Page 58 of Stick Break
“Yeah,” he says with a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck. “Jumped in the ocean. Guess I washed off all the SPF and common sense.”
She lets out an exaggerated tsk, and waves a hand. “I’ve got an ointment for that.” But she’s already turning, calling out over her shoulder, “Now come mingle.”
I stifle a laugh as I follow. Apparently, she has an ointment—but not the time to offer it right now. Ointment by appointment only.
We trail behind her to a long buffet table piled with foil-covered dishes and summer casseroles. I do a quick scan and count about twenty adults and six kids. It’s got all the makings of a neighborhood potluck: the smell of grilled meat, the faint screech of kids playing tag, and a lot of very curious eyes landing directly on us.
Mrs. Callahan claps her hands, full hostess mode. The chatter dies instantly. “Everyone, say hello to Rip and Charley,” she announces, as if we’re the opening act at a wedding expo. “They’re staying next door at Paisley and Gunter’s place.”
She gestures to each person, rattling off names like she’s giving a history lecture without notes. I nod politely while filing absolutely nothing away. There’s no way I’m remembering any of this.
Then she pivots dramatically back to us, clutching her heart with all the flair of a Southern drama queen. “These two,” she coos, “Are here planning their wedding.”
And there it is.
I blink. Rip goes statue-still beside me.
A woman with sky-blue eyes and enthusiastic energy bounces forward, practically squealing. “Oh, how exciting! I’m a wedding planner! Been in the biz fifteen years.”
Lucky me.
I smile so hard I’m about to pull a muscle. “That’s… amazing,” I say, dragging the word out like I’m buying time. I flick a glance up at Rip. “Isn’t that amazing, babe?”
“Uh, yeah,” he mutters, clearly stunned.
An elderly man slaps a hand onto Rip’s sunburned back and he winches. “Drink?”
Rip straightens but before he moves, he throws me a quick check-in glance. I give him a subtle nod that says, go, I’ve got this.
He walks off toward the drinks table, and I immediately wish I had followed. Or vanished.
“Aww,” the wedding planner sighs, watching him. “You can really see the love between you two.”
I choke on my own tongue. “Oh, thanks, uh…”
I trail off, not remembering her name even though I’m pretty sure I nodded at her like thirty seconds ago. She doesn’t seem to notice.
I am definitely not drunk enough for this.
She slips her hand onto my arm like I’m her new best friend. “I’m Suzanne,” she reminds me. “That was my father, Tom.” Her eyes dart around the yard. “And that’s my husband Jensen,” she adds, nodding toward a guy who gives a quick wave before diving back into some deep conversation with a group of men.
Without missing a beat, she steers me toward the wine table — which I’m seriously grateful for right now. “Let’s grab a glass, and then I’ll introduce you around. After that? We have to talk wedding. I’ve yet to meet a bride who doesn’t want to gush about her big day.”
Wanna bet?
“That sounds amazing. Are you from around here?” I ask, trying to sound casual as she pours two generous glasses of red wine.
“New York,” she says, raising her glass. “And you?”
“California, actually.” Shoot. Why did I say that? I didn’t want her adding two and two, especially with the mess that’s my past. Plus, Rip and I had totally skipped over the ‘how we met’ part. There’s no way I’m telling this woman I literally climbed through his window and stole his bed.
But you can never steal his heart, girlfriend. It belongs to another.
That thought sneaks into my head like an uninvited guest.
I shake it off and take a careful sip of wine, sinking back into one of the chairs. Soon, a few more women drift over and settle around us. They introduce themselves, smiles wide and friendly. None of them recognize me. Thank God. I’m not ready for the spotlight, not yet. Maybe not ever again.
“So, Charley, tell us about your plans,” Suzanne prompts, her eyes gleaming with genuine interest.
