The Wrong Bridesmaid

The Ford home has two dining rooms. One I don’t like, and one I despise.

The “family dining room” is a relatively typical, although large, room with a six-person table. It’s the one we used most often when Winston, Wren, and I were kids, for meals, homework, and craft projects. That table has a small spot from Wren’s fourth-grade volcano diorama, which she insisted on building bigger than anyone else’s because nothing but the best would do. Back then, I loved this room, hearing about Dad’s day especially. As I got older, though, those family dinners became a bit more awkward, with Mom and Dad questioning me on my future, discussing my grades. Like most teenagers, I wanted to relax through the end of my high school years.

The other dining room is the formal one, with a table that’s held up to twenty people for business dinners and political committee meetings. When I had to sit there, it was with the expectation that I would be seen and not heard, support Dad no matter what, and play the part of the perfect son. As a boy, I was proud to do so. Later, not so much.

But though we’re in the formal dining room, tonight’s no business reception or political thing. Tonight’s about celebrating Winston and Avery privately, intimately. This is the real celebration, in my opinion. Tomorrow’s about appearances, at least for half my family and probably a good chunk of the guests.

Somehow Rachel manages to sit by my side, even scooting her chair a bit closer and flashing me a flirty smile. I’m trying my best to be polite, but damn! And what is up with the bridesmaid-order switch? I was looking forward to walking with Hazel, even after last night.

I spent most of the night thinking about her and what happened. She’s skittish, understandably so, and I got impatient. I let what is basically her fear and established prejudice strike out at me and hit.

But I think she’ll be worth it if I can go slow.

You’re only here for a few more days.

Okay, not that slow, then.

“Well, I’d like to start with a toast,” Dad says, standing up. He’s got a drink in his hand, but I’m reasonably sure that this is his first. I’ve been watching like a hawk, because I won’t let Dad fuck things up for Winston, and at this point, I don’t trust him to make good choices. “Winston, I have watched as you’ve become a man, and I’m so proud of you. Now tomorrow, you’re taking another step, and I couldn’t be happier for you. Avery, from the minute Winston brought you home, we could see how special you are. The two of you deserve nothing but the best, and I think you’ve found that in each other.”

Cheers go around, and I prepare to drink, but then Avery’s Grandpa Joe stands up, his own glass in hand. “Well . . . since I’m sort of standing in as father of the bride, I’m going to take the privilege to say a few words. I know her parents would be very happy today if they were here.”

The celebratory vibe dims, and I know we’re all thinking about Avery’s past. That her parents were taken from her so tragically . . . it’s just wrong.

“Now, Avery’s mother was the one with the words,” Grandpa Joe says after clearing his throat, “and thankfully, she was also the one with the good looks, which she passed on to Avery. Lord knows what would have happened if you’d come out looking like me or your father!”

There are laughs all around, and Grandpa Joe continues, “You’ve been amazing in everything from the moment you were born, and look at you now. I changed your diapers when you were a baby, and now, you’ve had to change one or two of mine, but that’s how things go . . . life comes around full circle.” He gets quiet for a moment, his eyes going unfocused. He shakes his head, smiling. “Uh, what was I saying? Oh yeah, full circle . . . like your love for each other.”

I don’t know, but I think I like the old guy. He’s funny, and Avery is smiling at him lovingly. Even Winston is smiling at the old man.

“Yeah anyway, that full circle, think of it like a wheel . . . it’s going to keep rolling along,” Grandpa Joe says, “so hang on to each other. Because soon enough, it’ll be you two standing up here feeling foolish while trying to make some damn sense, when all you really want to say is ‘I love you both, and I want you both to be happy.’ Love hard, kids.”

Now that I can understand, and my eyes flick across the table to Hazel, and find her looking back at me.

Slow, man. Remember that?

But slow is not what’s on my mind as I stare into her eyes.

The dinner starts, and it’s as delicious as I expect, but it’s also a five-course meal. I’ve been through all this before; I know what to do. But as dinner progresses, it’s pretty clear that Hazel doesn’t.

Not that Hazel Sullivan cares, really. She relishes the food, from the pomegranate and feta salad to the poached trout appetizer. She might look around for clues about which fork to use and have no idea about fancy table manners, but I could watch her eat every day for the rest of my life and never get bored.

She examines the food, inhaling deeply as each new plate is delivered, and then takes joy in the food itself, moaning and groaning quietly as she samples each new thing. Some of it’s familiar, and I’m sure some of it’s brand new.

But whatever it is, she enjoys every bit.

“Now that the fathers have had their say,” Mom says after the second course is cleared away, “would anyone else like to speak?”

“Yes, that would be nice,” Dad adds, giving me a look. “I’m sure Wyatt has plenty of zingers for his brother. Maybe a few tonight and save the rest for tomorrow? What do you say?”

Before I can make a move, Hazel clears her throat, and I see she’s rising to speak. I sit forward to listen carefully.

“When we were kids, Avery and I would talk about the one,” she says, chuckling a little. “Probably because we were too into those Matrix movies. And when you told me you’d met the one, I was so happy for you. And then I heard who he is.”

Uh-oh, is she going to do this at my parents’ dining table? Really? I’m part horrified and part intrigued with what’s going to come out of her mouth next, which is exciting. She’s not one to bow down to Dad because of his position as mayor. If anything, she’ll tell him exactly what she thinks of him and where he can stick it.

But instead, Hazel smiles. “Much to my surprise, your happily ever after is coming with a man I would’ve never expected. But you’ve shown, not just me, but everyone”—she looks around the table—“what love can do, what love can be, and how it can change you for the better.”

Wren lifts her glass. “Hear, hear.”

But Hazel isn’t done. She narrows her eyes, pinning Winston like a bug under a microscope.

“But let me be clear that if you hurt her, I will absolutely destroy you. Not murder . . . that’s too easy and not nearly painful enough. I will drag you out to the woods, tie you to a tree, and cover your body in Tayvious’s fancy ketchup so that everything that creeps, bounds, and slithers along the ground will want to have a bite.” She goes as far as clacking her teeth Winston’s way, but he raises his glass good-naturedly.

I don’t know if it’s karma or if she was listening, but it’s then that Leo and Maria come in, pushing the big serving cart. “Our main course . . . roast leg of lamb.”

“Appropriate,” I quip, and Winston laughs at least. Dinner continues, my own toast forgotten or perhaps delayed. After all, if Hazel’s willing to throw down, what is the Ford black-sheep brother willing to do?

After dinner, Dad guides everyone to the living room, and I worry he’s going to forget his promise about not getting drunk. But he pours himself a club soda with lime, giving Mom a pointed look, and then offers Grandpa Joe a cognac. Mom assists by pouring a few glasses of wine and dispensing them to Wren, Rachel, and Avery.

She offers Hazel one, but she declines and instead asks Wren, “Excuse me, where’s the restroom?”

Wren points to the guest bath. “Down the front hall, second door on the right.”

Hazel disappears, and a moment later, I make a quiet exit. I head toward the front hall, but hear voices in the dining room, and something tells me to go that way instead.

“No, Hazel. I’ve got this.”

“How many times have you pre-bused a table for me when you come into Puss N Boots?”

I stand in the hallway, out of sight, and use the mirror’s reflection to see into the dining room. To my surprise, Hazel is helping Maria clean off the table from tonight’s dinner. Maria smiles. “Habit.”

“Same here.” They work together, chatting while everyone else is talking about the wedding in the other room. Hazel puts a plate on the cart, and looks over. “Is that your Leonardo that opened the door earlier?”

“It is. We’ve been with the Fords for years now.”

Hazel lifts an eyebrow. “I didn’t know that.”

“Well, when I come in to eat, it’s with my ladies’ group from church.”

“One margarita each, Tayvious’s dinner specials, and a to-go burger and fries,” Hazel quotes from memory. “For Leo?”

Maria smiles softly. “Yes. He is a good man . . . but a terrible cook.”

Hazel laughs quietly before sobering. “Do y’all like working here?”

Maria nods, which warms me inside. “The Fords are good people, treat us well.”

Hazel looks around suspiciously, and I duck back, making sure she can’t see or hear me. Thinking she’s clear, she leans toward Maria. “Let me guess . . . the walls have ears?”

Maria laughs. “It wouldn’t matter if they do or don’t. We’re happy here.”

“What about Wyatt?”

My ears perk up at that, and I lean closer to make sure I can hear every word.

Maria looks into the mirror, her eyes meeting mine. She knows all the tricks us kids used to use around here. She winks after making sure that Hazel is looking down at the stack of dishes in her hands.

“Wyatt? Oh yeah, he’s a good-looking one, isn’t he?” she teases.

Hazel blushes but nods.

More seriously, Maria says, “He’s an interesting man. He was a good boy, always happy. But when he got older, something happened. I don’t know what, but it changed him. He was never the same after that, more . . . angry? No, that’s not it . . . He was jaded.”

Her sad eyes glance up to mine, but fall immediately. She doesn’t know why, but she does know how I reacted. “He left, and I hope he has found his happiness again. He deserves that.”

“We all do.”

Maria hears something in her answer, because she stops clearing the table, giving Hazel her full attention. “Are you happy, Hazel?”

Hazel sighs heavily. “I was. Or I thought I was. But maybe it’s not happiness, so much as . . . content? Or stagnation?” Maria hums and Hazel rushes to add, “I don’t know, I’ve just been thinking.”

“Thinking is good. Sometimes, when opportunities come, we are not ready for them, but we have to get ready really fast. Like your Avery and my Winston,” Maria says. “I know he was a boy when they met, but he grew up fast for her. And she adjusted what she thought her idea of perfect is. Because the truth is . . . no one is perfect. Not even my Leo. He farts like he has died and been resurrected in the devil’s image whenever he has greasy french fries.”

Hazel laughs. “I’m gonna tell Tay Tay.”

Maria laughs heartily, making the cross motion over herself. “Go ahead. Because do I bring the fries? Of course I do. Because he enjoys them.”

“Not sure this is the same thing as killer farts,” Hazel says dryly.

Maria waves it off. “You’d be surprised what can be the thing that drives you crazy,” she says wisely. “Now, you’d best get back to the party, where you belong. Let me do this.”

“Okay, but you know I’m going to give you an extra-large serving of fries next time you come in, right?” Hazel asks, and Maria grins.

“Of course you are, and Leo will eat every last one while I curse your name.”

I should run back to the party before Hazel sees me eavesdropping. She’s likely to think this is another one of my character flaws. But I don’t move, despite Maria’s warning.

Instead I stay right where I am, and when Hazel walks into the foyer, she jumps when I say, “Hey.”

Hazel puts a hand on her chest, gasping, “Wyatt! You scared the shit out of me.” Her eyes narrow as she realizes where I am and how close to the dining room that is. “Could you hear us?”

I nod, completely unapologetic, ready for her fire to return. And it does. “You know that’s a jerk move. That was a private conversation.”

I shrug, keeping my voice low. “It’s my house.”

She turns to walk off dismissively, obviously ready to brand me a “fucking Ford” again.

“Wait.”

“What?” she snaps.

I don’t know what I was going to say, or what I should say. All I can see is the pink of Hazel’s lips and fire in her dark eyes. There’s a moment where my brain tries to function, to come up with something to make her stay, but in the end, I go with my gut, not my mind. “Fuck it.”

I lean in, catching her jaw in my hand, cradling it firmly but gently enough that she could easily pull away from me. I’m giving her a chance.

She doesn’t take it.

Instead, her mouth opens in surprise, and though I don’t think she realizes it, she leans into my touch. It takes less than a single heartbeat before I’m kissing Hazel Sullivan.

Her lips are soft, that’s my first thought. Softer than silk, softer than the downiest feathers, but pressing back into me. And taste of the last course’s mint custard as I draw her breath into my mouth, relishing her.

She resists me for a moment, then melts into me, her body pressing against mine. Relief flows through me as I surrender the tight rein I’ve been holding myself under, but it’s followed by sheer heat that’s building fast. I cup her neck, my thumbs tracing her jaw, and she responds by teasing her tongue along my upper lip. I meet her with my own, groaning as we admit the truth. We want each other.

I want to explore her, every lush curve and creamy inch of her skin, map out what makes her writhe and brings her pleasure, but the need for oxygen forces us apart. “You want to get out of here?”

I can see in her eyes she considers it, but only for a moment. “No, I have to get back to the party. Avery’s party.”

I’m disappointed but not surprised. I told myself slow and then smashed that to fucking smithereens, but the least I can do is give her a second to play nice.

The least you could do is get her to a room with a lock before fucking us both to exhaustion. Not here in the hallway.

But she’s right, and it makes me sigh. “Okay, but this isn’t over. I’ll go back in first while you pull yourself together.”

Her brows pull together and she straightens her back, smoothing her dress. “What’s wrong?”

I smirk, wiping my lip with my thumb and feeling the trace of gloss she marked me with, the same one that’s currently a little bit smeared on her own lips. “You look like someone who just had the shit kissed out of them.”

With that, I spin and hurry back to the living room, loving that she’s growling like a pissed-off kitten behind me. When I enter, Wren looks at me with narrowed eyes, one perfectly drawn brow arched questioningly.

When Hazel walks in a few moments later, Wren’s lips purse as she fights a laugh. She thinks Hazel and I sneaked off together. Little does she know how far from the truth that is, nor how much I wish she were right.

Now I just have to figure out how to get rid of Rachel without hurting her feelings or spilling the tea about what Hazel and I just did to anyone else. I trust that Wren can keep her mouth shut.

Next? Continue what Hazel and I started.

Except we did promise to get some sleep tonight in preparation for the wedding. But damned if I’m going to get any rest when I’m thinking of that kiss.

But I’m a man of my word. For tonight.