Page 8 of Messy Match

“You look gorgeous, my dear,” Libby proclaims, drawing back to look at her future sister-in-law.

“Not anywhere close to as beautiful as the bride,” Charlotte replies. I would beg to differ, but she continues, gushing, “I can’t believe this weekend is finally here!”

“You’re telling me.”

“How’s everything coming along? What do you need? How can I help?”

“How about we get you a drink first? Plus,” Libby adds, shooting a glance in my direction, “I have questions about this littletruceyou have with Jake.”

“It’s nothing,” Charlotte insists, waving off the question even as her gaze darts to me with a flash of irritation that clearly screams,way to keep your mouth shut, Maddingly. “Jake and I are both here to make the weekend perfect for you two, that’s all.”

“Glad to hear it.” Brock pulls Charlotte in for a hug and effectively puts an end to the conversation. “Now, how about we get seated? I’m starving.”

All throughout dinner, I try to focus, but Charlotte’s perfume, something light and floral, keeps distracting me. That, and the way she laughs unabashedly at the way Libby’s version of the night she met Brock differs drastically from Brock’s account. Charlotte’s entire face lights up, head thrown back, and mirth dancing in her amused gray eyes.

I find myself tracking her smallest movements. How her fingers toy with the stem of her wineglass. How she leans forward when Libby talks about the schedule for the weekend. How the brush of her knee against mine under the table has me choking on my beer. Each time it happens, she shifts away quickly, but not before I catch the slight hitch in her breath. And the hint of a smile on her face, as if she knowsexactlywhat she’s doing.

But when she reaches across me for the bread basket, time seems to slow to a crawl. Her arm grazes mine, and I catchanother intoxicating whiff of that perfume. My fingers itch to trace the curve of her wrist, but I grip my fork tighter instead. This truce might actually kill me.

“Jake? Earth to Jake?” Brock’s voice cuts through my haze. “I asked if you remembered to bring the rings?”

I clear my throat, forcing my attention back to my best friend. “Of course. They’re locked in the safe in my room.” But even as I answer, I’m acutely aware of Charlotte’s presence beside me, of the way she delicately dabs her lips with her napkin, of how the candlelight from the votive on our table catches in her eyes when she glances my way.

Three more days of this. God help me.

“Well, we should head up,” Libby says to Brock after our plates are cleared, stifling a yawn. “Big day tomorrow with all the arrivals.”

“Mom said she and Robert hope to be up here by lunch. What about the rest of the crew?” Charlotte asks.

“Sometime in the afternoon. Hopefully, well before four because that’s when the rehearsal is.”

“What do you need in the morning? How can I help?”

“Brock and I are meeting with the event coordinator over breakfast, so I was going to suggest you two enjoy the nature path that starts out by the mountain bike rental shop, but since I haven’t finished assembling the guest welcome bags, I’m hoping you can help with that instead.”

Charlotte’s eyes light up. “I’m one thousand percent here for that. It will be so fun!”

Libby laughs. “I knew you’d be excited about it. And making things aesthetic is your strength, not mine.”

“Hey, you can save a life. I can make a welcome bag look like it came straight out of a bridal magazine. We each have our strengths.”

“True. Maybe later in the morning you two,” Libby says, waving a finger between Charlotte and me, “can hit the trail Brock and I took during our visit in April. It leads to a waterfall overlook that’s simply stunning.”

“I don’t know,” Brock interjects, before Charlotte can respond, a look of concern creasing his features. “That trail gets pretty steep near the top. And, according to the staff, there was a bear sighting last week.”

I take another sip of beer to hide my frown as Charlotte’s spine straightens at the mention of danger. That damned determined look fills her face. The same expression she makes whenever someone—especially her brother—suggests she might not be capable of something.

“A bear?” she scoffs. “Please. I’d be more worried about Jake trying to save me from a chipmunk.”

Wait, what?

“The trail’s perfectly safe,” Libby assures her soon-to-be husband. “And if Charlotte can take down a man twice her size, it’s the bear that should steer clear.”

Since when can Charlotte take down a man twice her size?

I glance at Brock, waiting for him to scoff at this obvious exaggeration. But my best friend just nods as if this is common knowledge.

“True,” he says, and my eyebrows nearly hit my hairline.

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