Blissed (Misfit Brides #1)

by Jamie Farrell

CJ had suggested he and Serena try long-distance for a while. It was just a few hours up the road, and they could still see each other on the weekends. He’d have meaningful work, she’d keep her job—for now. Even with him renting a little place in Atlanta, they could afford to put money in his retirement account again and save enough for that honeymoon she wanted.

  She said if they were going to be physically separated, she was going to war.

  They fought. More.

  Eight months into their marriage, he took the job in Atlanta, and she shipped out for a voluntary deployment.

  Three months after that, the military gave her full honors at her funeral.

  CJ had given the flag to her parents, sold or gave away most everything they’d owned, stored a few essentials—like his old car—quit his job, and took off to get a grip on his life. He told his family he was going to do something he and Serena had talked about doing after her deployment. Lounge on a beach in Hawaii, or walk along the Great Wall, or parasail off the coast of France.

  The Air Force sent him a big check, Serena’s life insurance money, and selfish grieving bastard that he’d been, he did all three.

  Those three months he’d been in Atlanta, he’d realized something.

  He’d screwed up.

  He missed her. Work didn’t make him laugh. Work didn’t challenge him. Work didn’t make him special.

  He’d been an idiot to not appreciate what he’d had, and before he could tell her, she was gone.

  So he got gone too.

  Cori—short for Coriander, which he didn’t tell people lest she share his real name—joined him for a camelback adventure across the Moroccan Desert about a year later. She’d been sent to talk him into coming home, dangling word that Bob and Fiona’s house had flooded in storms that had submerged half of northern Illinois.

  She’d shown him pictures on the Internet, including one of the wedding cake monument floating in water. He’d nearly been sick. Too many memories still.

  Instead of going home, he’d sent Serena’s parents her life insurance money to help with their cleanup. He still had most of it, partly because growing up with twelve siblings had taught him a thing or two about being frugal, more because it was blood money to him. He stayed in Marrakech, working at a club until he scraped up enough cash to move on to a new part of the world.

  It was how he’d lived since. Without steady income, without a steady home, without any of the things he’d demanded Serena let him have. His grief had faded, but he’d still gone down a path of testing his own mortality. Seen how close he could get to what Serena must’ve felt in her final minutes. If he could feel her there again. Tell her he was sorry. Ask her to forgive him.

  Didn’t work.

  Gave his family a few heart attacks though. He learned to hold back what he told them when he e-mailed or called for his monthly check-ins, shared less with Bob and Fiona in their e-mail exchanges—he was, after all, the only thing they had left of their daughter now—and no one bugged him about coming home and getting a real job.

  Until now.

  Because every day in Bliss was one more day to face his mistakes in his own marriage.

  Something about being close to home made this feel more permanent than it should’ve. He still had rocks to climb and reefs to dive.

  Voices below distracted him. He tensed, not eager to talk his way out of trouble if he’d been spotted by the wrong person, but when he listened closer, he decided he was safe.

  Relatively speaking.

  “No, really, I’ll do it,” Kimmie said to someone. “One of the port-a-potty guys got married last year. We did his cake. He’ll give me a good deal.”

  “Honey,” an overly patronizing male voice replied, “that’s not necessary.”

  CJ peeked over the edge of the cake. Kimmie was trailing a sedately dressed middle-aged couple who looked as if they sampled wedding cakes every weekend.

  “You keep giving Nat all the dirty jobs. That’s not nice.”

  “Kimmie, this is the janitorial committee. Everything we do is dirty.”

  “Not everything.”

  The woman put a hand to Kimmie’s shoulder. “Hon, we don’t like it any more than you,” she said. She leaned closer to Kimmie. Whatever she said next was too soft to carry up to CJ. He caught references to your mother and off the committee and ordered us to. He strained to hear more.

  Better than wallowing in self-pity.

  Kimmie put a hand to her forehead. “My mother’s not always right, you know.”

  “Damn shame it’s come to this,” the guy said. “Committee’s gonna need more people like her in the next few years. If she weren’t divorced…”

  Wasn’t the first time CJ had heard that sentiment. He’d picked up plenty of Knot Fest trivia at Suckers. The one thing the off-Aisle couples talked about most was how much respect they had for the woman whose favorite pastime was hating CJ.

  She was making Gabby’s wedding dress.

  She’d helped the local trophy shop secure the order for the Golden Husband Games awards when they’d heard rumors the contract would go to a competitor in Willow Glen. Paid for them out of her own pocket, too, he’d heard.

  She’d finalized a design for a Golden Husband Games commemorative T-shirt with the local screen printers since the husbands hadn’t started their own designs yet.

  She’d secured advertising in the program from half the small, non-Aisle shops in Bliss, and they were all honored to be included. So were the companies who had offered her gift certificates and other door prizes for the Games spectators.

  She was living and breathing something she believed in, and everyone but Marilyn Elias loved her for it.

  Marilyn Elias, the legendary Knot Fest chairperson who didn’t tolerate anyone or anything smudging Bliss’s Most Married-est Town on Earth status.

  If Natalie were still married, she’d be ruling this place.

  Kimmie and the couple parted and went their separate ways.

  A door slammed somewhere below him. Natalie herself marched out of the Rose and Dove Country Club, head down, absorbed with something on her phone. CJ’s pulse rolled up to Class II rapids rates.

  Smart man would’ve stayed put.

  Smart man would’ve kept his distance.

  CJ, obviously, wasn’t a smart man. Because his stiff muscles were moving, he was hooking up his gear, and then he was enjoying the feel of the cool air swirling around him while he rappelled down.

  He hit the ground at the edge of the splash pad before he knew why he’d moved, or what he hoped to gain. Natalie was almost to the side cake on the walk that wrapped through the little park area. “Hey,” he said.

  Her short, sleek hair fanned up when she whipped her head toward him. Surprise, maybe a little irritation, maybe some regret, and finally blankness settled on her features. “Good morning. Again.” She scooted a little farther along her path, sweeping her gaze about the cake as if she were checking for the nearest escape route.

  But then she paused and looked at him again.

  This time, there was determination in those dark eyes of hers.

  CJ’s ropes came down off the cake with a flick of his wrist. “I’m sorry for my role in your divorce,” he said before she could steal the moment with whatever she was about to say. “I didn’t know my mistake cost you so much.”

  Taking a woman by surprise was one of CJ’s greatest joys in life. Usually resulted in blessed silence. Then there was the pride in getting the better of them for once. But Natalie’s parted lips, wide eyes, and utter stillness felt less like a victory and more like a failure.

  As if he’d said the wrong thing yet again.

  She sucked in a big breath. Lot more than just air moved between them, as if his apology had created some kind of connection that shifted the atomic structure of his world.

  Bliss was going to his head.

  “Derek would’ve left me anyway.” She spoke quietly, but he was so fixated on her pink lips that the words w
ere imprinted on his brain. “I was an Aisle princess, he was the son of a janitor, and we got married for the wrong reasons. I made him compete in the Husband Games to show him the kind of life I wanted, but I didn’t give any thought to who he was or what he wanted. I deserved to be left.”

  Underestimating this woman would be dangerous. “I’m still sorry, for what it’s worth,” he said.

  “No, I’m sorry.” She blew out a breath that sent her bangs scattering. “You made an easy scapegoat, but my problems aren’t your fault. I’d be horrified if Noah behaved the way I have. You can’t grow up in Bliss and not know how important it is to get marriage right the first time. I knew better.” Her humorless laugh gave him chills. “You honestly did me a favor. He’s never met Noah. Signed away all legal rights and ran. That’s what I married. And now I’m living the consequences. That kiss”—she waved her hand, as if she could wave away the memory—“It wasn’t the problem with my marriage. It wasn’t your fault Derek left. It was mine. All mine.”

  CJ wasn’t the same kind of asshole as her ex-husband, but he hadn’t been a great husband either. He’d never know if he would’ve made it right with Serena, or if they would’ve ended up just like Natalie and her ex.

  “We all make mistakes," he said. He waited for his brain to telegraph a shut the hell up now message, but it didn’t come. Maybe because of everyone in Bliss, Natalie would get it. “Not so sure if I wouldn’t have been in your shoes a while later myself.”

  Her eyes narrowed, and he realized he’d done it again. Rookie mistake. Don’t let them see your weakness.

  Even if they might get it.

  CJ stumbled a half-step back and almost tripped over his ropes, his face gathering an unusual heat.

  Natalie shook her head. “I’m the last person in the world to judge anyone else’s marriage, but this town believes in what it thinks yours was. More than that, Bliss thinks you’re its hero.”

  “I’m not a hero. She was.”

  “And you’re all the world has left of her.”

  “Piss poor thing for her to leave behind,” he muttered. “Should’ve been me.”

  “Me too,” she said.

  He snapped his focus back to her.

  She shrugged. “Mom should’ve had another twenty or thirty years. She should’ve been here to run the Golden Husband Games. If it’d been me instead of Mom, my son could still have playdates without anyone worrying about what the Queen General might think. He could have good role models. The possibility of a future here. But it wasn’t me. It was my mom. It was her time.”

  It was her time. That phrase should’ve been banished from the language. He hated it more than he’d hated anything in his life. “Heard that a time or two. You buy into that bullshit?”

  “I don’t like it, but I can’t change it. Can you?”

  He wished he could. God, he wished he could. “I drove her to volunteer for the deployment. She’d still be here if it weren’t for me. We barely knew each other.”

  She cocked her head. “You were happy here in Bliss. You had something.”

  Yeah, they did. But he’d ignored what they had and concentrated on what else he wanted. “Wasn’t enough.”

  “Not for me to judge,” she repeated. No condemnation, no pity. Refreshing change, especially from her.

  “But she’s gone, and you’re not,” Natalie continued. “If I could play in the Golden Husband Games to give Noah a shot at being accepted for who he is instead of for who I’m not, I’d do it in a heartbeat. I can’t. You can, though. Play. Remember the good times. Win. Use the publicity and the prizes to make a difference in someone’s life. Be what they thought you were. Give someone hope that they can do it too. Your wife was a military hero. Whatever your issues, I’m sure she’d appreciate that.”

  She made it sound reasonable and logical. She made it sound right. “Then what?” He had no home, no long-term goals, no dreams. Just a cobbled-together future of chasing adventures around the globe, never again getting close enough to anyone to hurt them, one of thirteen kids, admired son and son-in-law. But completely, intentionally alone.

  And she was watching him as though she knew it. Pity crept into her eyes, but it was worse than the you-poor-widower pity.

  It was the you-poor-you pity.

  She slowly licked her lips, never breaking eye contact. “Then you find your new happy.”

  His happy? He didn’t have a fucking clue how to find his happy. “Where do you start?”

  Her pulse fluttered in the soft hollow of her neck. “I don’t know.”

  Another door slammed. They both jumped.

  “CJ? Is that you?”

  Natalie blinked. She looked toward Vi’s voice, then nodded stiffly to CJ. “Think about playing. You could do some real good.” She turned, but looked back at him one last time. “I really am sorry,” she said softly. “I won’t mention the kiss again.”

  With that, she casually walked away, leaving him dangling and cursing Vi for interrupting.

  Or maybe praising the Lord for her coming in and saving him from himself. Because he wanted to ask which kiss she wouldn’t mention again.

  “Come on up here,” Vi called. “I have some flowers for the rectory.”

  He wouldn’t find his happy in country club flowers, but he wouldn’t find it in the woman who’d just retreated either.

  He glanced back at her.

  She might not be popular, and she might seem like she was hiding, but CJ suspected she could hold her own.

  Lot better than he could, anyway.

  NATALIE FUMBLED into her car and started the engine.

  She couldn’t breathe.

  No, she could breathe. Easier, actually, for having apologized. But her chest was tight and her skin was tingly and her throat was dry.

  She checked traffic—light for Monday lunchtime—and pulled out of the parking lot toward Bliss Bridal. She hadn’t had all these symptoms together since Derek had asked her out.

  Except Derek never would’ve apologized for something that hadn’t been his fault.

  How many men would?

  Apparently one. One who understood mistakes. Of everything she’d thought of CJ, she’d never expected him to be a kindred spirit.

  Not that it mattered.

  Because CJ may or may not play in the Golden Husband Games, but he’d leave Bliss when his commitments here were over. A guy like him wouldn’t be satisfied with climbing a wedding cake statue every once in a while. He needed to be out in the world.

  Not tied down.

  Free.

  She’d leave too, much as she wanted to stay. But she still had responsibilities. The best responsibility. She couldn’t be a world adventurer. She got to live the adventure of motherhood.

  And why would a guy like CJ want to raise another man’s son with a woman who—up till now—had kept blaming him for something that wasn’t his fault?

  She arrived at Bliss Bridal and hustled into the store. Back near the dressing rooms, Amanda gave her a something’s up look, then nodded toward the office.

  A woman’s voice wafted out. Natalie’s mammaries shrank, partly instinctive fear, partly pure frustration that the woman wouldn’t leave her alone.

  Sorry, Amanda mouthed, along with something else Natalie didn’t catch.

  But she recognized the male voice that answered the Queen General.

  Dad was back.

  “Are the dressing rooms clean?” Natalie asked Amanda. They’d been a mess yesterday.

  “Spotless. We have three new appointments tomorrow, and I already have the girls set up to prep for them.”

  “Good work.”

  Natalie smoothed her hair back and shoved CJ completely out of her mind. Then she stepped toward the office. Just beyond the register counter, though, she stopped cold.

  “I gave you your six months,” Marilyn was saying. “It’s obvious Natalie can’t do the job. You know I’ll compensate you fairly for the space, and you can avoid the hassle of finding
a broker and everything else you’ll have to do.”

  Natalie’s heart ripped in two. A violet haze blurred her vision.

  Dad was selling Mom’s shop to Marilyn?

  “No,” Amanda whispered. She had moved beside the register, and she was staring in horror toward the office.

  Nat couldn’t breathe.

  “I appreciate your patience,” Dad said. “Selling the shop—it’s—it’s not—” He cleared his throat, and when he spoke next, his words came out less broken. Still sad, but less broken. “I’d like to see if I can find a buyer interested in keeping it as a boutique. Let another family have the legacy.”

  “Karen understood things would change. She’d want this to be easy on you.”

  “Maybe. But she wouldn’t want you to be making things so difficult for Natalie either.”

  Natalie’s lungs moved, and she sucked in a surprised breath.

  “Natalie made her choices,” Marilyn said. “The Aisle is no place for a divorced woman with a young child. You don’t have to drag this out and make it any more difficult than it needs to be.”

  “Actually, I do. And while you might be right about this not being where Natalie belongs, I’ve still lost interest in selling it to you.”

  Relief and fear mixed to leave a sour taste in Natalie’s mouth.

  He wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t sell to Marilyn. But was he strong enough? How long could he resist? When Marilyn wanted something, nothing stopped her. Natalie was pretty sure her heart had quit pumping blood and was now pumping tears.

  Dad couldn’t sell Mom’s shop to the Queen General.

  He couldn’t.

  “Arthur—” Marilyn started.

  “I’m hiring a broker and seeking alternate offers,” Dad said. “That’s final.”

  The chair squeaked. Natalie jumped. She turned back to the register, fiddled with the mouse on the computer. Through one of the mirrors up front, she watched Dad and Marilyn’s reflections in the doorway behind her. Marilyn was sporting her General side, with I-will-not-be-disobeyed stamped into her features. Dad caught Natalie’s eye in the mirror.

  Despite the pressure in her chest and eyes, she offered him a small smile.

  He’d stood up for her. He was fighting Marilyn. For Natalie.