Page 19 of Catch and Release Groom

“Semantics.” Lexi swiped the distinction from the air with a manicured hand. “We could argue the merits of pettiness all night, but the truth is, there’s power in pettiness.”

I tried to eat both entrees for pettiness reasons. We’re talking Tom Petty level, won’t-back-down levels.

“Invite Imogen to be your plus one for the wedding,” Lexi continued, “and just see what happens. It’s clear you’re already smitten.”

True.

Wait, no.“This is your second warning about going too fast, Lex.”

Murph jabbed him in the side with one of her pointed elbows. “Okay, so I know I was ready to throw down earlier, but Lexi has a point. Part of getting older is realizing violence isn’t the answer, and that any injury you sustain will takemonthsto heal.” She released a mournful sigh that might’ve been funny under other circumstances, where his friends weren’t all nodding overpimping him out.

“I’ll take it under consideration,” he said in order to placate his friends. Well-meaning or not, he could come up with a whole bevy of reasons why taking Imogen to the wedding would be a bad idea.

But the mere fact that he’d considered it at all meant he needed to keep as much distance as possible between him and Imogen.

Chapter Eight

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Imogen uttered as she spotted the line of enormous swans bobbing along the shoreline of Lake Coosa.

Not the feathered, graceful fowl with beating hearts and wings—that’d be preferable to the enormous, plastic vessels with seats and pedals for two.

Had she known the excursion to the “land of a thousand waterfalls” would be another experience in having her singledom rubbed in her face, she might’ve silenced the blaring alarm that magnified her hangover, thrown the covers over her head, and continued to snooze.

Scientific and psychological studies alike indicated that fostering a kinship with the great outdoors boosted mood, energy, and clarity, and aided in the rediscovery of oneself. The cracked window above the bed landed nowhere near eat-pray-and-love territory, yet she’d contemplated counting it as her nature experience for the day, anyway.

Brett was the one with a thing for places “off the beaten path,” as if he were the modern-day amalgamation of Lewis and Clark. He’d made his stand by never going anywhere trendy or popular, scoffing whenever out-of-towners requested the Riverwalk or Millennium Park—all while boasting about his pervading sense of logic.

A trait he wielded like a sword as he’d sliced away at her “extravagant dreams.”

In an attempt to prove shecouldbe thriftyandimpassioned, she’d booked them a trip to the unobtrusive, untamed woodlands of the Talladega Forest. That way, they could swing by the tiny Georgian town built on seven hills with rivers running between them, a feature that inspired the early European-Americans to name it after the longtime capital of Italy.

It’s the perfect compromise, Imogen had thought as she’d entered her credit card details all those months ago. Not to mentionbetter than freakingnothing. Since she worried it’d also be the closest she’d ever get to Rome, she’d gone a little wild with the add-ons.

While the fly-fishing lessons and kayaking were meant to be a present for Brett, this waterfall excursion, along with tomorrow’s wine-tasting and hot-air balloon tour of a nearby vineyard were gifts she’d given herself.

Not that she put much stock in the astrological, but her inner Pisces had always been drawn to water’s constant ebb and flow. To the way it fed life and destroyed it. Nature’s sculptress was as graceful as it was unwieldy. It carved and smoothed. Destroyed and beautified. Devastated and renewed.

Even the tiniest flow, regardless of how slow, left its mark.

Much like the famous sculptors and artists she’d studied in college had left on her.

She might never explore Rome’s breathtaking collection of sculptures and ancient ruins. Never savor the history that flowed and circulated through the city, much like the fountains that’d stood for centuries.

No photograph kissing the love of her life in front of the Fontana di Trevi.

No coins exchanged for wishes.

Deep within Imogen, her heart wrenched. She’d tried so hard to convince herself that her imprudent daydream didn’t carry the weight she’d placed on it, the same way she’d done when Brett dismissed Italy as a honeymoon option. He’d heaped on guilt for desiringsuch an expensive destination, most likely so she’d cave the way she’d spent much of their relationship doing. While she’d managed to shed most of the shame, she’d also drained her savings account paying for the wedding-that-never-happened and this trip, so she told herself to be strong and go enjoy her solitary ride in an oversized swan.

“You’re not getting scared, are you?” a voice asked from so nearby that Imogen jumped.

Crinkled brown eyes peered at her from beneath the floppy brim of an oversized hat. The pale straw contrasted withthe woman’s bronze skin and tawny curls streaked with gray.

“You don’t need to be.” This from the woman who appeared at Imogen’s other side, the brim of her matching floppy hat obscuring one of her ultra-green eyes. The grooves accentuating her grin deepened, suggesting she’d spent the past five-ish decades smiling and laughing a lot. “We saw you last night with your strapping young man, and I must say, he looks like he can paddle the hell out of a boat.”

“Margot Williams-Lopez!”

“What? I’m thrilled as can be about starting our new life together, my love, but I still have eyes. It’s called appreciating God’s creatures.” She—Margot, evidently—jabbed an elbow into Imogen’s side. And while Imogen was often the palest person around, Margot might just have her beat, which had her mentally rewinding time in an attempt to remember if she’d applied sunscreen. “You know what I’m saying, don’t you?”

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