccer match on the town square. He’d told her where to line up a shot and she’d nearly melted into a puddle as his words skittered down her spine, light as a feather and as powerful as an avalanche.

  The sensation had taken her so off guard—in a mixture of inexperience and the sudden change in a relationship she’d had since grade school—had taken her so off guard that she’d pushed him away with a smart-ass retort. But she’d thought about his words long into the night, wrapped up in her tiny bed in the back room of her mother’s house.

  Clearly not much had changed in eighteen years.

  “You ready?”

  Avery felt Grier’s quick poke to her thigh and realized she’d nearly missed her cue along with most of the ceremony. She and Grier returned to the altar to help Sloan with her dress, then moved to the side as Mick and Roman stepped forward to flank Walker.

  Mick produced two shining platinum bands from his vest pocket and laid them on the reverend’s open Bible.

  Avery watched with rapt fascination as Walker slid the band effortlessly on Sloan’s finger and moments later when her friend returned the gesture. And when the couple kissed for the first time as husband and wife, the entire church let up a cheer.

  Walker and Sloan began their walk back down the aisle and Mick and Grier followed. It was only when Roman took her arm once more to begin their procession through the church that a thin layer of panic seized her.

  Broad smiles greeted them as they moved down the aisle, making slow progress as many guests stopped Walker and Sloan with hugs. Hooch MacGilvray even threw her a big wink which his wife, Chooch, responded to with an oversized elbow to the stomach.

  Roman seemed oblivious as they walked, his a
rm locked steadily with hers. She snuck a glance at his chiseled profile and—miracles of miracles—it looked as if he’d missed Chooch and Hooch’s antics. As if sensing her attention, he turned with a smile.

  “I haven’t felt this on display since I did a calendar shoot for charity.”

  Avery sucked in an involuntary breath. She’d seen that calendar when someone had brought a copy for Roman’s mother, Susan. She’d even given herself permission to go look at it late one night when she was manning the front desk by herself.

  Long ropes of muscles defined his arms from shoulder to wrist and thick ridges sculpted his abdomen. He’d always been well-built, but the man that stared back at her from the photograph, wearing nothing but a strategically placed towel, had taken her breath away.

  He was magnificent.

  A warrior.

  And he had been as foreign to her as if a stranger stared back from the page.

  Pulling herself back from the heated memory, Avery just shrugged as those inconvenient flutters once again filled her stomach. “Small towns.”

  A slight smile grooved his cheeks as he leaned in once more. “So why don’t we really give them something to talk about?”