Page 107 of His Jersey

We have a book club, game night, and we only very rarely engage in gossip. If it comes up, it has to do with Mrs. Gormely, who is the source of it all, Nancy Linderberg, who thinks she’s the mayor, and once or twice Sophia Snodgrass, who forgets we’re no longer in high school—not that I knew any of them back then.

My life is full and I’ve found a home in Cobbiton. Nestled among the corn fields, it has its quirks with all the enthusiasm for its namesake—corn. It lacks a fountain, but I no longer need to make wishes. Just send up prayers of gratitude on the daily.

I say one now while I wait in line at the Busy Bea Bakery, wafting the scent of sugar and butter my way.

I’m meeting Margo to go over some of the details for thewedding—she operates an event planning business and is a ray of sunshine, yet is somehow married to Knights’ player Beaumont Hammer, who appears to have only one setting: grumpy-faced goalie.

No sooner do I find a vacant bistro tablet than Leah appears, eyes wide and slightly pale. “Come with me. Now.”

“What’s wrong?” Panic makes my tummy tingle. “Is Jack okay?”

“Yes. Totally. Everything is fine. I mean. Mostly. There’s an issue with the seating arrangements.”

She starts to drag me bodily out the door.

“For the wedding? I’m supposed to meet Margo in a few minutes.”

“I rescheduled with Margo.”

“Leah, this better be important,” I say in a slightly scolding voice.

“My brother is Jack’s manager, so by default, I’m yours. Well, today only. It’s a limited-time thing.”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works.”

She shuttles me outside and toward her beat-up Toyota.

“Why don’t we take my car?”

“Do you need motion sickness pills for flights or boat rides? A special emotional support item that you need while traveling?”

Before I can answer, she buckles me into the passenger seat and peels away.

Being engaged to a billionaire, I’ve come to expect the unexpected, but Leah’s adventures are more along the lines of visiting a thrift store or meeting a stranger in a parking lot because she purchased a piece of hockey memorabilia online and wants to make sure they’re not going to murder her.

“No motion sickness issues, but you could slow down?” Ipress my right foot into an invisible brake on the passenger side. God bless driving instructors.

She practically takes a right turn on two wheels. “I’ll make sure that the furniture is delivered and they don’t damage the new paint.”

I press my hand to my forehead. “Is that today?”

“Chuck said so.” She takes a sharp left and I recognize this as the gated access to the private plane airstrip.

“Jack knows that I wanted to be there for the furniture delivery.”

“No-can-doozies.”

We bought the Craftsman with the wood and stone exterior because I think my father would’ve liked it, given the spacious garage. Mom totally would’ve opted for the Queen Anne with its flourishes and intricate wood detail, but there’s already a castle in my soon-to-be family. Leah’s family moved down the street, courtesy of Jack as a thank you to the Smiths. Carlos is telling everyone the place is his—likely to impress Marisol. Leah has an apartment in town and we’ve had a few pajama parties.

“Can you please just explain?” I practically beg.

“I cannot say anything other than that it has to do with the guest list.” Leah gets out of the car, drags me to my feet, wraps me in a big hug, and waves goodbye, practically shoving me toward the plane.

Bark Wahlburger yips as if telling me to hurry up.

My stomach sinks because I have a feeling this has something to do with Aston. My “stepmother-in-law” has been both nosy and bossy when it comes to planning what I wanted to be a small, intimate affair, but it has turned into a guest list with almost five hundred people.

“Isn’t Margo handling this?” I call to Leah.

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