Page 3 of The Lucky One

We created a reception area in the trees, overlooking the pumpkin patch for the perfect fall backdrop. The entire area is lit up with battery powered candles and soft bulbs that emit a romantic glow. Soft romantic touches of terracotta and rust with pops of deep teal dot the various tablescapes, and the aroma of freshly baked apple treats floats across the night breeze.

When I try to imagine my wedding, I can’t see the full picture like this. But I should be able to, shouldn’t I?

What does it mean if I can’t?

I take a sip of the apple cider Laila brought me, seeking Ella in the crowd. My eyes snag on her, softly swaying with Luke in a dark corner of the trees. It’s only a matter of time before we’ll start planning her wedding.

My heart flutters happily in my chest. Holly is living her dream and soon Ella will be, too. I have to assume Luke will propose soon since she’s always wanted a winter wedding. Whenever it happens, Laila and I will ensure she has exactly what she’s always dreamed of. She’s earned it ten times over.

I pull my phone out of the pocket of my slacks and ignore the fact that Istillhaven’t heard from my fiance, swiping straight to Pinterest and pulling up the group board Laila, Violet and I all share. Violet, Luke’s sister, started this board before Ella and Luke were even ‘official’, filling it with winter flowers and arrangements she envisions for a winter wedding.

After a quick search, I’m adding baby blue touches to the board with notes to play around with swatches of sage, ruby and gold or silver to see what looks best cohesively.

“All work and no play made Spitfire a very dull girl.”

There’s no need to turn around. Even if today is the first time I’ve ever heard him speak, I still recognize him. That voice—deep, smooth, and laced with amusement—is impossible to miss. He could give Tom Hiddleston a run for his money.

I sigh and click the button to put my phone into sleep mode.

“Some of us actually have toworkfor a living. Maybe you should play a little less?”

I glance over my shoulder to find him standing only a couple of feet away. He’s already shed his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, showcasing some very impressive forearms. If I were to notice that sort of thing.

His smile is bright—cocky and charming. “You wound me.”

“I could try harder.” I shrug.

Weston exhales a chuckle, like he’s enjoying whatever this is. “I think we got off on the wrong foot, and we need a proper introduction. I’m Weston Reilly, and you’re—” He pauses, waiting for me to introduce myself.

He’s getting under my skin, but at least he’s trying to be polite.

“Bridget.”

“Hello Bridget. I’m Weston. Professional athlete—tight end for the Frost Giants. Dedicated groomsman.Excellentdancer.” He gestures toward the makeshift dancefloor where I think the whole town is doing the Cupid Shuffle. “Happy to prove it.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Are you asking me to dance?”

“That depends,” he says, leaning in. “Are you going to say yes?”

That slight movement sends the faint scent of his cologne my way, warm and woodsy like a bonfire on a crisp night like tonight.

Weston Reilly is trouble. He’s probably got someone to run every kind of errand imaginable for him, and women that fall over themselves at requests exactly like this. I don’t miss the way his eyes flick to my lips, then back up to my eyes.

I’m not a woman who falls over herself for anyone. I’ll do anything for the people in my life that I care about. Even if I were single—which I’m not—I’ve got no interest in being a number to some guy who’s not interested in anything beyond today.

“Come on, Bridget,” he replies, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “It’s a group dance. Pretty harmless.”

I lift my left hand just enough for the diamond to sparkle beneath the swaying lights. His gaze drops to it, and for the first time today, his confident smirk falters. Just barely.

But I see it.

“I’m engaged.” I say simply.

His expression shifts as he lets out a long breath. When those pools of whiskey meet my eyes once again, there’s no apology waiting. No embarrassment that he was hitting on an engaged woman.

Instead, Weston skewers me with a look that sees straight through me, like he suspects I’m making up a fake fiance. I’m not, though with the distance between Andrew and I, it’s half plausible.

“Huh,” he finally says, studying me. “Lucky guy.”

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