Not Another Wedding

by Jennifer Mckenzie

  She snorted. “Hardly.” But she backed off.

  He took a step toward her, closing the distance between them. She didn’t move. “You sure?”

  “Yes.” No. She reminded herself Jamie was only two feet away. “Is he going to be okay?”

  Beck kept his eyes on her as he called over his shoulder, “You going to be okay, Jamie?”

  “I’m good, really good.”

  “He doesn’t know what he’s saying,” she murmured to Beck. She ducked around to check for herself, feeling safer with the drunk guy than his cousin. “Jamie? Do you need anything?”

  “No.” He sighed, a blissful smile on his face. “Pop-Tart?”

  “Yes?” she ignored Beck’s snigger. Pop-Tart was better than Red. At least Pop-Tart made sense.

  “Do you think I’ll be a good dad?”

  “Of course you will.” Jamie was probably worried since his dad had died when he was a baby, but she had no doubt he would be a great one. She smoothed his blond hair off his forehead. “When you decide to start a family, you’ll be an amazing dad.”

  “I can’t wait to be a dad.” He hugged his pillow again. “Emmy’s not showing yet. We haven’t told anyone, but we’re having a baby.”

  Poppy’s hand stilled. Emmy was pregnant? Already? Poppy swallowed the bile rising in her throat. Now was not the time to get pukey. This explained the big rush to get married. Had Emmy gotten pregnant immediately, causing Jamie to go into good-guy mode? She knew he would. It was in his DNA. He would never walk away from his baby, even if he barely knew the mother.

  “She’s going to be a great mom. She’s amazing. I love her.” More pillow hugging.

  Poppy forced her hand to move. “You’ll both be great parents.” She glanced at Beck, who was frowning. He didn’t seem thrilled by the idea either.

  “Did you know?” she asked under her breath as they headed out of the room.

  “Not a clue.” He flicked out the lights and put his arm around her shoulders.

  “Good night,” Jamie called.

  But only Beck answered. Poppy was too busy worrying. Had Emmy gotten pregnant on purpose? To trap him? And what could they do now? If Emmy was pregnant, Jamie was not going to be open to the discussion of calling off the wedding.

  They were halfway down the dark hall when Poppy heard a woman’s voice call out, “Beck?”

  Her eyes still hadn’t adjusted to the dark, but she recognized the sudden tension in his body. She stopped walking, too. He didn’t respond.

  “Beck?” she whispered, and sensed him turn toward her. “Aren’t you going to answer?”

  He leaned down so his mouth was right next to her ear. She trembled, glad he couldn’t see her. “No.”

  He started moving her down the hallway, back toward the stairs and away from the voice. “Wasn’t that your mom?” Poppy persisted.

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “And I don’t want to explain why Jamie is drunk in one of the guest rooms.”

  “We should tell her.” Poppy stopped halfway to the bottom of the stairs. Since Beck’s arm was still around her, he stopped, too. “Someone should check in on him.”

  “He didn’t have that much to drink,” Beck assured her. “He just needs to sleep it off.”

  “Still, what’s the harm in telling her?”

  Beck started walking again, tugging her with him. “The harm,” he said when they reached the ground floor, “is that she wasn’t sleeping alone.”

  Poppy had figured out some sort of reconciliation was going on between Beck’s parents. And that he didn’t want to discuss it. But he should. It wasn’t healthy keeping everything bottled up inside. “Do you want to talk?”

  “No.” He closed the front door and locked it. They stood in the shadows of the porch. There was enough light to illuminate their faces. It added an intimacy to the moment. A trickle of desire crept through her. Dangerous. But she didn’t move.

  “Are you upset they’re getting back together?”

  He shot her a look. “Wouldn’t you be?”

  Poppy considered his question. It wasn’t something she’d had to think about. Her parents had always been happy. Of course, they had the occasional disagreement, The Wallpaper Incident of 1993 sprang to mind, but those instances were rare. “I’m not sure,” she admitted. She’d never pictured her parents not being together.

  “You would be if you’d lived through it.”

  Anger reverberated in his tone, but she suspected it masked a deeper pain. Her heart went out to him. “Beck.”

  “I’m fine.” The tightness of his jaw said otherwise. She ran a hand along it, the bristles scratching her skin.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “Nothing to talk about. They’ll go on doing what they always do.”

  “Which is?”

  “Loving each other for now.” He closed his eyes. When he reopened them, they were clear but sad. “We don’t need to talk about this.”

  Poppy thought he did. “You’ll feel better letting it out, and I’m a good listener.”

  “Maybe later.” He took her hand and led her down the stairs, their steps echoing through the crisp night. Instead of going straight toward his car, he turned left and led her across the front lawn.

  She had to walk on her tiptoes so her heels didn’t sink into the sod and send her sprawling. “Where are we going?”

  “My place.”

  Her heart froze and then accelerated. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  He slowed and studied her. “Why not?”

  Why not? Because if she went into that house, she couldn’t be sure what would happen. If she were being honest with herself, she knew she’d stopped being mad at him a couple days ago, but that didn’t mean she was ready to take anything to the next level either. “I don’t want us to do something we’ll regret.”

  A smile curved his lips. She liked seeing it and knowing she was the one who’d put it there. “Don’t think you can control yourself?”

  “No, I don’t think you can.”

  “Guilty.” He caught her chin in his hand and kissed her. “Definitely guilty.”

  “Which is why I should go home.” And not think about that kiss, which had her wanting to throw herself into his arms.

  He stopped smiling. Although they were under the cover of the trees, she could see the disappointment on his face. She could have gotten over that. But his sadness got to her.

  “Stay with me.”

  “Beck.”

  “Just to talk.”

  “I’ve heard that before.” From him, the night they’d slept together for the first time.

  “Yeah, but this time I mean it.” He stepped into her, so his chest brushed against hers. Her whole body turned into one big tingle.

  “Beck.” This wasn’t a good idea. She didn’t trust herself around him. Especially not when he was looking at her with such naked openness.

  “One drink, and then I’ll take you back.” He caught her hand and brought it to his cheek again. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

  She should say no anyway. It was risky. But he’d asked for her help. How could she turn him down? She sighed. “Okay, but just one drink.”

  Agreeing was probably the wrong thing to do, but the relief on his face made it seem right. That and the way his hand fit into the small of her back. Large and warm and protective.

  They settled in the family room, which held a comfy chocolate-colored L-shaped couch with a soft, white blanket tossed over the back, a glass coffee table and enough stereo and TV equipment to keep any techie happy.

  He offered wine, she asked for coffee, even though the caffeine would probably keep her up half the night.

  “Thanks.” S
he accepted the steaming mug and took a sip. It was the way she liked it, a splash of cream, enough to change the color without making it too milky, and no sugar. He’d remembered. She was pleased, then had to remind herself he’d served it to her at brunch only a few days ago, so it wasn’t as though he’d tucked the knowledge away for years in the hopes he’d get to prove his love to her one day.

  “So?” she started.

  “So.” He sipped and studied her. They sat on the short side of the couch, which still gave them enough personal space. But only just.

  “What did you mean about your parents loving each other for now?”

  He shrugged. “Do you really want to talk about that?”

  “It’s why I’m here,” she said, though that wasn’t the complete truth. But she knew where it would lead if she told him her other less altruistic reasons.

  He leaned back against the couch. “What do you want to know?”

  “Why don’t you want them back together?”

  His fingers tightened around the mug and his lips pursed as he forced his hand to relax. “They don’t have a good track record. They’ve already been divorced twice.”

  Poppy blinked. “From other people?”

  “No, each other. If we include their other spouses, that brings the total up to seven marriages. Three for Dad and four for my mother.” He put his coffee on the table. “So you can understand why I’m not too thrilled about them going for marriage number three.”

  “They’re engaged?”

  “Only a matter of time.”

  They were both quiet for a moment. His shoulders looked tight, his lips still pursed. “Have you talked to them?”

  His laugh was more of a bark. “No. My mother wouldn’t want to hear it and my dad and I don’t have that kind of relationship.”

  There was a bleakness to his voice that made her want to gather him into her arms and soothe all his hurts away, but she didn’t think he would appreciate that. So she waited and watched as the tension in his posture slowly seeped away.

  “Can we talk about something else?”

  “If you want.” She wasn’t going to force him to discuss his family situation if he didn’t want to. But she was a little discouraged he wouldn’t open up to her. “Would you rather talk about Jamie?”

  He nodded. “Quite a surprise.”

  “Not a good one.” Poppy’s insides twisted. “Do you think that’s why he’s marrying her?”

  Beck’s sour-lemon expression sweetened a little. “Knowing Jamie?” He tilted his head. “Yes. It’s exactly the kind of good-guy thing he’d believe was required.”

  Poppy rubbed a thumb along the heated ceramic cup. “I think so, too. I’m worried. What if she planned it all out?”

  “I’m pretty sure the pregnancy wasn’t planned.”

  “I don’t think Jamie planned it. But she might have.” What better way to ensure she’d have access to Jamie’s money for at least the next eighteen years. “What if she wanted to trap him? They’ll be tied together for life now.”

  “They’re going to be tied together through marriage anyway.” Beck picked up his coffee again and edged toward her.

  Poppy aimed her knees in his general direction. “Not the same at all,” she argued. “People get divorced and move on with no further contact. But a child connects you for life.”

  “I know.”

  She realized he was talking about his own life. His parents had never been able to move on from one another entirely because of him. “You shouldn’t feel guilty about that,” she told him.

  “I don’t.”

  But Poppy didn’t think he was telling the truth.

  He exhaled. “Look, Jamie’s a grown-up. I don’t think a baby is reason to get married, but he would. And all we can do is support him.”

  “I disagree. People don’t have to get married because they’re having a baby. Plenty of people don’t.”

  “Jamie’s not one of those people.” He reached out and ran a finger down her shin.

  The tingle went all the way down to her toes. “No, he’s not.” Which is what worried her. She was beginning to doubt there was any way to convince Jamie to postpone the wedding, even if it was in his best interests. She moved her legs back to the floor.

  “Then we should focus on the positive. They seem to love each other.”

  “You think that’s enough?”

  “No, but if they do...” He plucked her coffee out of her hands, put both cups on the table and slid over so their legs touched. “I’m not saying it’s what I would do.”

  “What would you do?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never found myself in that situation.”

  He’d do the same thing. She could tell. Beck might put on a show of being distant, but he’d be as quick as Jamie to commit when he met the right woman. She let out a soft breath when he placed a hand on her knee.

  “Tell me what I need to do to convince you to give in to this attraction.” He leaned over, his hand wandering up her thigh. “I know it’s still there between us.”

  “Beck.” She placed a hand on his chest, wanting to push back and gain some breathing room, and felt the thump of his heart. “I don’t—”

  “Poppy.” He stopped her before she could try to pass off a lie as truth. “I want you. And you want me, too.”

  She ducked her head. His heart beat faster now. Hers sped up to match. She did want this. Badly. To fall into his arms, let him lead her upstairs to his king-size bed and crawl all over his naked body.

  But what then?

  She would be back in Vancouver in less than a week, and he’d be in Seattle. Chances were they wouldn’t see each other again unless he started spending his holidays in Naramata. As that hadn’t happened once in the last decade, she thought it unlikely.

  He wouldn’t call, wouldn’t send her sweet emails or texts, wouldn’t take her out on dates, and win over her family and buy her the perfect engagement ring and get down on one knee in front of a thousand people to ask her to spend the rest of his life with him. Whatever this was would just be over.

  “Tell me you’re at least considering it.” He placed a finger under her chin and pressed up until she looked at him.

  She was. She thought of Wynn’s words that this was the perfect opportunity to get back into dating. No strings attached meant she could work out all that awkwardness on someone she wouldn’t have to see again. No uncomfortable run-ins where she’d have to wonder why things hadn’t worked out. No stilted conversations where they had to act as if they had never seen each other naked.

  But those were just excuses she told herself. She wanted him. Beck.

  Had it actually been almost a year since Evan? For the first time, she thought it had been too long. Way too long. Poppy missed the closeness of sex, of having someone sleep in the bed beside her.

  A frown turned down the edges of her lips. “Depends.”

  His eyes narrowed. “On?” She didn’t answer, just ran her hands through his hair. He reached back, stilled her fingers. “Depends on what?”

  “On whether or not you’re going to drop off the face of the earth afterward this time.” She wasn’t saying he had to pledge his undying love, but acting as if she existed was required.

  “I didn’t drop off the face of the earth.”

  There was no smirk on his face or teasing gleam in his eyes, which was good because she might have had to kill him. “It seemed like it to me.”

  “Poppy.”

  “It did.” She forced a smile. “I’m sorry if you don’t want to hear that, but it’s the truth. You hurt me, Beck.” It was as close as she was going to get to telling him about the two-week crying jag, and only going to prom because Jamie made her, and the stupid fantasy she’d had that Beck would walk through the doo
rs of their tackily decorated gymnasium and ask her to dance.

  “I wanted to call.” The air around them got heavy.

  Poppy had some trouble sucking enough into her lungs to breathe, but managed to raise an eyebrow at him. She refused to let him see just how much he had hurt her. “And there were no phones in Seattle?”

  “There were phones.” He cupped the back of her head. “I was stupid.”

  “Good answer.”

  “Do I get a prize?”

  “No.” He slowly inched toward her. She was either unable or unwilling to stop him. She didn’t want to think about which one was the truth.

  “I’ll call this time.”

  “Not enough.” Little tremors rippled through her body. “Why didn’t you call? Besides being an idiot.”

  “It was a bad time, Poppy.”

  “So tell me about it.”

  He sighed. “This is going to ruin the moment.”

  “No, Beck.” She placed both hands on his chest. “It’s the only thing that’s going to save it.”

  He brushed her hair away from her neck, his finger hovering over that sweet spot there. “My parents separated that night.” Surprise speared through her, but she didn’t say anything. “I dropped you off and when I got home, they were arguing.”

  She lifted one hand and let it curve against his cheek. “You should have called me. I would have listened.”

  “I didn’t want to talk about it.” He pressed his face more fully into her palm. “It was hard. They were breaking up again and I was caught in the middle. I wanted a fresh start.” His dark eyes stared into hers. “I should have called. But I didn’t want to drag you into the mess, too.”

  Her heart pumped. He’d been trying to protect her. “I could have helped.”

  “It was better this way.”

  It wasn’t, but she didn’t explain that. In his own wrongheaded way, he’d been trying to protect her. Her heart swelled. “And now?”

  “Now?” He bent his head and let his lips play along her neck.

  “It seems we have the same situation.” She was amazed she could form coherent thoughts, let alone sentences, when he was working her over like a master.