The Bachelor Takes a Bride (Those Engaging Garretts!)

by Brenda Harlen

  12 med wings would go good with the pizza and wine :)

  He stepped behind the counter and peeked through the window into the take-out kitchen.

  “Hey, Rafe—how long would it take for a dozen wings?”

  “Ten minutes,” his cousin said, already with tongs in hand to count them out and toss them into the fryer basket. “You want ’em extra hot?”

  “Medium,” he said. He figured it wouldn’t take Jordyn long to realize she’d left her phone behind, and when she came back for it, hopefully the wings would be ready for her.

  “Your taste buds getting soft in your old age?” Rafe teased, dropping the basket into the hot oil.

  “They’re not for me.”

  He returned his attention to her phone—feeling a little like the prince left at the ball with no clue to Cinderella’s identity except a single glass slipper. The phone wasn’t nearly as sexy as a shoe, but at least it was something.

  The bell over the door rang and he glanced up to greet the new customer, but the words died in his throat when she walked in. Obviously it had taken less time than he’d anticipated for Jordyn to realize she’d left her phone—the phone that was currently in his hand.

  In the bright light of the take-out area, he could see her clearly now: smooth, creamy skin; a delicate heart-shaped face; and short, dark hair dripping with rain. Her eyes were dark green and framed by thick, long lashes.

  He’d thought the dress she wore was black, but he could see now that it was a deep shade of purple. But he’d been right about her curves—the sleeveless sheath style hugged her feminine shape in all the right places. The wedge heels on her feet made it difficult to accurately estimate her height, but he guessed that she was about five feet five inches tall.

  Her fingernails were neatly trimmed and unpolished, her makeup subtle. Earrings dangled from her ears, colorful purple and silver beads on different lengths of chain jingled as she moved, suggesting a playful side that contrasted with the simple dress and no-fuss hairstyle.

  She was simply and spectacularly beautiful, and in that moment, the possibility that had been teasing the back of his mind—and nudging at his heart—since that first quick glimpse through the rain became a certainty.

  “Nonna’s going to love hearing that she was right.”

  Neatly arched brows drew together. “I beg your pardon?”

  He shook his head. “Sorry. My mind was wandering.”

  “A wandering mind and sticky fingers,” she noted.

  “Huh?”

  She gestured to the phone in his hand. “That’s mine.”

  “Oh. You left it on the counter.”

  “Apparently.”

  He held it out to her.

  When she reached for it, her fingertips brushed against his—and he felt it again, an arrow of heat straight through his heart. She snatched her hand away quickly, making him suspect that she’d felt the same thing—or at least something.

  “That’s it?” she said. “No explanation for reading my text messages? No apology?”

  “You left the phone on the counter—I was only trying to figure out who it belonged it to.”

  “Me,” she said again.

  “And you are?”

  “Hoping to get home before my pizza’s cold.” And with that, she turned away.

  “Wings up,” Rafe said, setting the take-out container on the ledge.

  “Wait,” Marco called out to her.

  She paused at the door.

  “You forgot your wings.”

  “I didn’t order any wings.”

  “There was a message on your phone—from Tristyn. A dozen medium.”

  She scrolled through the text conversation on her phone, frowned. He offered her the foam container.

  “I didn’t pay for those.”

  “Consider them an apology for reading your message.”

  “You wouldn’t have to apologize if you hadn’t read my message,” she pointed out.

  “And you’d be going home without the wings,” he countered.

  She took the container from him, making sure that there was no contact between them in the transfer. “Thank you.”

  “Marco,” he told her. “Marco Palermo.”

  “Thank you, Marco.”

  He smiled. “You’re welcome...”

  “Jordyn,” she finally said, confirming the identification his sister-in-law had made as she moved toward the door.

  He reached the handle before she did, pushed it open for her. “Enjoy your pizza and wings, Jordyn.”

  “We always do,” she assured him.

  He stood at the door and watched as she made her way back to her vehicle.

  “Jordyn came back for her phone,” he told Gemma, when he turned and saw her standing at the counter with a take-out bag in hand.

  “I caught the end of your conversation,” she admitted. “Actually, most of your conversation.”

  His heart was so filled with happiness it was overflowing, and he couldn’t hold back the smile that curved his lips. “She’s the one—I’ve finally found her.”

  His sister-in-law sighed. “Caro, why do you do this to yourself?”

  “Maybe because I see how happy you and Tony are, and I want to know the same thing.”

  “You will fall in love with the right woman at the right time, but if you keep throwing yourself headfirst over cliffs looking for it to happen, you’re only going to get hurt again.”

  “There was a spark,” he insisted.

  “It wasn’t a spark—it was a flame,” Gemma said. “You just crashed and burned, and you don’t even know it.”

  He was disappointed by her response. He knew that she cared about him—she’d been part of his family for so many years he’d thought of her as a second sister even before she became his sister-in-law—so he didn’t understand why she was determined to burst his happiness bubble.

  Or maybe he did. And maybe there was some foundation to her concern that he’d been trying too hard to find the right woman. Certainly, his recent relationship experience would substantiate her point.

  But the alternative—to passively sit back and wait for his soul mate to land in his lap—was inconceivable to him. Sometimes destiny needed a helping hand, and he was more than willing to give it.

  But first he had tiramisu to deliver.

  Chapter Two

  The rain had lessened to a drizzle by the time Jordyn got home to the Northbrook town house that she shared with her sister. Tristyn met her at the door, offering a towel in exchange for the food boxes so that Jordyn could dry off.

  “Maybe the weather was an omen,” Jordyn said, kicking off her shoes. “As soon as I saw the forecast, I should have canceled the date and stayed home.”

  “Or at least taken a jacket or umbrella,” her sister teased.

  “Neither would have made this evening any less of a disaster.”

  “Was it really that bad?” Tristyn asked, setting the food on the table.

  Jordyn draped the towel over the back of her chair and picked up the glass of wine her sister had poured for her. “I don’t think there are words to adequately describe it.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Well, he opened the conversation by asking if I’d ever thought about changing my name.”

  Tristyn frowned as she lifted a slice of pizza from the box. “Why would you want to change your name?”

  “Because it’s misleading. Apparently when Carrie offered to set him up with me, Cody initially refused because he thought I was a guy.” And, he promised her in a mock deep voice accompanied by a leering grin, he was strictly and exclusively heterosexual. She shuddered at the memory.

  “I get that sometimes, too, but never on a date.”

>   “Well, the criticism of my name wasn’t the worst of it—after that, even before I’d had a chance to peruse the wine list, Cody asked me what kind of birth control I used.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I wish I was.” She peeled a slice of pepperoni off of her pizza slice, popped it into her mouth.

  “How did you respond to that?”

  “I think my jaw hit the table, because he actually apologized for the bluntness of the question—not the question itself, just the delivery of it.”

  Tristyn shook her head.

  “Apparently he’s got a six-year-old son from a short-term relationship with a woman who lied to him about being on the Pill. Now half of his paycheck goes to child support and he’s saddled with the kid every other weekend.”

  Tristyn choked on her wine, obviously shocked by the statement.

  Jordyn held up her hands. “His words—not mine.”

  “I should have realized,” her sister acknowledged.

  “And the whole time he’s talking, he’s looking at my breasts instead of my face.”

  “Well, you do have exceptional breasts.”

  “I’m flattered you think so,” she said drily.

  “And that dress really does emphasize your curves.” Her sister looked down at her own chest, sighed. “Even with Victoria’s very best secret giving me a boost, I can’t fake cleavage like yours.”

  “Does that make it okay for him to stare at my chest all through dinner?”

  “Of course not,” Tristyn immediately denied.

  “Not that I actually stayed through dinner,” she admitted, helping herself to a wing. “When I waved my hand in front of his face—for the third time—to draw his attention upward, he didn’t even apologize. He just said, ‘You’ve probably realized by now that I’m a breast man—and I’m so glad Carrie hooked us up tonight.’”

  “He didn’t.”

  “Oh, yes, he did.” She licked pizza sauce off of her thumb. “And when I assured him that we weren’t hooking up, he promised that he would change my mind before dessert.”

  Tristyn grimaced.

  “I’m just glad I met him at the restaurant, so that when I walked out, I didn’t have to wait for a cab.”

  “I’m so sorry,” her sister said sincerely. “Carrie told me he was a terrific guy.”

  “Obviously Carrie needs to raise her standards.”

  “I just wanted you to go out and have a good time. You’ve been a recluse since—”

  “I work with the public,” she interjected, because she knew what her sister was going to say and didn’t want to hear it. “I think that’s pretty much the opposite of a recluse.”

  Tristyn’s gaze was sympathetic. “But you don’t date.”

  “After tonight, do you really need to ask why?”

  “There are a lot of really great guys out there,” her sister insisted.

  “Probably,” she acknowledged. “But you’ve dated most of them, and that’s a whole other category of awkward.”

  “I haven’t dated that many men,” Tristyn protested.

  Jordyn’s only response was to pick up the bottle of wine and top up their glasses.

  “And why should I feel pressured to go out and meet guys who don’t interest me when I’m perfectly content with my life?”

  She reached down to rub Gryffindor, who had followed the scent of food into the kitchen and rubbed himself against her leg in a silent bid for attention—or scraps. Not that she ever fed him from the table, but the battle-scarred cat she’d rescued from the streets seven years earlier was eternally optimistic.

  “You should not be content hanging out with your sister on a Saturday night,” Tristyn said.

  “Which begs the question of what you’re doing home on a Saturday night.”

  Her sister shrugged. “I didn’t feel like going out.”

  “Are you ill?”

  “I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

  “Like what?”

  “I had lunch with Daniel yesterday.”

  “He’s trying to lure you over to GSR,” she guessed, referring to Garrett/Slater Racing—the company their cousin had founded in partnership with his friend Josh Slater.

  Tristyn nodded.

  “And?” she prompted.

  “I’m tempted,” her sister admitted.

  “But?”

  “I love working at Garrett Furniture, being part of the business that Granddad founded.”

  Gryff, finally giving up on the possibility that he would get anything more than affectionate but inedible scratches, wandered off again.

  “Then tell him no.”

  “But it would be really exciting to be part of the business that he’s building, too.”

  Jordyn sipped her wine. “You’re not usually so indecisive. What aren’t you telling me?”

  “I’m not sure I could work with him,” Tristyn confided.

  “Daniel?”

  Her sister shook her head. “Josh.”

  “Well, well, well,” Jordyn mused, as her sibling pushed away from the table and carried their plates to the dishwasher.

  “Not for the reason you’re thinking.”

  “Not because the man looks likes sex on a stick?”

  Tristyn choked on a laugh. “Sex on a stick?”

  She shrugged. “Just because I’m not interested in taking anything home from the market doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy browsing.”

  Her sister finished loading the dishwasher, then wrapped the leftover pizza.

  “You were saying that your objection to potentially working with Josh has nothing to do with the fact that you want to rip his clothes off and have your way with him,” she prompted.

  “I do not want to rip his clothes off.”

  “It’s been a while since I’ve had sex,” Jordyn admitted. “But I seem to recall it’s easier if you’re naked.”

  Tristyn huffed out a breath. “He’s arrogant and obnoxious and thinks he knows everything.”

  Since those were uncharacteristically strong words for her sister, Jordyn let it go. For now.

  “So you’re not going to take the job?”

  “I haven’t decided.” She returned to the table and picked up her wine. “Maybe Daniel could set you up with Josh.”

  Jordyn’s brows lifted. “You want me to go out with a guy you just described as arrogant and obnoxious?”

  “You could tame him. You don’t take any crap from anyone.”

  “And then you’d have an excuse to ignore your attraction to him,” she guessed, seeing right through her sister’s plan. “Because it would be too weird to go out with a guy who’d gone out with your sister.”

  “We’re not talking about me—we’re talking about you.”

  “But your life is so much more interesting than mine.”

  “Because I get out and meet new people.”

  “I met someone tonight,” Jordyn said.

  “Your date from hell doesn’t count.”

  She should have nodded her agreement and let the topic slide—but she wasn’t thinking of Cody. She was thinking of Marco. In fact, she hadn’t stopped thinking about Marco since she’d seen him standing behind the counter at Valentino’s with her phone in hand.

  She should have been outraged by his audacity—instead, she’d found herself intrigued by the man. And because her sister had a lot more experience with the opposite sex than she did, she wanted her assessment of the brief interaction.

  “Actually, I met someone after,” she said now. “When I was at Valentino’s.”

  “Really?” Tristyn somehow managed to sound both skeptical and intrigued. “Who did you meet at Valentino’s?”

  “Marco.”
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br />   Her sister’s lips curved. “Ahh—the sweet and sexy bartender with the melted-chocolate eyes and the dimple at the corner of his mouth?”

  Now it was Jordyn’s turn to be surprised. “You know him?”

  “I’ve seen him at Valentino’s,” Tristyn admitted. “Shared some conversation.”

  “Along with lingering glances and fleeting touches?”

  “I might have flirted with him a little,” her sister acknowledged, because flirting was as natural to her as breathing. “But it never went any further than that.”

  “Why not?”

  Tristyn shrugged. “No chemistry. Although I’m guessing you had a different experience, or you wouldn’t have mentioned his name.”

  “I’ve always thought chemistry was overrated,” she hedged.

  “As a woman with much more dating experience than you, I have to disagree,” Tristyn said. “I don’t think a relationship can work without at least some degree of chemistry.”

  Jordyn wasn’t sure what she believed when it came to matters of the heart, since her own had been shattered more than three years earlier.

  “So—what did you feel?” Tristyn prompted. “Butterflies? Tingles? Heat?”

  “Just...curiosity.”

  “Considering that’s probably more than you’ve felt in a long time, I’d say it’s a good start.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I don’t see how a three-minute conversation with a guy is the start of anything.”

  “That depends on what you plan to do next.”

  “My only plan right now is to take my glass of wine into the living room to watch the Ryder to the Rescue episode that I missed last night.”

  “Sounds like a good plan to me,” her sister agreed.

  * * *

  Marco rapped his knuckles against the wood before he turned the knob and opened the door of his sister’s two-story colonial in western South Meadows, only a few blocks from where they’d grown up and where their parents still lived.

  His mother always chided her kids for knocking before they walked into the house that she insisted was still their home, despite the fact that none of them lived there anymore. Renata didn’t subscribe to quite the same open-door policy, but she usually made sure the front entrance was unlocked when she was expecting company. With two busy kids, it was hard to predict what she might be in the middle of when the doorbell rang—or how long it would take her to answer the summons.