Falling for the Best Man

by Amanda Ashby

  “Sorry. I can go away again if you like. But I’ve got something you might want to hear first.” His face looked relaxed, and the tension around his jaw from last night had disappeared. No doubt from spending time with Pandora.

  “You want to gloat?” Emmy growled.

  “Gloat?” He frowned before shaking his head just like Bec used to do when she was caught red-handed with cookie crumbs around her mouth. “Of course not. I’ve got good news.”

  “Let me guess. Pandora’s agreed to go to Hawaii with you, but then Jessica got wind of it and now she wants to go, too. So you, being the nice guy you are, suggested they could both go, and you’re all leaving tonight, but before you take off, you wanted to say aloha to me.”

  “Is that what you really think?”

  “No. What I think is that people should stop telling me I need to sell the family farm and spread my wings. Bec probably even gave you the same speech when you sweettalked her into taking you to town.”

  “Well, yeah—” he started before a look of exasperation spread across his face. “That’s not what this is about.”

  “Really? Because—” Emmy was interrupted by the sound of tires coming up the driveway. That was strange. The caterers weren’t due until tomorrow morning, and Charlie’s old van was already parked by the barn next to the flashy red car Bec had borrowed from Ben Cooper. The only other person she could think my drop by was Rachel, but the large orange van was nothing like her friend’s zippy mini. Her eyes widened as she realized who it was. “It’s Monsieur Lafayette.”

  “That’s what I was trying to tell you.” Christopher leaned closer to her, his breath hot against her cheek. There goes my sanity. She gasped and tried to steady herself, while Christopher seemed to be amused. “Monsieur Lafayette’s here to find out where the doves will be set up tomorrow. But, of course, if that’s not suitable I can always tell him to come back after we discuss my alleged seduction of all of the bridesmaids. How many did you say I managed to convince?”

  “God, no.” Emmy shook her head as her brain sifted through the situation. He wasn’t seducing bridesmaids. He was talking to Monsieur Lafayette. She wasn’t sure which part was making her smile more. She turned to him. “I still don’t understand what’s changed. How’s this possible?”

  “Rugby Union,” Christopher said.

  Emmy blinked. “Isn’t that some kind of football?”

  “To you, maybe, but to my good friend Monsieur Lafayette, it’s so much more. His life revolves around the Les Bleus—or the French rugby team. And luckily for you, I happened to meet several of the players in St. Malo last year.”

  “And that’s how you got him to change his mind?” Emmy rubbed her ears to check she was hearing right.

  “Correct. I showed him the pictures of me with the team that I used in one of my articles. Now we’re on a first-name basis.”

  He’s making the doves happen. Strange bubbly things twirled inside of her.

  Emmy gulped. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “You could start with merci beaucoup. It means ‘thank you very much.’” His eyes gleamed with amusement.

  “Actually, I knew that one,” Emmy confessed. “But seriously—”

  “But nothing,” he interrupted. “The important thing is he’s here. And my advice is we don’t keep him waiting too long.”

  Then, without another word, he strode over to where the old man was now standing, wearing an oversize navy and white rugby shirt, which swamped his feeble frame. Emmy caught her breath as understanding slammed her. Crap. Christopher had totally saved the day. Which means I owe him.

  …

  “You should wear the silver earrings,” Bec said as Emmy tried to smooth down her hair and put lipstick on at the same time, all while trying to remember if she’d missed anything on her list. “And you should definitely relax.”

  “I’d be more relaxed if you hadn’t driven Christopher into town.” She put down the lipstick and turned to Bec, who was sitting on the window seat in the corner of Emmy’s bedroom. “And I don’t want to wear the silver earrings, I want to wear the rose gold ones.”

  “If you’d bothered to tell me you’d kidnapped the best man and were holding him prisoner here then I might not have.” Bec jumped to her feet and marched over to the dresser and picked up the silver earrings. “And these will definitely suit that dress better.”

  “Yes, but—” Emmy started, then caught sight of the old-fashioned rose gold earrings Ivy had worn every Sunday for church, nestled in her sister’s lobes. “Seriously, Rebecca? You’ve been back a nanosecond and you’re already taking my stuff? Besides, the only jewelry you normally wear has a glow stick or a whistle attached to it.”

  “You’re the one always telling me I should appreciate the past.” Bec sounded defensive as she self-consciously touched the delicate gold filigree petals. “But if you don’t want me to wear Ivy’s old earrings then just say so.”

  “No, it’s fine.” Emmy felt the fight go out of her. She sat down on the bed and tugged the patchwork comforter around her legs, not caring if the black cocktail dress got wrinkled or not.

  “Thanks.” Bec joined her on the bed and nudged her shoulder. “And I’m serious. That dress is hot, and the silver earrings are perfect.”

  “I tell you what would be better. Staying at home,” Emmy admitted, as she tried not to think about the long list of things she still needed to do.

  Number one being to avoid Christopher.

  As soon as they’d finished talking to Monsieur Lafayette, he’d been called away on best man duties before she could thank him for what he’d done, the idea of which left her feeling strangely disconcerted. Being annoyed at him was easier. Or at least safer. Her throat tightened.

  “Seriously? You’d prefer to join me in a riveting evening of watching Ivy’s old musicals?” Bec said. “Besides, you’re all dressed up and ready to go. It would be a shame to waste that dress. I’m sure Christopher will like it.”

  “Why should I care what he thinks?” Emmy’s skin prickled as she took the earrings out of Bec’s hand and pretended to study them. “I told you, he’s just the best man—”

  “And you’re just the wedding planner,” Bec finished. “Yeah, yeah, I know the script. But I still think there’s something you’re both not telling me.”

  “Of course there isn’t,” Emmy said a little bit too quickly, once again wishing Bec didn’t have the uncanny ability to put two and two together.

  “So you keep saying. But I still don’t believe it.” Bec suddenly widened her eyes and jabbed her finger in Emmy’s direction. “Oh my God. You’ve slept with him.”

  “What? No.” Yes. Several times. And it was amazing. Emmy tried to shake her head, but denial was futile. Bec’s blue eyes glittered with excitement. “I just told you nothing was going on, so why would you say we slept together?”

  “Because it’s true.” Bec gave a triumphant wave of her hand. “It makes so much sense. What else would cause you to act so out of character? Plus, he’s got shoulders to die for. And don’t get me started on those eyes. I even like that sexy crooked nose of his.”

  “Bec, stop,” Emmy begged, but her sister didn’t pay any attention. She bounced up and down on the bed in excitement.

  “So when did it happen? Last night Christopher said he’d never been to Connecticut before, and since you’ve never been anywhere but…New York? Of course. It’s so obvious. You met him in New York.” Bec squealed and Emmy let out a resigned sigh.

  Who knew I was such an open book?

  “Okay. Fine. But you have to lower your voice. He’ll be coming up to the house any moment, and you can’t jump around like this.”

  “I’m not the one who did the jumping.” Bec snickered then shook her head. “I still can’t believe I missed it. I’m really off my game. Let’s have all the details.”

  “Um, negative. This isn’t an episode of Sex and the City. All you need to know is I have firsthand knowledge of how much
damage he can do. That’s why I wanted him to stay far away from the rest of the wedding party.”

  “I never would’ve given him a lift this morning if I’d known about the fake girlfriend stuff or what happened between you two.” Bec looked repentant. “No wonder you don’t want to go tonight. It must be tough having to spend time with him when he’s busy searching for someone to go with him to Hawaii.”

  “It’s not like that,” Emmy said through gritted teeth, not sure who she was trying to convince. “Now, can we change the subject?”

  “Sure! You can tell me how you managed to meet such a hot guy on your one and only trip to New York.”

  Emmy’s cheeks heated up. She and her sisters had never had the kind of relationship where they discussed boys and braided each other’s hair. Well, Bec was happy to do both, but Emmy and Pepper had always been more reserved. Which meant this stuff was hard. But unless she wanted to be nagged to death about it, she was going to have to come clean.

  She studied her fingernails so she wouldn’t have to make eye contact. “It was when I went to Lucy Tucker’s christening. We were all invited but you and Pepper were overseas, and Ivy thought it would be rude if none of us went since we’d all grown up together.”

  “Sure. I remember.” Bec nodded. “The kid was called Rudolph. You don’t forget a name like that in a hurry.”

  “Right.” Emmy, well used to her sister’s erratic conversation, cleared her throat. “So, Christopher and I were the only two single people there, and we kind of hit it off. It was a whirlwind sort of thing, and just before I was due to leave he asked me if I wanted to go to Fiji with him. It was spontaneous, and I was caught up in the moment, so I said yes.”

  “What?” Bec practically bounced off the bed. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell me you’d been to Fiji?”

  Emmy turned her attention to the carpet. “Because I didn’t end up going. The plan was for me to get Ivy to courier up my passport. The one you and Pepper insisted I get. Then I would meet him at the airport.”

  “So, what happened? Did you get cold feet?” Bec leaned forward, her eyes like saucers. Emmy looked away.

  “Not exactly. It was the day Ivy got the phone call from the doctor. About her cancer.”

  “Oh, Emm.” Bec’s face immediately crumpled, and she let out a muffled gasp. “No.”

  “I’m afraid so,” Emmy said in a soft voice, touched her sister really did seem to care. “You were in Australia and Pepper was God knows where. There was no way I could leave her.”

  “Of course not.” Bec clasped her sister’s hand. “But surely Christopher couldn’t hold that against you?”

  “That’s the problem.” Emmy licked her lips. “I didn’t tell him what was going on. In my defense, he made it clear non-adventurous people weren’t for him, so I was convinced once I cancelled I’d never see him again. Which is why I sent him a text message, and…”

  “And you still haven’t told him. No wonder he’s been looking so pissed. Emmy, you have to tell him the truth. It’s the right thing to do,” Bec said, suddenly sounding grown up.

  Except no matter how much sense it made, Emmy wasn’t sure she could do it.

  Because if they talked, it might raise more questions than she had answers.

  And it might distract her from what really mattered—saving the farm.

  “Just let me get this wedding over and done with first. Then I’ll talk to him.”

  “Okay, but remember—no one should get dumped by text message,” Bec said, then let out a sigh. “Sorry. It’s not my place to tell you what to do. But at least let me help with that to-do list.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Emmy said, fully aware Bec’s attention span was never great. “Besides, if you really came back just to convince me to change my mind about selling the farm, then you should be happy the wedding is still far from organized.”

  “I told you, it’s not like that,” Bec protested with a sniff.

  “Yes, but—” The ring of the doorbell cut her off. Christopher was here. Which also meant unless she could turn invisible, it was time to face him. Her heart pounded at the prospect.

  “‘Yes, but’ nothing. The very least I can do is a few of the jobs on your list.” Bec poked out her bottom lip, oblivious to Emmy’s mental struggle.

  “Fine.” She held up her hands in surrender. She’d never been able to understand why Bec did anything, and this was no exception. Besides, her sister might have many faults, but she did have amazing handwriting. “If you go Ivy’s old hat box there are two hundred old-fashioned place cards that need the names written on them. I did print them out in a cute, retro font, but Melinda hated them and insisted we use a fountain pen. The list’s on the table. Just text me if you need me to explain anything.”

  “Yes, sir.” Bec saluted, but Emmy ignored her as she got to her feet and frantically smoothed down the black dress her mom had once owned. It was shorter than she would have preferred, but she’d liked the idea of having something familiar to wear. Now, though, all she could think about was how much leg she was exposing.

  She navigated the stairs in the spiky heels Bec had insisted she wear and opened the front door to see Christopher at the far end of the porch, leaning over the side to smell the evening jasmine.

  Emmy’s heart rate quickened as she admired the nape of his neck; it was tanned from too much time in the sun, and his dark hair was wet from a shower. Her fingers itched to touch the damp curls as unwanted memories of their time together once again flooded her mind. Was this why her sisters wanted her to get out more? To prevent her from dwelling on something that had happened two years ago?

  Something that involves being naked with the man in front of me.

  She swallowed hard as he turned around.

  “Hey, I didn’t realize you were—” He broke off and sucked in a sharp breath. “Wow. You look…well, pretty damn amazing.”

  “T-thanks. It was one of my mom’s old dresses. She was a bit shorter than I am.” Emmy stammered like a schoolgirl as she tried to not to notice how his five o’clock shadow brought out his chiseled jaw. And Bec was right—his crooked nose was sexy as anything. Heat pooled in her stomach, and she gave herself a mental scolding. She wasn’t meant to be looking at him like that. No good could come from it. “I need to talk to you.”

  “About your mom’s short dresses? Well, it’s an odd topic, but I’m happy to give it a try. Should I start with fabric or style?” he said in a maddening voice that threatened to make Emmy’s knees melt. “Or the way it molds your waist? Actually, that’s the perfect place to start. I think—”

  “Christopher.” She walked down the porch stairs, careful to keep the distance between them. It seemed like the sensible thing to do.

  “Emmy,” he countered, looking even more adorable than ever as he followed her to the pickup. He held the door open for her, his fingers grazing hers in the process. Her entire body sizzled, and it took all of her willpower not to whimper with delight. I’m so going to hell. She pinched the skin on her arm to help her focus.

  “Stop being so nice to me. It’s confusing,”

  “I’m confusing you by being too nice?” He double-checked as he climbed in on the passenger side, his presence filling up the cab and making it impossible to think.

  “You know what I mean,” she growled, as her heart hammered in her chest like a train. “I’m trying to apologize and you’re distracting me.”

  “Guilty.” He held his hands up before giving her yet another lethal smile. “From now on you can apologize to your heart’s content. And don’t forget to grovel. I’m fond of some groveling.”

  “I accused you of trying to ruin the wedding when you actually saved it. Thank you.”

  “I knew all those years of learning a second language would eventually come in useful,” he teased, but it was in a gentle voice and Emmy felt strangely grateful the friendly banter they’d shared over dinner had once again returned.

  The glorious fall
day had given way to a cool, crisp evening, and the lazy moon was casting pale beams onto the surrounding hills. It was the kind of evening Emmy had always loved, and as she started up the engine, she felt a sense of peace come over her.

  “Where did you learn to speak French?” she asked as she turned onto the main road and headed into town.

  “When I was a kid I listened to a few French audio CDs to try and pick it up.” The suaveness fell away and was replaced with something more genuine. Softer. Damn him for being so irresistible. “The first time I went to France was just after college, and I did all the regular tourist things, but then I got a job working in a camping ground one summer. It was a strange combination of English tourists and locals, who all bonded over crazy sunsets, too much wine, and seafood that would make your mouth water. I was there for three months, and on the final day I found myself writing a story about it. I didn’t get paid, but seeing it in print gave me the bug. After that I started writing articles about every place I visited, until finally a commissioning editor decided to pay me to cover a cheese competition in Provence. That was six years ago.”

  “So it all started with cheese,” Emmy said.

  “It did.” He nodded. “And really, it was no trouble talking to Monsieur Lafayette. He’s a nice guy. So, tell me—is the farm really in trouble?”

  Her good mood dissolved, and she turned away so he couldn’t see her eyes. “Ivy left the three of us equal shares, but I’m the only one who wants to live here. So, I either make enough money to buy Pepper and Bec out, or…”

  “They sell.” He let out a long whistle. “Now I understand why you were so determined to stop me from causing trouble.”

  “I think I overreacted.” She desperately tried to control her erratic breathing as Bec’s words came back to haunt her. No one deserved to get dumped by a text message. Talking to him about what happened two years ago was the last thing she wanted to do. But considering how badly she’d misjudged him, it was the least she owed him. Plus, if they talked about it, maybe all the disturbing feelings would go away.