Kissing the Maid of Honor

by Robin Bielman

  Six weeks ago he was in Tibet on an expedition with a pro kayaker shooting pictures of him negotiating some of the roughest river rapids in the world. Luke needed an overhead shot, so they’d constructed a makeshift bridge over one of the largest rapids. The bridge hadn’t held and Luke crashed into the water.

  The river had ravaged his body and tossed his six-foot frame around like he weighed nothing. Thanks to the numerous boulders in the water, he’d suffered three broken ribs, a punctured lung, deep cuts to his torso and thighs, and a concussion. It was a miracle his travel companions had pulled him out alive.

  “There you are!”

  He turned to see his sister Vanessa trudging through the sand, her eyes narrowed on him.

  “Mom sent me to make sure you’re okay,” she added. “It’s time for brunch.”

  The truth was, he was not okay. But he had no plans to tell his family or anyone else about his accident or how he now felt like he couldn’t trust himself. His mom worried enough about him and his travels. If she knew what had happened, she’d look him straight in the eyes and ask him to stop. And the way his insides were twisted at the moment, he might agree.

  Luke wrapped his arm around his little sister’s shoulders, happy to keep his injuries a secret and the spotlight on the wedding. “I’m fine. Just hadn’t realized how much I missed this view.” And he had. Something about the peacefulness of the beach here reminded him this would always be home.

  “You should come see it more often, then.”

  He chuckled. Since getting home yesterday his mom and sisters had only reminded him of his five-year absence a dozen or so times. “Hey, you’ve got me for the next three weeks, so zip it.”

  She wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed. He ground his teeth together and forced himself not to flinch at the pain. “I’m so happy about that,” she said.

  “Me, too.” If he had to get injured, he couldn’t have picked a better time. Being home to help photograph his sister’s wedding from his own personal perspective was always in the plan, but now he could fully recuperate and be around to participate in so much more. As much as he thrived on travel and experiences away from small town life, he had missed his family.

  “Mom’s made all of your favorites this morning.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment. His mom knew food was a sure way to get him to stick around and he had no doubt that for the next few weeks, she’d try to negotiate another visit out of him. The thought pleased as much as worried him. “We should head back, then.”

  They walked side by side up the beach toward the house his parents had owned since before he was born. His sisters had moved back in after college and his parents couldn’t have been happier. His family had been one of the first to live in Cascade and his grandfather had donated considerably to growing the town. There was a Watters Avenue and Watters Center for the Performing Arts. The Watters Public Library. And the Watters name adorned at least half a dozen more establishments in some smaller capacity.

  While proud to be a Watters, Luke had left for college without a second glance and with no plans to return on a permanent basis. He wanted to make a name for himself on his own, an identity separate from his upbringing.

  “You weren’t kidding,” he said as they stepped through the open French doors and into the dining room. Despite the cool ocean breeze ushering them in, he got a good whiff of cinnamon, butter, and his mom’s specialty, Dutch Babies. He eyed all the platters of food and then snagged one of the thin triangle pancakes, careful not to spill the powdered sugar on top.

  Vanessa giggled.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I knew you’d grab one of those.” She picked up two herself. “Think I’ll go find Hayden and bring him one.”

  “He’s right behind me,” Luke’s mom said, carrying a tray of blueberry muffins.

  The rest of the family filed in and in less than five minutes they were all sitting around the table with plates full of food. The only person missing was Teague, his youngest sister. She was studying abroad and would be flying home to be a bridesmaid just in time for the wedding.

  “So, Hayden,” Luke said to his future brother-in-law in the sternest voice he could muster, “you do anything to upset my little sister and I’ll personally see to it that you suffer bodily harm.”

  “Luke!” Vanessa said.

  Silverware clattered, but he wasn’t sure whose. His mom gasped. His father shook his head.

  Luke grinned. “I’m kidding.” He reached across the table to fist bump Hayden. “I wasn’t around when you guys were dating, so I didn’t get to give any big-brother threats.”

  “No worries, man,” Hayden said. “I promise to take good care of her.” He clasped hands with Vanessa atop the table.

  “I know you will.” Luke considered himself a good judge of character and Hayden was exactly the kind of man he would have picked for his sister—loyal, family-oriented, didn’t take himself too seriously. It would be nice knowing there was another guy around, he thought as he looked down the table at his dad—especially since his parents had aged since the last time he was home.

  “Hey, everyone. Sorry I’m late.”

  Luke turned his head in surprise at the interruption. He barely caught sight of a woman as she flitted behind him, but she smelled like flowers.

  She bent and gave his sister Erin a hug, moved to his mom next, rounded the table to give an affectionate kiss on the cheek to his father, a shoulder squeeze to Vanessa, and another kiss to Hayden. Then she locked eyes with him.

  And he instantly slipped back in time. Something familiar in her hazel eyes called to him, and only when she moved her gaze away did his stare drop to her full mouth. He gulped. Her lips were the perfect shade of pink.

  “Hi, Luke,” she said before quickly taking the empty chair at the opposite end of the table.

  “Hi…”

  Vanessa laughed. “Oh my God, Luke. You’re such a dork. That’s Sela.”

  Sela Sullivan? His best friend’s little sister? Holy crap, she’d grown up to be even more beautiful. Besides the mouth, her eyes sparkled, her hair fell in long, tawny-colored waves down her back, and her formfitting yellow sweater with tiny pearls for buttons and faded blue jeans definitely accentuated her ass-ets.

  She’d been a thorn in his side growing up. Loved to annoy him and always argued with whatever he said. He cracked a small smile remembering how he’d enjoyed knocking her off her pedestal a time or two. She’d been too smart for her own good. Though on a rare occasion she’d been friendly.

  Too friendly.

  Hell, it all came flooding back. The kissing booth. The way her lips had molded against his better than any other girl’s. The fly on his jeans had strained. He’d gotten instantly… “Oh, hey, Sela. It’s nice to see you.”

  She replied with a closed-mouth smile that looked forced. Did she remember the last words he’d said to her? You kiss like a corpse, he’d announced. Then shoved her away and proceeded to add a few more adjectives. She’d turned and ran, but not before he saw a big, fat tear roll down her cheek.

  What was it his sister and her friends called him and his baseball buddies? Oh yeah, a jock-ass. He’d definitely been one that day. Despite their differences, it killed him that he’d hurt her in front of so many people, but her brother Shane—his very best friend—had been standing right there, and so he’d had no choice. He couldn’t let anyone see how she’d really affected him.

  “This looks amazing as always, Paula,” Sela said, breaking him from his train of thought.

  “Thank you, sweetie,” his mom said. “We’re glad you could join us.”

  Over the years Vanessa had mentioned Sela once or twice, and the last time they’d talked at length, Vanessa had told him she was her maid of honor. But in all honesty, he’d only listened with half an ear, so he had no idea what she was up to now. Was she married? Probably not, since she’d arrived alone.

  He eyed her hands as they busily loaded her plat
e with food. Nothing on her ring finger, but she did wear a series of thin bands with different colored stones on the middle finger of her right hand. He wondered if it was something special.

  “Are we all set for Wednesday night?” Vanessa asked.

  “Yes.” Sela forked a piece of scrambled egg before putting the utensil on the side of her plate. “Seven o’clock.” She reached down and a second later had a sheet of pink paper in her hand, which she gave to Vanessa. “Here’s a schedule of everything coming up.”

  Vanessa read the list and then beamed at her friend. His mom winked at Sela. Organization had never been one of Vanessa’s strong suits, and it warmed him that Vanessa had not only Mom but a friend looking out for her, too.

  “What’s happening Wednesday?” he asked.

  “Dance lessons,” Vanessa said, the corners of her mouth still spread wide. “For the whole wedding party.”

  Luke choked on his coffee. “Why?” He’d been to one other wedding, and he couldn’t recall paying much attention to the wedding party. Weren’t the only people who really mattered the bride and groom?

  “Afraid you’ve got two left feet?” Sela asked, a familiar ring of opposition in her voice before she looked down and stuffed food in her mouth.

  Oh, he’d take that challenge and dance rings around her. “I guess you’ll find out on Wednesday.” He leaned back in his chair and contemplated the two thoughts niggling at him. Would he be able to move well enough on the dance floor to hide his still-healing body? And why the hell was he looking forward to tangoing with his best friend’s little sister? Shane would rip him a new one if he messed with Sela.

  He kept his mouth shut the rest of breakfast, listening to the women talk about all the upcoming wedding festivities. Sela never looked his way again, but she did cast affectionate gazes on his father and Hayden. She talked and laughed and seemed more a part of the family than he did. Despite the guilt that he hadn’t been home in far too long, he could have watched her all day without hardship.

  A sharp pain sliced through his middle and he reflexively pressed his forearm across his upper abdomen. The stabs came out of nowhere to remind him his body wasn’t back to normal—that he was weak.

  The physical unease let up quick enough, but the mental anguish lingered, always there in the back of his mind. Could he get back to the job he loved without hesitation? He had an assignment the second week of June—a pro skier in Chile. The mountains there were known for avalanches. His own safety wasn’t the only consideration. The athletes and crew counted on him to have their backs, too, if necessary. Worse than something happening to him again would be his freezing in response to someone needing his help.

  Luke gulped. For the next few weeks he’d focus on getting his strength back with daily runs on the beach, light weights, and a healthy diet. His doctor had recommended meditation and yeah, he’d scoffed at the idea, but if he didn’t keep an open mind he might not fully recover as quickly as he’d like. Because after Vanessa’s wedding, he had no more excuses.

  He glanced at Sela again. A few yoga poses with her would definitely make him feel better.

  Chapter Two

  Sela let out a pained sigh and read the e-mail from her editor for the tenth time. Stella hated the women, life & love article she’d sent in yesterday for next week’s column. Actually, hate might be too kind a word. Since when was a discussion of a woman’s “number” taboo? Since Stella had gotten dumped by her latest boyfriend, that’s when.

  Stella hadn’t exactly come out and said that, but it was definitely implied. And now Sela had twenty-four hours to write a new column or Stella would fill her spot with something else.

  Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem. But she was due at the hospital for a twelve-hour shift in thirty minutes, followed by another one tomorrow, and then dance lessons in the evening. That left her a small window of opportunity tonight.

  “Looks like I’ll be chugging the coffee later, Becks.”

  Beckham’s little Yorkie body wriggled in her lap, and he tilted his head up.

  “Don’t look at me like that.” She pushed away the coffee cup on her desk just as a terrible thought struck her.

  What if the rejection had nothing to do with Stella and everything to do with her? Maybe she wasn’t as good a writer as she thought. Or worse, maybe she didn’t have any more interesting advice to offer. If anyone looked at her own love life, they’d see she didn’t write from experience.

  She wrote from the heart.

  Her head hit the desk. Beckham scurried off her lap, in tune to all her emotions and obviously figuring she needed some space. All the great column ideas she’d once had seemed to whittle away and all she wanted was to call in sick and stay in bed. A knot the size of Colorado lodged in her throat.

  She couldn’t let this setback drain her creativity and confidence. She’d written dozens of columns for Stella with success. So what if one had hit the wrong note?

  But that meant this next article had to be beyond good—a topic that would knock Stella’s designer boots off. She stood and paced around her bedroom, crossing back and forth over the first rays of daylight streaming in through the window. She needed some new inspiration. Vanessa’s wedding invitation leaned against her pencil holder, and in the next instant, Luke popped into her head.

  He looked even better now, if that was possible. She might have thought him a jerk, but he’d always been an attractive jerk. Sitting with him at brunch, Sela had noticed everything when he wasn’t looking. His light brown hair was shorter, and she’d bet he never combed it. His face was a bit more angular, like he’d lost some weight. And the sculpted stubble on his jawline? Annoyingly sexy.

  But what got to her the most was this feeling she had—that something wasn’t right with him. The fire and spark in his unfairly gorgeous green eyes had dwindled. And the wince she caught, with his arm across his middle, meant pain, but Vanessa hadn’t mentioned anything to her about an injury.

  Whatever she thought, though, it didn’t matter. Luke didn’t matter. Not to her. And she’d taken the first steps to proving that by not engaging with him after she’d slipped into her old ways and stupidly teased him about dancing.

  That was it! She’d write a column titled something like “How to Dance Your Way Into a Guy’s Heart.” She plopped down at her desk and sent Stella an e-mail. She’d have the new column to her by Thursday morning—it was crucial she have one extra day for research. Did they have any stock photos of a couple dancing? And P.S. She was sorry about the breakup.

  She threw on her scrubs, tied her hair back into a ponytail, hugged and kissed Beckham, and headed out the door. “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” played in her head all the way to the hospital.

  Seven hours into her shift, Sela slid her tray down the hospital’s cafeteria conveyor belt for a late lunch. “Hey, Georgette,” she called over the counter. “Got any left?”

  “Been waiting for you,” Georgette said, her wrinkled hand lifting a plate of homemade macaroni and cheese. “The bottom of the pan is always the best.”

  “Yes, it is. Thank you.” She inhaled the scent of sharp cheddar cheese and her stomach leaped in anticipation of the cheesy goodness.

  Georgette met her at the register. “Hey, what’s going on?”

  Sela sighed. “There’s no keeping secrets from you, is there?” Since Sela’s first day at the hospital, Georgette had adopted her as one of her own and been available whenever she was upset about a patient.

  Georgette led her to a table and they sat in the empty cafeteria. “Talk.”

  “It’s this little boy,” Sela said. “He’s got a staph infection and may lose his leg.” She took a bite of her pasta. “He’s a soccer player.”

  “Like you were.”

  Sela nodded. Her mom still had all her jerseys—she was always number three because it rhymed with tree and she’d liked to climb them.

  “It’s amazing the things they do with prosthetics today,” Georgette said, her tone ge
ntle.

  “I know. It just hurts. I wish so badly I could make him better.” She rubbed at the corner of her eye. “Things are hard enough for kids today without an added challenge.”

  Georgette’s warm hand covered hers. “You make people better all the time, Sela. Don’t you forget that.”

  A customer walked in, drawing Georgette’s attention so Sela couldn’t ask what she meant. The doctors made people better, not her.

  A few more bites of macaroni and cheese lifted her spirits some. How did food do that?

  But then she glanced across the cafeteria and her mood hit the skids. Heat raced up the back of her neck. Luke stood at the counter, charming the pants off Georgette, if she was reading the blush on the older woman’s face right. What was he doing here?

  As if sensing her eyes on him, he turned his head in her direction. With the grace of an inexperienced teenager suffering a crush, Sela cocked her head down and put her hand flat on the side of her head, elbow on the table. She did not want to talk to him and if he had noticed her, maybe he’d get the hint.

  Several seconds ticked by until the suspense was too much. She kept her chin down, her fingers on her forehead, and ventured a peek.

  He stood halfway between her and the exit, a wrapped sandwich in his hand, his attention on the speckled tile floor. His awkward stance did something funny to her stomach, and she almost leaped out of her chair to see if he was okay. No. He’s just indecisive, she thought. He had noticed her and couldn’t decide if he should say hello.

  Let him figure it out. She got back to her mac and cheese.

  But she did angle her chair away from him in case he hadn’t seen her and she was dreaming up this whole scenario. He really had a bothersome influence over her. And if he weren’t blocking the exit, she would have made a quick getaway.

  “Sela?”

  Crap. “Luke? Hi.” She dropped her arm and lifted her head. Only to be gobsmacked by a pair of green thunderstorms.