Page 68 of Catch and Release Groom

Because that was all they’d had, save that unfortunate ending.

So far.The odds were stacked against them if they kept on, and long-distance bred problems like rabbits going at it in the spring. A two-hour drive to Atlanta had been taxing enough and caused hectic weekends that were over in a blink. Chicago would mean airports and paying for and catching flights, and who would watch Gator?

What about his new business plan? If he landed a storefront, he couldn’t close on his most profitable days. He didn’t even know what Imogen’s job wholly entailed. Mortgages or something or other, assumedly out of some fancy office building twenty or thirty floors up.

“…Easton?” Grace’s voice filtered through, and it felt harsh, that jolting return to the present, where Imogen wasn’t.

A fissure shuddered deep within the confines of his rib cage.God, her face at the end.

Hadn’t one of them needed to be realistic about their situation? It wasn’t like he’dwantedto.

As there were currently four women in wedding garb staring him down, he’d rehash the situation and how he was right later. He tugged the sides of his suit coat into place. “Yeah? Did you need somethin’ else?”

Grace’s dangly earrings rattled as she shook her head and beamed at him with far more credit than he deserved, that was for sure. “So, we’re good?”

Twenty-four hours ago, he would’ve claimed closure was a myth. Before now, he hadn’t realized there was a side of him that longed to make amends. With it soothed, it was easy to wish her the best on her next chapter.

As he exited the church to return to his seat, he couldn’t figure out why he didn’t feel better. He couldn’t care less about watching Grace get married to her actor, so what was with the snagging beats of his heart?

Once he reached his friends and took his seat next to the lone empty chair, the emotions he’d suppressed at the sight of Imogen walking away came roaring to the surface.

While he’d like to heap the entirety of the blame on her, the instant he’d seen a glimmer she might leave, he pushed her away as fast and as hard as possible.

Refused to give her even the slightest reassurance.

Something he’d extended to Grace.

Why hadn’t he done as Imogen asked and spoken the truth? She was pure sunshine and could break through his storm-cloud personality with the tiniest bat of her eyes. Around her, he was a better version of his truest self, andof coursehe cared about her—how could he not?

Regret formed a boulder in his gut, pinning him in his seat even as his internal organs wrenched. If the present were any indication, he missed her like crazy, and he never wanted them to end, because nothing he felt for Imogen was fake.

Murph leaned closer, crowding into his line of vision. “Is this where you’re figuring out that you”—she lowered her voice to a whisper, so he wasn’t sure why she censored herself—“effed up? Just like I told younotto? What did you say?”

Dozens of responses whipped through his head, and not a single one would come out of his mouth. What was the point? Murph knew his tells. “Nothing, and that was the problem.” He held up a hand to stop her. “If I could rewind time and end on a better note, I would, but it doesn’t change that we don’t even live in the same place.”

Was he convincing Murph or himself?

“Weak,” she fired back, so not her. Worse, she went and upped the ante. “I saw her face before she left, Easton.”

He attempted to shake his head, to deny and insist she didn’t understand. He could recite a lengthy list of reasons it’d never work.

No, Easton, I was looking for a reason to stay.

What was it Addie had said last night about the pros and cons?“If she’s the right person for you, there aren’t enough cons in the world.”

She clapped him on the shoulder. “Aww, not only am I a proud coach who’s about to put you in, but you also just saved yourself another intervention in your livin’ room. What’re you gonna do next?”

“I reckon you’ll tell me.”

Her eager grin sent about three types of fear through him.

Not even the opening chords ofThe Wedding Marchcould compare.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Imogen separated a few newspaper pages from the top of the stack and carefully wrapped the vase she’d made as a final project in college, an all-time favorite of hers. She’d grown crystals in the glaze, a deep purple that bordered on black after firing, with gold sunbursts that reminded her of those first eager rays of sunshine.

Not the creep of light that she’d witnessed from her bedroom window overlooking the Chicago River this morning, gradually penetrating the smog and flipping the switch on the city from light to more so. She meant the gleaming fingers that illuminated the pine trees, infiltrating the branches, with their thousands of needles, and scenting the air.

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