The Bridesmaid and the Bachelor

by Kris Fletcher

  A week ago, Ben might not have understood. Now, he did. Not completely. More like seeing the first hint of light in the early morning, as opposed to seeing the sun full on later in the day. But it was enough to give him hope.

  “Yeah.” He dipped another fry in ketchup, nodded, and flashed a grin. “Yeah. I have an idea.”

  “Well, thank God for that, because I don’t know if I could have pulled any more wisdom out of my ass today.”

  Ben gathered their trash, piled it on their trays, and stood. “To show my gratitude, I’ll clean up.”

  “Mom taught you well.”

  “She wasn’t the only one.” Ben hesitated just a second before bestowing a hearty slap on Adam’s back. As he expected, his hand smarted from hitting all that muscle, but it was worth it.

  “Now, come on, big guy. Let’s get you back to the hotel and get you married.”

  ***

  Kyrie was already in her dusky pink bridesmaid dress—contrary to what Paige had said, it really was something she could wear again, which made her ridiculously encouraged that she could pull off this final leg of the test—and was next in line for makeup. Her hair was styled, her nails sparkled, and her skin had been so thoroughly cleaned and buffed that she almost felt like a new car ready to be driven off the lot. Siobhan’s bridal suite overflowed with the sound of the other attendants laughing and chattering. Kyrie pulled up a smile whenever she was addressed, but mostly she kept to herself. And for the first time since she walked into the hotel, it wasn’t because of a fear of being discovered.

  Siobhan was—understandably—focused elsewhere. She wasn’t going to figure out the truth at this point. Kyrie was as close as she would ever get to being home free. But rather than counting the hours until she would be back on the plane, mission accomplished, now all she could think was that by the time they hit their cruising altitude, she would have lost the best thing that had ever happened to her.

  She watched the photographer fussing with Siobhan’s veil, ensuring the proper positioning of her flowers and hands in these so-called candid shots, and was slammed by a wall of jealousy. No matter that she herself would walk out of this weekend free and clear, having earned the second chance for the shop that had brought her here. The future that had looked so possible and shiny when Paige first proposed this switch still called to her, but not as loudly as it had.

  No. That wasn’t right. She still wanted all those things she had worked for, but something had shifted. Now, instead of sounding rich and enticing and rewarding, there was a hollowness to their tone.

  She loved her funky little coffeehouse. She loved her home. She loved living in the town where she had spent the bulk of her life, where she knew everyone and everyone knew her. But for the first time ever, she wondered if she had chosen them because they were everything she wanted, or if she had let her need for comfort and familiarity make her close the door on other, equally valid hopes and dreams. Newer dreams.

  Did a dream have to brew for years to be worth chasing?

  Not that it mattered. After this weekend, her future was set. She would go home and fall into the cushion of the known, the familiar, the lifelong. And maybe in time, she would feel it was enough again.

  Damn it, she never should have done this.

  She stared down at her cheery coral nails, willing her vision to stay clear. Would it be wrong to wish for a sudden thunderstorm, or even a broken heel, just to give her something else to think about?

  Wendy the Wedding Planner bustled into the suite. Good. Maybe she would need to line them up or move them or—

  Uh-oh. Wendy’s usual professional, I-can-handle-anything smile was nowhere in evidence as she skirted her way around the hair people, makeup people, picture people, and people whose sole purpose seemed to be to stand around looking interesting. She dipped and dodged and worked her way to Siobhan, practically pushing the photographer out of the way in order to bend low and whisper something.

  Siobhan let out a low, “Noooooooooo,” that was so loaded with angst, the entire room went silent.

  Wendy murmured something else. Siobhan sniffled and nodded. Wendy backed away and hurried out to the hall

  Kyrie had never seen an entire roomful of people hold their breath before. While everyone watched, Siobhan said something to the photographer, stood unsteadily, glanced blankly around the room, and then—oh, shit—headed for Kyrie.

  She must have found out. Somehow, she knew Kyrie wasn’t Paige, and the news had come at the worst possible time, and crap in a basket, now the wedding would be ruined, and shit shit shit, she stopped in front of Kyrie, gorgeous and poised despite the trembling lips and eyes ready to overflow.

  “Can I talk to you for a minute? In the bedroom?”

  Time to face the music.

  They walked silently into the other room, Siobhan’s train trailing behind her in a poignant reminder of the walk she should have been able to make with a light heart, but now wouldn’t, thanks to Paige and Kyrie and their ridiculous belief that they could do this.

  What if Siobhan demanded that Kyrie leave right away?

  Ben.

  Kyrie stumbled and had to steady herself against the wall. She wouldn’t leave Ben without a good-bye this time. No matter that it was well within Siobhan’s right to demand that Kyrie disappear immediately. It wasn’t happening. Not without first seeing Ben.

  She had already put him through the worst thing that had ever been done to her. She would not do it again. Siobhan could demand to be repaid for the room and the meals and the dress and everything else, but Kyrie was not leaving without kissing Ben good-bye. Not after yesterday. Not after everything he’d said this morning. Not when she had spent the last two years seeing him in every inch of the shop and hearing him in every song she sang.

  And why the hell was she just now figuring out that, in truth, she had never said good-bye to him? Not just in her stupid shortsighted flight, but in her memory? In her heart?

  Siobhan paused at the door to the bedroom, turning to survey the staring crowd. “Could someone please find my mother and send her in?”

  She needed her mom? Oh, God.

  The moment the door closed, sealing them in a bedroom three times the size of Kyrie’s with—oh wow, was that a fireplace?—Kyrie spoke up.

  “Siobhan. Listen, I know—”

  But Siobhan silenced her with the totally unanticipated act of throwing her arms around Kyrie and burying her face in her shoulder.

  “Oh, Paige,” she wailed. “I can’t cry, because I’ll look all blotchy in the pictures, but it’s so unfair . . .”

  Two things hit Kyrie at once. The first was that Siobhan had called her Paige. The second was that she was acting more heartbroken than furious.

  “What’s wrong?” She rubbed Siobhan’s lace-trimmed back. “What is it, sweetie? Has something happened to Adam?”

  “What? No. No, it’s nothing like that. Thank God, right?” Siobhan sniffed and pulled back the slightest bit. “Damn it. I think I smeared my makeup. This isn’t good.”

  “We can fix it.” Kyrie crossed her fingers and hoped she was telling the truth. “But what’s wrong?”

  “Maralee. She can’t . . .” Siobhan’s face crumpled again. “She can’t do the so-o-ong.”

  Her words were no less poignant for the hiccup punctuation marks.

  “What happened?” The hand sanitizer must have failed her. “Did she get sick?”

  “Yes. No. Sort of.” Siobhan inhaled long and steady through her nose, waving her hands in front of her face as if to dry her tears before they could spill. “Wendy only told me a little, but I guess Maralee felt a cold coming on, so she took something for it, which was great, but it wasn’t what she usually took and she had a reaction and she’s going to be okay, but they’re taking her to the ER right now because she’s kind of out of it.”

  “Oh,
Siobhan. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’ll be okay.” Brave smile, brave face. “It’s not like anyone knew about it except me, right? And you, and I’m so glad I slipped up and told you, because it would totally suck if I couldn’t sob all over somebody about it.”

  “Absolutely. Whatever you need.”

  Siobhan bit on her lip. “Okay. So, I guess now I just go back out there and we keep going, right? I mean, the important part is that we’re getting married, and it’s Adam, and I love him. And . . . and maybe I can still have the song for him some other time. Maybe for our first anniversary or something . . .”

  “That’s a good plan.” Yes. An excellent plan. Kyrie needed to encourage this line of thinking. Because the other suggestion taking shape in her own head was just too ridiculous.

  “I know.” Siobhan sniffled again, scanned the room, made helpless motions. “Where the hell are the tissues? They always hide them in these places and I can never find one . . .” Her mouth crumpled. “I had this beautiful little handkerchief hidden in my bouquet. Because I knew I would cry when she sang the song, and I would be up there blubbering, and so I had it made to match my dress, with the same lace and everything . . . and now I won’t need it, and that’s a good thing. Right? Paige?”

  Kyrie patted Siobhan’s hand and thumbed the tears from her cheeks. “Hang on. I’ll find you something, okay?” She hurried into the bathroom with Siobhan’s sad little nod pushing her on.

  Once in the bathroom, she found the tissues, yanked the box from the holder, and looked at her reflection in the—holy crap—full-wall mirror.

  I don’t believe you’re faking.

  She could do the song. Paige couldn’t, but Kyrie could do it. She could walk into the bedroom and tell Siobhan that there was still a way. Siobhan would know she wasn’t Paige—everyone knew that Paige sounded like a cat giving birth when she tried to sing—and Siobhan would probably be pissed, but saving the wedding would probably ease that sting.

  Except Siobhan would know.

  And Paige would be exposed.

  And having violated the conditions of the deal, Kyrie would lose the shop.

  No. She mouthed the word at herself. It came back to her reversed, as with any other mirror image.

  But if she did this . . . if she took this chance . . . it would be one less obstacle to discovering what could happen with Ben.

  If only she could talk to him. Everything would be clearer if she could hear his voice as he encouraged her to do what she knew she had to do. Just like she had heard him in her memory the whole time she was making Brews and Blues—

  Oh.

  She was hit with a flash of truth so strong that she was surprised it didn’t bounce back off the mirror. She had found the guts to finally follow her dream because of Ben. So what else might she be able to do if she were doing it with him?

  I don’t believe you’re faking.

  There was more than one way to run from things that scared her. And it looked like this time around, staying the course would be the worst one of all.

  “Siobhan,” she said softly as she returned to the bedroom, “what would you say if I told you there’s a really easy way for you to still have the song at your wedding?”

  Chapter Seven

  Ben took his place at Adam’s side at the front of the wedding chapel, forcing himself to not tug at his collar, reminding himself that all eyes were on Adam, not him.

  It didn’t help.

  Adam, who had been Mr. Jitters in the waiting room—talking, pacing, cracking his knuckles, and wondering aloud if it was too late to take up smoking—had become Mr. Calm, Cool, and Collected as soon as it was time for them to move. The transformation was astounding. Ben folded his hands together, all the better to hide their shaking, and sidled over to his brother.

  “Aren’t you the same guy who begged me to go get you a Scotch and soda not ten minutes ago?”

  Adam winked. “Yeah, but now we’re at the part where I know that the reward is gonna be worth it.”

  Yeah. Yeah, that probably made all the difference in the world. And as Kyrie began her walk down the aisle, looking almost as amazing as she had right after he’d loved her to wakefulness this morning, Ben could swear he felt something kick into place inside himself. Something that told him that if he could get her to reconsider, his own reward might be right in front of him, taking her position at the far left of the dais.

  The other bridesmaids glided down the aisle. Ben registered them absently, automatically, just another step in the passage of time until he could be with Kyrie again. Tonight, once the dancing was over and the cake was cut, once they were alone together in her room, he was going to tell her that this wasn’t going to be the end. Not by a long shot. He still didn’t know how they would work around the obstacles, but damn it, he was a scientist. Surely he could come up with some kind of hypothesis.

  The string quartet struck up the processional. Siobhan entered the room, walking between her parents. Everyone stood. Ben spared a moment to take her in, all trembling smile and lighted eyes, before he switched his focus to Adam. And God, it was a sucker punch of happy to see his brother stunned into utter stillness as he watched his bride approach.

  Ben had a feeling he could grab the violin closest to him and start playing “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star”—the only tune he could remember from his own string days—and Adam wouldn’t notice a thing. Every muscle and fiber and sinew was transfixed by the sight of Siobhan coming to him, and when she got a beat or two ahead of the music, ever so slightly dragging her parents as she hurried to the front, Ben grinned all over. Siobhan wanted to be with Adam as much as he wanted to be with her.

  And Ben—well, he wasn’t at that point yet with Kyrie. But when he risked a quick peek in her direction and caught her watching him, her eyes filled with wonder, he had the dizzying sensation that he was on the edge of the sweetest cliff he could ever tumble over.

  He caught Kyrie’s gaze and smiled just for her, throwing in a surreptitious eyebrow wiggle to get her to laugh. She choked, raised her flowers, and buried her face in them. Nice recovery.

  Siobhan kissed her parents and moved to stand beside Adam, her hand reaching for his, their fingers twining and squeezing before they let go and turned to the minister. Ben felt, rather than saw, Kyrie watching the action along with him. Was she, like him, anticipating that kind of closeness, that need that went beyond sex to something even better?

  Ben wasn’t much of a praying man, but at that moment, Grandma’s genes must have taken over. For he was pretty sure he felt the Almighty tapping on his shoulder, whispering a divine Don’t mess this up in his ear. It was all he could do to keep from blurting out an assurance that he would do his very best. And that he wouldn’t mind a little guidance along the way.

  The ceremony proceeded as rehearsed. Readings, responses, whispers, and more than a few tears. Candles were lit. Promises were given, both in words and touch and through expressions of wonder and amazement.

  Beside him, the quartet shifted into position. But it wasn’t time for the recessional yet. There were still the rings and the kiss and—

  —and why was Kyrie handing her bouquet to the Megan beside her and moving up to the front?

  “Ladies and gentleman, we have a little surprise for you,” the minister said into the microphone. “As a wedding gift to Adam, Siobhan has commissioned a song, written expressly for this day.”

  Beside him, Adam’s head jerked forward. “Babe!” he said before slapping his hand over his mouth.

  Ben had never heard a group titter before, but he was pretty sure that was the only way to describe the sound that swept through the guests.

  The minister stepped back. Kyrie took his place and nodded to the quartet.

  She was going to sing.

  Wait.

  Kyrie was going to sing.

  Whic
h meant—what? Had she and Siobhan been pretending all along, planning the ultimate surprise on all of them? Or had something else happened? Something that made it more important for her to step up and tell the truth than to keep her secret, her shop, her—holy shit, her whole reason for being there?

  An elbow hit him in the ribs. Adam. He caught Ben’s eye and jerked his own head toward Kyrie, eyebrows raised in a universal WTF? gesture.

  Ben shrugged.

  Siobhan cleared her throat and nodded toward Kyrie, who began to sing.

  And then, for Ben, everything else slipped away.

  Well, not entirely. He was still aware, in a peripheral sort of way that the guests had slipped from indulgent waiting to stunned, transfixed attention. He kind of saw Adam’s shoulders shake. He was pretty sure Adam was taking something white and frilly from Siobhan and dabbing at his own cheeks with it, and yeah, he did notice when Adam broke position to pull Siobhan to his side, kissing the top of her head.

  But everything else was Kyrie.

  Her voice filled the room, rising and falling in promises of a life shared, a love unending. There were sly little wordplays that Ben recognized as private jokes between Adam and Siobhan, a reference to football, a mention of skinny-dipping. The song bounced through the verses and soared on the chorus, brought to glorious life by Kyrie’s haunting alto.

  The song was for Adam. He knew that. As Kyrie delivered the playful verses she focused on the couple, sang to the audience, made sure she kept the attention on them.

  But Ben’s gut gave a mighty squeeze when it hit him that every time she hit the chorus—every time she delivered phrases of promises and the future—she did it while looking at him. Like she was singing to him.

  Like she was making those promises for them.

  For a minute, he thought he was going to have to grab the frilly thing from Adam’s hand and use it himself.

  The final chorus came to an end. The quartet echoed the last phrase, the closing note hanging in the air before slowly fading away. Adam pulled Siobhan close for an embrace that left the guests laughing and applauding as the minister returned to the microphone and made a joke about Adam jumping the gun on kissing the bride.