Page 27 of Bridesmaid to Bride

Foster’s grin is wide. “Wait until you taste it.”

“If I tried to cook this, I’d be eating char.” I lean back, not wanting my eyebrows to become a casualty.

“I like my food with a side of danger,” he says. The fire dies down, leaving behind an aroma that makes me actually hungry—a feat after that chopper ride.

“Here goes nothing.” I cut into the still-smoldering masterpiece and take a bite. Holy hell, it’s like a flavor bomb went off in my mouth. “This is incredible.”

“Right?” Foster’s manners are on full display as he waits for me to finish chewing before he takes his own bite. He uses his utensils with the precision of a surgeon and never speaks with his mouth full.

Fast-forward through dessert that’s more art than sugar, and we’re back in the helicopter, the city lights winking at us as we fade into the distance. We’ve been gone just over two hours, which should be okay.

Foster says, “I’d love to take you to my home in the Hamptons—just the two of us.”

Oh! That seems like a whole lot for someone I just met, and I’m trying to figure out how to answer when I’m saved by the proverbial bell.

My phone buzzes back to life as we touch down, and it goes nuts in my hand, vibrating like it’s in a rock band. Twenty-seven messages from Skye explode onto my screen, each one more frantic than the last. All from the time we’ve been in the air.

“Shit.” Paige has locked herself in a dressing room. Classic bridezilla move.

“Problem?” Foster leans in, his earlier charm replaced by an awkward tilt of the head.

“Paige is having a meltdown.” I scroll through the texts that paint a picture of the chaos.

“Ah, crap.” He winces, checking his watch. “I’ve got a tee time with your dad.”

“Of course, go.” I wave him off, hiding my pang of disappointment. “This is just par for my course. No pun intended.”

“Thanks for understanding.” Foster’s relief is clear as he offers a sympathetic smile.

No sooner has he disappeared than I’m texting West, using the code we developed for emergencies. MARSHMALLOW.

13

The Prickly Process

WEST

Darren leans back in the conference room’s leather chair. “All right, West, let’s see what you’ve got.”

I slide into the hot seat across from Darren, and a bead of sweat threatens to race down my spine. It’s my interview for Groomsman to Groom, but we’re having it a few days early. I don’t know why, and I wish I’d had a little more time to prepare but still—bring it.

Except I’m distracted. Somewhere above us, Eva’s sipping champagne in a helicopter, while I’m trying to sell my life story. “Okay, shoot,” I say, feigning confidence. I faced some seriously wild crap on Paige’s show, I mean, I had to break up a fistfight. Really, how hard can this be?

Darren props his elbows on the desk. “Pretend I’m a beautiful woman. Sell yourself to me.”

“Well, I’m a computer scientist who can fix your Wi-Fi. Never underestimate the power of uninterrupted streaming.” I shrug. “Geek is the new chic, right?”

“Nice.” Darren leans forward, eyes fixed on me. “But what’s under the hood?” His gaze sharpens, cutting through my crap.

My heart thumps. “I guess... I’m someone who believes in going the distance, no matter the odds. Whether that’s working through the night to crack a code or sticking by the people I care about.”

“Good. Any regrets?”

I shuffle in my seat. Regrets? Oh, that’s Pandora’s box. Eva’s face flashes in my mind because I never told her how I felt, not really. I hinted around it but never put it all out there to see what would happen. But I really don’t want to get into all that, so I opt for vagueness. “I have a few.”

“Which are?” Darren isn’t budging, his producer instinct digging for drama.

I run a hand through my hair. “I regret not risking it all. You know, for something that could either end up in a total disaster or give me everything I’ve ever wanted.”

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