Page 48 of Catch and Release Groom

Uttering a low curse, Easton lifted his phone and studied the screen.

“Are you serious?” she asked with a melodramatic gasp. “All that lecturing about phones andyoursis the one that interrupts us.” She expected him to silence it and opt for a hand job or go acquire the necessary supplies to finish what they’d started.

Instead, he answered.

And, at the end of a call with a lot of nodding and one-word replies, he hung up and faced her, a grim set to his features. “I’m so sorry, Imogen, but I have to go.”

Chapter Twenty

Imogen paced the studio area of her rented cabin, the anxious pitter-patter of malamute paws trailing after her.

It’d beenhourssince Easton dropped them off.

Every time her phone chimed, she’d rush to check if it was him. If there was an update. Anything.

Worry prolonged the minutes, stretching each one into an hour, a week—a freaking eternity. She didn’t want to bother him, but her brain was running wild, conjuring all sorts of perilous possibilities Easton and his team could’ve encountered.

After he’d hung up and relayed he’d been called in for an emergency situation, Imogen told him that he could just leave her at the river and she’d hike back to the resort herself. Which resulted in a smartass remark about her lack of directional skills and how that’d mean having to go ontworescue missions that day.

Right as offense panged, Easton had softened his assertion by cupping her cheek and adding, “And babe, if one of them involved you, it’d impede my judgment during the other, as I’m hardly unbiased when it comes to you.”

Her heart sprouted wings that left her entire chest aflutter.

“Not to mention it’d be a good hour on foot, and I need to ask Birdie if she’ll watch Gator.” Easton whistled, summoning his dog and rewarding her with a pat on the head. “You’re a good girl, but you’re not trained for missions. If you see the other mongrels, you’ll think it’s playtime and distract them—isn’t that right, Gator Bait?”

His adorable pooch pranced around his legs as if she’d received the highest of praise, and watching the two of them interact could melt anyone into a smitten puddle.

Imogen adopted a similar singsong tone as Easton herded both her and his dog toward the driver’s side of his truck. “It’s okay, Gator, I’ve also struggled with knowing the difference between playtime and worktime, only I have the opposite problem. Before taking this trip, I wasthis closeto becoming a very dull girl.”

“Doubtful.” Without giving her a beat to process or respond, Easton opened the door and assisted her into the cab with a hand on her butt. He’d copped a feel, too, and when he scooted into position behind the wheel, every movement, every gesture—everyeverything—was more supercharged than before.

As he fired up the engine and started down the rutted path that’d return them to the outskirts of civilization, Imogen kept her nerves at bay by raking designs in Gator’s fur. “I could take the pup for the afternoon.”

“I don’t want you to have to do that.” He wrapped his hand around her knee. “Go out. Enjoy the cooking competition—trust me, I’d only hinder you there.”

“I don’t think I can. I’ll spend the entire time worried about you.” It felt too vulnerable an admission, now that it was out in the air. But it was true, and not only okay—but totally normal—to be concerned for his safety.

“I’ll be fine.”

Imogen nodded and nodded some more, in case each bob of her head solidified the validity.

In the end, Easton left her with the dog, the leash, the treats, and a case of anxiety that grew bigger by the minute.

She and Gator had already taken two walks, grabbed dinner to-go from the restaurant, and witnessed three different couples having the raucous time of their lives while riding around in Cupid’s ostentatious chariot.

Since a watched door never boiled or opened or whatever, Imogen took a shower and slipped into one of the terry cloth bathrobes. A few minutes later, while bored and a hint cold, she snagged the other robe off the hook and put it on backward, going so far as to tie the soft belt around her waist. “Ah, sothisis why they put two of them in here. Now I’m extra toasty while remaining mostly naked.”

Blissfully unaware of Easton’s whereabouts, Gator barely bothered lifting her head from the spot on the bed where she’d been snoozing away. Meanwhile, Imogen continued to pace and gnaw on her fingernails, a habit she’d brokenyearsago.

Until exhaustion ultimately caught up with her and she curled up on the bed next to the warm, dozing doggy.He’s okay, he’s okay.

Pleaselet him be okay.

…

Easton blinked tired, bleary eyes as—at long fucking last—the sign for the Cove Lakeside Resort came into view. It’d been a difficult afternoon that turned into a grueling evening.

The headlights of his truck flashed across shrubs and trees, and he took the fork in the road that’d lead to Imogen.

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