Page 63 of Catch and Release Groom

Was she letting herself get carried away again? But this time, with theideaof Easton instead of the reality? Imogen’s bestie, her job, and everything else she’d worked so hard for were in Chicago. Since the day she’d moved from her rural Illinois town, her heart had weaved strings across the city, and it’d instantly felt like home in a way living with her father never had.

He’d sent one text since she’d announced the cancellation of the wedding.You made a mistake.

Words she’d automatically read in his disappointed tone, and on top of making her feel six years old again, she nearly took it back. Same way she did most any time she voiced a contrary opinion.

Part of the reason she’d moved to Chicago was to escape Dad’s constant scrutiny and criticism, and she couldn’t believe she’d permitted herself to fall into a similar pattern with Brett.

It definitely hadn’t started out like that.

The time and effort it took to maintain a full-blown relationship filtered in, and Imogen’s resolve against slipping into analytical mode began to crack. Building a partnership while keeping the spark alive was difficult enough without factoring in the complications of long distance.

That was if Easton was willing to even attempt it.

The declaration he’d made at the top of the falls rang through her head:More importantly, I’m saying I’ll never, ever do it again.

Had he meant that? As in never getting engaged or intending to marry? Or had he sworn off all long-term relationships, because that’d still be an issue. She couldn’t settle for less than she deserved, not again.

How many visits a month would be enough? Only one sounded dismal, and not enough to fan the necessary flame; two seemed like a balancing act that’d get expensive fast. Then again, how many could she fit in between moving, working overtime to restore her bank accounts, and keeping the promise she’d made to herself about renting a sculpting space?

Most long-distance relationships happened after months to years of building a strong foundation, and still, the odds of failure ran high.

Imogen clamped her lips, fighting the urge to hurl her burning questions at Easton and his friends and anyone else who’d answer.

But then he placed his hand on her knee—she hadn’t even noticed it bouncing until his touch calmed the motion. “I’m so glad you’re here. You look fucking amazing, too. That dress.” A low whistle filled her ear, and he brushed a featherlight kiss to her temple. “It reminds me of the night I was trying to network and eat my dinner but couldn’t stop staring at you from across the restaurant. You know what my main thought was?”

“What?” she whispered, tipping conspiratorially closer.

Callused fingertips grazed her cheek as he captured one of her dark curls and twirled it around his finger. “That whoever sat across from you was one lucky bastard. I never dreamed it’d end up being me.”

A potent mix of affection and desire streaked through her and laid waste to her apprehensions. As she peered into eyes she could imagine staring into forever, she knew what she felt. Maybe it wasn’t logical, but there it was anyway.

It’d be nice to know where he stood, and there was really only one way to find out…

Screw the timing and the place.Imogen opened her mouth—right as Easton’s pocket began to buzz.

“Hold up a sec.” He patted the sides of his suit coat before slipping a hand beneath the black lapels. “I know I put the damn thing on Do Not Disturb. Not sure why—”

The way his eyes bulged as he withdrew the phone and caught sight of the name on the display said it all.

Without saying nearly enough, and was this some cruel twist of fate?

The surrealness continued as he answered the call. There were a lot of blanks, but she could fill them in well enough. Grace needed to talk to him.Right now.Urgently and fervently, and Imogen caught the word “please.”

And then…

Well, then Easton agreed.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“What do you want me to do?” Easton asked in a gruff, irritated whisper, and in that moment, Imogen’s heart ceased beating.

After a prolonged second or two, the organ caught up, but each pump ached with a foreboding Imogen didn’t wholly understand. She probably shouldn’t have asked if he was seriously going to rush off to console his ex-fiancée, but she’d hoped hearing it aloud would help him recognize how ludicrous it sounded.

That he’d comprehend the position he was putting her in.

In the measured silence that followed, every anxious thought she’d sidelined this past week marched into the spotlight and got busy tearing shit up. Starting with everything Imogen thought she knew to be true about Easton, as well as their connection, and then taking a swing at the self-esteem that’d been rocked by the framed photo of the gorgeous bride-to-be. The fiancé pictured at Grace’s side couldn’t hold a candle to Easton, either, an opinion Imogen wished she could go back in time and unform so it wouldn’t plague her now.

Maybe this was penance, and she should sit in a sea of strangers, gnawing on her fingernails and waiting to see whether the bride would show, or if she’d run off with her high school sweetheart.

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