Page 28 of Catch and Release Groom

“The bride was my high school sweetheart, and at one point, we were planning on getting hitched, but it didn’t work out. Now she’s marrying this obscure actor, and everyone’s convinced I’m gonna stand up and object like some jealous ex-boyfriend who hasn’t moved on. I figure the best way to prove them wrong is to show up with someone who looks like you.”

He paused to observe her reaction.

Imogen’s features remained frozen, the water lapping at their boat corresponding with the bobbing of their ridiculously shaped ship.

Perhaps, in the name of sealing this deal, he’d have to compel her to be a good girl after all.

…

Had he really just said that, all drawled out in his honeyed accent?

To her?Imogen Kaplan, overachieving valedictorian of her high school class, college graduate with honors, and residential mortgage underwriter extraordinaire? She struggled to process the compliment after being dubbed themost logical girlBrett had ever met.

Most of the time, anyway,he’d add with a wink and a nudge. Then she’d flip the switch fromperson with complex emotionstoanalytical mode, forever seeking his approval instead of listening to her noisy, nonsensical gut.

Same way she’d done with her father, who’d reminded her countless times growing up that tears didn’t solve problems.You’re smart,he’d say, tapping a finger to her temple.So you’ve got to use your head.

“Someone who looks like me?” It was the opposite of playing it cool, and even though she’d asked it of Easton, Brett’s assessment arose from the recesses of her mind.

Whenever people ask about you, I always tell them about the pragmatic girl with the frizzy hair and funky glasses I met at the tutoring center.Brett often ruffled her hair as he’d harked back, and while she hadn’t minded at seventeen years old, pre-Lasik and clueless about hair products, it grated more each passing year. Not only was he wrong about those glasses—they were red and glittery, slightly retro with cat-eye points and freaking adorable—she’d never understood why her fiancé clung to such an outdated description.

Also, did one muss the hair of the woman they couldn’t wait to get their hands and mouth on? Seven years of history suggested no.

“Are you…?” Easton’s voice softened, but his gaze only intensified. “Surely that ex-fiancé of yours told you how gorgeous you are?”

Imogen flinched at the mention of Brett here, where he didn’t belong, although she’d been thinking of him two seconds ago.

“He didn’t.” Easton said it so matter-of-factly, as though he’d already conducted a thorough investigation. “Well, that’s a damn shame. No wonder you left him.”

That was an oversimplification, and yet, it was at the crux of what’d broken them.

At least it saved her from having to list any of the justifications she’d practiced for family and friends late at night when she couldn’t sleep, chock-full of multiple valid reasons for leaving a relationship she’d been in for so long she barely remembered who she was without it.

“This time when I say tick-tock”—Easton tucked her hair behind her ear, trailing his fingertips over the shell and down the column of her neck—“it’s not me being rude; it’s because we’ve got a bunch of swans on our six.”

He tilted his head to indicate the incoming fleet of pedal boats, and she didn’t know whether to laugh or slug him or if she should climb into his lap and finish their kiss.

Yeah, that one. Do that.Dizziness set in, despite Imogen remaining firmly planted on her half of the ship.

“Who’s the obscure actor?” She’d flung out the question haphazardly, equal parts deflection and raging curiosity.

Easton shuttered his features, taking them from rugged to severe, and she regretted not using more tact. “Hunter Blair.”

It didn’t ring a bell, which made it that much easier to shrug and appear unimpressed, whether or not he’d admit he cared. “Never heard of him.”

“Not much to hear,” Easton said, and that, combined with the shift in mood, said plenty.

It hinted he wasn’t as over his ex as he pretended to be, anyway. She’d know. Not that shewasn’tover her ex. More like she wasn’t over losing the idea of him, if that made sense. Which relatively little in this life seemed to, and nothing hit that nail on the head harder than the inconsistency of emotions.

This entire outing had gone off the rails, and she forced her focus back to the task at hand. “But I won’t be here on Saturday evening. I’m set to fly back home that morning.”

Easton dragged a couple of fingertips along his whiskered jaw and glanced back the way they’d come. “Then I guess we’ve both got a decision to make.”

Chapter Twelve

A trial run.

Or a trialhike, as it were.

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