Page 51 of Catch and Release Groom

As she went to unveil the contents, she noticed the hotel pad and pen set on top—Aww, Easton had left her a note.

Morning Angel Cake,

Thanks for last night. Had an early fishing lesson, but I’ll be back for the newlywed game. Since we didn’t get a chance to discuss favorite breakfasts, I took a stab at it. But your coffee should be how you like it—a bit cold at first, but surprisingly sweet, just like you.

~ Stud Muffin

“Ha-ha,” she said aloud, grinning and kicking her legs in excitement, letting out some of her frenetic energy as she shed the last of the sheets.

Her stomach rumbled, and she scooted to the edge of the bed and lifted the metal lid, revealing a stack of pancakes, scrambled eggs, and…

“Bacon!” She snatched a strip and shoved it in her mouth. Little things like this were exactly what she’d been missing in her last relationship.

In that next beat of realization, her breaths turned ragged and shallow. “Except this isn’t a relationship,” she reminded herself aloud, and an ache radiated from the center of her chest.

Over the next hour, as she showered and readied for the day, Imogen debated sending a thank-you text to Easton, and then not following through because feelings were deepening without her permission. This was why she usually left the reins in her brain’s capable…well, not hands, butfoldssounded so gross.

But what if…?

It was such a dangerous thought, one she shouldn’t allow to tap her shoulder.

Instead, she gave in to temptation, lifting the note and reading it again.

Anytime she cast her thoughts toward the future, everything was so murky, similar to the sandy river bottom that had caused yesterday’s boating accident. Much like that driver—even as careful as she’d tried to be—her actions had hurt people. Brett and his family, as well as her family and the other one hundred and twenty-seven guests who RSVP’d.

While yes, she’d been in desperate need of a vacation and had already paid for this trip, she’d also flown to the wilderness to escape the stress involved in finding a new place to live and scraping enough together for a security deposit. But most of all, she’d wanted to delay facing the reality that her life had permanently veered off course and left her future scattering in a dozen different directions.

That meant decisions upon decisions and those brought doubts she could no longer bounce off a partner.

The neglected sculptress within encouraged her to take the deconstructed lump of her life, add a little water and a big helping of self-love, and shape it into something inspiring and beautiful. A nice idea; granted she was out of practice and couldn’t decide if Easton was her muse, a distraction from getting started, part of a new foundation, or a pretty detail that didn’t play a huge part but certainly spiced up the design.

At long last and altogether too soon, it was time to head to the east lawn to meet Easton so they could crush the competition. For the life of her, she couldn’t decide if she wanted the game to reassure her that she knew him on an intense, intimate level that transcended time, distance, and stupid fucking logic.

Or if she wanted it to prove that when it came down to it, she didn’t actually know him at all.

…

Two rows of contestants lined parallel tables so that each couple sat facing their significant other.

Captain Johnson was acting as their animated emcee, flicking the microphone wire in front of him as he paced the narrow expanse between tables. He never seemed happy with where it landed, to the point Imogen and Margot had placed side bets on a) how long it’d be until he clotheslined someone, b) when he’d trip himself, and c) whether his first mate would be there to “save him.”

So far, there’d been a whisper of a neck graze and a stumble, followed by a check in from Birdie. Given the way the captain looked at the resort owner, he definitely wantedherto be his first mate.

While Imogen felt a pinch of guilt over making wagers that proved Constance’s accusation about her wife being a bad influence to be at least a little true, it’d eased the pressure as she’d filled in the questionnaire. Before that, she’d been berating herself for being uncertain on a few answers, and then again for caring too much about a game that hardly possessed the power to define what she did or didn’t have with Easton.

Once she’d caught on to what her brain was doing, she reminded it she’d put her heart in charge for that reason. That allowed her to focus on the fun, and after five out of ten rounds, she and Easton were holding their own. Margot and Constance, along with Judith and Bill, were giving them a run for their money, leaving them trailing by three points and two, respectively.

Still, it’d thrown Imogen for a loop last round, when they’d mismatched answers to the question: Is your partner always late, always early, or right on time?

Maybe not a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but how could Easton think she was “always late?” He’d been the one who’d arrived late to the game today, whispering a swift apology about his session running long. A quick peck on the lips was all they could exchange before they’d been separated to jot down their respective answers on posterboard squares.

Seriously, though, did he think she was lazy? That she didn’t keep her appointments? That she arrived late to work?

The mere idea had her blood pressure skyrocketing.

As if he sensed her nerves, Easton flashed her a smile.

It’s only a game.

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